by Kat Cho
“Junu,” Somin squeaked as his skin became searingly hot. She jerked back, letting out a hiss as it burned her hands. She glanced at her palms, red and irritated.
Junu stumbled toward a sink in the corner. He yanked desperately at the knobs until water ran over his smoking fists.
“Junu, what just happened?” Somin stuttered, staring at his hand. It looked smooth and unmarked. Like it hadn’t just been holding a fistful of flames.
“You should leave me alone before you get more hurt,” Junu said quietly. There was something in his words, like he wasn’t talking about the fire.
“No, I don’t think you should be alone. If I can help fix this—”
“This isn’t something that can be fixed!” Junu yelled, swiping his arms across the counter beside the sink. Cups went crashing to the floor, smashing against the tile, spilling brushes and pens and scissors. They scattered around him as he slammed his hands onto the counter, holding on until his knuckles became white. “Don’t you get it? Sometimes people can’t be fixed. Not even by the great Lee Somin.”
Somin wanted to tell him he was wrong. There had never been a problem she’d come up against that she couldn’t defeat with sheer force of will. But she’d never known someone who had so much darkness inside of him. Centuries worth of it. This felt like a battle that had so much at stake, but it was one she wasn’t sure she could fight. Only Junu could. And it looked like he was giving up.
“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Somin began. “But if I can help—”
Junu let out a venomous laugh, a biting sound that made Somin’s stomach tighten.
“Nothing can help me. I’ve been cursed for centuries. I was a fool to think it could be any different now.” He stepped into the rubble that covered the studio floor, his slippers crunching on broken glass and ceramic. “What use do I have with things like this? What use are any of these to me?” he asked, picking up a half-completed bust and throwing it against the far wall. The pieces rained onto a tarp, pulling it down to reveal the faded portraits beneath.
Junu stared at the painted faces that looked back with dark eyes.
He picked up the painting of the woman looking lovingly out from her portrait. The paper was so delicate. Like it might just dissolve from being held. He stared at it intently. Like he was lost in the portrait. Like it dragged him to some long-forgotten memory.
Somin started to protest. She didn’t know who this person was, but she felt important. But instead of shredding the painting, Junu slowly sank to the ground, gripping the paper so tightly it wrinkled in his hands.
Somin didn’t know what to say to soothe his pain. So she didn’t speak. She just knelt beside him and wrapped her arms around him, resting his head against her shoulder. She felt his hesitation like a string pulled taut. She waited to see if he’d snap or let loose. And with a sigh he relaxed. The portrait fell to his lap as his arms came around her waist and he let out a breath. One that made his whole body shudder. And then he continued to shake with silent sobs. She tightened her hold on him, trying to absorb the shock of his pain. Trying to take on some of it so it wouldn’t break him.
45
SOMIN LED JUNU to his room. She’d expected him to resist, but it seemed he was too exhausted to protest. She had no idea where he’d been all night, but she was sure he hadn’t slept.
She started to ask Junu if he wanted to change, when he just fell face-first onto his bed.
“At least get under the comforter,” Somin said, trying to pull it free from under him. But instead he took hold of her wrist and tugged her down so she fell beside him.
“I don’t need the blanket,” he murmured, running his hand over her cheek. It made her skin tingle everywhere he touched.
“You don’t know what you need right now.”
Junu lifted a brow. “And you do?”
“I know better than you do right now.”
He chuckled and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. She breathed him in, a musky scent she couldn’t quite place. But it reminded her of his library, parchment and wood. It soothed her, and she let her shoulders relax. She hadn’t even realized how tense they were. Didn’t know she’d needed this, too. To be held, to feel safe.
“Jin.” He said the word into her hair.
“What?” Somin asked.
Junu leaned back so he could look at her. “My family name is Jin.”
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, searching his inscrutable face.
“Because you asked,” Junu said. “I didn’t think I deserved the name. That’s why I don’t use it.”
“Why would you say such a thing?” Somin asked.
“Because it’s true. It was true before I ever died and became this.” He nodded down toward himself. “My abeoji used to tell me that all the time.”
“Then he was a cruel man,” Somin said.
Junu laughed. “That’s a wild understatement.”
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because I want you to know me. All of me. You once asked why I was trying to make Changwanie like me.”
“Yeah,” Somin said, unsure of the track the conversation had taken.
“Because he is me. Who I used to be.”
Somin was silent a moment too long.
“You don’t believe me,” Junu muttered.
She shook her head. “No, I do. I’m just trying to figure out how that would look.”
“My human form was completely different from the one I’m in now. Short, stick thin. Couldn’t build muscle for the life of me. And I had pretty bad acne. Though back then, people thought it could be a pox when it got really bad. Oh, the joys of living before modern dermatology,” Junu said, sarcasm lacing his tone. “I had a weak constitution. Was constantly sick when I was young. I was never good enough for my father. Never good enough to carry the family name. And he reminded me of that every day. I guess, with Changwanie, I was trying to help him find a shield so it wouldn’t get so bad for him. So it wouldn’t end so horribly.”
“How did it end?” Somin asked.
“They died,” Junu said quietly. “Because of me.”
Somin kept quiet, knowing she didn’t have the words he needed. Maybe there were no words that could help him.
“After I was changed. It took me a few weeks to get the courage. But I had to see them again. I wanted to see if maybe . . . if maybe I could go back home.”
There was such a longing in his voice when he said the word home.
“At first they didn’t recognize me, so I told them things only I could know. I thought they’d be happy to see me. I thought they’d welcome me back with open arms. I was wrong. My mother broke down. Said I had turned into a demon. My nunas became cruel. Telling me I shouldn’t have come back. And my hyeong . . .” Junu paused a moment, his eyes looked like they were watching something far away. As if the things he was remembering were playing out before him. “He went to get my abeoji.”
“What did your abeoji do?” Somin asked gently.
“I think there was always something in him that was on the verge of snapping. I think I broke that part of him that night. He was in a rage. He said that his family had been cursed. That I was proof of that.”
Somin wasn’t sure anymore if she wanted to hear the rest of the story.
“He made them go into the back room, away from me. Maybe if he hadn’t, they would have gotten out in time.”
“What?” Somin asked, her voice shaking. “What did he do next?”
“It wasn’t him,” Junu said, his voice a hoarse choke. “It was me. I didn’t know I could do something like that.” He lifted his hands, staring at them like they were loaded weapons. “I was still so unused to this body, to controlling it. I’d forgotten the stories about what a dokkaebi could do. But even the stories didn’t tell me that our abi
lities are tied to our emotions, especially in the beginning.”
“Junu, I don’t need to know,” Somin said. She could tell that this was hurting him.
“There’s a tale about how dokkaebi are linked to fire. Because we can create it from our very flesh. A goblin fire that burns so bright it’s blue. And when the room caught on fire, I could hear them banging for my father to let them out, but he wouldn’t. He said he’d rather they all burn to death than live with the curse I’d put on the family. I tried to save them. I did,” Junu said desperately, as if he was trying to convince her. “But he’d bolted the door shut, and when I tried to unlock it, he knocked me out somehow. I woke up surrounded by ashes and bodies. He’d meant for us all to die together, but the dokkaebi fire didn’t hurt me. I wished for so long that it had killed me too.”
“You hate fire,” she whispered, remembering Junu’s words.
“Yeah, it took me a long time to control it, a long time to lock it away. I’ve never used it since that night. Until tonight.”
“Your hands. The fire,” Somin said.
“It’s the first time in centuries that I’ve lost control like that,” Junu said.
“That’s not your fault,” she said. It seemed like such an insufficient reply, but it was all she could think of. She wished she had something epic and comforting to say to him in this moment. Hyuk had told her that Junu had never told this story to anyone, but he was telling it to her. It was a responsibility she didn’t take lightly.
“I killed them. They would have lived if not for me. If I hadn’t been so selfish. I should never have gone back to see them.”
“Wanting to see your family isn’t selfish. You loved them,” Somin said, and she wanted to pull him close again. But before she could, Junu shoved his face into the pillows.
“After that, I hated what I was,” Junu said, his voice muffled. “I hated what I’d become. Because it had killed my family and it had forced me to survive without them.” Junu turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling now. “You know, I’ve never had the need for a friend until I met you all. Until I met Miyoung. There’s something about that girl that makes me want to be better. She holds herself to such a high standard that it makes me worry that I’m not good enough to match her.”
Somin nodded even though he wasn’t looking at her. “Miyoung does have some pretty high standards for herself. But she doesn’t judge her friends as harshly. Trust me, she wouldn’t have fallen for Ahn Jihoon if she did.”
Junu shook his head, but there was a hint of a smile, and it soothed Somin’s heart to see it.
“But it’s not Miyoung who made me hope,” Junu said quietly. And Somin felt her heart start to race. She was anticipating his words even as she told herself not to care.
“I told myself I kept poking at you because it was fun. But in reality, I think I was hoping that maybe . . . maybe I could prove to you that I wasn’t what you assumed. That I was somehow . . . more. I don’t know.” Junu frowned, and it still looked beautiful on his perfect lips. She wanted to trace the lines of his face with her fingertips. She wanted to memorize the shape of him.
“I know I gave you a hard time when we first met. I know that you’re more than what I originally thought,” Somin said slowly.
“But I’m still not as good as you want me to be,” Junu said.
Somin hesitated at that because she didn’t know the answer. “I know that, no matter how much I want to, I can’t stop caring about you,” she said.
Junu turned onto his side so they were face-to-face, mere centimeters from each other. He reached out, let his fingers trail along her cheek. Tingles raced over her skin, made goose bumps rise on her arms. She didn’t dare move, didn’t dare blink. His fingers trailed down her neck, tracing along some invisible pattern. She tried to remember the path, tried to hold on to each sensation.
“Is it because you’re so little?” he whispered as he brought his palm back up to cup her cheek.
It would have annoyed her, but he watched her so intently.
“I think it’s because you’re so small that I can fit you in my heart.”
“Junu-ya,” Somin said, confusion overtaking her. She didn’t know what she wanted to say, but Junu shook his head.
“I’m tired. Let’s talk more later.”
Somin let him pull her close again so her head fit under his chin. It didn’t strike her as strange anymore, how perfectly they seemed to fit into each other. She just let his warmth comfort her as she hugged him close. His heart beat steady under her ear. And lying like that, she fell asleep.
46
MIYOUNG WASN’T AFRAID to dream now. She needed answers. She needed to do something. Yena had once told her to make a choice. Even if it was a bad choice, at least she wouldn’t be sitting around waiting for solutions to come to her.
She needed to find a way to help Jihoon. To help Junu. To help herself.
“Mother,” she called into the mist. Whenever she dreamed now, the forest was covered in fog. Like a veil pulled over her vision. Was this a bad omen?
“Mother, where are you?” Miyoung called.
“I don’t know where I am. I’m lost,” Yena’s disembodied voice replied.
“I need to find you. I need my bead back. We need to close this tear between the worlds.”
“Without the bead, I can no longer watch over you. My poor, wretched child.”
“I know,” Miyoung said, her voice not as strong now. “But I can’t be selfish. I can’t hold on to you while so many others are suffering.”
“Why care about them now? I taught you better than that.”
“But you also said that you have regrets. Don’t you regret closing yourself off from people? I don’t want to have those same regrets.”
“Then why close yourself off to me?” Yena asked. “When I am the only one who loves you.”
“That’s not true,” Miyoung said, her voice shaking.
“Perhaps it’s not,” Yena mused, her voice sifting through the mist that had become so cold Miyoung shivered. “But loving you is dangerous. Loving you kills people.”
“No,” Miyoung said, shaking her head. “That’s not true. I tried to save you. I’ll save him.”
“You’ll try. But you’re not strong enough.”
“I’ve become stronger. I will become stronger, if that’s what it takes.”
“Then come and get me,” Yena said. “See if you can throw me away into hell!”
Miyoung woke with a jerk, falling off the couch with a hard thud. She groaned, rubbing her tailbone as she sat up, trying to untangle herself from the twisted blanket.
The apartment was quiet, a soft light shining from under Junu’s door. She glanced at the other room. Where Jihoon slept. Bujeoks were plastered around the frame. Ones meant to hold in evil things. To trap them temporarily. But she could already see the ink starting to fade, as if Sinhye’s power was too great.
Her mother’s words echoed in her head. She would become stronger. She would do what she had to in order to protect Jihoon.
She almost knocked on the bedroom door before she realized it probably wouldn’t do much good. She felt a spark of resistance as she turned the handle. As if the bujeoks recognized that she was still connected to her bead, as if she hadn’t completely shed her gumiho self. She opened the door slowly, just in case Jihoon was still sleeping. Hoping it was Jihoon—and just Jihoon—who was sleeping.
When she heard nothing, she almost backed out again, but Jihoon turned over on the bed, his eyes open. “Miyoung?”
His eyes blinked, blurry with sleep. His hair stuck up on one side, making him look mussed. It was one of her favorite looks on him.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Miyoung ran her fingers through his hair. “Jihoon-ah?” Her voice shook, the hesitation clear.
“Yeah, it’s me.” He smiled gently,
and she saw his dimple blink. It was like seeing an old friend again after too long apart.
“I’m so glad you’re still here,” she said, her shoulders sagging with relief.
“Really?” Jihoon asked, his smile spreading. “How glad?”
“What?” Miyoung asked. The light slanting into the room from the hallway made his features look harsh.
“How glad are you that I’m really me?” he asked, leaning forward. And she saw it, the sharp gleam in his eyes.
“Sinhye.” Miyoung stood and backed away.
“Aw, I was hoping we could play a little more.” She stuck her lip out in a pout.
Miyoung’s muscles tightened. “Why are you still here? What do you want with us?”
“I want to play,” Sinhye said, then flopped back on the bed, folding her arms behind her head. “Being stuck in that jar was so boring. Can you imagine it? Being locked away for centuries with no one and nothing to talk to.”
She sat up again and sneered. “Of course you can’t. You’re so ungrateful for your power that you willingly traded it away.”
Miyoung clenched her jaw, refusing to rise to the bait. She knew that Sinhye was just trying to hurt her.
“I bet Mommy loves watching her selfish, weak daughter give up everything, even her own mother, for a chance at a boring mortal life.”
“Shut up,” Miyoung said, shoving Sinhye so hard that she fell against the bed.
“Well, well,” Sinhye said, laughing. “I guess you’re not completely boring after all.”
“We’ll find a way to get you out of Jihoon. And when we do, your spirit can go to hell for all I care. And with no one in this world to care about you, you’ll be completely forgotten after you’re gone forever.” Miyoung started to turn to leave, when Sinhye’s hand latched on to her arm.
“You should learn not to antagonize me,” Sinhye said. “Those bujeoks can’t hold me in here forever. And in the meantime, I can still hurt this body.”
Slowly Miyoung turned so she was face-to-face with the fox spirit that wore Jihoon’s face. “You won’t.” Her heart was racing with the bluff, but she had to believe that Sinhye’s desire to stay in this world was stronger than her desire to hurt Miyoung and her friends. “You have unfinished business. Didn’t you swear that you’d get your revenge on those who trapped you? Well, the way I see it, you’re too scared to go after the sansin, and I wouldn’t blame you. Mountain gods are no joke, from what I hear. And whatever shaman helped is long dead. So you’re stuck poking at Junu. But he has something that you don’t have.”