Miyoung winced as he threw her own words in her face. “I don’t care about immortality. I care about you.”
A month ago, even a week ago, he would have held on to these words like precious sunlight. But he didn’t deserve it, not after he’d failed his halmeoni so completely.
“I shouldn’t be the reason for anyone’s happiness.”
“That’s not true.”
“My halmeoni died before I could prove to her I was worth it. All the things she sacrificed for me, and she died thinking I was a failure. A last-place nobody.”
“Jihoon-ah, your halmeoni never believed that.”
He let go of her hand and rolled away from her. “Just leave me alone. It’s what you’re best at.”
He shut his eyes until he heard the door close as she left.
68
JIHOON DIDN’T KNOW when he fell asleep. But in sleep he dreamed, a fitful toss of images.
“Jihoon-ah.” She was just as he remembered, fair skin, dark eyes, hair as white as the moon.
“Halmeoni. Are you real?”
Halmeoni smiled, the kind that creased the skin at her eyes and made them sparkle. “Whether I’m a spirit come to visit or a figment of your dreams, say what you need to say to me, Grandson.”
“I’m sorry.” Tears ran hot and thick down his cheeks. “In my next life, I hope I’m reborn as your grandson. Then I can treasure you, and honor you the way you deserve.”
“Oh, Jihoon-ah, you can still do that in this life. I hope you can live this life filled with joy. I think that will be a great way to honor me.”
“How can I, after what I’ve done to you?”
“I made my own choices. You don’t want to die, Grandson. There’s still so much I hope for you to have in this life.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, the last of his tears streaming down his cheeks.
When he opened them again, she was gone and he was outside. He blinked up at the sky. He lay in the forest under so many stars that they outnumbered the dark.
“It seems you didn’t need me to get into trouble.”
Jihoon glanced at Yena beside him, sitting cross-legged in the tall grass. She watched the heavens instead of him. Why would his mind do this to him? Take his halmeoni away and replace her with this woman? “You might love your daughter, but I can never forgive you for what you’ve done.”
“I never asked for your forgiveness. But if you love my daughter, then let her live.” There was a pleading on Yena’s face, lending a softness to her angles he’d never noticed before.
“I don’t want her to die.”
“But you want to live, too.” Yena’s voice became hard.
As she said it, he knew it was true. New tears sprung to his eyes. It swirled the light of the stars until they mixed into a potion of stardust that blinded him. He couldn’t look his impending death in the eye and accept it. He wanted to live so desperately it hurt.
“At least when humans die there is an afterlife,” Yena said. “Gumiho cannot be promised such things.”
Jihoon was silent, unable to answer.
“Miyoung tethers me to my humanity,” Yena said softly, her eyes shining. Jihoon blinked. Sitting like this, Yena almost seemed human. “I had a human family once. They betrayed me, tried to kill me. Called me a monster and then made me into one. I thought that I didn’t deserve a family until I had Miyoung.”
“Is that why you’re fighting so hard for her?” Jihoon asked. “Because you’re afraid of becoming a monster?”
“I don’t fear my own fate. I was betrayed because I thought with my heart instead of my instincts. I won’t let the same thing happen to my daughter.”
Yena stood, her eyes black as onyx.
“That’s why you must die.”
And Jihoon realized this wasn’t a dream.
69
MIYOUNG FROWNED AS an automated message told her the voice mail was full. She’d been calling Nara all day, and the shaman hadn’t answered.
She shoved her phone into her pocket and glanced out the windows that lined the walkway back to the patient rooms. The sky was cloudy, but she saw, beyond the haze, the full moon.
She clutched the two banana milks tighter so her fingers made small indents in the plastic. Nara would call back. She knew how important this was. Miyoung didn’t want to dwell on the trust she was placing in the shaman again.
It’s too late, there’s no other choice, she told herself.
She stopped abruptly. Pain sliced through her, cold and sharp.