a fight and you were hurt. Detective Hae had said that to her and she’d thought he meant something petty, a dispute between spouses. Not attempted murder.
Her world became awash in fog as she remembered her dream. The running water, the flooding bathroom. And she finally saw what was inside. An infant with skin so pale it was blue. The reason she was afraid of water. Because it had already tried to kill her once.
Her head hurt from the memory. There was a shuffle of movement behind her, and she whipped around. Detective Hae stood there, his face shrouded in shade.
“I wish you hadn’t heard that.”
Pain cracked through her skull and she fell into dark.
74
JIHOON COULDN’T GRASP Yena’s story. It didn’t make any sense. Detective Hae had tried to kill Miyoung? But he loved her. He spoke of his daughter and wife with longing and regret.
It wasn’t true. Yena was a liar; she would do anything to get what she wanted.
“So are you saying that Detective Hae is behind all of this? He’s the reason you’re going to kill me?” Jihoon needed to keep her talking; maybe if he bought himself time, Miyoung would find him.
“I’m not here to kill you, but to deliver you.”
“What?” Jihoon took a step back, looking for a good escape. He knew it would be useless to run; Yena would overtake him in seconds. But he had to try.
He’d backed up a full three meters before he realized she was not following. In fact, she’d stood in the same spot the whole time he’d been there.
“Why aren’t you attacking?”
She scowled.
“You said he has your bead,” Jihoon said slowly. “So that means he has control over you.”
“Such a smart boy,” Yena said. “Yes, he was the one who commanded me to bring you here. And he instructed me not to hurt you.”
Jihoon started to flee. Then blinked in confusion at the sight of Detective Hae walking toward him with Miyoung in his arms like a limp doll.
Yena let out a low growl behind him.
“She’s not hurt.” Detective Hae laid Miyoung in the middle of the clearing, between Yena and Jihoon. He ran a gentle hand over her pale forehead, pushing back her hair.
“What’s going on here, Ajeossi?” Jihoon asked. “What happened to her?”
“Many things. But I’m about to fix it all.”
“You’re insane,” Yena said, hatred lacing her voice.
“I’m righting a wrong. One that was my fault. So it falls on me to fix it.”
A white figure emerged from the forest behind the detective like a ghost bleeding out of the trees. As she drew closer, Jihoon recognized Shaman Kim, her steps kicking at the hem of her hanbok so it swayed around her.
“Yena, I can honestly say it’s a pleasure to see you again.” A wide grin stretched Shaman Kim’s paper-thin cheeks.
“Your search for revenge is tiring, Kim Hyunsook,” Yena said.
“And your lies have finally caught up to you.”
Shaman Kim pulled a bujeok from her sleeve. Jihoon jerked back.
“Stand still or it’ll hurt more,” Shaman Kim warned.
“What are you doing?” Jihoon asked.
“I’m saving you.” The old shaman’s maniacal grin was that of someone about to taste victory.
Jihoon stayed in place, fear holding him still. This shaman with her bujeoks and her vendetta scared him more than Yena with blood on her teeth. Because, he realized, Junu had been right. Yena was driven by her love of Miyoung. Shaman Kim was driven by hate.
As the old shaman placed the talisman over Jihoon’s chest, he glanced at Detective Hae. “Did you use me this whole time?”
“Of course not.” Detective Hae frowned as if genuinely upset by the question. “I was saving your soul from the damnation that comes from association with demons. I know what it’s like to fall under their spell, Jihoon-ah. Trust me when I say this is for the best.”
Shaman Kim began her dance before Jihoon could ask more. She sang a low, guttural chant. Her body swayed. She held up a white paper and set it aflame. Jihoon remembered his halmeoni talking about this part of the kut, the dances shamans use to commune with the spirits and their powers. White was for the purity needed to connect to the gods.
Ice clutched him. It started at his toes, freezing them so he couldn’t feel his feet. Then rose up his legs, turning his veins to shoots of ice.
He gritted his teeth against the pain, so cold it burned. His fingers and limbs bent in wretched agony. He dropped to his knees and the ground