However, as he ran away, he tripped over a stone. Instead of looking to the sky, he looked to the earth.
It came about that he did not understand the workings of heaven, but only knew the things of the earth.
And all mortals who came after him would only know of earth as well.
8
IF THE ROAD to Nara’s shop was an alley, this one was a gutter, only wide enough to move single file. The close proximity of the buildings squeezed out the sun’s rays, so the alley sat in constant shadows.
Nara stopped at a wide door made of rusted metal and knocked.
There was no answer for so long, Miyoung assumed no one was home. Then it opened a crack and an eye peeked out at them.
“Can I help you?” The voice was male and suspicious, but also smooth and cultured. Not that of someone Miyoung would expect to live in such a run-down area.
“We need to see Junu,” Nara stuttered.
“He’s busy, come back later.”
Miyoung stopped the door from slamming in their faces. She met with surprisingly strong resistance before she pushed the door open and revealed the boy in all his glory.
Miyoung had thought him a man before but now saw he was barely older than her, perhaps nineteen or twenty. He stood in a silk pajama set. His hair was mussed like he’d just crawled out of bed. Miyoung raised a brow. It was already dusk. She studied the rest of him. He was gorgeous, straight nose, warm brown irises, high cheekbones, and tall enough that Miyoung had to tilt her head back to look him in the eyes. Yet, despite his beauty, she felt an aversion to him, like they were two magnets of the same pole, pushing away from each other.
“I don’t like seeing people this early in the day—”
“It’s dinnertime,” Miyoung interrupted.
“Your point?” The boy sighed and shuffled away before she answered.
Miyoung glanced toward Nara, who shrugged, and they followed through the open door.
It felt like stepping through a portal to another world. Mi-young had expected a shabby room with stained concrete walls and dirt-covered floors like outside. Instead, they stood in a gleaming entryway. The walls were a shining white, made out of a material as smooth as glass. Marble floors were warm beneath their feet as they removed their shoes. Pristine-white guest slippers were lined up neatly, and Miyoung slipped into a pair.
They walked toward the sound of clanging into a kitchen made of granite and steel. The boy held a bag of coffee beans, glaring at a cappuccino machine so new she doubted it had ever been used.
“We need to see Junu. Do you know when he’ll be back?” Nara asked, taking the beans from the boy and pouring them into the grinder attached to the machine. It was just like the shaman to step in to help. Her biggest flaw, in Miyoung’s mind.
The boy scowled but deigned to hold out his cup to let Nara make him his espresso.
“What do you want from him?” He leaned against the counter in a pose that seemed styled for the pages of a magazine, Rumpled Pajamas Weekly.
“We need to purchase something from him. A talisman,” Nara explained as she twisted a knob. With a hiss, steaming espresso began pouring out.
“Why would a shaman need to buy a talisman when you could make it yourself?” the boy asked.
“You know I’m a shaman?” Nara stuttered.
“Girlie, you practically reek of ghosts.” He gestured up and down at her. “I say that with all the affection a guy can muster before his morning caffeine.”
Miyoung started to point out the time again, but gave up. “Can you tell us where Junu is or not?” she asked, her annoyance starting to get the better of her.
The boy accepted the espresso from Nara with a nod of thanks before downing it in one gulp.
“Well, now that he’s had his espresso, he’s right here.” The boy set the cup down and gave Miyoung a wink. She decided she didn’t trust this cocky boy.
“You’re Junu?” Nara looked incredulous as she gave the boy a once-over.
“Surprised?” He smiled warmly, unperturbed by Nara’s shock.
“I just didn’t think you’d look like this,” Nara said.
Miyoung had never known the shaman to be so blatantly rude, especially to someone senior.
The boy chuckled and flicked an affectionate finger under Nara’s chin. “You thought I’d be hairier? Maybe red-faced? Hunched over and smelly?”
“You’re a dokkaebi,” Miyoung said in an accusatory tone.