“I can’t.” Miyoung silently prayed her mother would let it go, just this once.
“I’ll give you another chance to tell me the truth. Or so help me . . .” Yena didn’t need to finish. The disappointment on her face was more powerful than a thousand threats.
“It’s my bead, something’s wrong—”
“I told you those don’t exist,” Yena said. “I don’t appreciate you lying to me.”
Frustration flooded Miyoung’s brain. She knew they existed and she couldn’t believe her mother, who’d lived for so long, wouldn’t also know it. Why would Yena want to keep this from her? “I’m not lying. If you’d just listen—”
The crack of Yena’s palm across Miyoung’s cheek echoed through the room.
“What have I done to deserve your disrespect?”
“Nothing.” Miyoung’s words were muffled by the hand she held over her cheek.
Yena lifted her hand, as if to lay it on Miyoung’s shoulder, but let it drop instead. “Miyoung-ah, I am hard on you because there is a part of you that is weak. It’s my fault, because I was weak once, too.”
Miyoung knew her mother was referring to her father. To Yena, the only thing weaker than humans was gumiho who loved them.
“I don’t want to lose you.” It was the closest Yena had ever come to telling Miyoung she loved her. “That’s why I have my rules. I don’t take your safety lightly.”
“I’ll be better, Mother,” Miyoung promised.
“I hope you can be.” Yena ripped the envelope, shredding it into confetti that fell from her hands.
Something was going on with her mother. Yena knew more about gumiho lore than Miyoung and Nara combined. She had to know fox beads were real. So why would she keep it a secret? What danger had Miyoung gotten herself into that was so bad even her mother refused to acknowledge it?
She’d find out, Miyoung thought as she watched the pieces of envelope and talisman flutter to the ground. She’d fix her mistakes, clean up her mess, and find a way to make sure her mother could trust her enough to tell her the truth.
16
JIHOON PARKED THE newly fixed scooter in front of the convenience store. The chill of the late-fall night made his cheeks red, and he wanted something hot to drink.
To say his halmeoni was upset would be an understatement. But she’d needed to run the restaurant, so it had fallen to Jihoon to retrieve the scooter from the mechanic. The errand gave him a short reprieve from her wrath.
Jihoon lingered at the case that warmed individual cans of coffee, his thoughts on things other than the toasty drinks inside. Turning toward the cold drinks, he caught a glimpse of movement outside.
Like a vision called forth by force of will, Miyoung sat at one of the plastic tables. Her head hung low so her hair covered her face.
Jihoon walked out and settled into the chair across from Miyoung.
“What are you doing here?” she asked without looking up.
“Just considering a nap, figured this would be a good place. You seem to have the same idea.”
“You’re hilarious.” Miyoung’s tone clearly expressed she thought otherwise.
“I like to think so.” Jihoon leaned back. He noticed a manila envelope under her folded hands. “What’s that?”
“Nothing,” she muttered, pulling it to her chest before shoving it into an inner pocket of her jacket.
“Just so you know, I didn’t say anything,” Jihoon said. When she didn’t reply, he clarified. “To the police. In case you were worried.”
“You shouldn’t have covered for me.” She sounded more morose than mad. She looked deflated, like a sailboat on a still lake with no air to carry it. Not the Miyoung he was used to.
“It’s what friends do.”
“Why do you insist on this? I never asked you to be my friend.”
“It’s not something you ask for. It’s just something that is.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“But you shouldn’t always have to.”
Miyoung finally looked up, her eyes rimmed in red. She’d been crying.
“What happened?” Jihoon had never seen her distressed, let alone brought to tears.
“Nothing.” Miyoung swiped at her dry eyes as she flushed.
“You don’t have to tell me anything.” Jihoon kept his expression neutral. “I’ll just take you home on my scooter. It’s getting late.”
Miyoung let her head fall onto the table. Jihoon winced at the hard thud of her skull against the plastic.
“I can’t go home right now. She’ll know what I did.” Her hands clutched at her blazer. Jihoon heard the crinkle of the envelope inside.
She was making no sense, but she rarely did. Jihoon had learned not to