She ran her fingers through her tangled hair. It stuck to her temple with dried sweat despite the cool winter air.
Nara stepped into Miyoung’s path, stopping her short. The young shaman wore a colorful hanbok, the bright colors a sharp contrast to the grays and browns of the bare trees around them.
“Oh, Seonbae,” Nara murmured, pity saturating her eyes as they shifted around Miyoung, taking in the spirits. “Come, the moon is rising.” She grabbed Miyoung’s arm, her fingers digging into skin.
“Your instructions weren’t very clear.”
“We needed a place with the right energy.” Nara pulled hard on Miyoung’s arm, so she had to stumble after the shorter girl.
There was a space of earth cleared out below a great oak tree that still held on to a smattering of leaves.
A long altar sat beside the thick trunk, littered with trays of fruit, chestnuts, and rice. Copper bowls held sand and incense. Candles flickered, lighting the faces of a dozen paintings, each staring at Miyoung with dark eyes.
“Light an incense.” Nara held out a long stem.
Miyoung obeyed.
Nara picked up a bronze cup and held it out.
Miyoung glanced inside, half expecting the concoction of water and ash from before. It was wine.
“It’s to help cleanse you,” Nara explained. “We need to connect to the gods, and you need to purify before we can do that.”
“Nara, I want to believe this will work, it’s just that last time . . .” She trailed off, and the shaman nodded with understanding.
“You’re not sure if you can trust me after what happened last full moon.”
“This is my life we’re messing with,” Miyoung said.
“I can’t make promises, Seonbae. And I don’t think this will work if you don’t trust me.”
Miyoung hesitated. Considered turning around and walking away. But the hunger in her gut made her whole body ache. And she remembered the mistrust in her mother’s eyes. So she took a sip, letting the bitter alcohol sit on her tongue before swallowing.
“I need this to work, Nara,” Miyoung said, handing back the cup. “I’ve let my mother down. I can’t go back until this is fixed.”
“If your mother did something to you—”
“Let’s stop talking about my mother,” Miyoung insisted. “Can you do this or not?”
Nara’s face smoothed and she straightened her shoulders. “I can do this.”
Miyoung nodded, clutching the fox bead so tightly in her pocket she thought she’d crush it. “What’re you going to do now?”
“I’m not going to do anything,” Nara said. “My halmeoni is.”
An elderly woman walked into the small clearing. She wore a traditional hanbok cinched high over her ribs, the satin skirt a wide bell. Instead of the bright colors that usually made up a hanbok, hers was pure white.
Miyoung almost backed away. This hadn’t been the deal and the stories about Shaman Kim echoed in the back of her head. They mixed with Yena’s warnings. Maybe she shouldn’t be trusting these shamans. Maybe she should just go home, find Yena, and beg her forgiveness.
“This is her?” Nara’s halmeoni asked, and her gaze seemed to trap Miyoung in place.
“This is her,” Nara replied. “Gu Miyoung.”
“Gu. Mi. Young.” Nara’s halmeoni repeated each character of Miyoung’s name like she was dissecting it. “I’m Shaman Kim.”
Miyoung gave a bow, her manners taking over because her mind was too busy debating her decision to come here. She didn’t know anything about Shaman Kim except that she had exorcised more dark spirits and creatures than anyone could count and she hated anything she deemed evil. Miyoung knew that her kind fit that category. She was like a deer trusting a hunter to pull an arrow from her side.
Shaman Kim turned to her granddaughter. “Where is it?”
Nara looked at Miyoung expectantly.
She couldn’t pull her hand out of her pocket where it clutched her bead.
“If you don’t want my help, then I’m wasting my time.”
“I just . . . I need reassurances,” Miyoung stuttered out, her voice weak.
“There are no guarantees when it comes to this kind of practice. But I can get rid of your ghosts,” Shaman Kim said. “I assume you’d like that.”
Miyoung nodded.
“And if you’d like me to reunite you with your yeowu guseul, we’d need that, too.”
Miyoung nodded again. Then with a deep breath she held out her bead and dropped it in Shaman Kim’s waiting hand.
She shivered. Suddenly ice cold.
Miyoung glanced at Nara, seeking some sort of comfort, but she watched Miyoung coldly, as if she were a stranger. Was it because of Shaman Kim’s presence? Did Nara so