other way, even when her mother begged. The only time she’d ever refused her mother. Miyoung’s body began to weaken within a week and didn’t recover until she fed at the next full moon. That’s why her mother had her rules, one of which was Never miss a hunt.
But Nara was a gifted young shaman, able to contact spirits across the country. And no matter where Miyoung moved, Nara had found victims for Miyoung each full moon without fail. A useful ally to have.
“Seonbae?”
“What?” Miyoung asked, perhaps too gruffly.
“Be careful tonight. Many households banished evil spirits this month during Sangdalgosa. They might be wandering.”
Annoyed, Miyoung stood so she could start to pace again. “I’m not scared of a few spirits.”
Miyoung glanced down at the sound of a door squeaking open. She made out laughter and music from inside before the door swung closed, some kind of underground club. A man emerged. He was short and thick, his balding head pale white under the bright moon. She recognized the tattoo peeking through the wide collar of his shirt, an oversized spider he probably thought made him look tough but just accented his aging body in all the wrong ways.
“Got him. I’ll call you back.” Miyoung hung up as she stepped off the roof. She landed lightly on the ground, creating a cloud of dust and stink.
The man stumbled drunkenly and Miyoung kept pace with him. As she moved out of the shadows, muscles flexing as she prepared for the kill, he dropped a soju bottle he’d been carrying. Cursing, he sneered down at the shattered glass. Miyoung hid herself from sight. It was a knee-jerk reaction, but unnecessary. It didn’t matter if he saw her. He would tell no one of what happened tonight except other spirits.
She was so caught up in her musings that she didn’t notice when he started walking again, down the narrow streets, leading to where civilization gathered. She cursed herself for waiting. Another of her mother’s rules: Find somewhere private for the kill.
The salty smell of boiling jjigae and the charred scent of frying meat surrounded her in smoke and steam. Bare bulbs hung from the corners of food stands. Their harsh light distracted the eye from the run-down, cracked plaster of the buildings beyond.
She’d just moved here and she’d already decided she didn’t like it. She’d lived in Seoul before, among the soaring skyscrapers of Gangnam, or in the shadow of the old palace in Samcheongdong. But this new neighborhood was neither brand-new nor significantly historical. It just was. The air was filled with the scents of spicy tteok-bokki and savory pastries. Her mouth watered despite her disdain for the greasy food.
The man paused to stare at dehydrated ojingeo. The legs of the dried cephalopods twisted, brittle enough to snap off at the slightest touch, hard and fragile at the same time. It was a dichotomy Miyoung often pondered. If someone cut out her heart, it would probably be a twisted chunk of brittle meat like the ojingeo.
The man broke off one of the eight legs and stuck it in his mouth.
“Ya!” shouted the ajumma manning the food stand. “Are you going to pay for that?”
Miyoung sensed a fight brewing and didn’t have the patience to wait for it to resolve itself. So she broke her mother’s final rule: Don’t let anyone notice you when you’re on a hunt.
“Ajeossi!” She slid her arm through the man’s. “There you are!”
“Do you know him?” The ajumma looked Miyoung up and down.
“Of course, sorry about that.” Miyoung put down a crisp orange bill. “I don’t need change.”
“Whozit?” The man squinted at her through bleary eyes as she led him away.
Miyoung grimaced at the heavy stink of soju on his breath.
“It’s been so long. You were childhood friends with my father.” She turned them onto a less populated road. Trees loomed at the end of the street, a perfect cover.
“Who’s your father?” His eyes rolled up, as if searching his brain for the memory.
Miyoung almost said, Good question. She’d never met the man. So she built him out of her imagination as she started up a dirt hiking path. Trees rose around them, sparse at first, then thickening as she led him deeper into the forest, winding away from the road.
“You went to middle school together. I met you a few years ago. You came to our house. My mom made japchae.” Miyoung used any random detail that popped into her head. She wound through the trees toward the