Vicious Spirits Read online

  The boy climbed down, ate his fill of the feast, then retrieved the bangmangi from where the dokkaebi had dropped it.

  The next morning, the boy made it home. His parents had been quite worried, afraid he was eaten by a tiger, but the boy told them his story and demonstrated the magic of the staff. They were elated; now they would never have to worry about how to feed their family.

  But news traveled of the boy’s adventure and his new treasure. The son of a rich merchant, who had never worked a day in his life, decided he wanted his own bangmangi, though his family had never been hungry or wanted for anything. He persuaded the poor boy to tell him the details of his adventure. Then he ran off into the forest. First, he found a walnut tree and ate his fill and stuffed his pockets with walnuts. Next, he ran to the shack, climbed into the rafters, and waited for midnight.

  The dokkaebi arrived like clockwork and summoned their feast. The rich boy, seeing his prize, did not let the dokkaebi even begin to eat before he cracked a walnut in his teeth. But this time, the dokkaebi were not fooled. They looked straight up and saw the rich boy.

  “You again!” they shouted, and pulled the rich boy from the rafters. They punished the boy by making his tongue grow a hundred meters long. And when he tried to stumble home, he fell in the river. He would have drowned except the poor boy heard his screams and rescued him. From that day forward, the poor boy was no longer hungry and the rich boy never did anything selfish again.

  3

  SOMIN HATED SUMMER. And in this first week of August, it was at its worst—sticky and humid and the air felt too thick. Plus, her shoulder-length hair, fried from too many at-home dye jobs, was not in the best shape, and the humidity of summer made it frizz in unflattering ways.

  Sometimes she dreamed of leaving Seoul, just packing a duffel and leaving. And those fantasies tripled when the summer got truly unbearable like it was now. But Somin knew she could never really leave. She had too many responsibilities here.

  One of those responsibilities lay in the small apartment above the dark, empty restaurant. Jihoon’s halmeoni’s little restaurant used to be a bustling place, a hub in the neighborhood. But it had been closed for months now. The landlord had used Halmeoni’s illness as an excuse to change the terms of their lease. And as soon as it was clear he couldn’t pay the rent, Jihoon had received an eviction notice. Even thinking about it made Somin’s blood boil. The second-floor apartment door was unlocked. The space inside felt like it should be musty, like she was opening a time capsule. But she knew better. Jihoon and Miyoung had been living in the apartment for the past few months. A strange fast-forward in their relationship that would have worried Somin. Except now she knew that worrying about dating teens living together was nothing compared to knowing the real horrors that lurked in the shadows of the world. Things that could rip out your liver or your throat without a second thought.

  Somin liked to think she was pretty tough. She didn’t scare easily. She would never run from a fight, especially if it meant defending someone she loved. Still, knowing that the monsters in her childhood storybooks were real was a cold shock to the ever-practical Lee Somin. Now she had to readjust her whole way of looking at the world. And for a girl who always liked to be right, it was a hard thing to accept.

  As Somin let the door close behind her, she wasn’t sure what she expected, but Gu Miyoung in an apron, dusting the shelves, was not it.

  “Did I step into an alternate universe?” Somin asked.

  Miyoung glanced up. She was beautiful. With ebony hair that swung halfway down her back, long legs, thick lashes, full lips. But when she looked close enough, Somin saw the worry in the pursed set of Miyoung’s mouth.

  “I know how to clean an apartment,” Miyoung said. “I’m not a total slob.”

  “Oh, I never thought that,” Somin said. “I just figured dusting was beneath a gumiho.”

  “Well, I’m not really a gumiho anymore,” Miyoung muttered.

  The only thing weirder than realizing that her new friend had been a gumiho was learning how she’d become a not-gumiho. Betrayal, lost fox beads, a long-lost father, and an overprotective mother.

  Somin had grown up hearing stories about gumiho—nine-tailed foxes with the ability to live forever as long as they devoured the energy of men. And in the span of one night, she’d had to accept that they existed and that there was one who wanted to kill her best friend, Jihoon. Miyoung’s mother, Gu Yena, to be exact. A gumiho who had lived for hundreds of years and had been willing to do anything, even kill—even die—to protect Miyoung.

  It had been a few months since she found out Miyoung’s secret, and sometimes Somin still forgot that Miyoung wasn’t just human.

  Jihoon walked out of his bedroom, a tall boy with a lanky frame and hair that always looked mussed, probably because, more often than not, he’d just woken up from a nap. He spotted Somin and gave her a sad smile. It looked wrong on his handsome face. His face was better suited for wicked grins that made his dimples wink. But Somin supposed he had nothing to really smile about today.

  “Jihoon-ah, are you putting your girlfriend to work while you sleep away the day?” Somin said, but there was no bite to the words.

  His smile deepened a bit, so there was a hint of dimples. Like a ghostly trace of the affable boy Somin had grown up with.

  “She volunteered for cleaning duty. Don’t offer to do the boring work if you don’t want me to accept.” He shrugged. Jihoon was never one to make excuses, but his blunt honesty was part of his charm, usually.

  “I’d rather dust than try to clean out the black hole you call a bedroom,” Miyoung said.

  “You make fun of it, but when the government pays me billions to study the natural phenomenon of a black hole right here in Seoul, you’ll be sorry,” Jihoon quipped.

  Somin rolled her eyes, but secretly she was relieved her best friend was still able to make jokes on a day like today. “What job should I do?” She glanced at the empty boxes scattered throughout the room. Not even a dish towel packed away yet. Perhaps because these weren’t just things. This was everything that Jihoon had left of his halmeoni—the woman who had raised him. And now she was gone. Somin understood why the boxes were still empty: because packing away these things was like packing away memories.

  She started to reach for a box at the same time Miyoung did. When their hands brushed, she felt a spark, like static shock. It happened often when she came in contact with the former gumiho, as if Miyoung’s latent fox abilities still hungered for energy.

  “Sorry,” Miyoung muttered.

  “No worries,” Somin assured her. “As long as you don’t suck out all my gi, we can stay friends.”

  Miyoung pursed her lips at that. She still wasn’t quite able to joke about her old gumiho life. Somin couldn’t really blame her. After all, she figured it had to be traumatizing to survive by taking the lives of others.

  “Knock, knock.” Somin’s mother opened the front door. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was horrible. I was going to take the subway, but I just didn’t want to deal with so many sweaty people. I hate public transportation during the summer. But then I guess everyone else had the same idea to drive, and it took way too long to get here.”

  Somin almost laughed. Usually, it was a toss-up who was taking care of whom between the two. Her mother was all spark and energy and light. But she was also so scattered she’d forget her own brain if it wasn’t shut securely in her head. Even though Somin was just a nineteen-year-old high school senior, she was definitely the more responsible out of the two.

  There was no one in this world Somin loved as much as her mother, except maybe Jihoon. They weren’t quite a traditional family, but Somin considered them a unit.

  “It’s all right, Ms. Moon, we haven’t even gotten started,” Jihoon said.

  “Some of us have,” Miyoung muttered.

  “Well, what should we tackle
first?” Somin’s mother clapped her hands together and looked expectantly at her daughter.

  Now Somin did laugh. It always fell on her to take charge. “Jihoon, why don’t you take care of your black-hole room. Miyoung, can you do the bathroom? Mom, can you do . . .” She hesitated, then said, “The back room?” because she couldn’t quite bring herself to say “Halmeoni’s room.”

  Her mom gave her a knowing smile. “Of course.” She picked up a box and headed to the back.

  Jihoon stared after Somin’s mother as she opened the door to Halmeoni’s room. He still didn’t move as the door closed behind her.

  “Jihoon-ah,” Somin said.

  “Clean my black hole of a room, got it,” he said, his voice way too bright.

  “Is he doing all right?” Somin asked Miyoung when Jihoon was gone.

  “He’s surviving,” Miyoung said as she picked up a box and hauled it into the small bathroom.

  Somin sighed. That wasn’t what she had asked. But she knew that Miyoung had lived the first eighteen years of her life shutting the rest of the world out. For Miyoung, surviving was the main goal of life.

  The living space of the apartment was small and cozy. The well-used couch slouching in the middle from decades of use. Yellow bujeoks fluttered against the door frame—talismans taped around the entryway to ward off bad energy.

  Somin started on the kitchen, putting pots and pans into boxes. She wondered if they should save the mugs and dishes. Maybe Jihoon would want some later? Or was she overthinking this?

  She wiped her arm against her sweaty forehead and turned to rummage through the fridge for a drink. It was empty. Honestly, Somin had no idea how those two had survived together in this apartment the last four months.

  The front door opened and let in the noise of the outside.

  That must be Oh Changwan, the final one of their motley crew. Late as usual. With some halfhearted plan to cheer herself up by giving Changwan hell, Somin stepped out of the kitchen. Changwan was tall and gangly. With a buzz cut that highlighted his too-big ears. He hated the cut, but his strict father insisted on it. Changwan was a sweet boy with a nervous energy that probably came from the high expectations his rich father had for his firstborn son. Somin always felt like Changwan would do much better with more carrot and less stick. But she also knew she couldn’t poke her nose into another family’s private business.

  “I know, I know. I’m late. But I brought iced Americanos.” Changwan was trying to balance a tray of iced drinks and Somin almost wept with gratitude. There was no air-conditioning in the apartment, and she was roasting. But she stopped short as she saw who stood behind Changwan.

  Where Changwan was tall and gangly, this other boy was tall and lean in an almost athletic way. Though, Somin had never seen Junu exercise once since she’d known him. He had the kind of figure that wore clothes well. His hair was silky and perfectly styled. His eyes were striking as they met hers. And Somin glared in greeting.

  “How did you get in here?” she demanded.

  “Why? You thought I only existed in your dreams?” Junu winked.

  She almost groaned. She really hated this dokkaebi.

  4

  JUNU WOULD NEVER claim the title of saint. Far from it, in fact. Even when he was human, he never pretended he held any more virtue than the average person. Still, he wasn’t a complete monster, though many would argue he was, seeing as he was a goblin. And honestly, he found it much easier to meet expectations most of the time. Which was why he was a bit perplexed with finding himself standing inside the threshold of Ahn Jihoon’s apartment. Or old apartment, he guessed, as he surveyed the packing boxes littering the floor.

  He was really regretting all his decisions that day. Junu hated physical labor. This was not how he thought he’d be spending his Sunday when he woke up this morning.

  Then there was Lee Somin, who stood, hands on hips, blocking his path. The pose was meant to threaten, but it only accentuated her short build. Junu acknowledged he was tall at 185 centimeters, but if he took a step forward, Somin’s face would be squarely planted in his chest. A funny image, now that he thought of it.

  “What the hell are you smiling at?” Somin demanded.

  If he were a lesser man, it would have frightened him. Okay, fine, it did frighten him a bit. But over his centuries of life, Junu had learned the power of a good bluff. Added to that, he wasn’t quite fully a man, per se.

  “I bet I could pick you up and put you in my pocket,” Junu said. He knew exactly what reaction he would get from that. And as if on cue, Somin’s face reddened, her cheeks puffed out all cute, and her fists clenched. Junu shifted on his feet, ready to jump away if she came at him. He’d learned the hard way that Somin was as much bite as bark.

  Still, it was worth it to see her eyes flare. They sparked like she held fire inside. It always intrigued him. This firecracker of a girl.

  “What is he doing here?” Somin asked Changwan.

  “I’m just here to help out. Looking to be assigned a job,” Junu replied before Changwan could.

  “Changwan-ah, you’re here.” Somin’s mother rushed out of Halmeoni’s room. “Let me have one of those coffees.” Her mother took a sip, closing her eyes to savor the iced Americano.

  “And, Junu,” she said, turning to the dokkaebi with a dazzling smile. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

  He gave her a congenial smile and a small flush rose in her cheeks. With a bow he said, “Good to see you again, Somin’s eomeoni.”

  “Oh, that makes me sound so old,” she said with a giggle.

  “You are old, Mother,” Somin said, taking a cup of coffee as well.

  “Yes, but we don’t have to always be talking about it,” Somin’s mother said, with a wink to Junu.

  He laughed and wondered why the daughter had not inherited the mother’s good humor.

  “Well, where can we help?” Changwan asked, placing the tray of coffees on the living room table.

  “Why don’t you pack up the living room?” Somin’s mother said. With a grunt of disgust, Somin retreated back into the kitchen. Soon Junu heard the angry clatter of dishes.

  “Wrap everything well,” Somin’s mother said before disappearing down the hall again.

  Junu looked around at the knickknack-filled space. It would take a while to make sure everything was put away with care. He wondered if he was in over his head. Maybe it had been a mistake to volunteer for this. He could just leave, but Junu always kept his word. And if he said he was here to help, he was going to help. Even if the August heat was somehow worse in here than it was outside.

  As Changwan took frames off the shelf, Junu started wrapping them in old newspapers. He wasn’t sure whether he was doing a good job or not, but he figured the more padding the better.

  “Maybe that’s too much newspaper, Hyeong?” Changwan said.

  “Really?” Junu asked, crossing his arms and studying the box that was probably 70 percent newspaper and only 30 percent actual things.

  “Yeah, you might be great at strategizing video game battles, but I think we’ve failed at packing.” Changwan frowned, and it made his too-big nose scrunch.

  “Well, being good at packing is only a required life skill if your job is a mover,” Junu said. “And I doubt any romantic pursuits will care if you can wrap frames in the right amount of newspaper. Make a note of that, Changwan-ah.”

  Just as he said it, Somin stomped out of the kitchen. “Don’t take dating advice from him, unless you want to get slapped.”

  Junu held a hand over his heart. “Lee Somin, that hurts. I get slapped only like fifteen percent of the time. I swear.”

  Changwan laughed and earned a glare from Somin.

  She looked down at their half-packed box. “You two are horrible at this.”

  “Are you out here to check up on us?” Junu asked.

/>   “No, I needed more tape.” She picked up the roll of packing tape as if that were proof enough. “But I’m glad I came out here. If you keep going at this rate, you’ll use ten boxes for one bookshelf. Maybe you should wash the dishes instead.”

  “I don’t really like doing dishes, they make my hands all pruney . . .” Changwan trailed off as Somin sent him a pointed look. “But then again, that’s what they make dishwashing gloves for.” He scurried into the kitchen like a frightened rabbit.

  Somin had started unwrapping the frames and laying them on the table when Junu knelt beside her. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Dishes is a one-man job. I figured you just wanted an excuse to be alone with me,” Junu said, wiggling his brows.

  “Fine, it’s probably better than letting you fill Changwan’s brain with your ridiculous advice. Why are you so obsessed with the idea of turning him into a clone of you, anyway?”

  “Is that so bad?” He held up a hand before she could answer. “Never mind, I know already. To you, that would be a fate worse than death.”

  She carefully folded the paper around the delicate frames before stacking them in the box. “Well, I wasn’t going to be quite so extreme, but yes. Let Changwan be his own person. He’s nothing like you.”

  At that Junu almost laughed, but he knew Somin wouldn’t get the humor in what she said. And Junu wasn’t about to give up any secrets from his past. If you asked Junu, the past was behind them for a reason.

  Instead, he shrugged. “I just want to give him some more confidence. He’s a smart boy; he can be anything he wants if he puts his mind to it.”

  “You don’t know anything about Changwan.” Somin’s voice became harsh. The voice she got when she was being protective of her friends. Junu didn’t know why it bothered him, except that the person she was protecting them from was so often Junu.

  “Changwan and I are friends.” It came out a bit more defensive than Junu had intended.

  Somin let out a snort. “You’re too selfish to have any friends.”