Silvern (The Gilded Series) (22 page)

“And remember my earlier warning,
do not touch it
. I know it helped you fight Kud, but we do not completely understand its power.”

I lower the phone and slip it back into my jacket pocket. We’re seated quickly, thanks to Dad’s reservation. The white tablecloth is tight and crisp, and the square rice paper lantern on the table creates a calm atmosphere. Scanning the room for exits, I take in the jagged chrome beams set sporadically around the room and the sleek slate flooring. When I focus back on Dad, I realize he’s scrutinizing me intensely. I must look like a disheveled wreck. When was the last time I showered or ate a proper meal?

“It’s good to see you back in South Korea,” Dad says. “I don’t function well with sleep deprivation.”

I pull out my gift for Dad from my minibackpack. “As promised.”

Dad smiles and unwraps my package. “Ah!” He pulls out the ginseng. “My favorite. And stamps for my collection. Your
umma
would have loved these. Did you know we started our collection on our honeymoon?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“We went to Kauai, Hawaii.” Dad stares at the stamps, but I get the impression his mind is far from here.

I can’t remember the last time Dad talked about Mom like this. I’ve been waiting for the moment where we can talk about her without one of us being angry or hurt, but now that it’s here, my words are all jumbled in my throat.

Just as I’m letting myself relax, the
dokkaebi
clomps up to our table. I’m surprised the entire restaurant doesn’t hear his stomping or cringe at his reeking smell. I focus on ignoring it because I’ve no idea what to do or what this
dokkaebi
is capable of doing.

“No, no, no, pretty girl. I’s not likes this. You must give it to meeee. Now!”

The
dokkaebi
smashes his club onto the table. The porcelain plates fly, airborne. My teacup topples to the ground, shattering. Both Dad and I leap out of our chairs.

“What was that?” Dad asks, wide-eyed. “Did you do that?”

“No,” I say, but then, not wanting to explain the
dokkaebi
or give his obnoxiousness any credit, I say, “Yes, actually, it was me. Master Kim says we need to practice a new move where if done correctly, even a teacup wouldn’t move.” I flash Dad a shaky grin.

“Teacup wouldn’t move, teacup wouldn’t move,” the
dokkaebi
mimics. Slobber drips from his mouth and puddles on the tablecloth.

Everyone in the restaurant is staring at us. Dad loosens his tie and tilts his head to crack his neck back into place.

“What’s going on, Jae?” Dad tosses his napkin on the table. “You can’t do this in public.”

I take a deep breath as two servers rush over and reset the table back to perfection, even replacing the silverware.

I apologize profusely while Dad slips them extra
won
to cover the damage.

Then my nightmare grows. More creatures appear, crawling out of the woodwork, literally, sliding in under the doorways and trailing through windows. I rub my palm over my eyes, wondering if I’m completely losing it. Dad’s giving me a rundown of his workday, and the noise in the room is deafening. I want to clamp my hands over my ears and drown it all out. But I refuse. I won’t let them intimidate me.

The food arrives, but there’s no way I can eat my pasta. I slap my napkin down in frustration and plaster on a smile for Dad.

“I’ll be right back,” I say. “Restroom.”

I waltz to the back of the restaurant. I can feel hundreds of eyes trained on my back. At the bathroom door, I snap my fingers, and the creatures follow me. A light classical music is playing in the bathroom. Scented candles are lit along the sink counter, and hand towels are set out in perfect white stacks.

I’m starting to love the irony of my life. Perfection mixed with insanity.

The creatures crash through the door, clambering over each other. Snarling. Growling. I’ve no idea what half of these creatures are, but I know that I have a few brief seconds before they attack me, ripping my body into pieces. I may have conquered Kud’s assassin, but I’m hardly a match for the dozens that surround me.

I know I shouldn’t be messing around with the orb, but desperate times call for desperate actions. I slip it out of the pouch. It’s hot to the touch. The glow is such a bright contrast to the dim lighting that even I’m nearly blinded.

The creatures leap through the air, diving for the orb. I whirl into a wheelhouse-kick, scattering creatures into heaps onto the floor. Still, there are nearly fifty of them. How long can I last?

Heat seeps from the orb into my palm. My heart quickens, stronger, as if I could run a marathon. My vision sharpens. I can make out each individual creature’s breath, each nostril bulging, even the individual hairs on their skin.

“Stop!” I command, holding my arm out as if to hold them back. “Don’t come any closer.”

The creatures shrivel back, mouths gaping wide. Slowly, they creep into the corners, cowering.

I glance at myself in the mirror and almost drop the stone in shock. A silvery glow washes over me until my leggings, boots, and shirt are practically sparkling. My hair whips around me in some unseen wind. I look so beautiful, I hardly recognize myself. It’s as if the orb has taken every part of me and made it complete and perfect.

I no longer feel insignificant and small, but strong and fierce. My black hair is radiant, my skin glows. Energy rages through me as if I’ve gulped down a million cappuccinos.

Below me, the creatures tremble at my feet, and it becomes clear. I can do anything. Be anything. I could kill them all with one swoop of my arm. But something stops me. A part of me that knows that wouldn’t be right.
The balance can’t be upset.
I frown at this thought. Did I think that, or is it the orb speaking to me?

“Leave,” I say, pleased at how my voice sounds like music. “Do not seek me again, or there will be consequences.”

They squeal and skitter away, ants before a giant. Images run through my mind: blazing them with a shattering light, crushing their brains with a clench of my fist, renaming them so they don’t remember who or what they were.

I slip the orb back into its pouch. My hand shakes a little as I do, and a part of me wants to rip it back out and hold it longer, taking in more of its power. The other part of me is shocked I would even consider these things.

My reflection stares back at me from the mirror. A silvery glow lingers on my skin before it finally fades. Sadness tugs at me as I watch my features return to normal. I press my hands to my cheeks. Perhaps this is what Marc was talking about.

I splash water on my face and stare hard at my reflection, gripping the sides of the sink. I think about Grandfather insisting that I need to return the orb to the Heavenly Chest. But I can’t. Kud said that if I handed over the orb, Marc would be free. But that look in Kud’s eyes haunts me. He won’t let Marc free. Ever. The only thing keeping Marc alive is that I haven’t given Kud the orb yet. I have two days to find a cure or think of a way to outwit Kud, and I plan on using every second I can.

Besides, with the orb’s help, I might be able to find Komo.

As I stroll back into the restaurant, no one even looks my way. Conversations continue without a hint of what just happened a few feet away in the bathroom.

Somehow I get through the meal with Dad. I tell him about my trip, focusing only on the positives, and try not to think about the White Tiger orb dangling from my neck.

“Everything was perfect.” The lie flies out with ease. It’s sad how good I’ve become at lying to Dad because I can’t tell him anything. “The medicine will make a huge difference, I think.”

“I’m glad.” But Dad looks anything but glad. He sets his fork down and threads his fingers between each other, his elbows on the table. “You’re seeing those creatures again,” Dad says a low whisper. “But you are too scared to tell me.”

He lifts his eyebrows as if to challenge me to deny it. I press my lips together and look away.

“You know I care about you, Jae Hwa,” Dad says. “There are two ways to solve this. You start seeing a therapist and taking the medication she recommends. Or we transfer you to a special school where they can help you recover.”

“I don’t think either of those are necessary, Dad.” I want to tell him he’s being ridiculous, but that actually isn’t true. He’s taking my issues seriously. But his diagnosis is wrong.

“I’m giving you a choice, Jae,” Dad says. “It’s one or the other.”

He has no idea how much more serious my choices have become. I groan inwardly. “I’ll see a therapist,” I mutter.

“Good.” Dad swirls his pasta around his plate, staring at it. “I’m glad we got that out in the open.”

Then Dad talks about his clients and his next project, which will be held at the World Cup Stadium. I promise him I’ll attend. He promises me he won’t work so much. I wonder how many lies we can stack up in one lunch date. Will I ever be able to tell him the truth and have him believe me?

Maybe it’s better this way. Safer this way.

Every once in a while, I glance around me to see if any more creatures have shown up, but nothing does. Whatever I did worked. One thing I do know, I’m not the same girl who walked into this restaurant.

This both thrills and terrifies me.

Somehow Michelle has wrangled Marc into coming on our little excursion of insanity.

My body rocks back and forth, following the sway of the subway. The sound of the train nearly lulls me to sleep as I lean in close to Marc. “Are you sure your parents won’t flip out if they find out you’re gone?” I ask.

“Mom went to the college to do some research on my illness,” Marc explains, “and Dad is prepping for the meeting.”

I sigh. “Which I’m supposed to be attending in four hours. Grandfather is going to be ticked.”

“You should tell him we’re on our way to find a cure,” Michelle says.

“Not until I feel more confident,” I explain. “I want to come back with answers, not a list of crazy ideas.”

“This isn’t a crazy idea.” Michelle sticks out her lower lip.

“You’re right,” I say. “It’s a smart, proactive one.”

“You seem better this afternoon,” Michelle tells Marc. “Not so pale and shaky.”

“Thanks. I think.” He gives us a lopsided grin. “My mom set me up with one of her concoctions.”

“Do your parents have any idea how to stop this curse?” I ask, and then wish I hadn’t said anything at all. I keep thinking if I don’t acknowledge what has happened, it will magically disappear. I reach for Marc’s hand.

“They haven’t a clue,” Marc says, leaning against the window and closing his eyes. “They’re reading everything they can get their hands on.”

The subway screeches to a halt at Gangbyeon Station, and we hop off. Marc zips up his leather jacket as we truck up the concrete stairs. Stepping outside, it almost feels as if we’re still in Seoul even though we’re on the outskirts, since the buildings still tower above us and the streets bustle with activity. Michelle hails a taxi and we push inside, giving our driver directions.

The taxi veers onto the highway, and soon we’ve left the city behind, sailing into the mountains. After thirty minutes of driving through the winding mountain roads, we pull onto a smaller, rougher road that leads us into a thick forested area. A sign is planted on a wooden post: Herbnara Farm. Through the evergreens I spot a large creek to our left, raging full of frothy whitecaps.

“This is a popular place with tourists,” the driver says.

“Really?” I ask, gazing out the car window. “It looks pretty deserted.”

“You sure this is the right place?” Marc says.

Usually, Marc is the one who’s got his eyes peeled, but not today. His shoulders droop and his eyes are downcast. This trip might be too much for him. I take in a deep breath, wondering if bringing him will turn into disaster.

“It’s the only idea we have,” Michelle says.

I peek at the orb. It’s still glowing. I have to believe we are on the right track and the orb isn’t lying to us, because Michelle’s right. This is our only option. My stomach sinks.

The road soon spits us into a large gravel parking lot with two mountains looming up on either side of us. I step out of the car, feet crunching on gravel. The air smells of basil, rosemary, and lilac all swirling together. Gardens and greenhouses fill most of the valley. A large lodge with peaked roofs and gables is tucked against the side of the creek, with smaller cabins trailing up the mountainside.

“Isn’t this quaint?” Michelle says.

“I guess so,” I admit, eyeing the area. Everything is too perfect, too normal, too happy. I want to scream. To tell the world it should be in mourning and nothing can continue as it has because my world is falling apart.

Beside me, Marc shivers. I pull him closer to me, looping my arm with his, glancing around furtively. “Do you see anything out of the usual? Are you okay to walk? Are you too cold?”

He kisses my temple. A slight chuckle escapes his lips against my skin. “Now who’s being protective?” he says.

We amble down the cobblestone path to the largest house. It looks like something that should be tucked against the Austrian Alps with its sloped roof, ornate door, and cute flower boxes adorning each window. The door to the main house creaks as we open it. It’s a gift shop of sorts—dolls, candles, cards, jars of herbs, and jams. I frown. This is not what I expected. A quick check tells me the orb is glowing, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe it just glows all the time, and I hadn’t noticed it before. Maybe it only glows at certain times of the day.

“We came all this way for nothing,” I say as Michelle strolls up to the plump lady at the counter. “This is not the place for a mystic healer.”

“We are looking for Madame Shin,” Michelle says. “Do you know where we can find her?”

The plump lady’s eyes widen. She tucks the strands of her hair behind her ear and smooths her red jacket over crisp khaki pants. “Come,” she says after a few moments of assessing us. “She’s in her greenhouse.”

We head back outside, where the lady rattles off directions and points to the farthest greenhouse.

“This is starting to seem like a dead end,” Marc says. We pass a sign that reads “Emotion and Energy” with a picture of doll-like girl crying, and Marc nods his head at it, saying with raised eyebrows, “This is supposed to make me feel better?”

“I’m not going to let Kud kill you,” I say as we travel down the winding path. “I’ll do whatever I need to to stop it from happening.”

“That’s an even worse idea,” Marc says. “The most important thing for you to do is stay safe.”

“You two are so depressing,” Michelle says. “Let’s see what this lady has to say.”

As I step inside the greenhouse, the smells of herbs and dirt assail my senses. Roots climb the walls and trail to the ceiling, where bundles of herbs are drying. The aisles are so narrow, I’m afraid I’ll knock over one of the plants or ceramic pots. In the back, sitting on a small stool, is a woman wearing a cream-colored linen top and brown pants, the perfect working outfit. Her gray hair is pulled up in a loose bun secured with a chopstick. She hums as she trims the plant set before her. As I skirt around the plants, I can’t help but think there’s something a little off about this lady.

“Excuse me,” Michelle says in Korean. “Are you Madame Shin?”

The lady looks up, her eyebrows knitting together, and frowns when her eyes land on Marc. “What evil do you bring to this place?”

The three of us glance at each other. I inch closer to Marc.

“Great,” Marc says. “Now
I’m
the evil one.”

“We’re from Seoul and we have kind of a strange question.” Michelle looks to me for help.

“We were wondering if you knew anything about—” I pause, eyeing her carefully, wondering if she’ll think I’m crazy. “Supernatural creatures.”

“Perhaps.” She turns and digs through a bucket behind her, whipping out a necklace. Dangling on the end is a bronze circle, the middle cut out in the shape of a square, with Chinese symbols on it. Marc cries out, bending over and holding his arm as if in pain. The orb in my chest burns through the pouch.

Whatever she’s holding is causing havoc. I reach to snatch it out of her hand and fling it to the far corner, but she grabs my wrist. Her grip is surprisingly strong for someone her age.

“Put that thing away!” I demand. “You’re hurting him. We came here for your help, but obviously we were wrong to try.”

As she releases her grasp, I let go, narrowing my gaze as I watch her slide the necklace over her neck and tuck it under the folds of her shirt. Marc exhales, and the orb cools off on my chest.

“This is highly irregular,” the lady says.

“What is that?” I point to the necklace now hidden.

“Looked like an old coin bearing symbols of the five elements,” Marc says, slowly righting himself.

“Well, he’s smart like his girlfriend and evil to boot,” the lady says. “Not good. Not a good combination.”

“Listen, lady,” Michelle says. “You’ve got him pegged wrong. He’s not evil like you’re saying.”

“So you aren’t just some gardener,” I say. “That’s apparent. First, I need to know whose side you’re on.”

“Not his.” The lady jerks her head, strands of hair flinging out of her bun, toward Marc.

“I think you’re confused.” I decide to dive in and tell her the bare minimum of what happened. Her bushy eyebrows spike in interest as I explain about Kud, and she sits straighter when I tell her about the tattoo Kud put on Marc. When I nod to Marc, he pulls up his sleeve to show her the tattoo on his wrist, eying her warily. The old woman rises to her feet, clucking that tongue of hers, and shuffles closer, but not too close, to Marc.

“Kud is not one you should get mixed up with,” she says. “Terrible temper, he has. Take off your shirt, boy.”

He hesitates, and then with a roll of his eyes, pulls off his shirt. He’s lean, with ripples of muscle along his stomach and chest. Normally I’d be focused on how hot he looks, but all I can think about now is how the tattoo has traveled halfway up his arm. I shiver as I study its black twists and coils. They almost seem to move as I study them.

Tentatively, she touches his arm. I hear a sizzling sound, and she cries out, leaping back.

“Evil! Evil work,” she says, clutching her hand, then backs off, searching through her rows of plants.

“Did his tattoo just burn you?” Michelle asks.

The lady wraps a leaf around her finger. “That it did. Kud and I don’t get along. No, not at all.”

“You know Kud?” I ask, not able to stop myself from gaping.

“Indeed. The worst enemies we’ve been, for a very long time.”

“That’s great,” I say, then shake my head at my bluntness. “I mean, this proves we’re on the same side. Please. You have to help us. How can we stop the tattoo from reaching his heart?”

“Oh, you can’t, my dear girl,” the lady says. “No, no. Your boy will be dead, and Kud won’t care. He’ll be too busy searching for a fresh victim. The question is why he even bothered letting him live. He rarely worries himself with mortals. This boy doesn’t look all that significant.”

I bite back a cutting remark. “I might have something he wants.”

“Well, there you have it. The only way to stop him from being so vindictive is to give him what he wants.” The lady scrutinizes me with her beady eyes. “What is it exactly that you have that would interest an immortal?”

I lick my lips. My fingers itch to pull out the orb and show her, but what if she’s lying? What if she’s one of Kud’s creepy servants? Or perhaps she has an agenda of her own.

“Ah.” The lady shuffles closer, squinting. “She has the glow. Yes, I see it. So you aren’t completely mortal, are you?”

“Leave her out of this,” Michelle says, sliding between the two of us. “We just need you to give us a potion or a wrap or one of those concoctions of yours to help Marc.”

“Half mortal, half immortal, eh?” The lady taps two fingers against her lips. “Never have I seen the likes of this before. But I’ve heard rumors. Of course, that was hundreds of years ago.”

Michelle rolls her eyes and slams her purse onto the table. “Listen, lady. You need to take us more seriously. No more funny games.”

“Games?” The woman glares at Michelle and harrumphs under her breath.

“I think she is being serious,” I say.

“What does this half-immortal, half-mortal thing mean for Jae?” Marc comes to life, pushing off the wall. “Will she be okay? Does this mean she won’t die?”

“This isn’t about me,” I tell the woman. “This is about Marc. There must be
something
you can do to help him.”

The lady hobbles to her worktable and starts cutting off herbs and flowers, tossing them into a bowl. She mutters under her breath, and I catch snatches of words. “It’s possible. Could be. Disturbance. He’ll use her. He needs her.”

Then her eyes widen, and she stares at me with piercing brown eyes. “Yes, you do have something. Something he wants so desperately. So desperately.”

I nod.

“What is it?” She leaves her bowl and scurries to stand before me. “You have one of the six, don’t you?”

“What’s she talking about?” Michelle asks, moving closer to me and drawing me away from the lady. “Don’t get so close to Jae. You’re making me nervous.”

“If I did, would it be enough?” I ask. “To fight Kud?”

The lady cackles, clapping her hands. She nearly breaks into a jig.

“I think we should leave,” Michelle says. “I bet she’s high on one of her drugs.”

Marc folds his arms over his chest, and his jaw tightens as he focuses on me. “You’re not going to fight him. I won’t allow you.”

Michelle glances between the two of us. “So what’s this about?”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” I tell Marc, ignoring Michelle.

“There are other options,” he says. “This is not one of them.”

“How do you think I feel?” I snap. “Here you are about to die, and you expect me to just watch you shrivel away?”

“Enough!” The woman raises her palms into the air. She picks up a bowl and spoon, passing them to Marc. “This will give you strength and perhaps a few extra hours. It will slow the poison if luck finds you.”

“What is that?” I ask, snatching the bowl from Marc and inspecting the mush. It appears harmless enough: pink petals mixed with what smells of rosemary and olive oil. “How do I know you’re not trying to poison him, too?”

“It’s but a few herbs mixed with a Seocheon flower,” she says with a lazy shrug, but I don’t miss that dark twinkle in her eyes, and I don’t like any of it.