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They had to live as man and wife for one hundred days. She only had to hide that she was a gumiho, a nine-tailed fox spirit, for one hundred days . . . then she would become human.
Never expose the world of gods. Protect the magic. Keep the Amheuk, an ancient force of darkness, at bay.
As long as your gi originates from the sources created by the Cheon’gwang—Mountains, Sky, Water, or Underworld—you can join the Suhoshin’s ranks, if you’re powerful and talented enough.
The good thing about being a nomadic loner who gives zero fucks is that I can do whatever the hell I want, when I want. No excuses necessary.
I’m one hundred thirty-two years old. He doesn’t know that, but I don’t need anyone giving me advice on how to live my life.
It takes me a few tries to swallow, then I translate: “Mihwa, are you well?” Ethan nods, and I remember Ben taught him to read and write Korean. “My question is who the hell is Mihwa, and what does he—” “She, not he. Mihwa is a female name.” The name sounds foreign on my tongue, even though it belonged to me for the first eighteen years of my life. “Right. What does she have to do with Ben?” Ethan is focused on finding his brother’s murderer, his grief under control. “Why did the killer leave this note?” Because of me. A scream rings through my head. Ben’s dead because of me.
“If that person looks into the heavens, they will learn the secrets of the Shingae. If they look toward the Earth, they will understand the ways of the humans.”
Everyone who knew Mihwa died over a century ago. I killed . . . everyone, including Daeseong.
The world of gods lies like gossamer over the human world—a shimmer in the corner of their eyes. The humans’ stories of gods and beasts weren’t born of wild imagination but woven together from the sudden goose bumps on their arms and the cold shivers down their spines. Human minds can’t grasp the truth, but they also can’t completely ignore the allure of the supernatural—the magic.
Fox spirits were once revered as deities in Korea, but that’s ancient history. Nowadays, most Koreans believe in the myth that gumihos are treacherous demons who turn into beautiful women to manipulate and control men to do their bidding.
The mother stood before the man, with the child hidden behind her back, shivering on the edge of the cliff. But the man didn’t see a mother and a child. Neither did he see his wife and their daughter. All he saw was power and the obstacle stopping him from obtaining that power.
“There is much you do not know. But you will know in time,” the Seonangshin says. “For now, know that your old enemy has risen.” “Ris . . . risen? Daeseong is dead. I extinguished his life force.” I clench my fists on my lap and fight against the tidal wave of panic building inside me. “There can be no resurrection. That is the law of the Shingae.”
“You will be his mother. He will know nothing. Not until it is time.”
I grab hold of Ethan’s hand to pull him along, but he keeps pace with me. I shoot him a surprised glance. He is freakishly fast for a human. But he won’t be able to last long in a dead run.
The gi stemming from the four life sources each exude a different light—silver for Sky, green for Mountains, blue for Water, and red for Underworld.
“What do you want from us?” Ethan steps in front of me, shielding me with his body. I gasp, wondering how the hell he broke free from the binding. The suhoshin stumbles back half a step before he catches himself. Something like wonder and fear flits across his face. His stoic mask slides back into place as he says, “There is no time to talk. You must come with me.”
How the hell did I conjure high magic? What does it all mean?
My breath whooshes out of me. Ethan. His life force is . . . There’s another layer of gi pulsating beneath the quiet tendrils of his life force. I don’t understand. Human gi doesn’t have any discernible color—their gi is as faint as a soft breeze—but I can sense . . . something. A color. Or . . . colors? I can’t make it out. It’s obscured. What is that?
“Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up. Stay my little prince for a while longer.”
“A beast like you wouldn’t understand honor, but I am a man of my word.” He digs his cold, dead fingers into my mouth, and I gag, tilting my head away. “I will take your tongue, as I promised.” “And I will take your hand for touching her,” Ethan says in a steely voice I hardly recognize. The undead assassin’s mouth gapes wide in a soundless scream as a golden axe slices through his shoulder in one powerful strike.
Axes. A golden axe and a silver axe. A memory rises to the surface—an old, weathered face whispering strange and wonderful tales to a little girl.
“It’s magic,” I say, cutting him off. I’m not totally merciless. “What?” He blinks. “Being short?”
But before I go back to the why me? of it all, I have to accept one thing first. Even though I had my suspicions, especially after our run through the tunnels, I didn’t really believe it. But there is no other explanation for it. Only beings of the Shingae can see the gods and . . . Ethan saw Samshin Halmeom.
But the book isn’t done. The second evolution of the dragon. The letters look uneven, like it’s written in a shaky hand. My brows draw low over my narrowed eyes. The book always has meticulous penmanship. The peak of power. Unleash— The last letter slashes across the page, like someone physically wrestled the brush out of the book’s metaphorical hand.
“Ethan.” I reach for his hand. “We have to run.” Chilling power, roiling with violence, emanates from Ethan as he stretches out his free hand in front of him. I don’t know what he’s about to do, but I can’t wait to find out. I grab his arm and bodily drag him behind a tree. “Don’t hurt them.” As I say the words, I realize that he can hurt them. His power rolls off him and reverberates through me like the pounding of a war drum. “They’re human. Feel their gi. They’re just some North Korean soldiers who think they’re doing their job.” “They tried to kill you,” he snarls. His eyes. They’re
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But right now, I don’t give a fuck about the bad guys. All I care about is the male standing next to me. He lied to me. He knows how to use his powers—that shield he erected to stop the bullets proves it. That means he knows what his powers are. He knows who he is. Gods, he must’ve known all along. Betrayal, dark and bitter, taints my fragile trust in him. In us. I turn to face him and ask the question I promised myself I wouldn’t. “Who are you?”
Life is a dumpster fire, but these guys are . . . all right.
