Silvern (The Gilded Series) Read online

  Even though it’s only mid-afternoon, the sidewalks are already crowded. Gangnam is a popular hot spot for people to shop and eat. We weave through the throngs of pedestrians who are out enjoying this Saturday afternoon before the rain hits.

  I dare to glance over at Michelle; her face is tight, lips pressed together. I decide to tell her the truth. At least, the watered-down version.

  “Remember when we went on the junior class ski trip? Well, there was this guy who was, um . . . stalking me. So after that whole incident, I kind of freak out easily.”

  “You had a stalker?” Michelle grabs my shoulders and stops me in the middle of the sidewalk, completely interrupting the flow of pedestrian traffic. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

  I shrug, thinking maybe it’s good I’m not telling her the whole truth. When I was hunting Haemosu, he kidnapped my aunt, Marc, and my grandfather, knowing they were my weaknesses. I was able to save Marc and Grandfather, but my aunt is still lying in a coma in the hospital. I don’t want to put anyone else in danger, especially Michelle.

  “He’s been taken care of, though,” Marc adds, but his words don’t come out as confident as I’d like them to be. “We should get going.”

  He’s worried, I realize. His eyes keep shifting as if searching for something, and I wonder if there’s something he hasn’t told me. I hate keeping secrets, and after everything Marc and I have been through, I certainly don’t want us having secrets from each other.

  The sidewalk is lined with vendors selling massive plump strawberries, dak-gangjeong, shoes, and handbags. I contemplate stopping at the dak-gangjeong stall, because I love that sweet-and-sour fried chicken. But when Michelle doesn’t even attempt to stop at the shoe cart, I know she’s thinking. Hard. That troubles me.

  We finally arrive at the subway entrance, which looks like a glass beehive tunneling underground. We head down the concrete steps of the subway station, and Michelle hooks her arm around my elbow and squeezes me.

  “I’m glad everything is okay,” she says. “You can tell me about this stuff, you know.”

  “Thanks,” I say, knowing I can’t. Not completely. But it still warms me that she’s here.

  We cross the lobby and scan our subway cards before heading down another flight of stairs. It’s midday, so the platform is relatively empty. I can’t help but feel a little paranoid in the subway after running into a dokkaebi in the train tunnels. I shudder, remembering the giant troll’s ugly red skin and bulging eyes. But there are no monsters here.

  “You okay?” Marc asks as we step inside the train.

  I stiffen. I appreciate Marc always trying to be there for me, but sometimes he gets a little overprotective. Maybe Michelle’s right.

  “You don’t have to ask me every second if I’m okay,” I snap. “I can handle a few bumps along the way.”

  Marc’s eyebrows rise. “That was more than just a bump back there. You don’t have to act all brave for me.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I can’t look at either of them. “I’m fine. Just bad memories. That’s all.”

  “You should see a therapist.” Michelle sways with the movement of the train. “Otherwise you’ll be scarred for life.”

  Too late for that. Besides, if I told a therapist, she’d be scheduling me appointments for a decade.

  The train roars down the tunnel. Why did that guy come for me in the middle of my belt test? Who was he? Who will be watching me? I lean against the pole and rub my head, remembering the jars filled with my ancestor’s ashes. Pouring Komo’s remains over the magical orb. Komo swirling back to life. I grip the steel pole until my knuckles are red.

  “I’m transferring to the green line,” I announce.

  Marc’s eyebrows knit together. “Why?”

  “I know this sounds stupid, but I need to see Komo. Make sure she’s okay.”

  “How is your aunt doing?” Michelle says.

  I shrug. “No change.”

  When I rescued Komo from Haemosu’s tomb, I used the power of one of the magical orbs of Korea to bring her back to life. But no matter what we do, she remains in a coma. It’s been months since she entered the hospital. No signs of recovery.

  “I’ll go with you.” Marc lightly touches my arm.

  “I’ll be fine. You saw me back there. I kicked his butt.” But when I see that worry creep across his face, I say, “If you want to.”

  “Then I’m coming, too,” Michelle announces, straightening her designer rain jacket. “Afterward, we’ll go out and do something wild and crazy and forget about creepy stalkers.”

  “That sounds great,” I say, almost believing it.

  The doors swoosh open, and the three of us get off to switch to the green line. Soon we arrive at the Yonsei station, near the university. Posters for the Seoul Arts Festival and the latest k-dramas plaster the walls. The subway corridors are packed with college students wearing tight spring jackets and scarves. With my nerves on hyperactive mode, I find it all stifling. I rush up the stairs, focusing on breathing in and out and trying to keep my panic at bay.

  Rainwater has made the ground slick and puddle heavy, but we’ve avoided the shower. The three of us walk along the uneven sidewalk of Sinchon, ducking in and out of the crowds. A flower cart catches my eye—stacks and stacks of perfect roses arranged by color. I buy a half dozen on a whim. Even though I’ve visited Komo only in the winter, I remember the thorny rosebushes lining her house. Maybe she’ll recognize the smell of these roses.

  The ground rises the closer we get to Yonsei University, which is at the base of Ansan Mountain.

  Michelle huffs beside me. “Do we have to sprint there?” she says.

  “Sorry.” I slow down, but it pains me to do so. I blink away images of Komo’s bed being empty. Or her bloody body being dragged away by Haemosu’s wild boar, just like before.

  He’s gone, I tell myself. He can’t hurt us anymore.

  I clench my fists, desperate to believe those words.

  The air quiets as we leave the bustle of Sinchon’s crowds, distance muting the traffic and the cries of the street vendors. Ivy clings to the university’s stone buildings, and the maze gardens remind me of Europe.

  “Are your parents working today?” I ask Marc, trying to focus on something else. Both his parents are professors of religious studies here on the campus.

  “Not on Saturdays. They’re probably planning their big trip to China.”

  “Didn’t they just get back from Norway or something?” I say.

  Marc laughs. “Yeah, and I’m still mad at them for not taking me. I’m guilt-tripping them into bringing me to Xi’an, though.”

  We veer right from the main drag and head to the hospital, our shoes crunching on the gravel path. My heart rate speeds up and my muscles tense. Every bush seems to come to life. Marc pauses to let Michelle catch up, but I notice how his eyes stray to the forest and the alleys between the buildings.

  “I don’t notice anything unusual,” Marc says.

  “Good,” I say, selfishly glad he can see the nonhuman creatures. “I need to get over my paranoia.”

  “You have every reason to be paranoid,” Marc says. “Paranoia has kept you alive.”

  When we enter Severance Hospital, the air has the familiar scent of antiseptic. The entire front entrance and the ceiling are glass, which allows sunlight to stream inside, creating a perfect environment for the gardens scattered about the lobby, where a string quartet is playing classical music. We skirt past the chrome columns and duck inside the glass elevator.

  “I know they’re trying to make this place all pretty and nice,” Michelle says, pinning her hair into place, “but hospitals creep me out.”

  “I guess I’m used to it now,” I say. “I try to come every week at least.”

  After I check in with the nurse, I turn to Marc and Michelle. “If
you guys don’t mind, I’d like to see Komo alone.”

  “Of course.” Michelle perches on one of the chairs lining the wall and pulls out her phone. “We’ll wait here.”

  “If you need anything, let me know,” Marc says, but his brow is furrowed, and he’s got that brooding expression on his face. It must be taking every inch of his willpower to not demand to follow me. But he pulls out his phone and settles next to Michelle.

  I give them a half wave with my bouquet and proceed down the hallway, my sneakers squeaking on the freshly cleaned floor. But when I reach Komo’s door, I hesitate, my hand on the cold knob. I swallow hard, hoping I’m wrong and Komo’s perfectly safe. I step inside, and my eyes dart to her bed.

  She’s there, buried under a pile of blankets. Her head rests on a tumble of pillows, and her eyes are closed. The soft rising of her chest tells me she’s alive, and I let a long breath of relief. Gently, I close the door, and as I do my emotions almost come rolling out of me. Tears creep to the corners of my eyes, and the room swirls for a moment. I realize how panicked I’d become thinking they’d come after her.

  I hover by the door until I pull myself together.

  “Komo,” I say, knowing she can’t respond, but hoping somehow she can hear me. “It’s me. Your niece, Jae Hwa.”

  Quietly, I fill a cup with water and arrange the roses on the nightstand next to her bed. They fill the room with a sweet scent. I pick up her brush and slowly comb her black hair, sprinkled with gray, until it fans out perfectly on her pillow. Then I press down her blankets, crisp and tight, and sit next to her.

  This has become our routine these past few months. The tightness in my chest releases with the familiarity.

  “Today was my belt test.” I finger the corner of the sheet. “A guy showed up. I think he was from the Spirit World.”

  Before she had been taken by Haemosu, her eyes would light at those words, and a plan of action would spin through her mind. But she doesn’t move. Her face keeps its peaceful lines.

  “I’m scared,” I admit, and curl my fingers around her hand. “I thought I’d left all that behind when I killed Haemosu. I don’t understand why someone would want to hurt me. He wanted to kill me, Komo. I need you to tell me what to do. I need your help, Komo.”

  Something rattles behind me. I stiffen and jerk to face the noise. The room remains unchanged. With only a bed and nightstand, its sparseness could qualify for a convent. Grandfather and Dad insisted she get a private room, but now, sitting here, jumping at every rustle and creak, I’m not sure if that was the best idea.

  Slowly, I edge off the bed and tiptoe my way to the bathroom. Maybe what I heard was just an orderly pushing a trolley?

  Or a tray falling in the next room?

  I slip my hand around the wall and flick on the switch. Nothing here but a toilet and sink. I shake my head at my paranoia.

  But then, out of the corner of my eye, a flicker of black catches my attention. I squint at the mirror. I shuffle closer.

  It isn’t my face staring back at me, but a dark-clothed figure.

  I scream.

  “Jae Hwa,” lips whisper, blanketed in darkness. “Come. We must talk.”

  I push off the sink to escape but slip and fall across the floor. I scramble to my knees and crawl out of the bathroom. A cold pressure clamps around my ankle, dragging me backward. I throw myself against the pull, clawing at the ground with one hand while the other grabs for the doorframe. My leg throbs as if it’s being yanked out of its socket.

  I’m hauled across the floor, back into the bathroom, toward the sink.

  “Marc!” I can’t stop screaming. Someone must hear me.

  Terror explodes through every inch of my body as I’m dragged upward and sucked into the mirror.

  Darkness rolls around me in thick tendrils. I’m lying on my belly, and the cold stone floor stings my palms. I sit and take in my surroundings. A domed glass ceiling hangs over the large circular room, revealing a midnight sky. The stone walls are the color of onyx, with silver engravings etched into them. A quick glance tells me they’re actually pictures forming a narrative, one after the next.

  Hundreds of candles are suspended from the ceiling, hanging upside down. Their flames dangle beneath their holders, reminiscent of snakes’ tongues snapping out at their prey. Black mist drifts across the floor, moving as if alive, seeking to consume anything in its path.

  My attention is drawn to the dark-clothed figure standing on a dais in the dome’s center. His features are obscured in black except for two piercing silver eyes. They stare at me, cutting through the darkness like knives.

  “I have been so eager to meet you,” the figure says in a deep, vibrating voice.

  “Who are you?” My voice is a whisper. “Where am I?”

  “Ah, you do not recognize me?” The figure glides around the room. “The ruler of the darkness? The dweller of the night? The keeper of evil?”

  “Kud,” I say. Standing before me is the god of darkness. The god Haemosu was working for. My heart sinks.

  “Indeed.” Kud sounds pleased with my knowledge of his existence. I don’t like him happy. Not one bit. “The Spirit World speaks of your greatness. Your power.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat and stand on shaking legs. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Do not mistake me for a fool. Of course, you know what I speak of. Your land awaits you, its ruler.”

  “I think you’ve got me confused with someone else.” I scan the room for a way to escape. “Why am I here?”

  “You’ve ruined everything,” he spits harshly.

  I’m glad I ruined whatever hell-bent plan he had connived. I know I must tread carefully, but still, I want him angry.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, trying to sound carefree, flippant even. Anything but let him see the fear racing through me.

  And then, far, far away, I hear a voice.

  Marc?

  “Haemosu and I were going to change everything,” Kud continues, raising his fist in emphasis. “Joined as one, we would no longer be limited to night or day. Our power would be limitless, and not even Palk would be able to stop us. But you went and killed Haemosu.”

  “Yes, I did.” I lift my chin. “He had my ancestors’ souls. He deserved the fate he got.”

  Kud shakes his head and clucks his tongue. “Foolish child. To think you could stand against me.”

  I know I should’ve learned not to anger these immortals, but they make it so freaking hard. Then the room begins to spin. What’s happening? The pictures on the walls glow to life, moving and interacting as if they’re mini-TVs. Each one has its own story playing before my eyes.

  “We are running out of time,” Kud snaps. “Where is the orb?”

  I blink, confused. According to my grandfather, there were six orbs sent from the heavens to create Korea. But over time, nearly all the orbs were lost or put into hiding by the Guardians of Shinshi. The only orb I’ve ever seen was the blue one Haemosu had stolen.

  “I gave Haemosu’s orb to Palk,” I say. “It’s now where it belongs.”

  Kud growls. His growl amplifies until it shakes the room. The floor quakes, and I stumble and fall to the ground. “No!” he shrieks. “Now Palk’s power will only increase!”

  Seeing Kud’s reaction, I’m even more glad—gleeful, even—that I gave Palk the orb. Kud paces the room, the tentacles of his cape swirling around him in a storm.

  “All is not lost. There are two left that haven’t been found,” Kud says. “Bring them to me.”

  As if I’m actually going to help him. I press my hands to my sides to keep them from shaking. “I’ll pass.” I scowl. “A job like that really calls for an expert. You understand. Where’s the exit to this forsaken place?”

  “Oh, my dear. How wrong you are. It was
you who defeated Haemosu. It was you who killed my most prized assassin today. I underestimated you. But now I see how perfect you are for what I need.”

  I stiffen. Kud sent his assassin to kill me? And now he wants me to do his dirty work? Crap. I swivel, searching the walls. There has to be a way out of here.

  “I know what ails your aunt,” he said.

  “You do?” I bite my lip, wishing I hadn’t shown any interest. He’ll only use it against me. Stupid, stupid.

  “She is lost. The White Tiger orb is the only thing that can find her. It seeks the lost and awakens courage in the weak. Bring me this orb, and I will help you find her.”

  Marc’s voice rings across the room again, calling my name over and over. His voice sounds forever away, as if he’s at the end of a distant tunnel. Then I notice one of the moving pictures has me in it. I watch as my own life plays before my eyes.

  Me blowing out my birthday candles, hugging my mom, riding in the subway, sitting in class. How is this possible?

  And then Marc’s in the picture, his eyes blazing green, his fingers reaching for mine. The pictures spin around and around the room. I break into a run, chasing after the mural with the scenes of my life flashing through it. This has to be the way out. My escape from this monster.

  “I cannot let you leave until you agree to help me,” Kud says from his dais. “We could be great together, you and I.”

  I race in an endless circle around Kud. The room sways, and I stagger from dizziness. I’m gasping, heaving for air. My legs ache, and I realize I’ll never catch up to the picture with Marc. It’s a merry-go-round that can never be caught.

  I stop, bend over, and glance up at Kud. The mist contorting around me, I realize, is actually pieces of his cloak snaking around my legs, pythons ready to strike.