Silvern (The Gilded Series) (2 page)

“I think you were in a time warp,” Marc says into my ear. “I tried to help you, but I couldn’t get there fast enough.”

His arms tighten around me, and I sag against him, listening to the thump of his heartbeat.

One of the instructors runs over to us. “You two must get off the mat. They can’t start the match until you leave.”

“Let’s get out of here,” I mumble.

After I take off the rest of my protective gear, we head out into the main hallway. His arm drapes over my shoulders, but his muscles are tense. Before we leave, Marc gives the arena one final glance.

“Anything?” I ask, afraid of what he might see.

“Nothing.”

Michelle comes running up to us, teetering a little in her heels and holding my backpack in her hand. “Guys, where are you going?” she asks, and then her eyes focus on my hands. “Girl. Your hands. They’re bleeding. You should get them wrapped.”

“There isn’t time.” Marc pushes me into the hallway. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Thanks for grabbing my bag,” I tell Michelle, flashing her a half smile. “She’s right. I can’t go in public in my uniform with bloody hands.”

Marc groans, running his hands through his hair as I hurry into the bathroom. The blood washes off, snaking down the drain like a tail of a dragon. I slip on my jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers. Just as I’m pulling my long hair into a twist-bun, Michelle peeks inside.

“You okay in here?” Michelle asks.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

“Marc says I’m supposed to check on you.” She lets the door slam behind her and slides next to me at the sink counter.

I hope she won’t insist I get medical help or something drastic. Every time I enter the Spirit World, my wounds heal at an insanely accelerated pace. I’m hoping the same thing will happen this time, since that shield was somehow connected to the Spirit World.

Still, a lump of guilt wedges against my chest. Michelle is my best friend, but I never told her what I went through when Haemosu hunted me down to capture my soul.

She pulls out a tube of lipstick and slathers it on. “Sometimes Marc acts stalkerish, don’t you think? It’s like he can’t let you out of his sight.”

“He just gets worried about me.” I try to smile. It doesn’t work. Marc has reasons for his paranoia.

“I guess so.” She shrugs. “There are all kinds of crazy out there.”

“No kidding.” I splash water over my face and pick up my pack. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

“You can’t just leave.” Michelle’s heels echo on the tile floor as she follows me out of the bathroom. “What about your second-degree belt? Don’t you need to stay to get it?”

“I just want to go home,” I say.

Marc’s on the phone talking to—I’d bet a million bucks—my grandfather. He hangs up when he sees me. I already know he won’t tell me what the conversation was about, and I can’t stop that twist of annoyance in my chest.

“But I thought you said this was important to you.” Michelle rushes after us to the front doors.

“Not really,” I say and bite my lip, hating how vague I’m being. If anyone has the right to know what’s going on, it’s Michelle, and my guilt only grows with each lie.

“Who were you talking to?” I ask Marc.

“Your grandfather,” he says. “Left a message.”

“You didn’t tell him what just happened.” I know it’s not fair to be angry at Marc, but sometimes I want to be the one calling the shots here and not have him calling up my grandfather over every little incident.

“No, but I told him we had a code red.” He crosses his arms and glares at me. “Don’t look at me like that. If you were in my shoes, you’d be doing the same thing. I’m not about to let you get hurt again. Not if I have any way to stop it from happening first.”

We burst outside, the sky as gray as the building we just left. The air is damp and smells of spring. It’ll probably rain soon. Marc turns right and sets a fast, clipped pace toward the Gangnam subway station. It’s a fifteen-minute walk, but I need the fresh air to think through what just happened.

The small, two-lane road is canopied with trees and lined with cars. We exit the Kukkiwon grounds by passing under the blue-tiled roof-gate and out onto the busy road.

“Something’s wrong,” Michelle says, “and somebody better tell me what’s going on, right now.”

I stop and cross my arms as I watch the black and silver cars speed by us. “The guy I just fought was trying to hurt me,” I finally admit.

Marc’s pointed look warns me to be quiet.

“But didn’t you beat the crap out of him?” Michelle asks. “He should be worried about you. You may look tiny, but from what I saw back there, you throw a mean kick.”

I stare at her, wondering what everyone else in the stadium actually saw. I’m about to ask, but decide saying nothing is a better choice. “It’s a little more complicated than that,” I say.

We continue on in silence. I try to focus on the normal around me, like the chestnut seller we pass, steam from the cooker curling into the air, carrying its sharp scent. Or the first hints of cherry blossoms giving the sky above a burst of color. Or the way the women have replaced their winter boots with the latest wedges. I’m always amazed at the sharp contrasts of Seoul’s post–Korean War buildings of flat concrete blocks, plastered with faded signs and advertisements, mixed in with modern architectural works that could almost belong in a futuristic world. There are buildings that remind me of ocean waves and others resembling Lego creations.

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.”