Page 67 of Wicked Fox

“You’re not answering my calls.”

“We have nothing to talk about,” Miyoung said, turning to walk up the street.

“You shouldn’t be shutting me out,” Nara said. “I can help you.”

Without a word, Miyoung walked through a random doorway that led to a narrow staircase beside a dented elevator. The sign beside it gave a directory for the building: a cell phone store, a noraebang, and a small rooftop café.

“Where are we going?” Nara asked.

“Somewhere we can talk in private,” Miyoung said. Inside the elevator, she pressed the button for the third floor.

“A noraebang?” Nara asked, confused.

Miyoung didn’t reply as the elevator deposited them into a cramped lobby. Bright neon lights flashed against mirrored walls. A small concession stand offered anything from assorted snacks to soda to alcohol. A handwritten sign boasted they had the newest K-pop songs for karaoke. Miyoung approached the man sitting behind the counter, which was coated with some sticky substance.

“Can we get a room for an hour?” Miyoung asked.

He glanced at Miyoung and Nara’s school uniforms, then shrugged and quoted the room price in a lazy drawl. It seemed he didn’t care about truancy as long as they paid.

The room smelled like stale beer and soju, but it was private. Miyoung picked up the giant square controller and indiscriminately picked a song. Loud trot music blared out of the speakers. Music of their parents’ era, or at least Nara’s parents. Miyoung doubted Yena ever listened to music. The lyrics to “Love Battery” danced across the screen, accompanied by generic scenes of flowers and nature.

Miyoung turned to Nara. “Talk.”

“These spirits,” Nara began, glancing around. Miyoung refused to follow the girl’s gaze, refused to acknowledge the ghosts that haunted her. “You can see them now, can’t you?”

“Did you do it on purpose?” Miyoung asked the question that had been gnawing at her.

“I live with the curse of seeing ghosts, why would I wish that on anyone else?” Nara said, tears forming in her eyes.

Miyoung let out a sigh as the uncertainty lifted. Of course Nara wouldn’t mean her harm. “What went wrong?”

Nara shook her head. “I’m sorry, Seonbae. I just wasn’t skilled enough to redirect the energy of the talisman. I shouldn’t have even attempted it. I just wanted so badly to help.” She gripped her hands together as if she were praying for absolution. Or begging.

Miyoung knew she should reach out; knew she should comfort the shaman with her forgiveness. But she couldn’t.

“Can you get rid of them?” she asked.

“Maybe if we perform a protection ceremony? I think there’s a kut.”

“Nara, I don’t think one of your shaman dances is enough for this.”

“You’d be surprised, and if you gave me the yeowu—”

“No, I’m not giving you the bead. I’m going to tell my mother about it. I should have told her a long time ago.”

“Are you going to tell her about what we did?” Nara whispered, her fear palpable.

“No. I’ve never told my mother about you and I won’t now. Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” Nara said. “Just remember that I’m here.”

There was a request in Nara’s voice, like she was asking Mi-young to believe in her.

The loud instrumentals faded away. The room was silent as Miyoung stared at the shaman. And the phantom whispers began again. Miyoung reached for the remote to queue up another song and drown them out.

“They’re not new,” Nara said.

That surprised Miyoung into meeting Nara’s eyes. “What?”

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