Page 89 of Wicked Fox

“I’m doing this for your own good.” Yena picked up a knife and turned toward Halmeoni. “This woman’s death will be on you. You need to learn that there are consequences to your actions. And that there can be no witnesses to them either.”

“Please.” Miyoung held on to a sliver of hope that her mother would love Miyoung enough to listen.

“No!” From behind Miyoung, Jihoon jumped up and charged toward Yena. There was no time to stop him, no time to warn him.

Yena moved so quickly, it was a flash. She stood, aimed the knife, and let Jihoon’s forward motion do the work for her.

The blade slid into his gut so smoothly that Miyoung thought perhaps it hadn’t happened. There was no jerk of his body, no cry of pain. He dropped with a dullthud. And the blood—so much blood—pooled around him, so thick it was black.

35

MIYOUNG’S SCREAM WASmore of a howl as she dropped beside Jihoon, soaking her knees in his blood.

“I suggest you absorb his gi. End it painlessly for him. Let’s forget your mistakes. I’ll let you start over.” Yena didn’t so much as glance at the bodies sprawled over the floor as she delicately picked her way to the door and left.

“Please. Please. Please,” Miyoung chanted over and over as she pressed her hands against Jihoon’s wound. It did no good, so much blood had already been lost so quickly. She gathered towels, rags, anything to stop the bleeding.

When she pressed her red-stained hand to his neck, she couldn’t find the beat of his heart and hers stopped.

“No. No. No.” It was her new chant now as she pressed her ear to his chest, hoping to find the pulse of his life inside. It was silent.

Miyoung let out a wailing gasp as she pumped her fists against his heart. Her sobbing shook her body and something fell from her pocket.

Miyoung looked down at the yeowu guseul. Small and plain, sitting on the stained linoleum floor. She picked it up, gripping it tightly before collapsing against Jihoon.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, though the words felt useless andhollow. The bead burned hot against her palm. Miyoung jerked up, dropping it to the ground before it singed her skin.

Jihoon lurched with her, desperately gasping.

“Jihoon?”

He gagged, blood spraying from his lips and splattering her face. His body seized; his eyes rolled back. Blood and phlegm dripped from his lips.

“Wait!” She held her hands against his wound, applying pressure. But it only seemed to make the blood flow faster through her fingers.

“Please tell me what to do,” she pleaded, with Jihoon, with the gods, with herself.

“The bead,” came the whispered croak.

Miyoung looked at the yeowu guseul with trepidation, suspecting the voice had come from the stone itself.

“Use the bead.” Halmeoni crawled over, dried blood coating her scalp.

“Halmeoni,” Miyoung said, half in relief and half in desperation.

“Use the yeowu guseul.” Halmeoni griped Jihoon’s hand, his breathing now so shallow it seemed nonexistent.

“How do you know about the bead?”

“The old see and know more than you think. Please, save my grandson.” Her tears fell, running through the twisting wrinkles on her face.

Miyoung picked up the yeowu guseul carefully, the heat so intense it caused her skin to pucker. She almost dropped it, unused to feeling pain from her own bead. But she tightened her grip instead.

Jihoon started heaving as he tried to pull in air.

Miyoung pressed the bead over his heart.

The searing stone cooked her skin as she held it in place. Jihoon twisted against the pain. She moved along with him.

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