I slap my forehead. I’d forgotten about the concert. Good Enough is a band comprised of kids from school, and Michelle, Lily, and I always support them.
Suddenly I’m desperate to get out of this stuffy apartment. I’ve got to do something other than sit around and wait for Haemosu to show up and kidnap me like Grandfather says. Plus Kumar is there, and I want to ask him about the possibility of alternate worlds.
I peer out the window, scanning the sidewalk for anything unusual. The memory of Glittery Guy and Haechi stops me short. Supposedly Palk sent Haechi as my protector, but I still don’t buy it. What if they show up again?
I hate this feeling, as if I’m some princess stashed away in a castle unable to escape. No. I won’t let stupid immortals ruin my life. They will not control me. I don’t even fully believe they’re real.
I text her back: Meet u in 20 min and then I slip on a tight black shirt and a pair of jeans. My hair’s a tangled mess, but I don’t bother with it as I toss a few things into my purse: iPod, cell phone, subway card; and then on impulse I snap a picture of my bow with my phone. I can’t wait to show everyone.
There’s no way Dad will let me escape to Myeong-dong. He’ll suggest his usuaclass="underline" homework, SAT prep, or college applications. I crack open my door and spot him still working on his laptop. He’ll totally see me leaving if I go out the front door.
Operation Sneak Out it is.
I plop two pillows on my yo, toss a blanket over them, and turn off the light. Then I slide up my window until the cool city breeze blusters against me and into my room. The city is alive tonight: restaurants flashing their neon signs, high-rise apartments lit up like Christmas trees against the dark sky, and the buzz of taxis and buses honking below. Even from this high up, I smell whiffs of Korean barbeque—kalbi—and kimchi.
Outside our apartment hangs a balcony that stretches from one end of the building to the other. Their thin privacy walls divide each apartment from the next. It isn’t the first time I’ve dangled over the edge, streetcars zipping below me, to swing into our neighbors’ balconies.
I creep to the railing, careful that Dad doesn’t catch my silhouette through the windows, and climb over the metal bars. I could fall, but I know I won’t. A burst of energy surges through me as I slither around to the other side of the divider into Mrs. Jung’s balcony, careful not to be spotted. I continue my escape route until I reach the end apartment where the fire exit steps are.
In seconds I’m tearing down the concrete stairs of the fire escape and outside, breathing in the night air.
The subway stop is at the end of our street. My ticket to freedom. Dad would never let me go off on my own in L.A., but Seoul’s a totally different matter. Sure, it’s like three times the population of L.A., but it’s so safe to walk around—even little kids travel alone on the subways at night. The neighbors tend to watch out for one another, and though the police cruise the streets, it’s more the honor system of the people that keeps things in order.
It’s Saturday night, so the subway station is packed. I join the throngs surging down the steps, scan my card, and weave my way to the Light Blue line. In the distance I can hear the eerie screech of the subway trains, and I find myself glancing over my shoulder, half expecting Haechi or Glittery Guy to jump out. The first train’s too full, but when the second comes, I manage to wedge myself between a lady with a screaming baby and a black-suited businessman.
Usually I hate crowds. The feelings of claustrophobia and being engulfed in smells of soju, lavender, and kimchi overwhelm me. Not tonight. They are a comfort, blanketing me from harm. There’s safety in numbers, I decide as the door clamps shut and the train lurches into motion. I plug in my earphones, hoping Karp will drown out the growing worry gnawing at my chest, and let my body sway with the train. I focus on the little screens above the sliding doors that scroll the names of each stop, first in Korean and then in English.
Two more stops until Myeong-dong. I text Michelle that I’m almost there, wiggle my way closer to the doors, and wait. The train creaks to a stop, and the doors swish open. I pause before exiting, a sliver of worry edging at my nerves. But if I don’t get off the train right now, I’ll be in a whole different section of the city at the next stop and arrive too late to hear Good Enough.
I step off, and the doors whoosh behind me. That’s when I realize why I had hesitated. What had bothered me.
The platform is empty.
Where are the lines of people? I can’t remember ever being in a subway station completely alone, especially on a Saturday night. The train hurtles away, sending a blast of wind swirling around me reeking of oil and fumes.
I adjust my bag and dart to the stairs. My boots echo along the platform. Clomp, clomp, clomp. I focus on the posters lining the walls, studying their colors, each word. Anything other than the fact that I’m sweating. That my heart feels as if I’ve just finished fifty push-ups.
A burst of bright light flashes over me. Laughter echoes across the platform, a high-pitched screech, sending an ache through my bones. I freeze. The platform falls silent.
I don’t dare move. The light dissipates. In my peripheral vision a shadow scampers along the pipes in the ceiling. My heart stops, and my ears start ringing.
I run.
I’m halfway up the stairs when I’m faced with two black stumps that I assume are legs. The clawed feet aren’t standing on the stairs but hovering over them. The air smells like a goat stable. I grab hold of the cool railing and allow my eyes to trail up the legs, past a cotton loincloth, up its red rippled belly, and into the most gruesome face I’ve ever seen.
Eyes gleam down at me, and a huge mouth widens into a sick smile to reveal four dagger-like teeth.
CHAPTER 9
I recognize this creature instantly from the Korean fairy tales Mom used to read me. A dokkaebi. The Korean version of a leprechaun, except that these guys aren’t the cute, adorable kind you see on St. Patrick’s Day. They’re the kind that use magic for any whim that may cross their minds. And they’re butt ugly. My mind reels. Dokkaebis hate city life. Dokkaebis avoid crowds. Dokkaebis aren’t real.
This one’s black hair sticks out as if it’s been electrocuted, the ends fire red. Directly on top of his head sits a single horn. He bangs his thick wooden club on the concrete stairs, and sparks of light shimmer into the air. He stares at me with a trickster’s grin on his face.
“Hey, pretty girl,” he says, banging the club again. “Haemosu is watching you, wanting you.”
My back presses against the railing, but I lift my chin. “Really?”
“Oh, oh, you already know, pretty girl.” He cackles with glee. “I help you. You help me.”
Dokkaebis are known for helping or harming people depending on their whims. He steps toward me.
“What do you want?” I wish my voice would stop quivering.
“More like what you want, is it not, pretty girl? Humans always want.”
“Well, I want you to leave me alone.” I move to dart around him. His massive body blocks me.
“No, no, no. You must come with me. To special place.” He cocks his head to the side, revealing oozing warts on his neck. “Skilled with the arrow, are you?”
How does he know this? “Did Haemosu send you?”
“Yes, yes, yes. Haemosu beckons you.” His red eyes narrow to slits. “Before we go, we make pact.”
Right. Like I’m going to make a pact with a monster. “What did you have in mind?” My pulse races as I estimate how much space there is between him and the wall. Can I squeeze through?