But he says, “Hey, Fighter Girl. It’s okay. It’s me.”
I fall into him then, shaking uncontrollably. He runs his hands up and down my arms as if to warm me.
“I saw you crash into the forest,” he says. “I thought you might have broken something, but you’re okay.”
I swallow hard and shut my eyes as if to block out the memories. I’d take a broken wrist and ankle any day if it means not ever having to remember that horrible palace and my ancestors’ cries. When I open my eyes again, Marc’s face is close to mine, his breath warm against my forehead. I notice how long his eyelashes are and how sweat beads up on his forehead.
He must have thrown off his skis and run to find me, because the forest is too thick to ski through. I should step away from him, but I am soothed by this closeness.
“I fell,” I whisper my lie. “I’m okay now.”
A hint of a smile crosses Marc’s face. “Good. If you weren’t so wet, I’d toss you in that snow mound for making me run like a banshee over here.”
“How did you find me?”
His jaw works. “I heard you. Screaming.”
I look away as his brow deepens again, and I find my skis, leaning the tips against my shoulder. “We should go.”
He insists on carrying the skis, but I won’t let him. After what just happened I need to feel as if I’m in control of something. Even if it’s carrying some stupid skis. We tromp through the snow in silence when he points to the wrist that’s holding the skis. The one I thought was broken.
“Some bracelet you’ve got there,” he says as we emerge from the forest.
I see the shimmer of gold from the corner of my eye. I drop my skis and clutch my wrist. The bracelet is about two inches thick, ringed by five dragons, their golden bodies weaving around it.
Haemosu left his mark. My stomach rolls, remembering my stupidity.
Komo’s words haunt me: When he touches you, he will leave his mark… and your courting begins. Each time you meet, he will pull a little piece of your soul into his realm. Until you are no longer with us.
What have I done?
“Is something wrong?” Marc asks.
I can’t speak. I yank on it until my wrist is red. I think back to when Haemosu took my hand. The burning. He must have put the bracelet on me then. What does it mean? Why had he given me a bracelet? And why won’t it come off?
My arm is raw. Marc puts his gloved hand over my frantic one.
“You’re going to hurt yourself,” he says softly.
I stop and bite my lips until I taste blood, sharp and metallic. “Yeah. We should go. Now.”
The forest presses in on me as if it’s watching with hidden eyes. I quicken my pace, pushing through the low branches, not caring as the boughs slap me across the face. Marc bends down and picks up my skis before running after me.
“You don’t want to forget these.” He waves them in the air.
“Right.” But all I can think about is the weight of the bracelet clamped to my wrist like a shackle.
How long do I have until he imprisons me for good? And what about Marc? Am I putting him in jeopardy just by being with him? I remember those hands clawing to get out of the palace and the bones piled in the creek bed, and I stumble over a root. I try to swallow the hard rock lodged in my throat, because I know I don’t have much time.
CHAPTER 15
After dinner I head to the private room our class has reserved in the Dragon Valley Hotel for the ski party. My one and only job is to prep the hot chocolate. Yes, it’s an easy kind of job, but I can barely stir the chocolate powder into the steaming water. The sound of the screaming girls locked away in that palace fills my ears. Are they my ancestors, taken by Haemosu over the ages? Why would he even keep them there?
And then there’s the bracelet. The one that won’t come off despite my tugging and pulling until my wrist is rubbed raw.
I jump at every sudden noise, expecting Haemosu to strut through the door to take me away.
I deserve this. Komo warned me. Grandfather did everything he could to stop this from happening. But they made it seem as if I had the chance to beat him. That I could fight him.
Whatever. With a snap of his fingers, I was the equivalent of a stone statue.
I know my odds of survival.
Zero.
I arrange the cups in neat rows. I resolve to deal with whatever happened in the forest later. Hiding the bracelet somehow helps. It’s dark out, and I remember my aunt telling me Haemosu has limited power at night. I’m about to have a meltdown, and I, Jae Hwa Lee, NEVER have meltdowns.
“Jae!” Marc says, entering the room. He’s holding a stack of red boxes.
“Pepero sticks?”
“Stirring sticks.” He rips open one box and starts plopping chocolate-covered sticks into the paper cups. “Tell me you’re impressed.”
“I’m impressed. You should audition for one of those competitive cooking shows.”
We have a few minutes before the class leaders finish the games and send everyone our way, so we work quickly. Without saying anything, we’ve developed a system to get all the Pepero sticks in place. Marc rips; I dip the sticks into the cups.
Rip, dip, rip, dip.
I like the rhythm we have. We’re a team. I’m smile to myself, glad Mrs. Freeman paired us up. I feel a surge of gratitude for Michelle’s scheming, mixed with a little guilt for giving her such a hard time.
The doors slam open, and swarms of students jostle through the doorway, filling the once-quiet room with laughter. I soak it up and let myself drown in the noise. It pulls my thoughts away from earlier, and soon I’m so busy pouring, mixing, and passing out hot chocolates that the bracelet on my wrist is almost forgotten.
The line is backed up to the door; and as I pass a cup to Joey, Marc and I bump arms, and the hot chocolate sloshes all over Marc’s T-shirt. His eyes catch mine, and he smiles. My heart does the same flip that it did when I was barreling down The Cliff.
I point to the word antique on his soaked shirt and say, “There. Now it looks authentic.”
Soon the hot chocolates are distributed, and everyone is forming into small groups, laughing and talking. I wipe my chocolaty hands on a towel and look at Marc.
With impeccable timing, Long Legs shows up in tight leggings. I focus on wiping down the table as Marc pours the last of the hot chocolate into cups for those who want seconds.
“Marc! There you are!” Min of the Long Legs says, all bright under her glittery eye shadow and pink lips. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Come hang with us.”
The fuzzy wrap draped over her shoulders makes her look seductive. Compared to her I must look like crap. Strands of my hair have fallen out of my braid, and my lips are chapped from the wind.
“Hey, Min,” Marc says. “Sorry. I’m busy here with Jae.”
“Marc,” she continues in that thick, creamy voice of hers, beckoning with her hand to the group that Marc usually hangs out with. “You promised. Come on; everyone’s waiting.”
“Sorry, busy.” He sweeps his hand over the hot chocolate stand, which is in fact all cleaned up.
“We’re pretty much finished here,” I say to Marc, trying to give him a way out. “You go ahead.”
“Tell the guys I’ll catch up with them later,” he tells Min.
I freeze midstroke, the rag cold under my palm. Long Legs glares at me, spins on her Gucci heels, and tramps off.
“I think you ruined her night,” I say.
“She’ll be fine.” Marc picks up a hot chocolate and hands it to me. Then he picks up one himself and knocks our cups together in a toast. “To us.”