A desperate thought comes to me.
“Haechi!” I screech.
As if waiting for my call, Haechi soars out of thin air, knocking the tiger off me. The two tumble across the pond bank. I get up to help Haechi, but Haemosu stands before me.
“How dare you allow him into my world,” Haemosu says.
I gape at the two of them, not sure how or why I’d have the ability or power to let in Haechi.
“You have summoned me,” Haechi says. “Now flee to the pagoda! Flee!”
I stumble toward the bridge that leads to the pagoda in the center of the pond. When I reach the pagoda’s wooden door, I hesitate. With my hand on the door latch, I look across the pond as Haechi and the tiger battle, fangs barred, claws raised. Haechi lets loose a loud roar.
Must move. I slide back the door, cringing, not knowing if this is a trap or an escape, and step inside. There’s no ground. Only emptiness.
I fall. My shredded dress whips around my body in the void.
Down,
down,
down.
CHAPTER 31
My cheek is plastered against the cold marble floor, bright lights glaring in my eyes. I lift my head and debate whether to play dead or jump to my feet and fight off whoever is surrounding me.
“We’ve found her,” a policeman says into a walkie-talkie. “Yep, she’s wearing the dress. It’s been damaged.”
I drop my head down. It wasn’t a trap. I’ve returned to the same room at the museum where I’d left. I groan. Why couldn’t I have popped back here in a less obvious place?
A guard yanks me up. I check myself quickly and notice that the cuts along my arms are now thin scar lines. My blisters are smoothing out before my eyes. And the blood smeared over me is fading. It’s as if everything I’d experienced was some awful nightmare.
The policeman is right. I’m still wearing Princess Yuhwa’s dress, soggy and torn. That knife-like pain I felt in the forest is still there, too, and I rub my hip. I need to change. What happened to my jeans and hoodie?
I spot my phone lying on the floor, the screen cracked. I pick it up numbly. There’s a text from Dad asking where I am and another from Michelle saying: I’m at the movies. Where the xxxx are u? U better not have forgotten.
Crap.
The guard picks up the bent crown at my feet and snatches my phone from me. He gives me a rough push forward. Marc, handcuffed, is standing next to one of the shattered glass displays to my right. I rush to him and wrap my arms around his neck.
“Be careful,” he says. “Got shards of glass all over me.”
I start checking his neck and face for glass. He grins and shakes his head. “You had me worried, Fighter Girl. And you look terrible, by the way.” He leans his chin on top of my head.
My heart spins. “You don’t look much better.” I grab his shirt, ignoring the guard yelling at me. “I failed.”
“At least we tried.”
Any other guy would be calling the insane asylum right now or looking at me like I was some alien from Jupiter. Not Marc. Maybe that’s why I’ve fallen so hard for him.
“You should’ve told me my plan sucked,” I say. “Aren’t you supposed to be a genius or something?”
“Obviously I’m not.”
“I told you to move, miss.” The guard wrenches me away, shoves my hands behind my back, and starts handcuffing me. “This should help you listen better—Ah!” he cries, and cradles his hand. He calls one of the other police officers, and the two inspect my bracelet. They decide to forgo the handcuffs, and resort to gripping my forearms and propelling me forward.
He has no idea how easy it would be to get out of that grip, but I don’t need any more trouble than I’m in already. I glance down at my dress, almost dry, and wonder how that is even possible.
“Looks like your bracelet may come in handy for once,” Marc says as the two of us are herded to the main lobby. “And the dress isn’t all that bad, but my vote is still for the Pepto-Bismol one.”
This is another thing I love about Marc. He knows just what to say so I don’t lose my mind. He makes my most horrible moments bearable.
“If I wasn’t so sore,” I say, half laughing, half crying, “I’d clobber you.”
“No problem. I could totally take you on.” Then his forehead creases as we are marched down the corridor. “What happened to your skin? Did you get sunburned?”
“Sunburned?” Then I remember the dome of fire, and my mouth dries up. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
Emergency lights wash the museum lobby where the police are swarming every corridor, blocking the doors and patrolling the exhibits. One of the policemen standing at the lobby desk waves us to him. From the badge on his jacket, I’m guessing he’s the chief of police.
“Your names and parents’ contact information,” he demands.
After we give our information, I attempt to smooth things over. “I wasn’t trying to steal anything. I just wanted to try on the dress.” Sort of.
“This isn’t a shopping mall,” he barks, passing our names over to another policeman, who calls in the report. Then he stares at us. “We believe terrorists may have set a sound bomb that shattered all the glass cases in the museum. Unfortunately your little prank happened at the same time. Let me see the dress you’ve damaged.”
He scrutinizes it, scratching the side of his head with his pencil. “I do not see any damage, Chung Su,” he says to the museum curator.
“I am sure once the historians take a look at it,” the curator says, “they will find the damage. You do know, Miss Lee, your father will receive a nice bill for repairs.”
I glance down at Yuhwa’s dress, thinking about how angry Dad will be; but I’m distracted by the transformation in the dress. It had been soggy, muddy, and shredded; but now it’s in perfect shape.
“Looks fine to me,” I tell them. “In fact, I think the color is brighter.”
Something moves in the shadows by the door. I peer around the chief as a cloaked figure ducks unobtrusively between two policemen and scurries outside.
The chief’s eyes narrow as he follows my gaze. “Who else was involved?” he asks.
“No one. Just me.”
He jerks his head toward Marc. “What about him? He was screaming your name into the grate in the floor.”
Oh, Marc. You crazy boy.
“He was trying to stop me from trying on the dress, but I wouldn’t listen. He’s innocent.”
“That is yet to be decided,” the chief says.
I look at Marc and press my lips together to keep the tears from forming. “Thank you,” I whisper to him, because I see everything clearly now. I wouldn’t have found my way back without him. He sacrificed himself to get me here and now he’s being arrested.
The chief clears his throat, and I push away all thoughts of Godzilla monsters, running through mythical forests, and being torn to shreds by a ferocious tiger.
“Take them to the police station in separate cars,” he says.
The curator points at me. “She’ll need to take that dress off.”
“And wear what?” I interrupt.
“Your clothes, of course,” the chief says.
They’re probably floating around in the void outside time with my luck. “I don’t know where they are.”
The chief gives me a measured look. “Are you always this difficult?”
You have no idea.
The chief pulls at the cuffs of his sleeves and clears his throat. Then he motions to one of his men, saying, “Find something this girl can change into.” Then one of the workers runs up to us holding my jeans and hoodie. “I found this on the mannequin that held the princess’s dress.”