Gilded (8 page)

I tuck it into one of my jean pockets, wondering who this Master Kim is. I hope he has at least one answer to my fifty million questions.

When we get home, Dad is inspired to ground me for eternity after my stunt on the island. I have to admit that considering what actually happened—and there’s no way I’m going to tell him—he probably has a good reason for this. Fires and dark caves on forbidden islands are enough to freak out any parent, much less ancient gods kidnapping their daughters from another world.

I stand numbly in the middle of our living room, trying to process everything Grandfather said and my own experience of being pulled into the mural. My world stands off-kilter. It’s as if someone has twisted each part of my life a little to the left and now nothing from my past looks the same, while my future is a gaping hole of uncertainty. I don’t even understand who I am anymore. Or what I’m supposed to do.

“Where did you get that?” Dad nods to the bow case strapped to my back.

“Haraboji,” I say. “It was a gift.”

He opens his mouth as if to say something but then shakes
his head. Ashen faced, Dad abandons his suitcase by the door and marches directly to the hallway closet. With shaking hands, he opens the safe where we keep our smaller treasures and legal documents. I still remember how he’d taught me the combination when we first arrived in case anything happened to him.

He ruffles through the documents, literally tossing our passports and checkbooks to the floor in his haste.

“You’re scaring me, Dad,” I say, and watch as he pulls out a small black pouch that was tucked away in the back corner. His hands tremble as he unties the string and two tiny objects tumble into his palm. One silver. One gold. It’s the gold that catches my attention. A simple band with a diamond sparkling on top.

“Mom’s wedding ring,” I say. My voice chokes.

Dad squeezes the rings into his palm, forming a fist. “It’s all I have left,” he whispers. He rubs the sweat off his forehead, but his eyes look softer, more himself.

“You still have me.” I hold his fist in my hands.

“Yes. And I won’t let anything happen to you, Jae.” Tears fill his eyes even though I know he’s trying to hold them back. “Your grandfather means well, but he’s not right in the head. He hasn’t been for a very long time. If he tries to contact you, don’t listen to him. He can only hurt you.”

I don’t know what to tell Dad. That I believe Grandfather? That I see the very things Grandfather does? Will he think I’m crazy, too?

Dad’s expression keeps me quiet. Color has reentered his face, and his hands have stopped shaking. It’s as if just having said those words made them true for him, and everything is right with his world again.

Even when deep down I know it’s not.

He wraps his arm over my shoulders, and the two of us stand there, gazing out the window as the sun sets over Seoul.

Dad and I have grown closer today. So why do I feel as if we’re also further apart than ever?

At first I’m okay with being locked away from civilization.

But by hour two I’m pacing like a trapped tiger while Dad is back to being wired into his laptop and BlackBerry, totally forgetting I exist. Unbelievable.

I consider throwing my
dobok
into my duffle bag and heading over to an evening Tae Kwon Do class, but after my recent fight, I’m not sure Master Park wants me back. Besides, Dad doesn’t seem too keen to let me leave the house.

Some people paint for stress relief. Others beat the crap out of punching bags (which, I might add, is very therapeutic). I do what any normal person who’s nearly been kidnapped by an immortal would do. I move furniture.

First, I choose my wall color. A photography store was going out of business after Christmas, and I was the lucky buyer of his background screens, having them shipped to Korea with Dad’s grudging agreement. I pull down a pale-blue color, but as soon as I do, an image of Haemosu riding through the sky in a dragon-led chariot comes to mind.

Good-bye, blue.

I yank another cord to choose the forest scene. Supposedly, green is a calming color.

Next, I drag my desk to the far corner, scraping the linoleum with a squeak that I’m sure is driving Mr. Chung below me nuts.
I know I shouldn’t be happy to annoy him, but seriously, his yip-yap dog that wakes me up at two a.m. is
way
louder.

My
yo
is next. It’s soft and spongy. Most Koreans roll theirs up to give them more space, but my room is big enough for me to leave it out. Still, I miss my bed in L.A., which makes my insides churn all stormy that Dad not only dragged me over here, away from all my friends, but into danger. Sure, he doesn’t believe in Grandfather’s stories, but aren’t dads supposed to be, like, ultra-protective or something? Shouldn’t he want to protect me from any threat, however implausible?

I throw the
yo
across the room.

The dragon bow catches my eye. Its bamboo curves and oak handles call to me. I pick it up and run my fingers along its smooth surface, itching to know its pull and release. Once again I hear that hum, and I press the bow to my chest and inhale deeply. The wood is soothing, like ointment on a wound. But then memories of the wall of bows, the scrolls from an ancient time, and being pulled into the mural swim through my mind. My stomach churns, and my hands start to sweat.

My cell cuts the silence, and I nearly drop my bow. I dig through my backpack, following my ringtone: “Eye of the Tiger.”

It’s a text from Michelle:
Missing u! Wish u were here.

Michelle! Just seeing her text pop up calms me. She is everything that my crazy family is not. She is normal. And I realize I’m craving that.

Me:
What r u doing 2nite?

It only takes five seconds for Michelle to text back.
Remember? Coffee Bean. Good Enough. Lily and Kumar here 2.

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 usual: 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.

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.