Gilded (27 page)

He wants my soul.

“You can’t have it!” I scream. “You can’t—” But my voice crumbles.

I can feel my skin bubbling. Pieces of my hair are burning, falling out. I cover my head with my skirts, wanting to cry, except my tears are dried up. And then I hear it, deep within me. A voice.

Believe,
it tells me.
Believe in the power within you!

Marc? Or Komo?

No, it’s something beyond even them. I think about Mom and how she’d say that God gives us strength in our valleys of death. I used to think she was just saying that to help me recover after she died. Now her words make sense as a power wells up within me, ready to burst. I throw back the skirts from over my head and stand. The monster snorts and stomps closer. Would the monster lose its power if it was distracted?

I reach for my crown and rip it off.

I lock onto the image of the beast as my target. My crown is my arrow. I toss hard. The crown hits the creature smack in the eye and bounces off. He wavers, blinking, while I’m there catching the crown and tossing it up at the other eye. The creature roars and moans. My own eyes blur until all I can see is yellow. I ignore it as the beast doubles over in pain.

Then the fire walls fizzle and so does the brimstone ceiling above me. The monster’s concentration is connected to his power. Spitting flames rain down on me. I duck beneath the monster’s staggering legs for protection.

Once the fire walls dissipate, I bolt for the forest, pumping my legs and arms. I cut through the trees, letting the branches swipe my face. The forest blurs past me in a world of yellow. My slippers are gone, probably a pile of ashes by now, but I’m racing at a speed faster than I ever imagined. The sharp prick in my hip I felt earlier is back, jabbing into me.

I stop at a pond. Lily pads are scattered across the surface, and a golden pagoda rests in its center. I slosh into it, and though
my skin screams in agony, I keep moving until my whole body is submerged in its cool depths.

“Jae!” It’s Marc’s voice for sure this time. I pull my face out of the water and look around. I think it’s coming from inside the pagoda. Should I trust it, or is this another one of Haemosu’s tricks?

A growl erupts in the stillness as something dives into the water and lands on top of me. I scream and then choke as the water surges into my lunges. It’s Haemosu in his tiger form. I shove against him, swim underwater. and wade to the shoreline, my dress’s heavy weight dragging me down.

His claw rips down my back. My vision blurs with pain. I roll in the mud away from him and stumble to my feet, gritting my teeth. His fangs are bared. He paws the ground, eying me.

I reach deep within myself to shape-shift again, but I don’t have the strength.

I make the ready stance, but I can hardly hold up my arms, and my body sways.

He leaps again.

I draw up the last of my energy and jump. I slice the air and hit a side kick at his jaw. My skirts whip around me as I twist and punch. He grunts, knocked off guard. But I’m weakened by the effort and fall, tangling myself in the dress. I scramble back up and punch again, harder than I ever did when breaking through my wooden boards in practices. His jaw snaps back, but with a pounce he’s on me again. His weight is too much. I’m pinned to the muddy embankment. All that power I had earlier is gone.

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.

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.”

The chief rolls his eyes, muttering something about kids and pranks, and orders one of his men and a museum worker to escort me to the back room to change. I suppress a snicker. Haemosu has a sense of humor.

Once alone, I lean against the wall and let out a long breath.

What will Dad think about this? Somehow I must get him to believe we are in danger and need to leave the country. I lift
the dress over my head and wiggle out of it, but something slices the skin along my ribs. What was that? A red cut now runs across my side.

“What is taking so long?” the museum worker asks from behind the door.

“Just a second!” I say as I snatch my hoodie and pat it against my ribs to stop the bleeding. “It’s stuck.”

I twist the dress inside out to inspect it. A patch has been sewn into the side, and poking out of it is a thin, golden hairpin. I tug on it carefully. The material will need to be cut for me to retrieve the whole pin. Why would someone go to such trouble to sew a hairpin into a dress?

“Miss Lee,” the policeman says, knocking on the door. “Hurry up.”

“Almost ready,” I say, staring at the pin, because all I can think about is Grandfather’s tale of how Princess Yuhwa escaped. How she had taken her hairpin and cut her way out of the dragon’s chariot. Is this the same pin? Had she secretly stowed it inside her dress for future use?

I tap my fingers on the blue material. There’s something about this pin that screams “Take me!” It’s a very, very bad idea. But I jam my finger in the tiny space where the pin has ripped it open and tug, hoping they won’t look inside the dress for damages. The material tears, and a two-prong pin falls onto the tile floor. I lightly touch the pink-blossom design at its end, my heart beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings.

After I’ve changed I tuck the pin inside my hoodie’s front pocket. I step into the hall and hand the dress to the museum
worker, who promptly starts lecturing me on all the wrongs that I’ve committed today.

I can’t stop shaking during the ride to the station as I relive my horrifying experience in Haemosu’s world in my head. My brilliant idea to steal the amulet, enter the Spirit World, and wound Haemosu with the Blue Dragon bow had been the stupidest idea
ever
. No wonder I can’t keep up with my classes. I’m a complete moron.