Chapter Text
Rumi sat alone in her bedroom in HUNTR/X House, staring out at the half moon. Celine had been understanding but stern when the girls broke the news to her about their failure to apprehend the Saja Boys. She reminded them of the dangers of seeking demon hosts—not flicking her gaze to Rumi. While the Saja Boys were not the violent, rabid type, since they were civil enough to have a peaceful song and dance number in public, Rumi and her bandmates had to be on their guard. They had to halt this new threat before the boys shattered the Spirit Shield with their Satan-amplified singing voices.
But Rumi’s thoughts were trapped, and they wouldn’t budge. One of them had seen her true colors. Or rather, her true scars. He had protected her secret, and she still wasn’t sure why. To set up an opportunity to recruit her? Well. If he thought she was ever defecting to his side, he was wrong.
She just didn’t relish the way her stomach seemed to be at war with itself when she remembered his smile, and his hidden look of surprise—even kinsmanship. She jolted. No. She may have something broken in her like he did, but she was one of God’s soldiers. She was on the path to be forgiven, and he wasn’t. Not until he relinquished whatever sweet-talking lies the devil had promised him.
A noise sounded outside her window.
Rumi looked up. It came again, a strangely soft rumble that reminded her of a cat’s purr. She furrowed her brow. What would a cat be doing up here at night? What could it climb to reach her room?
She unlatched the window and raised it, sparing a fraction of her attention to breathe the cool night air on her face. Another cat-like sound emanated from below the window, and she dropped her gaze to see the source.
A pale blue tiger with royal blue stripes and a bead necklace clung to the outer wall like a bug, gazing up at her with a wide grin of pointed teeth. Its oversized eyes stared into hers with an artificial toy-like expression she couldn't understand. Purple X’s flared in the spaces between its stripes, and it continued to grin meaninglessly.
Perched between the tiger’s ears was a magpie wearing a tiny nobleman’s hat. Three yellow eyes bulged on either side of its head, accenting its somehow smirking beak.
Rumi had heard of possessed animals, but these were some of the most bizarre creatures she had ever seen. Just how many demons must they each contain to look this outlandish?
She backed away. She needed a more pragmatic environment to remove their spiritual parasites, and she wasn’t about to slaughter innocent animals.
The bird flapped to the windowsill, flaring its patterned wings with a noise that sounded like a crow and a hawk screeching at once.
The tiger tiptoed along the wall and into the room, unhinging its jaw. A long, thick tongue slipped out with cyan paper laid on its rough surface.
An envelope?
When Rumi didn’t retrieve it, the magpie plucked it off the tiger’s tongue and flicked it on the floor while the tiger dove in the laundry basket across the room.
Rumi watched, dumbfounded, as the big cat flicked its tail with the basket on its head and clothes oozing out. It flipped the basket off, balanced it with its paw, then tried to neatly fold all her clothes.
A frustrated caw sounded from the magpie, and Rumi turned to see it smacking its forehead with a ruffled wing. The bird flitted in front of the tiger and squawked a disjointed chorus of sparrows, lions, and shrieking housecats. Casting a longing look at the laundry, the tiger leapt out the window. The magpie rolled all six of its eyes and darted after its companion.
Rumi shut the window, latching it tight and hoping she wouldn’t have to pay the price of a demon-infected wildcat and magpie roaming the city.
Why had those creatures brought her an envelope?
She bent to pick it up from the floor. It wasn’t wet with saliva, thankfully. A simple pink heart sticker sealed the paper shut, and there was no name or address. Rumi tore it open and unfolded the neat paper inside.
The penmanship toed the line between elegant and practical. Still loopy and fanciful, but clear enough to read when she clicked her desk light on.
Dear Miss Cho Rumi,
You and I have met before, but I’ve known you longer than you’ve known me. I’ve been listening to your songs since the start of your career, and you have shown remarkable talent. I’m writing to you because we didn’t start off on the best terms. I know you’re a Hunter, and you know I’m the main vocalist of the Saja Boys.
I’m hoping that doesn’t have to soil our interactions from now on. You are a talented young lady who appears to be dealing with something no one else can see. I’d like to hear your story, and if I’m fortunate, you’ll like to hear mine. I’m writing to you alone, separate from my bandmates’ knowledge. Frankly, I’d enjoy company besides theirs.
You’ll find me on a rooftop near your property.
Signed Ahn Jinu
Rumi flipped the letter over, ignoring the twitch in her fingers. There was nothing else written on the back, no secrets melded with it or its packaging. Just an overly forward letter from a stranger who lacked the decency to be specific about the location. She knew what it was like to receive semi-anonymous fan mail, online and in real life. This wasn’t a fan. This was an opponent from a budding rival group, writing to her after he’d seen too much.
Someone who might be a little like her. Someone she couldn’t yet trust.
Rumi refolded the paper, though not as nicely as it had come. She slipped it into the envelope and stashed it in her drawer.
This was problematic on so many levels. Her head spun thinking of all the ways it could go wrong. And all the ways it could go right.
She had managed to corner him earlier that day. If Mira and Zoey and a horde of water demons had not been part of the equation, she could have exorcized one of the Saja Boys right then and there.
Couldn’t she take this chance?
Rumi lifted her stare to the sky. “Lord, please bless my efforts tonight. I ask that this meeting ends with victory. For me, and most importantly, Your kingdom.”
Breathing deeply, she stashed her pockets some Hunter tools she prayed were unnecessary, and put on a pair of sneakers.
The moon glistened off the tiling when she reached the roof of HUNTR/X House, and a faint breeze licked at her tight braid. She surveyed the other rooftops ahead, and true to his word, he was there.
Jinu.
Ahn Jinu, the main singer of the Saja Boys.
His smile gleamed across the divide between them, all the way until she parkoured and climbed her way to him. “Wow, I wasn’t sure if I should expect you to come. I hope you like Derpy the tiger and Sussie the magpie.”
As much as she’d love to contemplate the silliness of those names, Rumi decided to take control of the conversation. “Hey. I got your letter. You wanna talk, huh?”
He nodded, hovering his hands in front of him like he was anticipating a sword strike. “But first? I wanna talk about that hoodie. Chibi cats? Really?”
Rumi’s face heated at the sight of her outer shirt, which was emblazoned with ten cats poised or splayed in varying poses. The pastel browns and oranges and grays might as well have been oversaturated on the color wheel. She fixed a mildly indignant glare on him. “We’re not here to make fun of fashion, so I’d like it if you state your business, thank you very much.”
Of course it was obvious what he wrote to her for. And the sooner they could put that conversation behind them, the better.
“I saw your patterns yesterday. You—”
“I’m not possessed.” She said it louder and harsher than she intended. “I’m not,” she said more softly. “I was a long time ago, but not anymore.”
Jinu flexed an eyebrow, and her mind groaned. “Then why do you have patterns? Don’t tell me that you of all people would get a fake tattoo resembling them.”
Rumi inhaled, needing the air to prepare herself for her next words. “It’s more complicated than that. The demon that used me is not inside me anymore. Only echoes of it. That’s why I still have patterns on my skin. I doubt that distinction applies to you.” She narrowed her eyes.
To his credit, he remained unflinching. “Harsh. And here I was about to tell you my story. The short version is, I got screwed over by a bad deal and I had to leave my mom and sister behind.” Rumi’s heart drifted. She kept silent as Jinu went on. “The new contract is that I can go back to them when I’m done.” His expression faded, losing some of the false energy. “Frankly, all that matters is we know what the other is dealing with.”
A mom and sister, abandoned by force? The picture was there, of a woman and a girl with Jinu’s eyes and smile, their easy happiness disintegrating as their son and brother traipsed away teary-eyed with the spirit of malice the Hunters clashed against in every part of the world. “I don’t think I believe that,” said Rumi, folding her arms. “Whatever your story is, you have to let go.” She inclined her head. “You’re way more messed up.”
Jinu flinched this time. If it was real or affected, she couldn’t tell. “Ouch. I mean, you’re not wrong. But what led to the angelically pure Demon Hunt Church having you in their ranks?” He squinted, as if peering at her through a microscope. “Do they know?”
“Only my trainer. And some other church officials.” Rumi rubbed her sleeves. “If the Hunters make the Spirit Shield golden, my patterns will disappear. And yours will too.”
Jinu looked as if she had proposed a scientific hypothesis that was more wish fulfillment than a likely cure. “Will that work?”
“Why would it not?”
“You’re trying to do something no Hunter group has ever managed. Assuming you change the color of an invisible magic force field with the power of music, how do you know it will remove our patterns?”
Rumi blinked. Had he just questioned the order? Flippantly? Casually? Sarcastically? He would mock hundreds if not thousands of years’ worth of international demon slaying history, community, hope, and spirituality?
He would voice a very real question she hadn’t dared to ask, just like that?
Rumi fought to cobble together a response that would put his snark in its place. “Okay. First of all, it’s not magic. And second of all, the Hunters are powerful. If our work and legacy has made it this far, why would we fail? We’ve been maintaining the Spirit Shield, and the Shield keeps out demons.”
“Only about thirty percent of the time,” Jinu muttered.
That, she couldn’t deny. But his attitude was getting aggravating.
“Look,” Rumi huffed. “Do you want to be saved or not?”
The silence stretched between them. As long as Rumi’s stage braid, then Mira’s whip, then the distance of Zoey’s blast range. The whole time Rumi awaited her chance to ambush him, calculating the best way to capture his demons with the least hassle. That proved impossible when his eyes refused to leave her face.
Finally, he murmured, “This is what it’s all about, isn’t it?”
“What?”
He shook his head, apparently leaving the answer for her to puzzle out herself. “To answer your question, I’d like to be free of my guilt too.”
Guilt.
Rumi looked down at her arms. Arms she covered in every photoshoot, music video, live performance, and private gathering with anyone other than Celine and certain church leaders. She didn’t even uncover them for selfies, where her secret would be safe from the camera.
Jinu traced slow fingers over his throat, and his eyes turned distant. That could’ve been an opening to strike. But Rumi was crowded with other thoughts.
Jinu pulled something out of his pocket, something thin in pink and green. A ticket?
“Anyway, my band is performing our debut single at an official venue in a couple of weeks,” he said in a cheerier tone. “And I’d like the best HUNTR/X member to attend.”
Rumi blinked. “Best?” She wasn’t sure why she had settled on that part instead of the fact she was being invited to a demon-sponsored concert.
Jinu lifted a brow. “I’m not allowed to play favorites?”
“But . . . why me?”
“There’s no competition.” He folded his arms. “Mira isn’t half as pretty as you, and your singing voice is so much lovelier than Zoey’s.”
Rumi glared at him. “Hey, no one talks about my girls like that!” Her knuckles flexed in warning.
“Sorry, I misspoke.” Jinu’s smile was no less smug. “What I meant was, your charisma particularly stands out to me.”
Rumi waited for him to elaborate. To the flip of her nerves, he approached her, holding out the ticket in both hands. Well. He had some manners, at least. She lightly picked it up, angling it so the moonlight rippled over the glossy surface. Her brow furrowed. “You and your bandmates have been in the spotlight for a day, and you already have a preplanned concert complete with tickets?”
Jinu smiled softer. He reached as if to tap her shoulder, reconsidering after a beat. “You’re a standout, Rumi. Don’t be ashamed.” The look on his face was far from how he’d been presenting himself prior. It reminded Rumi of a fan she’d met a while ago, a young man who appeared to be a fresh college graduate. He had told Rumi that she worked as hard as his mom when he was little, and that Rumi deserved unwavering respect and time off. After being touched by other fans without her permission, that had stored an extra ember of warmth in her heart.
She never expected to remember that when speaking to Jinu.
What he said was easier said than done. Though wasn’t it the heart and mind that mattered?
Jinu winked, and a puff of pink smoke enveloped him. When it dissipated, the Saja Boy was gone, and Rumi was standing by herself on a rooftop at night. She would prefer if he didn’t use whatever temporary gifts the devil had offered him to take his leave, and it would make catching him a heck ton harder.
At least she could be alone with her thoughts now.
Rumi cast a surveying glance around the property. There were no demons or other Saja Boys in sight, nor was there any trace of the possessed animals that had brought her the letter. She contemplated the ticket again. Her ticket. Could she go? She couldn’t fully trust him, but could she forge a glow of trust, get close enough to eliminate the threat from within, all while working to free herself of her markings?
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
Rumi closed the ticket in her hand. “Okay, Jinu.”