“To Catch a Kumiho” was short-listed for the 2023 CWC Award of Excellence for Best Short Story. This chilling supernatural cross-over tale centers on a Korean demon, the kumiho, a nine-tailed fox monster that can transform into a beautiful woman, so it can eat the heart of its victim.

TO CATCH A KUMIHO

by

BLAIR KEETCH

“Spicy enough for you?”

I regarded Sujin over my dak-galbi—spicy Korean stir-fried chicken. “I like it hot,” I said, ignoring the rivulets of sweat rolling down my forehead.

She smiled at me enigmatically. “That’s what every man says, but few can stand the heat.”

Sujin was dressed in her usual attire, that of a sophisticated grad student—white silk blouse, black skirt, and a Burberry beret. She was likely in her late 30s, but her unlined face and stylish wardrobe made her appear a decade younger. I probably shouldn’t have been flirting with her, but I couldn’t resist her playful double entendres.

We’d met a few years ago, when the law firm where she’d been articling needed an investigator on short notice. I’d been hired, and she had been my liaison, though I had resolved the case within a couple of days.

Afterward, we’d get together for an occasional lunch, even though, by then, she’d abandoned pursuing a career in law. While I liked to think it was because of my rugged good looks, I suspected our rendezvous was driven more out of her need to network.

As if reading my thoughts, she said, “I have to confess, I have ulterior motives for this lunch invitation.” She paused, while I gratefully took a sip of water. “I didn’t ask you here just so I could flirt with you shamelessly.”

“How disappointing.”

“I need your professional talents.” She noted my skepticism. “No, really. I want you to investigate my brother’s girlfriend.”

“Let me think about it,” I said. “Family issues, unfaithful spouses, it’s not really what I do.”

She looked at me with luminous, tear-filled eyes, and my resolve crumbled.

“What are you looking for? A hidden past? Unsavory history?”

She hesitated. “Something like that.”

“You think she’s a gold digger?”

 Sujin’s forehead creased. I realized English was her second language, and some North American idioms were perplexing to her.

“You think she’s seducing him for her own gain?”

“That’s part of it,” she said.

I bit down my exasperation and leaned across the table, taking her hand in mine. “Please be honest with me.”

She took a deep breath. “I think she’s a kumiho .”

I was confused. “A what, exactly?”

Sujin cleared her throat and looked directly into my eyes. “Kumiho,” she explained. “A Korean spirit. I think my brother’s girlfriend is a nine-tailed fox who wants to eat his heart and liver.”

Hard to beat that as a conversation stopper. “How many tails?” I asked eventually.

Sujin brushed aside my inane question. “It’s called a kumiho. Part of Korean mythology that I dismissed as just a fairy tale, but then Jiho met Maja, and there was something I didn’t trust from the moment I laid eyes on her.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Many people don’t like their family’s choice in lovers.”

“This isn’t some tale of twisted psychology,” Sujin interrupted. “Jiho is a handsome man, successful—and I’ve never had a problem with any of his previous girlfriends.”

I pushed away the dessert menu. “If you want to prove that Maja is a fox spirit, or a murderer, I think you need someone else. Maybe a ghost hunter or exorcist.”

Sujin looked back at me with her shining eyes. “I didn’t expect you to believe me, but I thought I could trust you. Everyone else would make fun at me.” Her lower lip trembled, and I conceded defeat.

“Let me poke around a little bit,” I offered.

Her smile was my reward—incandescent, with hints of intimacy. Or so I hoped.

#

Instead of consulting a university professor specializing in Asian folklore, I had a better idea. My first stop was an industrial park on the Toronto outskirts.

Alabaster Costumes was low-key to the point of being invisible. No signage, no exterior graphics—just a discreet brass plaque by the entrance. Apart from a large loading dock at the back, the parking lot had space for barely a dozen cars—testament to the exclusive clientele.

I pushed the lobby entrance button, and a tall blonde dressed in futuristic leather approached. She opened the door reluctantly, as if I were selling vacuums door-to-door.

I took in her eyes, cloaked in smoky mascara, and the leather bodice. “Let me guess. Total Recall.”

She looked at me disparagingly. “Pris,” she said. “Blade Runner.” She tried to close the door, but I quickly said, “Here to see Miss Emily.”

She shook her head. “Not without an appointment.”

“We have a special arrangement—I can show up unannounced.”

She went to close the door, so I stated firmly. “Your choice—go ahead and take the risk.”

She held up a finger, retreated to the lobby desk, and picked up a phone. Seconds later, she silently led me inside.

“Beats Party City,” I said as I followed her through room after room packed with costumes.

Emily sat behind a massive mahogany desk. Her outfit was a malaria-fueled vision of Anne of Green Gables. Her luxurious red hair was tied back in pigtails, but her cleavage-revealing costume would scare off any Japanese tourist.

A soft-looking man with unwieldy glasses and a cheap haircut was stuffing papers into an expandable briefcase.

“Love the accountant costume,” I said.

“That’s because I am an accountant,” he replied gruffly as he left.

“I have an Oscar the Grouch costume,” Emily said. “Probably a perfect fit for you.”

She wasn’t one for lengthy social pleasantries, so I dove right in. “Kumiho costumes. Kumiho, as in a nine-tailed— ”

“Nine-tailed fox,” she interrupted impatiently. “We have seven versions in stock.” She consulted her laptop. “All of them exclusive rentals—meaning very expensive. All made with real fox fur, very ornate.”

“You know about kumihos?” I asked in surprise.

“Kumihos—sometimes known as gumihos. In Japan, referred to as kitsune, though it’s probably derived from the Chinese legend of huli jing.” Her pigtails swung in emphasis. “However, the kumiho differs from its other counterparts. It’s not mischievous; it’s downright evil.”

“It transforms itself into a beautiful girl?” I thought of Maja Rav, whom I had yet to meet, but had been told was strikingly attractive.

“The spirit eventually wants to kill her suitor, and then eat the heart and liver. Often there are warning signs…mysterious deaths of animals—even people—nearby.”

“Not exactly eternal love.”

“Depends,” she replied. “If the kumiho can last 100 days without killing, it can change permanently into a human. But, usually, the desire to kill is overwhelming.”

I shivered.

“Follow me,” she instructed, and strode out the office, the heels of her thigh-high boots clicking on the ceramic tiles. I followed her to a small room stuffed with various anime figures. She rummaged through one of the racks. “See. One of them is rented out. The nicest model. Look away.”

Obediently, I turned around and tried to ignore her reflection in the mirror.

“Turn back,” she instructed.

I gasped. Emily had disappeared. In front of me was a human-like fox, tails resplendent. Its face had a sly grin, and cunning eyes looked back at me. “Of course, for the full effect, you’d need the appropriate makeup. And, of course, the right mindset.”

“Thank you,” I said. “This has been very…illuminating and illustrative.”

She playfully bared her teeth at me. “Anytime.”

“And you don’t know why I’m asking about kumihos?”

“I’m sure I’ll find out later.” Her eyes glittered. “But I suspect that someone fears a kumiho has entered his or her life—or that of a loved one.”

I shrugged.

“Don’t treat this as a joke. That would be a fatal mistake,” she warned. With that, she stepped into a wall of costumes and disappeared.

#

I was barely out of the Alabaster parking lot, blinking at the afternoon sun streaming through my windshield, when Sujin called.

“Jiho can meet you tomorrow. Noon at his office.” She recited an address in the Design District.

“What did you tell him? That I’m curious whether his girlfriend is a murderous fox spirit?”

The line disconnected.

Sujin hadn’t told me much about her brother, apart from his menacing girlfriend. Yet there was something vaguely familiar about his name.

Three blocks later, as I drove through a posh neighborhood, it became clear. A newly built monster house stood on a corner, towering over its diminutive neighbors. In front, a sign proclaimed For Sale—Team Jiho . Not only was her brother successful and handsome, but he was also likely rich.

Twenty minutes later, I pulled up in front of my modest bungalow. Only seven miles distant from the monster home, but a world away. I walked up my rickety stairs and stopped. The hairs on my arms stood up in warning.

My eyes searched the porch. My ears strained for any sounds out of the ordinary. Then I sensed it—the smell of blood.

In the shadows, there was something small and white. Moving closer, I saw it—a rabbit, still and lifeless, splashes of red blood around its twisted neck.

I retrieved a shovel and deposited the lifeless rabbit in the trash can. There had been many reports of coyotes invading the city, grabbing cats and small dogs as prey, but this seemed different. Far different.

#

The next morning, fortified by coffee, I spent an hour on my laptop searching in vain for any mention of Maja Rav. It was almost as if she didn’t exist—no mean feat in today’s world of social media footprints.

As noon approached, I headed out, dressed in my Sunday best: dark gray suit and snow-white shirt, but no tie.

The head office for Team Jiho was the exact opposite of Alabaster Costumes. Large digital billboards on the roof corners proclaimed its virtues via an endless loop of videos. The windows were tinted smoky gold, except for a section of clear windows that deliberately framed busy office workers, intended to show their dedication to their clients.

The receptionist greeted me like a long-lost family member as her eyes quickly appraised the cut and quality of my suit. An element of cosplay lingered as she led me through a vast open work area: standalone computer pods were interspersed with beanbag chairs, foosball tables, and what I suspected were sleep pods for taking quick naps. The overall effect was that of being the ideal workspace for Gen Y or Gen Z or whatever they were called now, though I noticed all the furniture was pristine and seemingly untouched. Everyone was earnestly at work, most eating lunch at their workstations. So much for life–work balance.

A tall, lean man with model good looks stood at a computer, staring intently at the screen, until he noticed our presence.

“Mr. Kim,” the receptionist said softly.

He gave her a dismissive wave as he approached me, hand extended. He possessed an air of easy confidence.

“Call me Jiho,” he said warmly. “Thanks for coming here. I’m always interested in what’s going on in my half sister’s life, though she’s rather adept at shutting me out.”

The different birth parents clicked in.

Jiho’s Asian features were only noticeable in his dark hair and eyes. On closer look, he was probably biracial and had inherited the best of both parents.

“I thought we could have a light lunch in our staff cafeteria,” Jiho suggested. He led me down a corridor to a large airy room with several circular tables. Private dining room would be a more fitting description than cafeteria.

“Maya will join us soon, though she’s probably eaten already. I’ve never met anyone who has such an impressive appetite,” he said fondly.

Indeed, there was an aroma in the air evocative of my childhood. I couldn’t quite place it until it struck me—liver and fried onions.

At that moment, Maja entered the room, and we both ceased talking. Maja was not the dark-haired Korean beauty I had expected, but rather a tall, striking blonde—wholesome and beautiful, except for a trickle of bloody juice that escaped from her mouth.

“Maja!” Jiho gently chided.

“Oops,” Maja said. “I cook everything rare.” Her voice possessed a Scandinavian lilt. Indeed, she could have been a poster child for Swedish tourism had it not been for her slightly imperfect features—a rather sharp nose and eyes that were a little too small. She took my hand in a surprisingly muscular grip.

“So, you’re Jiho’s paramour,” I said.

“Not sure if I’d go quite that far. Exaggeration is one of Sujin’s charms,” Maja replied.

“Acceptable in a sister,” Jiho said.

“Half sister,” Maja corrected.

“I take it Team Jiho is not a family business,” I said.

“Sujin believes ambition is not to be admired, though she doesn’t mind reaping its benefits,” Jiho said.

I contemplated what to say next when I heard a low, growling sound. Maja stared out the window, her mouth open slightly and her teeth exposed.

“Maja!” Jiho gently chided her.

She shook her head, as if noticing us for the first time. “Excuse me. I’m famished.”

She strode past me, her gold-flecked eyes meeting mine for a split second. I felt an electric spark, and watched her walk out of the room.

I slowly looked back at Jiho. “How do Maja and Sujin get along?”

Jiho laughed bitterly. “They don’t.” He gestured to an expensive coffee machine that was probably worth more than my car. “Espresso?”

“Latte, if possible.”

Jiho fiddled with the controls. “I’m at a loss as to what to do. Maja does her best, but Sujin continues to give her the cold shoulder.”

I noted his easy use of English idioms. “Were you born in Korea?”

“No, just Sujin. When my parents separated, my father moved first to Vancouver, where he met my mother. Later, they came east to Toronto, where I was born.”

“Sujin came along?” Sujin had never said why or how she had moved to Canada.

“No. Sujin stayed with her mother until she was 16. Then her mother was killed.”

A shadow passed over the outside window. I looked out—a murder of crows had settled on the telephone lines across from the office.

“Terrible accident,” Jiho continued. “Out hiking with her daughter, she was attacked by a bear.”

“In Korea?” I asked dubiously.

“Asiatic Bear.” Jiho shrugged. “Somewhere near the North Korea border, I think. Lots of forests there.”

I felt another electric ripple. Maja had returned with a tray of appetizers. Jiho stared out the window distractedly; Maja gave me a secretive smile that hinted at carnal pleasures.

“Poor little girl. To have her mother devoured like that,” Maja said. She scooped half a dozen shrimp into her open palm and devoured them ravenously.

Suddenly, I wanted the charade to end. “Thanks, but I really must go.”

“Oh, good—more food for me.” Maja smiled wolfishly.

Jiho beckoned toward me. “Let me escort you out.”

“Hope to see you soon,” Maja called out as we left. “Maybe the four of us can get together for dinner.”

I thought Jiho would be horrified, but instead he nodded thoughtfully. “Might be worth exploring. Maybe with you by her side, Sujin will be more open.”

“Perhaps,” I said uncertainly.

We went back past the rows of gleaming workstations and returned to the lobby. Suddenly, Jiho stopped. Behind him, a wall of screens scrolled images of custom-made homes for sale. Occasionally, Jiho’s face filled the screen, his gleaming hair and handsome features dominating the room.

“A pleasure to meet you—and let’s follow up on Maja’s suggestion.” He started to turn away. “You know that Sujin thinks that Maja is trying to kill me.”

I nodded. “She cares about you. She’s being overly protective.”

Jiho looked at me directly. “And I care more about Maja than anyone else in the world.” He gripped my arm. “You know, a few years ago, Sujin was convinced our house was occupied by a gwisin—the Korean word for ghost.”

I did my best to hide my surprise.

“Her mother,” he said. “Sujin didn’t tell you?”

Jiho escorted me to the door, but I smiled and said I’d be fine from there. I had no desire to have him watch me walk to my Toyota when he’d probably be expecting a Lexus.

Partway to my car, I stopped, feeling I was being watched. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of crows had now settled on the hydro line, to the point where it was sagging. I stared up at the army of birds, when suddenly they took to the sky as one.

Their departure seemed out of fear. I instinctively glanced upward. Maja Rav was looking out the window, her mouth open as if in hunger.

#

The next morning, I awoke frustrated and annoyed. This didn’t feel like an investigation, but more like a favor for a friend who might be delusional.

Wanting to accomplish something—no matter how minor—I placed a GPS unit underneath Jiho’s personal Audi. Parked beside it was a white SUV with a Swedish flag decal in the back window. On impulse, I took a spare tracker and quickly affixed it to the SUV’s rear bumper.

It didn’t feel warranted, but at least I was doing something.

While I was deciding how to approach Sujin, she texted me. ‘Let’s do lunch. Patio @ Cluny.’

I bit back my irritation at a number of things—the suspicion I was being played, her arrogant assumption that I’d come running at her beck and call, and the fact I’d likely be picking up the tab.

I growled in frustration in what I realized was an unconscious echoing of Maja.

To keep myself occupied, before my lunch date with Sujin, I decided to look closer at Jiho Lee.

I didn’t have to look far.

I walked down my street, past four houses to the corner, and turned right, arriving at a modest bungalow with a spacious veranda. As I expected, Margie Sergeant sat at a table, flipping through pages of house sale listings. She puffed away at what I assumed was her tenth cigarette of the morning.

Margie was the exact opposite of Jiho. Team Jiho was all about Facebook ads and digital billboards; Margie was the opposite. In certain parts of town, you’d be hard-pressed to miss her ads on every bus-stop bench, her bleary eyes staring back at you. Put the Sarge to Work was her slogan, and that’s exactly what people loved about her.

As I clambered up her front stairs, she put down her coffee cup and exchanged it for a cigarette. “You look like a man with a question.”

I didn’t waste time on greetings—not her style. “Jiho Kim.”

“The Golden Boy of Real Estate.” She gave a phlegmy laugh. “He probably made more money yesterday than I’ll pull in all year.”

I raised an eyebrow. Despite her appearance, Margie sold a lot of houses. “Well, he does have a lot of resources behind him,” I said.

“Not bad, considering he was a pariah five years ago.”

“Pretty strong words.”

“Trust me, I’m being kind.” She looked at the cigarette in her hand, as if surprised to see it there. “Oh, he was a wunderkind back in the day. Loved to party. Put most of the profits up his nose, from what I heard.”

“What happened?”

“A townhouse project fell apart in spectacular fashion. Didn’t do his due diligence—it was on a former industrial site, and the soil turned out to be contaminated.”

“So how did he bounce back?”

“I heard his sister bailed him out.”

No further questions came to mind, and since Margie wasn’t one for small talk, I left her to her fumes and caffeine.

#

Lunch was a change in menu and a subtle change in our relationship.

Instead of looking like a sexy student, today Sujin wore an elegant yet demure business suit and very little makeup. She still looked ageless, but I noticed a faint network of lines around her eyes.

“You’re looking very sophisticated,” I said.

“I feel comfortable being with you.”

“Enough to tell me about the gwisin ?”

She gave a casual shrug. “It was a ghost. My mother’s ghost.”

“I thought your mom lived in Korea all her life.”

“She did, but her ghost followed me here.”

I put down my calamari untouched. “Where exactly?”

“Our house. My brother’s house. He bought a place for us to live together. One of his first investments.” She sighed. “Everything was fine for the first few weeks, until I began to see her. Usually late at night. I’d wake up and find her staring at me from the foot of the bed. Pale and translucent, but it was her. She stared at me with great sadness.”

Despite the warm summer afternoon, I felt a chill. “And you’re sure this gwisin was your mother?”

“Absolutely.” She took a gulp of wine. “She was wearing the same clothes I remembered from my childhood.”

“Why do you think she looked sad?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the way my life turned out.” Her eyes welled up. “No husband. No children. I never found someone to love me.” She looked at me expectantly.

I avoided the hoped-for response—that it wasn’t too late, that she still possessed beauty and was worthy of love. Instead, I asked, “What did your brother think?”

“What he always thinks. It was all in my mind, and I should seek professional help.”

“Did you?”

She looked at me coldly. “I got help. A spiritual adviser. She did a cleansing ceremony, and my mother’s gwisin was never seen again.” She frowned. “I don’t think this is working out.”

“My search for the kumiho?”

“No, I mean us.” She stood up abruptly, knocking over her glass of wine.

I watched silently as the blood-red stain traveled across the white tablecloth, but made no move to clean it up.

She stormed out the patio, leaving a crowd of amused diners in her wake.

#

The highlight of my day was going to be my lunchtime steak frites, but after Sujin stomped away, my appetite quickly vanished.

I returned home later that afternoon, fatigued and irritable, but determined to salvage my evening.  I’d pulled out my trusty cast-iron frying pan, opened a bottle of wine, and was preparing a steak when the front doorbell rang.

I opened the door, half expecting, half hoping it would be Sujin wanting to apologize. Instead, it was Jiho, looking wild and disheveled.

He pushed past me with no greeting. “Where is she?” He looked around wildly, his shirt damp from the evening rain. His breath had the sweet-sour smell of soju, a Korean brandy.

“Your sister?” I asked. “I haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”

“I mean Maja! Where is she?”

“Not sure, but she’s not here.”

Jiho strode past me into the living room, where my plate sat forlornly alone on the dining table. He noticed the single wineglass and the open bottle of wine nearby.

He stared down the hall where the bedrooms were. “She has strong appetites. I can’t always keep up.” He sniffed the air. “What’s that?”

“I was cooking dinner. Steak for one, if you must know.”

He stood in the middle of the room, panting with exertion. One of the books I’d taken out from the library was on the coffee table, lying half-open at a page with a glossy illustration of a kumiho facing up. He picked it up and flipped through a couple of pages. “You believe her, don’t you? That Maja is a kumiho.”

“It’s what Sujin believes that matters.”

“Maja is very intense. Loving her isn’t easy. At times, it feels like a hallucination.” Jiho looked at me. “Sometimes I don’t know what to think.”

He nodded as if to finally confirm I was alone. Without a word, he opened my front door and rushed out. I listened to his footsteps on the walkway and the sound of his Lexus starting up.

Despite my best intentions, I poured myself another glass of wine. Halfway through, I stopped. Looking into the mirror above my fireplace, I could see Maja’s reflection. She was standing outside my patio door. Her hair was unkempt and feral, wet from the summer shower. Her clothes clung tightly to her body, leaving little to my imagination. She tugged at the patio door with a reckless abandon, but it did not budge.

My hands shook partly from arousal, partly out of fear, as I walked over to the window. I didn’t meet her eyes as I tugged the curtains closed.

The tapping on the glass grew urgent. I lay down on the couch. Eventually, it ceased, and I fell into a dreamless, fitful sleep.

#

I awoke the next morning, my body stiff and my mind foggy. I was no longer sure about what was real and what I’d imagined from the previous night.

The doorbell sounded like a steamship departing port. I staggered groggily to the front door, half expecting to see Jiho back with more wild-eyed accusations.

Instead, it was Sujin, wearing a summer dress and holding a bouquet of daisies. The epitome of innocence.

“I always wondered what you looked like first thing in the morning,” she said.

“Trust me, I’m usually in better shape.” I rubbed my unshaven face. “Plus, I’m not sure if it’s still morning.”

“Nothing coffee won’t cure.” Sujin brandished a take-out cup and a white cardboard box. She strode past me into the house and yanked open the patio curtains. Outside, I saw only the empty tranquility of my back garden. “Designer donuts. A peace offering.”

“For what? I’m the one who was rude.”

“No, you were being honest with me. I appreciate that. Not everyone has the courage.”

“Apology not needed, but accepted.” I froze.  From down the hall came a sweet, melodic woman’s voice, singing in Swedish.

Sujin stared at me, transfixed.

The shower had been turned off. I hadn’t noticed the sound of it earlier, but now the silence was agonizing.

Sujin didn’t say a word, but her smile faded. Her eyes became dark and forbidding. I couldn’t hold her accusing gaze any longer.

Maja brazenly advanced down the hall, completely naked. Her long blond hair was still damp and plastered to her shoulders. Her body was firm and slick; despite my shock, I felt an animalistic pull.

“Good,” Maja said when she spied the box of pastries. “I’m famished. Always am after a good workout.”

Sujin’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “What are you doing here?”

“Simple. I had to prove to your dear friend that I don’t have nine tails.” She grinned wickedly. “And I didn’t eat his heart, though I did suck his soul out—in a matter of speaking.”

“What about Jiho?”

“He’ll forgive me. He loves me too much,” she said. “Besides he won’t believe you. I’ll just tell him it’s another one of your delusional accusations.”

“Sujin.” I stepped toward her.

She turned to me, trembling with anger. “I had doubts about to you, but I was willing to try. Because above all else, I thought I could trust you.”

With a violent slam of the door, she was gone.

When I turned around, the room was empty. I cautiously went upstairs, but saw no sign of Maja. She had vanished.

#

The following week was a jumble of restless nights and days. I was constantly jumpy, as if shadows had moved just outside my line of sight.

Yet overall, it was a relief to be free of Sujin, Jiho, and the bewitching Maja.

I was sitting on my back patio with a book and a glass of wine on the table beside me. Twilight had fallen. I saw the occasional reflection of animal eyes in the ravine behind my house, but they no longer made me afraid.

When my phone rang, the display showed Unknown Number. I hesitated a moment before answering.

“God help me. She was right. Sujin was right.” The voice was slurred and frantic.

“Jiho?”

“I need your help. It’s Maja. She’s gone berserk. She’s changed.”

“Changed how?”

I could hear glass breaking. A crash—maybe furniture overturned.

“This can’t be real…” The sound of a gunshot. “Stay away from me.”

“Jiho, where are you?” I shouted.

“At home. On Mill Crescent.”

“Don’t do anything foolish. I’ll be there in 30 minutes.” I grabbed my car keys. “Lock yourself in another room if you have to.”

There was a bloodcurdling scream and another crash before the line went dead.

I sprinted toward my car. As I raced down the streets, I started to call 911, but thought better of it and dialed another number—that of Geena Gordon, a homicide inspector, someone who viewed me as a nuisance but also as an occasional ally.

“Thanks, but I don’t need a bedtime story tonight,” she said.

I breathlessly explained about Jiho’s call.

“What number on Mill Crescent?”

“Don’t know, but please send someone out there. And tell the officers to be careful—there might be a crazed kumiho.”

“A what?”

“Just do it,” I yelled and disconnected. I drove urgently, not knowing if anyone would be dispatched. I kept calling Sujin’s number, but it just went to voice mail .

Mill Crescent was a cul-de-sac with fewer than 20 houses, but I didn’t have to figure out which house belonged to Jiho. Midway along the road was a stately mansion with a garage for four cars, faux turrets, and a guest lodge on the perimeter.

A fire truck, ambulance and police cars were parked out front, their colored lights spinning in the summer night. Geena had heeded my pleas for help.

A sense of dread wrapped itself around me as I emerged from my car. A cluster of officers stood talking. Their lack of urgency hit home.

A tall, lanky woman spotted me and strode purposefully toward me. “You made good time,” Geena said.

I nodded. “But I’m still too late.”

“Dead,” she agreed. “Fell off the third-story balcony. Under rather suspicious circumstances.”

I thought of Maja, transformed into a nine-tailed fox, advancing toward Jiho, her teeth bared, her eyes locked with his. I laughed bitterly. “That’s one way to describe it.”

“Why did he call you?”

“Don’t know, but he was hysterical and delusional.”

“Nothing official yet, but I think the coroner will likely find coke and alcohol in his bloodstream.”

“Soju.” In response to her questioning look, I added, “A Korean brandy.”

She grunted, filing away this bit of information. “We found a gun, along with three bullet holes in the wall.” She regarded me closely. “Fired just before he fell off the balcony.”

“Pushed or fell?”

“Can’t tell, but no signs of anyone else.”

“No security cameras?”

“Front door only. Nothing on tape.” Geena paused. “So why did Jiho need a private detective?”

“He didn’t.” It was my turn to hesitate. “I’m helping his sister.”

She noted my careful choice of words. “And where is she, exactly?”

“Not sure. I can’t reach her. Or her brother’s girlfriend.”

Then I saw it—a faint light in the guesthouse.

Geena followed my gaze. “Shall we?”

Neither of us spoke on the short walk to the guesthouse.

The door was unlocked. Geena quickly stepped inside. Ignoring her instructions, I slipped in behind her. She shot me an annoyed look, but didn’t say anything.

The interior held a living room with dining table, adjacent kitchen, a fireplace and a large-screen TV. Double doors at the rear were closed.

Geena gestured for me to stay back as she approached the doors. She put her ear to the door and shook her head. Carefully, she turned the handle, pulled it open—and froze.

I joined her and stood paralyzed.

Moonlight streamed through the windows onto a king-size bed revealing Sujin and Maja. Their naked bodies were intertwined, a tangle of jet-black and blond hair.

A low whistling sound from Sujin. Geena stepped forwarded and prodded her with her foot; Sujin murmured, but remained fast asleep.

Geena glanced at the empty bottle of wine on the side table. “Must have been some party.” She looked at me; I must have blushed in embarrassment.

“Better step outside,” she said. “I’ll handle it from here.” She threw me an accusing stare, as if she’d caught a voyeur, but in truth, I was eager to leave.

#

The next month was a fight to return to normalcy. For the first few days, Sujin called me every hour, but I never answered. Eventually, her calls tapered off.

Several weeks later, Geena Gordon dropped by the house, but she didn’t come inside. “Just a courtesy call. Wanted to let you know the case is officially closed—death by misadventure.”

“Everyone has to die of something.” I slowly closed the door.

Later that morning, I remembered my two GPS trackers. I was going to dismiss the loss, but out of curiosity, I logged into my laptop.

Little surprise to see that Jiho’s car had not moved since the night of his death and still sat in the driveway.

I was about to shut down my laptop when I decided to look at Maja’s travels during the past several weeks. Lots of commuting between Team Jiho’s head office and an address I knew to be Sujin’s home. A lengthy stay outside what I was pretty sure was the latest and trendiest steakhouse.

Then a journey to a destination that I recognized. I double-checked to be sure, then dialed a number from memory.

“I gather the kumiho costume has now been returned,” I said.

“As a matter of fact, it has,” Emily purred. “Truly a remarkable costume, incredibly lifelike.”

“I don’t suppose you can tell me who rented it?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she replied. “You know, customer confidentiality.”

“And protecting the sisterhood,” I guessed.

“Does it matter? It doesn’t prove anything.”

I was going to protest, but realized she probably was right. I hung up without a word.

#

Past midnight, and still sleep eluded me.

Since Jiho’s death, I’d suffered from insomnia. Each night, while the hot summer breezes blew, I’d drive for hours through town, but always ended up at Sujin’s house, which stood dark and forlorn.

Like a lovesick teenager, I’d sit in the blackness and watch for any signs of life, but the house felt empty and abandoned.

Tonight, something was different. An object on the front lawn. I angled my car up to the curb and flicked my high beams on. A For Sale sign hung from a frame.

Images of Sujin and Maja stared back at me, their smiles bright, their arms intertwined. Maja & Sujin—Get the Foxy Ladies on Your Side.

Had I been played from the start? Had Sujin toyed with me, knowing that I would be an unwitting accomplice? That I’d testify that her brother was unbalanced, but never say anything to betray her? The possibilities were endless, and I would never know the truth.

I laughed quietly to myself and turned my car back toward home. I recalled what Jiho had said to me when we left his office. How he’d stopped suddenly and grabbed me by the elbow. “You realize that you can never truly ever know anyone,” he’d said, staring into my eyes.

Thinking he was talking about Maja, I had pulled away, eager to be on my way home.

Now as I drove along the darkened streets, I realized too late that he had been warning me about Sujin.

---

THE END

HER PERFUME

by

MARILYN KAY

Despite the bright August sun, a chill wind swept through the ruined castle’s grounds and ruffled Julie’s chestnut hair. Shivering, she hugged her denim jacket close and moved next to the low stone wall rimming the promontory’s brink. There, she drank in the panorama of the silty brown river snaking its way through the Wye Valley. For a moment, Julie let her imagination soar, spinning a scene of the lord of the manor and his lady sipping wine while looking out over the river from their private balcony.

Before long, though, Julie’s thoughts strayed back to Dima. Today was the six-month anniversary of her husband’s death. For a brief year, she, a diplomat’s daughter, and he, a dashing young attaché, had dazzled London’s social scene. Her heart cried out: Oh my love, we had so little time together. They had not even allowed her to mourn at his grave. Instead, they whisked her away from London to this small Welsh town of Chepstow. They said she had to hide farther afield and quickly, especially after what had happened in Salisbury. Wales would be safer. Even with the tourist lure of a Norman castle, no one would think of searching for her here.

The muffled tapping of rubber-soled shoes on the stairs behind her interrupted her grief. Julie lifted her sunglasses and wiped away a wayward tear trailing down her cheek. A tall, wiry blond man in jeans and navy hoodie came to a halt at the far side of the parapet. She watched him contemplate the sky, the river and the surrounding countryside. After a while, he took his iPhone from his hoodie pouch and proceeded to photograph the view from different angles. Once he’d finished, he turned to her and in an American accent said, “Quite a view, wouldn’t you say?”

She bobbed her head. “Yes.”

He plucked a daisy-like pink flower from the ivy on the wall. Raising his shades to reveal a puckish twinkle in his blue eyes, he sniffed the flower and twirled it between thumb and forefinger before presenting it to her with a bow. “My Lady.”

Charmed, she mimed “For me?” and laughed. Accepting the flower, she pretended to lift a voluminous skirt, placed her right foot behind her left and curtsied. “Thank you, Sir Knight.” She sniffed the flower before tucking the stem into a buttonhole in her jacket.

Smiling coyly, she turned on her heel and descended the stairs to admire the vaulted ceiling of the wine cellar. From there, she could hear his trainers pattering up the steps. Then the sound stopped. He must have wandered onto the grass and over to Marten’s Tower. She went back upstairs to loiter in the kitchen and other service rooms within the remnants of the building known as the earl’s Gloriette, and then meandered into the Middle Bailey area to see if their paths might cross again.

He happened on her while she was snapping a photo of the exterior of the Great Tower. Julie perched her sunglasses atop her head and flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Ah, we meet again, Sir Knight.”

He bowed and gestured forward. “Shall we explore the tower together, My Lady?”

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Gareth. Gareth Evans.” He put his hand on his heart. “I am but a lonely errant knight who has crossed a continent and an ocean on my quest to discover this fair ‘Land of My Fathers’.”

She half smiled at his allusions to knights errant and to the Welsh national anthem “Hen Wlad fy Nhadau.”  He was definitely trying. If she were honest with herself, maybe she was, too.

“How about you? You sound like you’re neither from the mountains of Snowdonia—” Gareth’s voice assumed the sonorous tones of North Wales “—nor—” pitching his voice in an exaggerated singsong “—from the green vallees of the south.”

She skipped a beat before answering him. “I’m Julie. And Monmouthshire is quite…Anglo-Welsh.”

“I see. I…didn’t mean to cause you offense.”

“I’m not offended. Come on. I’ll give you a tour of the Great Tower and the rest of the castle. It’ll give me practice for my class’s history field trip next week. How long have you been in Wales?”

“Going on three weeks. I’m doing the castle circuit, with a bit of hiking and other sightseeing thrown in.” He winked, but made no effort to get closer.

Julie soon found Gareth eagerly immersed in the history and architectural and sculptural details of the castle—almost as much as she was. What’s more, he was a fun companion, with no ring on his left finger and California surfer-guy looks as an added bonus.

***

“I should’ve had you for the whole circuit. I’ve learned more from you than from all the guidebooks and apps I’ve tried at the other castles. Thanks, Julie, for giving me so much of your time.” Gareth checked his phone. “It’s nearly six. They’ll be kicking us out soon. What say I buy you an early dinner to give you a proper thank-you? Or would you rather go home and I pick you up later for dinner? There’s got to be a nice place to eat in town.”

Julie considered his offer. She hadn’t had such a lovely afternoon since Dima’s death. “There’s the Riverside Wine Bar. That’s pretty good. Are you staying in a B and B, or at the Two Rivers?”

“I got a deal with the B and B across from the castle. It’s quaint, but only serves breakfast and Sunday roast. You got your car here?”

“No, I walked. I just live on the hill south of the castle off Welsh Street, the road which borders the Castle Dell.” She still hesitated.

“Look, my car is in the lot. Why don’t I run you up to your place and pick you up at around 7:30? That’ll give us both time to change into something other than jeans and a T-shirt. What do you say?” He flipped through his phone. “I can make a reservation at the Riverside Wine Bar. For one or two people?”

She breathed in, exhaled and nodded. “Two, please.”

***

Julie stepped out of the shower, refreshed and tingling. Other than with a few mates she’d met at her gym classes, she hadn’t gone out on a date for six months. She clicked on Rag‘n’Bone Man’s “Perfume” from her Spotify playlist and proceeded to get ready.

Eschewing her usual light citrusy Jo Malone scent, she spritzed Dima’s favorite, Dior’s sexy Pure Poison, on her collarbone, in the crook of her elbows and behind her knees and ears, letting some of the spray fall on her hair.

Rummaging through her clothes, she grabbed a lacy, black knit bodycon dress, pulled it on and admired her silhouette. Nope. Far too forward and too London.

After trying on several other outfits, she opted for a floral skater, one she’d bought at Ted Baker for a silly flower-themed hen party last year.

As she buckled the dress’s skinny belt around her slim waist, a sharp yearning for friends and her old life engulfed her. Did they miss her as she missed them? Did they ever wonder about her? Or were they too lost in London’s rush to care? She hugged herself, trying to squeeze all the pain into a small ball deep inside her.

***

A frisson of delight rippled down her skin when she opened the door. Gareth appeared decked out in a blue-and-white checked shirt, khaki chinos, navy blazer and chocolate-brown leather loafers. His widened eyes and huge grin told her that she’d made an impression on him.

As they drove through the arch of the crenelated tower of the medieval town gate on High Street, Julie counted her breaths in an effort to calm the quickened pulsing of her heart. Excitement like this wasn’t supposed to happen when you’re still in mourning.

When they swung into Middle Street, Julie sensed a certain nervousness about Gareth, too, and wondered if he was also feeling the buzz? Or maybe he was stressed by the haphazard parking of cars on this narrow single-lane street?

“It’s tricky getting to the restaurant all the way by car,” she said. “We’re better off using the Castle Dell car park. Besides, it’s only a short walk down to the Old Wye Bridge.”

Gareth relaxed. “My car seems to spend more time in that lot than on the road. Good thing parking is free there.”

As they sauntered toward the river, Gareth suddenly grasped Julie’s arm and guided her through a gate leading to another restaurant.

She tried to back away. “No. This is the wrong place!”

His grip on her arm tightened; his voice was low. “Be quiet and keep walking.” He swung open the door and pushed her and himself inside.

“What are you doing?” She shook her arm from his grasp.

He held a finger to his lips. “Wait.”

The heady aroma of Italian herbs and garlic wafted around Julie, whetting her appetite and her fear. She hunched in the corner, her heart pounding while cold perspiration dripped down her neck. A young couple came through the open doorway and walked past them. Gareth peered out the window. “Okay, we can go now.”

“What was that all about?”

“Sorry. Some nasty people I met along the way I’d rather not encounter again.”

Julie rubbed her arm.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I? Shit! I did. I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll survive.” He had seemed like such a nice guy. Now she wasn’t so sure. “Who were they?”

“Two English guys who tried to run me off the road in Snowdonia. I encountered them in a pub where they were harassing a young lady. I bought her a beer and told them to piss off. I didn’t think I’d ever see them again, but there they were poking around that building yard. Satisfied?” He glanced at his Apple Watch. “Hey! We’ve got a reservation for quarter to eight. You lead the way.”

Julie strode down the street without glancing back. She was already berating herself for crumpling in fear. Where were those lightning reflexes she had cultivated for the past six months at the mixed martial arts gym? Why had she let him take command of her, when she had worked so hard to empower herself?

He let her take off by herself, only walking beside her when they reached the bridge. They stood together, but not touching, to admire the limestone cliffs and the Regency cast-iron bridge.

Across the river perched the Gloucestershire village of Tutshill, where J. K. Rowling had lived from the age of nine to 18. Tutshill was also the location of the school where Julie would begin her teaching career on Monday.

On the Chepstow side, a tree-lined groomed path ran along the river where several boats were moored.

The wine bar’s willow trees shaded a row of picnic tables, each mounted with an umbrella. Set back from the tables was a white stuccoed, two-storey building housing the restaurant.

Inside was an eclectic mix of red and white walls, curtains and floral wallpaper. Dark wood tables and chairs filled the restaurant seating area, while the bar boasted leather settees and barrel chairs.

“It’s kind of warm and homely, wouldn’t you say?”

Gareth turned to Julie and grinned. “Did you say homely or homey?”

Julie was irritated by Gareth’s attempt to correct her English.

“Okay. It seems, uh, funky. Like a place for real fusion cooking.”

“Well, it’s British meets Spanish. I hope you’ll like it.”

“I can already taste the garlic and chorizo. Of course, I’ll like it.”

Julie noticed Gareth’s raised eyebrow to the waiter as they were escorted to a romantic table for two with a view of the river. “Did you especially arrange for this table?”

He winked and began perusing the wine list. “Hmm, only one California wine and it’s sweet. Would you like to choose the wine? I’m having the steak.”

“I want the prawns. How about we get a bottle of Prosecco?”

“Prosecco? There’s champagne on the list. Why don’t we go all out and order a bottle?”

“You sure?”

“Of course. I think I saw a Bollinger on the list.”

As they leisurely sipped and chewed their way through the feast, conviviality replaced the evening’s earlier tension. Gareth gave up trying to tease Julie into talking more about herself and regaled her with tales of his travels. His story about using his iPhone GPS for hiking and nearly getting lost in a bog outside of Tregaron made her clutch the table to keep from laughing hysterically.

“There was no cell coverage. Just me, the rain and the sheep,” he deadpanned. “I was soaked to the bone, squelching in shoes that were getting sucked downward with every step I took. Eventually, I heard a whistle and madly whistled back. Next thing I knew, a black-and-white collie was herding me and the sheep to greener pastures. The farmer took me to his home.”

Gareth locked eyes with Julie before continuing his saga, “Then, over tea and Welsh cakes, I got the third degree about my family origins. Only after he and his wife were satisfied they’d wrung every bit of family history from me and fed me dinner, did he drive me back to my car….I haven’t shared that episode on Facebook yet.”

They both broke out laughing.

“So what do you do when you’re not tilting at white dragons or getting lost in a bog?” Julie asked.

Gareth raised questioning eyebrows before grinning like a Cheshire cat. “I work at Facebook.”

Her voice tart, she said, “At least you don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

“That was a low blow.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be—”

“Catty?”

Julie’s face grew hot. She sat up straight, arms crossed in front of her chest and glared.

Gareth licked his lower lip and closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were wide and glistening. “Look, I know Facebook has gotten a bad rap lately. I’m not saying it doesn’t deserve it. But I wasn’t part of the Cambridge Analytica fiasco, fake news or Russian hacking.”

Julie flinched at the word Russian.

“I work in the user experience area. You know—live videos, emoticons, birthdays, fun backgrounds for posts—things like that.”

Gareth searched her eyes. “You’re not on Facebook, are you?”

She shook her head. “No. As a teacher, I…I…don’t want my students stalking me.”

Gareth tucked his chin into his hand and rocked his body slightly. “I figured as much.” He picked up the second bottle of champagne and gestured toward Julie’s glass. “Shall we finish it?”

Julie dropped her arms and dipped her chin to indicate yes.

He apportioned the remains between the two glasses and lifted his up to her. She took a sip, and he did the same. They each took another sip in silence, his eyes penetrating into the depths of her soul. Then he leaned over and reached out his hand to her. She clasped his.

The waiter interrupted their mute colloquy to offer them dessert. Neither was interested. Neither wanted to break the spell.

Once the waiter had left to tally up the bill, Gareth asked, “Care for a stroll by the river?”

“I think I’d better get back home.”

***

At the door to her semi-detached house in The Mount gated community, Julie surprised herself by asking Gareth in for coffee. They never got to the coffee. Gareth’s kisses softened Julie’s stiffened lips, and his caresses were like warm water lapping over and into every crevice of her body. Like everything he’d done that day, he did with care, sensing when to relinquish to her the lead in their lovemaking. They fell asleep locked in each other’s arms.

Sometime after midnight, she shifted onto her other side. But when her arm stretched back to touch him, her hand landed on an empty duvet. Had it all been a dream? She lay there alone, listening for his movements, too afraid to open her eyes to emptiness, too crushed that he hadn’t wanted to stay the night with her. As she began to doze off, Gareth slid back into bed. He buried his head in her hair and nibbled her ear, cooing, “Your perfume is driving me wild.”

The next morning over a breakfast of poached eggs on toast with tomatoes and mushrooms, Julie asked Gareth, “Where were you last night?”

He sucked in his lips and, with narrowed eyes, considered her and his words. Then, tapping the table, he said, “Sorry. I didn’t want to worry you. I heard strange noises around your house and went to investigate. I didn’t find anything, though. I guess those two guys spooked me last night….You want to go to Tintern with me today?”

Julie considered. Today was Wednesday. Her lesson plans were completed; she’d still have plenty of time to prepare her classroom for Monday. Besides, she couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again. “I’ve got a gym class at eleven. Maybe we could go after lunch?”

“There’s that coffee-and-sandwich place, Coffee Something? We could meet there for lunch, say one o’clock?”

***

The sun shone. A few cottony clouds, buoyed by a light breeze, drifted in the azure-blue sky. Julie left her car at the house and walked into town. Her phone pinged as she approached the Town Gate. She stopped to read the text: a message from Sir William Barr, code name B. Dima used to say, “B for bastard.” Dima had warned her never to trust Sir William, who, on more than one occasion, had tried to grope her.

Yet Sir William had just assumed management of her relocation here. Bolo 2 men black ford fiesta hatchback. Be on the lookout for two men. The two men Gareth had seen? Julie glanced around, inhaled and let her breath out slowly, then walked through the arched gate.

Set into the hillside sloping northeast toward the Wye River and the train station, Beaufort Square was the last remnant of the large central town square dating from medieval times. On the higher west side was Bank Street, while the town’s retail High Street ran along its east side. The square featured the Chepstow Cenotaph war memorial, benches and a series of several stone staircases leading down to High Street.

Coffee #1 was situated at the corner of High Street opposite Beaufort Square in an attractive white, two-storey building.

As she waited for the light to turn green, she glimpsed Gareth bounding down the stairs from the square toward her and waved. He arrived at the intersection just as the light turned green for her. Thwarted, he threw up his hands. Julie motioned she would cross over and wait for him at the corner, then blithely stepped into the intersection.

Out of the blue, a black hatchback barreled from the hidden side road at the bottom of the hill and accelerated up Beaufort Square Street. Gareth called out to Julie. Then, darting between moving cars, he sprinted toward her. She was halfway across before she realized the speeding car was aimed straight at her. Gareth leapt and snatched her out of the car’s track, flipping her on top of him onto the asphalt. Meanwhile, the car squealed around the curve and continued away from the square.

“Fuck! What was that?” Gareth extracted himself from under Julie. Still panting from the close call, he hoisted her up.

Several teens sitting at one of the outdoor tables, came over to help. “Are you and the wife okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

With his arm around her waist, Gareth guided Julie to one of the outdoor tables and sat her down. He knelt beside her and hugged her until she stopped trembling. One of the teens went into the shop and came out with two glasses of water.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, mate. We’re off now. You need anything else?”

Julie shook her head and mumbled, “No.”

“I think we’re all right, but thanks again, you guys.” Gareth settled on a chair next to her. “Do you want me to take you inside while I run and get the car? I can take you home.”

“No. I’m fine. How are you?”

He shrugged. “Good.”

“Then let’s go to Tintern. We can eat there.” She paused. “Were those the two from last night trying to run you down?”

Gareth blew out a long breath. “Julie, whoever was in that car was gunning for you.”

“But I don’t understand.”

Shaking his head, he said, “Neither do I, Julie. Neither do I.”

***

Their Tintern Abbey outing proved to be nigh perfect.

Set among the pine-covered hills of the Wye Valley and manicured lawns dotted by yellow daisies, the ruins of Tintern Abbey rose in all their magical mystical majesty.

After enjoying soup and sandwiches at the White Monk, they entered the abbey. They spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the remains of the abbey and admiring the full and partial stone walls, monumental pillars, graceful arches and the intricate framework of gothic windows of the abbey church.

Feeling playful, Julie tickled Gareth as he crouched and lay down on the grass, in his attempt to capture every angle in his photos. He countered by insisting she pose against the dramatic backdrops among the ruins. She consented only if he promised not to post any photos of her on Facebook.

Afterward, in spite of her protests, he bought Julie a silk scarf and earrings, and a tapestry and wool blanket for his mother in the abbey gift shop.

When they returned to her place, Julie flung open the door and announced, “We’re having Nigella’s ‘Curry in a Hurry’ and I’m cooking.”

Gareth swept her off her feet and carried her over the threshold, declaring, “I’m crazy about you, Julie.” Her feet grazed an envelope on the entryway stand, knocking it to the floor. Gareth put her down and picked up the letter before she could snatch it away. He read the name on the envelope, “Julie Ball,” then replaced the letter on the stand and shut the door. “Do you want me to chop? Or open a bottle of wine?” He nuzzled her neck and shoulders before heading to the kitchen.

That night in bed, the two sat propped against the pillows. Julie leaned against him, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I promised my mother I’d visit Raglan Castle. I was thinking I’d go up there tomorrow morning. That will be my last castle before going home.”

Julie tugged his arm closer around her. “When do you leave?”

“Saturday afternoon from Heathrow. I’d planned to drive to London from Raglan and spend the rest of the time there. I’m thinking I’d like to spend it with you instead. But it means my finding another place to stay in Chepstow.”

“Stay with me, Gareth.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes. Yes,” she said in a breathy voice. “I’ll fix up my classroom while you’re at Raglan. Then we can have the rest of the time together.”

“Julie?”

“Yes?”

“Will you be okay while I’m at Raglan? After what happened yesterday afternoon, I’m worried. I mean, what’s going on with you? You’re so secretive. You wouldn’t even tell me your last name.”

“You know it now. And nothing is up with me. I…I know it’ll all be over with us in a few days. That’s all.”

“Then let’s make the most of our time.” He drew her down under the duvet and buried his head in her hair. “What’s that perfume again?”

“Pure Poison.”

He jerked upright. “You’re kidding?”

She began to chuckle and hauled him down beside her. “No, I’ll show you the bottle in the morning.”

***

Gareth had already left by the time Julie had loaded her car with items for her classroom. She had everything but the heavy-duty knife she needed to trim her foam-core posters. She dashed back into the house and popped the knife into her purse.

Her phone pinged. Sir William had sent a series of three question marks. She had not yet answered yesterday’s text about the black car incident. She couldn’t get it out of her mind that there was something fishy about Sir William’s texting her right before the men had driven their car at her. A chill crept down her spine. What if the sounds Gareth had heard the other night were those men?

Gareth arrived soon after she returned from the school. She threw her arms around him and kissed him as soon as he dropped his bags at the entryway.

He cupped her face in his hands and gazed into the wells of her dark brown eyes before kissing her long and deep. “I feel like I’ve come home.”

She clung to him a moment more and murmured, “You have.” Afterward, she let him settle in the spare room upstairs while she made lunch.

While they finished their coffee at the kitchen table, Julie reassured Gareth once again that she’d neither seen nor heard anything untoward when she had gone to work at the school. “But I need to do some grocery shopping. I thought I’d wait to see what you wanted for dinner tonight first.”

“Good idea. Let’s make a list and get some wine, too. There’s a Norman church by that Tesco Superstore I wanted to take a peek at it. I thought I heard the bells ring yesterday morning.”

Julie’s jaw dropped, and her pulse quickened. She stammered, “S-s-saint Mary’s Priory?”

Gareth smacked his forehead, his face full of contrition. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest we go near Beaufort Square again.”

Julie swallowed before saying, “That’s okay. There’s more selection at Tesco anyway.” To make her point, she grabbed a pad and searched for a pen in her purse. Frustrated at not finding one, she disappeared for a few moments and came back with a pen, the one Dima had stored in the desk she had insisted on moving with her from London.

Eyes wide, Gareth stared at it. “Nice pen. May I see it?”

“It was given to me by a…dear friend. I don’t usually use it.”

He didn’t press any further.

With the list completed, Julie dropped the paper in her purse and headed out of the kitchen. A minute later, she stood at the door and called back to Gareth, “Shall we go now? We can use my car if you like?”

“Let’s take my rental.”

Julie clutched the car seat when Gareth turned down Beaufort and concentrated on navigating him into the Tesco car park. The plan was to leave the car there and make a dash over to see the church.

As they walked back to Tesco, Gareth kept his arm around Julie’s shoulder, his eyes constantly scanning the walk and the parking lot. “Let’s do our shopping and get out of here.”

The corner of her right eye began to twitch. Julie surveyed the car park and moved her body closer to Gareth’s, but neither saw anyone suspicious either outside or inside the store.

Gareth flashed his wallet and insisted that Julie stock up with groceries for the rest of the week and the beginning of the school term. “Frankly, I don’t know why you Brits shop every day.”

“It’s called small fridges and freshness.”

Gareth, laden with three heavy bags, halted. Twisting around toward the store, he said in a low tense voice, “Julie, go back into the store. Once they’re gone, I’ll bring the car around to the entrance and pick you and the bags up there.”

The hair on her arms and the back of her neck prickled. A scruffy, dark-haired, bearded man was getting into a black Ford Fiesta hatchback about 15 feet away from Gareth’s car. She backed away, turned and, with one quick glance back, scrambled on shaky legs to the store entrance.

***

The tension of unspoken words reverberated throughout Julie’s house. After helping her put away the groceries, Gareth retreated into the living room and turned on the television. Julie sat at the kitchen table and fetched her phone from her purse. Sir William had texted her several times that agents had her under surveillance. In the meantime, she was to lie low.

Reality hit. She was putting Gareth’s life in danger. It was time to explain her situation to him. But something else was nagging her. Were the men in the car also tracking him? And why? Was the altercation they’d had in the pub with Gareth a coincidence or part of a larger plot?

Silence. Gareth had switched off the box and loomed in the kitchen doorway. Julie dropped her phone into her purse.

“Okay, Julie Ball, suppose you tell me what’s going on?”

A melancholic sigh slipped from Julie’s mouth, but she remained tongue-tied. Gareth seated himself opposite her. Propping an elbow on the table, he nested his chin in his palm, locked eyes with hers and waited.

“Six months ago, I lost someone very dear to me. I came here to forget.”

Gareth remained silent, willing her to continue with his steady gaze.

Her anger and frustration boiled over. “Why do you care? You’ll be gone soon and we’ll never see each other again.” Julie slapped the table and spluttered, “I feel like I’m stuck in a bloody interrogation room.”

Gareth sucked in his breath and pushed back his chair. “I feel like I’m attached to a walking bomb. You want me to leave?”

Julie reached out. “No! Please stay, Gareth.”

Planting his fingertips on the table, he leaned in to glower at her tear-streaked face. “Just a few seconds ago, you lash out at me. Now you want me to protect you? Surely you have other friends to hold your hand.”

Then his voice softened. “Julie?” He dropped down beside her and sheltered her in his arms. Lifting her up, he carried her up the stairs.

***

Julie woke to the sharp aroma of coffee curling up her nose. She could hear Gareth whistling in the kitchen. By the time she came down the stairs, the smell of fried bacon and eggs mingled with the coffee. He greeted her with a huge grin and a plate of bacon, eggs, sausages, tomatoes and mushrooms. He’d even filled the rack with toast.

After breakfast, Gareth went up to the spare bedroom to make phone calls and pack for tomorrow’s trip. In the meantime, Julie organized an eco-wash cycle for the clothes he’d be wearing home. In a little good-bye ritual of her own, she threw in his underwear and socks. Next, she hugged in succession his jeans, red T-shirt and navy hoodie before placing each into her washer/dryer.

A pall of sadness engulfed Julie and riveted her focus on the sudsy water submerging and agitating away the traces of their time together.

Raised voices outside and the slam of her neighbor’s front door broke the trance. She remembered Gareth had promised to set her phone and computer up on WhatsApp so they could stay in touch, and she needed to make adjustments to next week’s teaching plans. Squaring her shoulders, she headed to her office to boot up her computer.

Somehow her office looked amiss. The top page of the papers she’d neatly stacked on the left side of her computer was out of kilter. She also found the pages were out of order.

Her heart pounding, she punched the combination to unlock the desk drawer where Dima had kept his pen. The contents of the drawer appeared more jumbled than usual. She touched a hidden button and a secret compartment sprang up. The pen was still there. She breathed a sigh of relief and shut the drawer.

Taking big gulps of air and exhaling slowly, she plunked herself down on her desk chair and rotated around to do another scan of the office.

The intercom crackled and a gruff baritone voice with an Estuary English accent announced, “B sent us.” She’d forgotten about Sir William’s agents, and now they were at her door. But how did they get through the gate?

She squinted into the one-way window they had installed in her door. Two dark-haired men, one with a beard, stood there: the men she and Gareth had eluded at the Tesco car park. She gasped, then remembered her mixed martial arts training: stay calm and move fast. She called out, “I’ll be there in a minute,” grabbed her purse and went back into the office.

Retrieving her pen, she dropped it into a pocket in her bag. When she looked up, Gareth, in jeans and a gray hoodie, was standing in the doorway. “What’s up?”

She seized his hand and dragged him toward the kitchen. “We’re going out the back door. I’ll tell you later.” She pointed to the band of hedges and trees surrounding the communal garden. “Are you game to tackle those boxwoods?”

Gareth shrugged. “For you, anything.”

Julie had already started to race toward the hedges. The two clambered over them, and she pointed toward the road. “Let’s head to town.”

At Welsh Street, Julie took the crosswalk over to the Dell Primary School. “They may have parked here.” She scanned the car park and spotted a black Ford Fiesta hatchback. “Gareth, is that the car?”

He compared the license plate to the one he had on his iPhone. “Yes.”

Julie fished the knife she’d tucked away earlier out of her purse and slashed the car’s tires, while Gareth gawked in disbelief. She retracted the blade and returned it to her bag. “That should do it. Shall we cut through the Dell?”

“Anything you say.”

As they strode down the trail to the castle, Julie’s words poured out in a fast staccato. “I should have told you sooner. My husband was an attaché to the Ukrainian ambassador in London, where we met. My father was counsellor for political affairs there before he retired. He and my mother returned home to Kiev. I fell in love and stayed. I don’t know all the details, but the UK secret service believed Dima was murdered and moved me here.”

She paused to collect her thoughts. “This morning, I discovered that my office had been rifled. Then those two guys showed up at my front door.” She halted and fixed Gareth with dark piercing eyes. “What do you know about these men? You said you met them in Harlech?”

He dropped his head, avoiding her gaze, and scuffed his right trainer on the beaten dirt path. A group of noisy kids crowded by on their way to the Dell playground. “Yuliya Baiul, let’s tour the castle for old times’ sake.” He beckoned to her with his outstretched hand.

At the sound of her name, she stopped cold.

“Come on. Your disappearance was public knowledge. Why are you surprised I know your name?”

“I…just hadn’t heard it said for a long time.” Julie placed her hand in his.

Once they were out of earshot, Gareth resumed his narrative. “MI6 was right to be concerned. The GRU thought Dmitry—your Dima— might be a useful idiot; instead he turned mole for MI6.” He squeezed Julie’s hand. “Of course, GRU has its own mole in MI6.”

Julie croaked, “Sir William?”

Ignoring her, Gareth continued, “A mole whose name is all over the last packet of information Dmitry received, and not just about operations in Crimea and Ukraine. There’s money laundering that not only implicates Mr. B, but also several UK financiers and high-ranking government officials. That’s why Mr. B got involved.” He swung around to face her and clasped both her hands. “I’m so sorry, Julie. They botched the job with Dmitry.”

She covered her face. “Those men?”

“Likely the ones who killed your Dima.”

Once inside the Gloriette, Gareth said, “Let’s go to that balcony where we first met. The tide’s in, so we’ll have the vista minus the mudflats. It’ll also be quiet there.”

Gareth’s suggestion spawned a sensation of spiders crawling over Julie’s back, yet she let him lead her up the stairs to the promontory.

Julie stood farther from the balcony’s low semicircular enclosure wall, but each stood in positions similar to those they were in when they had first met and admired the view. But when she turned her head to Gareth, his twinkly blue eyes had morphed into a steely glint. He carefully withdrew a clear plastic zip bag holding a bottle of Pure Poison perfume from his hoodie pouch. “In Raglan, I was given this, courtesy of the GRU, to be your good-bye gift. I won’t open the bag. The poison is real.”

The lump in Julie’s throat choked off any words she struggled to blurt out.

“Yuliya, Julie. I was given until today to get Dmitry’s camera pen from you. I’ve tried to fend off the goons, but if I don’t have that pen now, Mr. B’s agents will force it from you.”

Julie finally managed to swallow. “Is everything about you a lie? Are you even American?”

Gareth blew a long breath through his teeth. “I haven’t lied to you. My mother is American with Welsh roots. My father? You know of him. Konstantin Firtash is a crony of Viktor Yanukovych. Right now, Kostya’s in big trouble for fraud in Russia. A handler from the GRU approached me at Facebook and gave me an ultimatum: get Dmitry’s pen or else. Julie, Kostya is not a good man, but he’s my father. When I was small, he loved me. And I don’t want to see him murdered or frozen in Siberia.

“Look, I never wanted our relationship to end this way. I never wanted it to end at all. I meant it when I said I’m crazy about you. Truth be told, my heart’s desire would be to run away with you to some place in Canada, but even there, they would hunt us down.”

“Like you hunted me?”

“They knew you lived near a castle, but only recently did Mr. B learn which one. For Christ’s sake, just give me the pen. I promise to call off the dogs. You can go free, and I won’t end up like your Dima did.”

Julie plucked the pen from her purse and waved it around. “What if I throw it in the river?”

“Don’t be stupid, Julie. What would that accomplish?”

She knew he was right. The pen needed to be handed over to the Ukrainian ambassador or to a reliable authority in the British intelligence service. But still she prevaricated. “It would go out to sea and all the secrets with it. Surely, Russia doesn’t need a copy of the plans. And there’d be no compromising material for Sir William and the rest of his sort to worry about.”

Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs, and dark-haired, beardless face popped through the archway.

Her reflexes kicked in. She clutched the pen hard, like a knife. Wedging her thumb tightly against the pen’s top, she tucked her fist into her left armpit and spun to meet the man as he and Darkbeard piled out of the archway.

Beardless moved in to grab her throat, and she lashed out like a cat at his. She moved in closer and grabbed a wad of his shirt at the neckline, while jabbing and raking his face with the pen. She gave him a rapid knee to the groin and stabbed his cheeks again.

Gareth ripped the perfume bottle out of the bag. Darkbeard charged Gareth and was met by jet after jet of Pure Poison sprayed into his eyes and gaping mouth.

Gareth then turned to Julie’s opponent. “Move away, Julie!” he shouted and sprayed the other man’s bleeding face.

Coughing and sputtering from the spray laced with a chemical nerve agent, Darkbeard suddenly realized his fate. With a grunt, he lifted Gareth and flung him against the balcony’s low wall.

 “Gareth!” Julie screamed as she rushed toward Darkbeard. She stabbed him in the neck before landing a blow with her elbow into his left kidney.

With a raspy growl, Darkbeard shoved her aside and charged the stunned Gareth, who stumbled backward to the wall. Overshooting his mark, Darkbeard sent both himself and Gareth tumbling off the precipice.

Julie watched transfixed as Gareth plummeted into the murky depths of the Wye. With tears streaming down her face, she whispered, “Dasvidaniya, my darling Gareth.”

Then, a volley of piercing shrieks escaped from the ball of pain buried deep inside her belly.

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THE END