The Witches (Book #1)

𝔗𝔬𝔬 ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔣𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔱

WELCOME BACK TO MY NEW STORY! Here for the spooky season—this book has a sequel, so look out for that in the upcoming month as I am currently writing it now. Hope you guys will enjoy this fiction!

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Like most fast-talking, opinionated Seoul-ers, I have an affinity for sarcasm. At a young age, though, it's hard to convince anyone that sarcasm's a cultural thing and not a bad attitude. Especially when your stepmother can't drive, because she's also from Seoul, and spills your coffee with maniacal brake pounding.

I wipe a dribble of americano off my chin. "It's okay. Don't worry about it. I love wearing my coffee."

Yoomi keeps her hand poised over the horn, like a cat waiting to pounce. "All your clothes have holes in them. Coffee isn't your problem."

If it's possible for someone to never have an awkward moment, socially or otherwise, then that someone is my stepmother. When I was little, I admired her ability to charm roomfuls of people. Maybe I thought it would rub off on me—an idea I've since given up on. She's perfectly put together in a way I'll never be, and my vegan leather jacket and torn black jeans drive her crazy. So now I just take joy in wearing them to her dinner parties. Got to have something right?

"My problem is, I don't know when I'll see my dad," I say, looking out at the well-worn hanok homes, with their curved roofs and wooden beams.

Yoomi's lips tighten. "We've been through this a hundred times. They'll transfer him to Mai Hospital sometime this week."

"Which is still an hour away from Manyeo." This is the sentence I've repeated since I found out three weeks ago that we had to sell our Seoul apartment, the apartment I've spent my entire life in.

"Would you rather live in Seoul and not be able to pay your father's medical bills? We have no idea how long he'll be in a coma."

Three months, twenty-one days, and ten hours. That's how long it's already been. We lads a row of witch-themed shops with dried herbs and brooms filling their windows.

"They really love their witches here," I say, ignoring Yoomi's last question.

"This is one of the most important historical towns in Korea. Your relatives played a major role in that history."

"My relatives hanged witches in the seventeen hundreds. Not exactly something to be proud of."

But in truth, I'm super curious about this place, with its cobblestone alleys and eerie traditional houses. We pass a police car with a witch logo on the side. As a kid, I tried every tactic to get my dad to take me here, but he wouldn't hear of it. He'd say that nothing good ever happens in Manyeo and the conversation would end. There's no pushing my dad.

A bus with a ghost-tour ad pulls in front of us. Yoomi jerks to a stop and then tailgates. She nods at the ad. "There's a nice provincial job for you."

I crack a smile. "I don't believe in ghosts." We make a right into Geom-eun Sae Lane, the street in the return address of the cards my halmeoni sent me as a child.

"Well, you're the only one in Manyeo who feels that way." I don't doubt she's right.

For the first time during this roller coaster of a car ride, my stomach drops in a good way. Number 1010 Geom-eun Sae Lane, the hanok my dad grew up in, the house he met my mother in. It's a massive two-story white building with wood shutters and sliding doorways. The many peaks of the roofs are covered with dark wooden shingles, weathered from the salty air. A cobblestone fence surrounds the perfectly manicured lawn.

"Just the right size," Yoomi says, eyeing our new home.

The concrete driveway is uneven with age and pushed up by tree roots. Yoomi's silver sports car jostles us as we make our way through the black arched gate and roll to a stop.