On the way back to the dormitories at nearly twelve midnight, Hyejeong curls up in the backseat, legs placed on Yuna, who is always understanding. Hyejeong presses her cheek against the cool leather of the seats and looks up through the back window to watch the moon move with the van.

Hyejeong recalls the large enclave of Shins lost in some far-out place on the outskirts of Seoul. She lived there for ten years, travelling three miles to and from school on foot, daily. The enclave was large, and it was called a coven. The coven, unlike most modern ones in Korea, was not nomadic in nature. It stayed in a place in the wilderness with few establishments and minimal furnishing. It was a gathering of elderly vampires still lost in their understanding of a fading world. They were fiercer, less accustomed to sophisticated manners of speech, and much stronger from the blood of the terrain. Few fed solely on animals and the dying and most were carnivores. Fortunately the Shins were the stronghold of traditional authorities in Seoul, connections extending via links to other covens. Due to attacks in the outskirts during the 1970s, however, masses of young vampiric children were left in batches in the following decades to local orphanages, some with some idea of what the children were and some with little knowledge of the antics the imps got up to at times. Hyejeong had grown up relatively untrained, having concealed her identity from her adoptive parents, and Jimin had been taken in with two other siblings by guardians with vampiric blood and impotency issues.

Hyejeong sighs, watching the moon stay with them. It's been too long since she's been out on the grass with something alive between her hands. She hasn't slayed humans (the guy in the shower in high school doesn't count; he was peeping and it was accidental anyway) but she's had her fair share of hares and strays on small mountains and along city streets. About five in all, her entire life, and Jimin, also considered domesticated, has always laughed at the number. Hyejeong speculates she's killed big things for fun. Or maybe she won't hurt a fly. Hyejeong hasn't really seen Jimin in action, except when she is forceful with cans and jars in the kitchen when no one else is home.

Jimin has her head on Choa's shoulder, and their fingers are intertwined, left on Choa's lap. There's a small red mark where Jimin led on Choa's neck some nights ago; it hasn't faded. Hyejeong stares off in some bitter jealousy. She's not that good with resisting temptation yet. Human skin is so bloody thin you can smell the rivers underneath it.

The van is going smoothly along and Hyejeong notices Seolhyun's scent is getting stronger and stronger, even though she's clearly seated in the first row and Hyejeong chose the back (rather strategically). Jimin's eyelids flutter from the smell.

With an abrupt movement, the tin-can van jerks left. Sardines in a can being jostled all at once. Jimin's hands go to Choa's sides and she rises from her seat, looking into the driver's mirror. Their manager is awake and his expression befuddled. He's trying to get hold of a wayward vehicle. This happened once before, on a rainy night with slippery roads, all the way in Gwangju.

But this isn't torrential rain. A shadow approaches from the right, Hyejeong scrambling towards the window. The dark shapes linger and then throw themselves at the van, heavy bodies rocking the van as it wrestles with a particularly narrow turn overlooking Seoul's bright lights. One wrong move and the van topples off the elevated road.

“The winds or something,” their manager says loudly, “or it's falling rocks. Please hold on tight.”

It's not the wind or a landslide. The jumping shadows are weighted bodies, launching themselves from roadside banisters. Jimin rolls down the window to the outcry of their manager and as Choa begins to stir from the sickening jolts, Jimin pushes her face through the window, waits, and then her arm shoots forth. It's a blur to the rest of the world, but Hyejeong, now realising she is frozen in the backseat, can see the motion of the hand reaching for a slim portion of shadow just stilling in the cold night air. Jimin's fingers close themselves around something fleshy. There is an ear-splitting crack, like wood splintering against aluminium. A yelp sounds and a shadow falls away.

Yuna wakes, unsettled from the commotion. “What's going on?”

“Rocks from a landslide,” Jimin lies smoothly, brows unmoving, the charismatic leader. “We passed them. Go to sleep.”

“Please close the window!” their manager yells for the umpteenth time. “You're going to get the team hurt! I'm trying to get us away from cliffsides; please behave.”

“Yes,” Jimin says tonelessly.

Choa is awake, and Jimin realises this when Choa grabs her neck, pulling her down into the seat. The embrace is quiet but strong. Choa is the leader's hair, pressing Jimin's face into her neck.

“The window, please.” The manager reiterates.

Hyejeong, joints loosening, reaches for the window. A shadow lurches out at her, and her arm slices through air to grab onto something much colder than she normally is. It's flesh, but of a different texture. It's very waxy, very well-done. There is barely time to think. Hyejeong throws it like she would a javelin. It hits something, screams.

Then it cackles, as if it had let her play with it for the moment.

Hyejeong rolls the window up fast, goosebumps racing up her arm from the touch. She looks at Jimin, and there is the common understanding that something is about to happen, and it is highly likely that neither of them has the upper hand on whatever it is.

When Hyejeong draws back into her seat, she returns to a wide-eyed Yuna, who asks her what she just did.

“Fended off something falling,” Hyejeong says, trying to sound defensive. “A branch or something?”

“Sounded loud,” Yuna responds, “like an animal. I hope we didn't hurt anything.”

Jimin turns back from her seat. “Not to worry. I don't think we did. Now sleep.”

All the while Hyejeong feels someone's eyes have been on her. Jimin's gaze directs her to the offending onlooker. It's Seolhyun, clutching a blanket to her chest and lips parted as they usually are. She doesn't look sleep-ridden like Yuna does, so it'll be difficult to say it was a dream. Seolhyun always only looks intrigued, interested, observant. Also beautiful. Hyejeong shakes it off.

“Seolhyun-ah,” Jimin starts. “Sleep. The journey back is an hour.”

Seolhyun turns her inquisitive eyes to Jimin once, and then says 'yes'. She rolls out her squashed blanket again to spread it over her legs. That's when Hyejeong notices the mark on her arm. It's like ash or soot or something, and Seolhyun doesn't see it. For the first time today, Hyejeong is truly afraid.

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