Still, as she walked, YeoWoo was insensibly soothed by the flowing stream cut out into the roadway below, and the likewise aged city around her. When she was young and human, the stream had been known as Gaecheon—a stream formed for drainage during the Joseon period. During the wild and dangerous time when Japanese soldiers and gumiho alike had wandered the streets of Seoul after dark, it had been renamed Cheonggyechon. Before YeoWoo had been gumiho for even half a century, however, it had been covered up to create a modern highway for modern Seoul, just emerging from the Korean war and poorer than ever. Much to her amusement, its current state had come to pass less than fifty years later, in what was almost a recreation of its original inception; modern Seoul wished to bring nature back to the city and had changed the course of nature once more to do so, ripping up bitumen and pumping water from the Hankang to revitalise the Cheonggyecheon.

  YeoWoo wondered if Seoulites were aware of just how many more odd incidents crept into the city after the stream was uncovered—and how many of those had anything to do with water. Nobody seemed to mind much; so long as the lantern festival sailed brightly lit floats down the stream every year and lovers could walk along the edges of the stream and under the bridges, an odd occurrence or two seemed to go unnoticed. Today, a little girl halfway across one of the stepping-stone crossings perched herself right at the edge of the stone she was on to follow an improbably large shadow beneath water that was too shallow in the human world to have hidden something quite so large.

  YeoWoo might have gone down and crossed over behind the girl, but the child’s father came along behind her, and then the shadow was gone. That was convenient. Although the Cheonggyechon was pleasant here, all beautifully tiled walls and smooth concrete beside almost smooth water, YeoWoo didn’t want to be distracted from her job. She allowed the young human girl to flit out of her mind and continued along the road. The buildings seemed less towering here in Dongdaemun, and tiny moped-style utes and barrows were as often seen as cars. YeoWoo threaded around drunkenly tilted utes that had been parked half on the footpath and half on the road as she travelled, pressing back the skirts of her chima to avoid picking up peeling blue paint and rust.

  There was a comfortingly old feeling to the place, and a reminder of her youth. YeoWoo had lived in Dongdaemun quite some time ago, and treading the old paths was soothing. It would also be useful in today’s search: some of her old acquaintances almost certainly still lived where they had when she lived here, and if she ran out of her own contrivances, no doubt those contacts would be useful.

  First, YeoWoo needed to find where a certain nymph had been sold after she was bound to a slavery contract. Once she had spoken to at least one of the people in the files Peregrine had given her, she should have a good idea of what to do next. She had no intention of basing any kind of investigation solely around the files she had been given—she didn’t know how sincere Peregrine was in giving them to her, and she didn’t know how sincere the person who had given them to him was, either. But the files were a good place to start, and she would start with them.

  She had chosen one of the files at random that morning before she left, and had found herself looking at the plump, globby face of a water nymph. This particular fresh contract had last been seen in the Dongdaemun district, which was quite some way from the nymph’s original home if she was a river nymph, and dangerously far if she happened to be a sea nymph.

  Who had decided that a water nymph would be better off in Dongdaemun than they would be as a scout along Hankang or any of the coasts? Someone, thought YeoWoo suspiciously, who had something untoward in the works that they didn’t want anyone else to know about—something that involved water. Or perhaps a middleman who hadn’t yet sold the contract on but had someone in mind and was simply storing their “goods” until they had a chance to present them. It was that thought which had convinced her to look for the nymph first.

  The days of mysterious, famous casino hauls or magic shows that were done by hand of nymph or sprite were long since gone; casinos were only allowed in Seoul in very particular circumstances, and all but one of those still around were exclusively for the use of foreign travellers. Outside of Kangwon, it was unlikely that someone was working on a job that would require something like that—a great pity, thought YeoWoo, striding along the Cheonggyecheon with her eyes flicking here and there. Even though she knew how the tricks were done, she had enjoyed watching them.

  Looking at the picture of the nymph that morning, YeoWoo would have guessed that it was a sea nymph she was looking at: their bodies were designed for deep sea and extreme pressure, and once above the water and absent that pressure, their skin and flesh expanded in the less restrictive atmosphere. It made them appear moon-faced, flabby, and more than slightly unhealthy.

  It had occurred to her that a sea nymph being kept away from the sea was even less understandable than a river nymph being away from the river, and now YeoWoo changed her direction slightly. She would go to see an old acquaintance who had done casino shows in his glory days—perhaps he would have some idea of who would want to purchase such a contract, and where she could go to get some quiet information on the nymph that might be legally admissible.

  YeoWoo took her time with the inoffensive old fae that she found just a little further north than the Heunginji Gate—or Heunginjimun—in the city wall. Across the road from the remains of the historical wall that had been built up in blue stone above the remaining parts, there was an ascending, serried rank and file of houses all clustered together, white painted, single story, and overgrown with magnolias and the ubiquitous gyul trees, still spotted here and there with mandarins. A tiny window or a tiny landing could be seen here and there through the undergrowth and the foliage, but the scent that wafted from those houses was almost pure Between, and YeoWoo already knew what she would encounter before she found a likewise overgrown gate and made it open for her.

  Could humans have known that the twinkly-eyed old ahjussi exterior that ManKi presented was just that—an exterior—they might have wondered why he presented it. YeoWoo, who knew a little something of the age of the fae, found the glamour particularly fitting—and it certainly made him disappear into the street in which he lived, where little crooked halmoni peered out of tiny, overgrown windows to see the locals and tourists passing.

  So she took the time to reminisce a little with ManKi before she dove into her reason for visiting him; and although the information she got in return was scarcely beneficial or comforting, YeoWoo still felt insensibly cheered as she regained the street and headed southeast toward the Dongdaemun Design Plaza.

  “Businesses like that don’t let contracts go without building in a lot of protection into the new paperwork when it swaps over,” he’d said bluntly, when she asked about the nymph. “It’ll be easier to get to them while they’re still with the primary contractor—no one ever thinks that a penned-up contract is as dangerous as one out in the open, so most of them are on standard no-talk bonds you might find a way around. Even if you could find a contract outside, they wouldn’t be able to talk to you without a bond specialist standing by to stop the worst of the bad effects, and if you don’t think any contract company worth its salt is paying all of them to tip them a nod when someone comes asking, you’re not as clever as I remember.”

  That had changed the focus of her investigation slightly, and irritated YeoWoo to boot. Peregrine would have known as much when he demanded she do the job for him, and he hadn’t so much as acknowledged that she would likely have to breach the contract storefront and put herself directly into harm’s way for any useful information. YeoWoo liked to attack things head-on, but since she would require an element of subtlety to get all that she needed from the work she was doing, it annoyed her to be forced in a single direction that she might otherwise have taken had the situation been simpler.

  She approached the DDP from the southwest, neglecting the first entrance that led to the upper level for the next, where she could take the stairs down to the lower level without winding around half the interior structure. These days, it was decked out with giant, helium-filled balls above, and plants and plastic statues below. YeoWoo swept past the humans happily going about their business of selfies, family photos, and dating, and toward the more heavily plant-infested area that looked as though it was cordoned off.

  It was, but only for humans. As soon as she brushed between two of the potted trees that made up the apparent barrier, she was met with cool, fresh air and the scent of Between. Ahead, where the silvery, constantly colour-changing wall of the DDP had been, was instead a silvery miasma that shielded the space behind it from the eyes of those in front. Just before that shifting shimmer was a desk, and at that desk, a receptionist. He was short, chubby, and had the sort of furry, cuddly look that suggested he was carefully concealing a similar secret to YeoWoo herself, though perhaps a less deadly one. Around YeoWoo in the plant-lined area were couches, wing-backed single chairs, and assorted coffee tables; a good half of those were taken up by various behindkind who were richly dressed and bright with both magic and jewellery. The servers, dressed in plain black and self-contained in a way that could have been magic-induced or fear-induced, moved almost silently through the space like moths.

  It could have been an underground Behind café if it wasn’t for the receptionist, in fact. YeoWoo let her eyes flick over him one last time, and then swept toward one of the empty couches, parting the moth-like servers without a word. It wasn’t until she was nearly at the couch that she saw there was someone else nearby; a possibly Italian or Greek man in a wheelchair somehow had a panel open in the shifting wall, through which a white cord passed and linked to the computer in his lap.

  That one, thought YeoWoo curiously. That one was a merman, she was quite sure. He was probably half-blood with some mutations that hadn’t allowed him to use his human body properly; it would explain both the wheelchair and the slight, fresh scent of ocean. That made two water-based behindkind that were contracted at, or had been contracted at, this place—which also made it likely that something odd and water-based was about to happen somewhere between the worlds.

  YeoWoo sat in a flutter of draperies and sank back against the chair, her arms gracefully laid across its arms and her eyes wandering the room in the hard, predatory way that she had learned very early in her career as a gumiho. Looking more dangerous than anything or anyone else in the room was second in importance only to actually being more dangerous than anything or anyone else in the room. It wouldn’t stop the servers approaching to do their job, but it would prevent anyone else who wasn’t sure they would make it out of the encounter alive, from approaching. Everyone here would be bound to recognise her or have her pointed out to them if they didn’t. The servers, whose job it was to know who and what every guest was, would absolutely know her.

  One of the servers did approach, and asked if she would like something to drink. YeoWoo said a rather contemptuous “Of course,” aware that more than just the servers were watching, and that she was here for a very specific purpose that required contempt of those who were beneath her. It would probably have been easier if it had been Athelas she was facing, she found herself thinking.

  She looked around the room once more, slowly, as she waited for her drink, aware of the tinkering of the merman in the corner of her eyes, as well as the other sets of eyes dropping as her own swept over the room. No one wanted her to catch them looking at her. She saw herself reflected in a series of mirrors across the room that occasionally threw up shallow images of what YeoWoo assumed to be contracts available to buy; she saw also the eyes that flicked up to watch her in the mirror and quickly dropped when she caught them. By the time the server returned with her drink, interest was dying slightly, but there was still enough for YeoWoo to feel as though she needed to say carelessly, “I’m looking for something I can take to sea with me.”

  The server bowed once, their silence dense with respect, and vanished. That would at least get her a look at some of the merchandise this particular location dealt with. If she didn’t see the nymph she was looking for, she would be able to ask for recommendations, too; always providing this was the kind of establishment that didn’t know their stock well and mixed different kinds of water creatures, she would also get a look at the river-based behindkind.

  When the server had gone, YeoWoo allowed herself to be more interested in the merman. Since she had already established her interest in sea-bound behindkind, it wouldn’t seem odd if she addressed him.

  Accordingly, she turned in her seat so that she could look haughtily over her shoulder at the merman, who was hunched over his work with such attention that he didn’t seem to see her at all.

  YeoWoo gave him a few moments longer to notice her before she asked coldly, “What are you doing?”

  The merman didn’t jump, but he did send a rather convulsive look behind him at the deceptively cuddly-looking receptionist, who had absent-mindedly let a pair of squirrel ears peep out through his curly hair while he was trying to fix a problem with his computer.

  “I’m here to purchase something,” YeoWoo said. “They won’t care about you talking to me. They might care if you don’t keep me happy, though.”

  “I don’t—I’m not a server,” he said, wheeling away from the wall at once with one practised movement. The fingers of his right hand returned to hover over his keyboard once that hand left the wheel, though YeoWoo had the impression that this particular quirk was more from habit than a desire to show that she wasn’t fully engaging him.

  “You’re a freelancer?”

  She saw the brief tightening of his lips. “No. I’m a contract.”

  “I didn’t know they were investing in human technology around here,” YeoWoo said, letting her eyes sweep carelessly over the computer and cord. “I wouldn’t have thought it worked very well with…everything else going on around here. I don’t think your receptionist is doing very well with his computer, for instance.”

  “I’m not just human technology,” he said, as if he couldn’t help it. Perhaps he’d taken the carelessness as a comment on the worth of his work. “I do behindkind systems as well, and I link the two of them together.”

  “Link them?” said YeoWoo, startled almost out of her usual cool composure. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

  “It wasn’t until about ten years ago, when I first started doing it,” the merman said. His eyes met hers briefly, then fell away. “I pioneered the first experimental usage of Between in electronics, too: I arranged the first experiment and participated in the second.”

  “I thought being personally involved in your own experiments was frowned on,” YeoWoo observed. Was he lying to try and impress her? He possibly hoped she would buy up his bond and release him from service to a den that was doubtless an unpleasant place to live if they really did take contracts against their wills.

  “I didn’t do it willingly,” he said, and the rue in his voice along with the slightly redder tinge to his sun-kissed skin convinced YeoWoo that he wasn’t just boasting. He had taken part in his own experiments and had either found it much more unpleasant than expected, or had not received the results he expected. “It was a matter of life and death, and I preferred the chance of being alive.”

  “Everyone does,” YeoWoo said dryly.

  The merman, cutting her unexpectedly to the heart, so sharply that she almost gasped, said, “Not everyone.”

  YeoWoo’s fingers tightened along the arms of the chair, and although she didn’t actually gasp, the merman seemed to hear that almost-sound as easily as if she really had. Their eyes met for the barest instant, and she saw there an understanding she hadn’t expected either to exist or to be evoked for someone as obviously predatory as herself. At the very least, someone on the contract side of the equation shouldn’t be having any feelings as soft as sympathy toward someone on the buyer side of it.

  She saw, for just a moment, another face—young, Korean instead of Italian, and creased with pain in places that a young face shouldn’t be creased. The echo of a dead voice said, “Do it, nuna. I want to die. It’s the only way.”

  The merman said something at the same time: it mingled with the staticky voice that wasn’t really there and made a nonsense of both of them.

  Mechanically, YeoWoo said, “I didn’t hear you. Say it again.”

  To her relief, her voice was as cold as it should have been, and when she caught sight of her face in the reflections of the momentarily otherwise empty mirrors across the room, it was emotionless.

  The merman’s eyes dropped. He said, “The server has your drink,” he said.

  YeoWoo twitched her gaze to the right and saw the server waiting patiently with her drink on an outstretched tray.

  “Finally,” she said, and took it.

  “The den mother will be out to see you in a few minutes,” the server said. “She’s bringing some contracts that might be suitable for you. In the meantime, you can look through our current stock along the mirror wall.”

  “How annoying,” said YeoWoo, with a very faint sigh that showed she didn’t feel as though she ought to have to get up in order to view stock.

  She rose languidly, glad to leave the merman behind, and approached the line of mirrors that dangled gently between potted plants and twinkling lights. If it hadn’t been for the faces that flashed up from moment to moment in the glass, their eyes dark with dread or hopelessness, it would have been a typical, charming Korean display of whimsy.

  “Seakind,” she said commandingly, and a series of faces cycled through the glass surface, each one flowing into the next with a gentle, water-like motion.

  The nymph she was looking for came up just a few faces before the end of the catalogue, when the entire thing began to play over again. YeoWoo, very well satisfied, sipped her drink and selected another of the seakind at random, beginning an exhaustive description of the seakind’s physical and mental characteristics, a list of their skills, and then a series of possible applications for those skills.