Suddenly, it was raining lotus seeds. Off the edge of the table they slid and rolled, plunking off her head and her arms and scattering on the stone floor this way and that. Misoon swore internally. Instead of frantically gathering the seeds, she reached into her pocket for a talisman, pinching it between two fingers tightly.
"Who's there?"
The seeds stopped tumbling off the table at once. Misoon sighed. "Whoever it is, will you please come back later? I'm really busy. I can help you tomorrow, oh spirit."
Lotus seeds began pouring off the table again.
Misoon sighed. "I see." She turned around to stride to a supply cabinet. Immediately, one of her bags of ground garlic nearby tore open, spilling over the floor in a cloud of dust that made Misoon cough and sneeze. She turned around, fanning the air with watery eyes. "You don't want a summoning ritual?"
On the ground, the lotus seeds had begun to slide around in the settling garlic powder. It seemed they were tracing—was that a series of words?
How strange…The dead don't normally write…Is it not a human spirit…?
Misoon squinted at the message, dabbing at her red eyes with a handkerchief from her apron.
"Window…Follow…him…?"
She waited, but the lotus seed tracing in the powder had fallen to the ground and stopped moving. Shaking garlic off her shoes, she left the back storage room behind and entered the main area of the shop. There was only one wall of the shop with windows: the side facing the street. The windows were dark now, difficult to see out of—they reflected the warm light of a few lanterns placed around the shop. Misoon hurried from lantern to lantern, opening their hatches and blowing them out, until the shop was in full darkness. Moonlight streamed through the windows, allowing her at last to see clearly out into the now-empty market street.
Someone flitted past the window.
It was a young person—a young man, maybe? It was hard to tell at such a brief glance. He stumbled over his feet, stopping briefly outside the shop door to look behind himself. His hair was a deep blue in the moon's light. His movements were stealthy and guarded.
Without asking questions, Misoon ran to the storage room, dug in a drawer, grabbed a bottle of glowing blue liquid, and downed it in one gulp. Then she ran back to the main room, quietly opened the front door, locked it behind herself, and hurried down the street after the disappearing silhouette of the young man. Her footsteps were silent, and she had no shadow.
She'd always been taught to help the dead, lest they come back to haunt you.