The Witches (Book #1)

𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ℜ𝔢𝔟𝔢𝔩

I run my hands through my wet hair to make sure all the cider's out. I lock my bedroom door and pull out my phone. Nothing. There's no way that rash was coincidental. Either someone set me up or I caused it in some weird way.

Joohyuk appears in front of me.

"Good. You're here." I grab my boots. "Let me get a jacket and we can go."

"You are not going into the woods tonight, Sooji. At least not with the Lineages."

"But we have to! We don't know how much time we have left," I almost yell.

"The police are at Wendy's house now, and a good number of parents. A lot of people are blaming you. They are already nervous about all the recent deaths in Salem, and this only makes them more anxious. They are not thinking clearly."

The hearse I saw with Sehun, the purple roses by the lamp post, the woman outside the funeral hall, and Kai's great-grandfather all flood my thoughts.

"It would not be wise to go back there. You will have to go tomorrow."

My voice wavers. "But my dad . . ."

"You have to calm yourself. You cannot solve this without a clear mind."

I take a deep breath and try to stop myself from crying.

Joohyuk takes my hands. "I will help you, Sooji. In
whatever way I can."

His gray eyes are kind. I take my hands back and wrap my arms around him. I bury my face in his chest. For a moment he's still. Then slowly he returns my hug. He smells subtly of burning logs in a fireplace.

"Will you stay for a little while?"

"If you like."

"Will you tell me about Bona?" I want to talk about
something other than my fear.

Yes," he says into my wet hair, his cheek resting on my head. "What would you like to hear?"

I'd really like to know what happened to her, but I know better than to ask. "Who painted the portrait of her downstairs?"

"I did."

I pull away to look at his face and I realize he has a tiny freckle on his bottom lip. "You're a painter?"

His eyes smile. "There were no moralist painters. Idle action was discouraged in all forms."

"Then how?"

He releases his arms from my body. "It started as drawings for Bona when she was little. But after our parents died, she did not speak for a long time. I was looking for ways to make her happy."

I sit down on my bed and scooch up to the pillows. "But that painting is beautiful. No one does that on their first try."

He appears embarrassed. "Lots of time in the evening. Not much to do then. I practiced. No sports or dancing or music. People believed they led to laziness and to sin. Poor Bona. She loved to make up songs but could only do it home."

I motion for him to sit next to me, and after a moment of hesitation, he does. "I've seen drawings of that time, and everyone wore head pieces and ugly black hanboks. Where did she get the blue silk gown in the painting?"

"A merchant by the harbor made frequent trips to neighboring countries. Same way I got my paints and canvases and the extra candle by which to paint."

"So you were a moralist rebel?"

"Earning that title took minimal effort. Laughing too
loudly would probably suffice."

I smile at him. "Did anyone ever find out what you were doing?"