Yumi and the Nightmare Painter(100)

The scholars noticed, as did the townspeople. At one point she heard a gasp, and glanced to see Liyun outside the fence, hand to her lips and tears in her eyes. Liyun had been looking more haggard lately, worn down, exhausted. It was encouraging to see her so happy today. It probably seemed like a miracle from the spirits to suddenly have her yoki-hijo back. Perhaps it was.

The scholars started arguing. Their machine then started stacking more quickly. They moved frantically, except for the lead one—who was holding the boxy device Yumi had seen last time. The one that let him detect a spirit.

He was staring directly at her.

He knows, she thought. Somehow. He knows.

Beside her, Painter had gone stiff. She first thought maybe one of their stacks—they’d done a dozen already—was about to fall. But now his eyes were on the ground, where a glowing red-and-blue teardrop was rising.

Immediately the spirit began to distort. The scholars shouted, and their machine moved even faster. The colors swirling in the spirit agitated, and it began to be stretched and pulled toward the machine.

“No,” Yumi said, bowing her head. “Please. Please. We have summoned you, spirit. I am your yoki-hijo. Tell me. What do you need? What must we do?”

It forcibly pulled back—like a glop of liquid metal, pooling the bulk of itself near her and Painter as one end was stretched out an impossible length toward the scholars.

“Please,” it whispered, the word vibrating through her. Painter’s eyes went wide. He could hear it too. “Please. Freedom. Please.”

“How?” Yumi begged. “How.”

“Stop,” it whispered, “the machine.”

Then it was pulled away, gathered in by the scholars’ device. They called for a supplicant to receive the boon, though the lead scholar remained where he was, hands clutching his nefarious box. He didn’t look pleased or self-satisfied for having stolen her spirit. Instead he looked concerned.

Behind him, the scholars made the spirit into a pair of repelling statues for lifting a home. They were smaller than the ones Yumi had made in the past.

The machine, she thought, keeps a piece of the spirit’s soul. That’s why the gifts the scholars create don’t work as well. It was collecting strength. To maintain its power. Or…for some other purpose?

“Yumi!” Painter cried. “You were right!”

She shook herself and tore her eyes away from the lead scholar, focusing on Painter. Right?

She’d been right. About the machine. About the needs of the spirits. After all that doubting, after all that uncertainty, she’d…been right?

She’d been right.

This would all end when she and Painter destroyed that machine.





“It’s absolutely, most definitely, assuredly not time travel,” Design explained to the two of them, resting her elbows on the bar.

“How do you know?” Painter asked.

“Because time travel into the past is impossible,” Design said. “I can show you the math.”

“Wait,” Yumi said. “Time travel into the future is possible?”

“Um, yes, dear,” Design said. “You’re doing it now.”

“Oh. Right.”

“We can slow or speed up time relative to other places or people,” Design said. “That’s easier in the Spiritual Realm, where time flows like water into whatever container you provide. But you can’t go back. Nobody, not even a Shard, can do that.”

“What’s a Shard?” Painter asked.

“Yeah, we’re not going to get into that,” Design said.

“Very well,” Yumi replied, “but many things I assumed impossible proved to be entirely possible recently. So perhaps something is happening that you don’t know about, Design.”

The buxom woman—well, entity—sighed. “You need proof, eh? All right, let’s read your aura, little girl.” She ducked down and began fiddling with things under the counter.

“Read my aura?” Yumi whispered, leaning over to Painter.

“It’s a carnival thing,” he explained. “Izzy loves readings. You know how she’s always trying to use dramas to guess what people’s futures are? It’s like that. Old lady sits in a room and squints at you, then tells you what kind of job you’ll like. It’s…mostly nonsense.”

Design popped back up and thumped a large piece of equipment onto the bar. A black box with some kind of…glass portion on top? Like a viewer?

“Is this normally part of it, Painter?” Yumi asked.

“I’ve…never seen it done like this before…” he said as Design took Yumi’s hand and put it onto the glass plate.

A customer came up for food, and Design shooed him away. When he didn’t leave, she stood up tall and snapped, “What? Can’t you see that I’m talking to a ghost and reading his girlfriend’s spiritweb? Go sit in the storming corner until I’m ready for you.”

The man frowned and trailed away. Painter, however, was shocked. Girlfriend?

“Took me longer to find this thing than I wanted,” Design said. “Hidden among all his junk. Guy needs a sorting system.”

(I have one. It’s called my brain.)

Design moved some dials, then hooked the machine up to the bar’s hion lines for power. While he waited, Painter reached over and took the spirit of Yumi’s soup, pulling it in front of him. He got two bites before it evaporated. He didn’t get hungry while a ghost, but he did miss Design’s cooking.