Page 92 of Vicious Spirits

Somin debated taking the hint. He was obviously in a horrible mood, but her worry for him overpowered any restraint she had. And she slowly opened the door, peeking her head inside.

The room was empty.

Confused, Somin opened the door wider and stepped inside. She turned in a circle, just in case she’d missed something, but there was no one there.

Then Somin remembered, and she stepped to the far bookcase. It took her three tries before she found the right book again, but the hidden door swung open without a sound.

She hesitated. Was she really the right thing for Junu right now? How could she be sure? Thisthingbetween them seemed so volatile. Then she pushed those doubts away. Because Junu neededsomeoneright now, and that someone might as well be her.

Light spilled into the library as Somin walked into the hidden studio. Junu stood among his canvases, his shirtsleeves rolled up so she could see corded muscles as he ripped a painting in half.

More paintings lay at his feet, shredded. Ruined.

With a cry of alarm, Somin tried to still his hands.

“Junu, what are you doing?”

“Get out,” Junu said. Picking up a ceramic bowl covered in delicate blue leaves and lines, he let it shatter at his feet.

“I can’t—”

“I said,get out!” Junu shouted. And if rage was the only thing she saw in his face, she would have. But there was such pain. It tore at her heart.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Junu said, turning back to the pile of ruined art.Somin wondered if he would burn the whole place down if he could. No, he hated fire. So maybe he’d just batter it with his hands until it was all dust.

“I shouldn’t be surprised you found this place,” Junu said, picking up a canvas painted to look like a sunset from a high mountain. He tore it into thin shreds so strands of orange and red rained around him. “You’ve always been nosy.”

The words stung, but she also knew that when people hurt, they lashed out. And Junu was an expert at words. He knew how to aim them like weapons. But Somin wouldn’t let him deter her.

She wrapped her hands around his wrists. He still held the fragments of canvas in his balled fists. “Junu, stop this now, okay?”

He shook his head but didn’t pull away. “I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to be better.” Smoke started to plume from his hands, small flames erupting from nowhere to lick at the remnants of the painting.

“Junu,” Somin squeaked as his skin became searingly hot. She jerked back, letting out a hiss as it burned her hands. She glanced at her palms, red and irritated.

Junu stumbled toward a sink in the corner. He yanked desperately at the knobs until water ran over his smoking fists.

“Junu, what just happened?” Somin stuttered, staring at his hand. It looked smooth and unmarked. Like it hadn’t just been holding a fistful of flames.

“You should leave me alone before you get more hurt,” Junu said quietly. There was something in his words, like he wasn’t talking about the fire.

“No, I don’t think you should be alone. If I can help fix this—”

“This isn’t something that can be fixed!” Junu yelled, swipinghis arms across the counter beside the sink. Cups went crashing to the floor, smashing against the tile, spilling brushes and pens and scissors. They scattered around him as he slammed his hands onto the counter, holding on until his knuckles became white. “Don’t you get it? Sometimes people can’t be fixed. Not even by the great Lee Somin.”

Somin wanted to tell him he was wrong. There had never been a problem she’d come up against that she couldn’t defeat with sheer force of will. But she’d never known someone who had so much darkness inside of him. Centuries worth of it. This felt like a battle that had so much at stake, but it was one she wasn’t sure she could fight. Only Junu could. And it looked like he was giving up.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Somin began. “But if I can help—”

Junu let out a venomous laugh, a biting sound that made Somin’s stomach tighten.

“Nothing can help me. I’ve been cursed for centuries. I was a fool to think it could be any different now.” He stepped into the rubble that covered the studio floor, his slippers crunching on broken glass and ceramic. “What use do I have with things like this? What use are any of these to me?” he asked, picking up a half-completed bust and throwing it against the far wall. The pieces rained onto a tarp, pulling it down to reveal the faded portraits beneath.

Junu stared at the painted faces that looked back with dark eyes.

He picked up the painting of the woman looking lovingly out from her portrait. The paper was so delicate. Like it might just dissolve from being held. He stared at it intently. Like he waslost in the portrait. Like it dragged him to some long-forgotten memory.

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