Page 25 of Yumi and the Nightmare Painter

Yumi frowned, cocking her head. But then it clicked. Akane lived in his palace. She dressed like this. Painter was concerned she’d think that Yumi was sleeping with him.

“Oh!” Yumi said. “You must be one of his concubines!”

“Hiswhat?” Akane asked.

Painter groaned, flopping back onto the altar he’d been lying on before.

“He told me that he’d been withmanywomen,” Yumi said. “Er, intimately, I mean. A hero like him has many such conquests in stories. I apologize for my blush. I am…not experienced. He explained it to me when we were bathing together earlier. He told me all about the hundreds of women he’d been with! I should have realized when I saw you that you were one of his concubines!”

Yumi bowed. It was only proper to show the concubine of an important hero such deference. When she came up from her bow, however, she noticed the look of disgust on Akane’s face. Which quickly became a look of violent anger, Akane’s nose wrinkling in a sneer.

“He said all of that,” Akane said, her voice as cold as the air in this strange place.

“I…” Oh no. She’d misjudged, hadn’t she? Perhaps this was a woman he’d known intimately, but hadn’t made his concubine. That wouldexplain her anger. Except something about the way she was fuming…“You’re…not one of his conquests?” Yumi asked.

“Girl,” Akane said, “your brother has trouble conquering a bowl of noodles if it has too much spice.”

“He’s…a mighty hero though. Right?” Yumi asked.

In the other room, Painter groaned louder.

“Hero?” Akane laughed. Then she turned and stalked away down the corridor, wearing shoes that didnotlook like they would survive the ground’s heat. But then, Yumi was beginning to think maybe this place wasn’teverhot.

She shut the door, then put her back to it. “I…did poorly, didn’t I?” she asked.

Painter just continued staring at the ceiling.

“Painter,” Yumi said, “are you a hero? Like you’ve been telling me?”

“I…”

“Painter,” she said, her voice growing firm as she stepped toward him. “Have you been telling meuntruths?”

He turned his head and met her eyes. “Look,” he said, “I’m a very good painter. Well…okay, I’m a weak painter. But I’m capable enough, right? So you said you needed someone like me, and I figured…”

He held her eyes a moment, then turned away with obvious shame, flopping back down on his altar again.

“It’s not my fault,” he muttered, “what you assumed.”

Yumi felt a crushing sensation inside her, something squeezing the air from her lungs, her chest constricting.

He wasn’t… She…

She gasped in and out for several breaths, then sat on the floor. It wasn’t warm. How did they live without warmth underneath to bolster them?

“What was I supposed to do?” Painter said. “I got home from work, and next thing I knew, I was in your world. In yourbody. And there you were, asking for help. And I do consider myself kind of heroic, you know? So…”

“You lied,” she said. “Youlied. And now…now I have no idea what’s going on. I thought the spirits sent you to me, and…and that you’d know what to do…and…” She focused on him. “And you peeked at me when I was bathing!”

“Youpeeked atme.”

“You’re not a holy vessel chosen by the spirits!” she said. “I am.I…I need to stack something.”

She stormed through the small chamber, gathering up bowls of various sizes, some plates, other kitchen…things. She didn’t really know what went into cooking. She’d never done it before.

She plopped down on the cold, lifeless floor near his table, which was low like the ones she knew. Why make low tables if the floor wascold?

Her stomach growled.

---