Page 37 of Yumi and the Nightmare Painter

“They know what I am,” she whispered to Painter. “They can sense the girl of commanding primal spirits.”

“Uh…no,” he said. “We don’t have those here. They just think you look strange.”

“They know,” she said, firm. “They stare at me like the townspeople do. Even if you don’t have yoki-hijo, these people canfeelsomething is different about me. It is my burden. And my blessing.”

Being weird was apparently her primary burden, though he wasn’t certain what was blessed about it. As they passed a shop selling many varieties of hion viewers, with actors moving across the windows in unison, she paused.

“I thought yoki-hijo didn’t gawk,” he noted.

“Oh, sorry,” she said softly, glancing down. “You are correct. I have shamed myself.”

Painter grimaced. He’d been hoping for a more satisfying reaction. Giving someone a jibe, then having theminternalizeit, felt awful: the conversational equivalent of going for a comedic burp and accidentally inducing yourself to vomit.

Regardless, he navigated her without incident to the foreman’s office—a small room with its own entrance at the corner of the general Painter Department headquarters. At his prompting, she entered. Foreman Sukishi didn’t care about knocking.

Fortunately, he was in. The older man sat at his usual place behind the small room’s single desk, feet up, reading his paper. Behind him, the many slots where he stored the paintings turned in for the day—tagged and sorted—were mostly empty. Ready for the night’s offerings.

As Yumi entered he lowered his feet and folded his paper, frowning at her. “You look familiar.”

“You met me the other day,” she said softly, “at Painter’s house. Um…Nikaro, the painter? I’m his sister.”

The foreman blinked, then recognition hit him and he sat back. “Sister? Of course. That makessomuch more sense.”

Painter winced. Why did people keep saying that?

“He didn’t work last night either,” the foreman said. “Is that why you’re here?”

“He’s sick,” Yumi said.

“Yeah. So sick that when I saw you the other day, he wasn’t sleeping on his futon—but was out somewhere. And had to leave his sister to cover for him.”

Yumi blushed, lowering her eyes. “I apologize for him, honored Foreman-nimi.”

“Oh, it’s not your fault,” the foreman said, softening his tone. Which was horribly unfair. This man had always treated Painter with some shade of contempt—but Yumi, the tyrant?Shegot his sympathies?

Then again, shedidseem to be an expert at milking these kinds of situations. Today she knelt down on the ground and gave the foreman a full ritual bow.

“Honored Foreman-nimi,” she said, her eyes toward the floor, “I am here to ask for information. You said my brother was out doing something the other day, but I remind you: He encountered something he called astable nightmare. He was watching out for that. He sent me to ask if perhaps you have an update?”

The foreman leaned forward, eyeing her. He tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “Right,” he said. “Stable nightmare.”

“He did send for the Dreamwatch, didn’t he?” Painter asked, feeling a spike of alarm.

“Did you send for the Dreamwatch, Foreman-nimi?” Yumi asked, looking up. “Have they found the thing? Painter says that it could grow dangerous in a matter of days if not dealt with.”

The foreman leaned backward in his seat, which gave a plaintive creak. “Tell me more about this thing he supposedly saw. Nikaro. Was he wounded, facing a stable nightmare?”

“No,” Painter snapped. “I fought it off, thank you very much.”

“He used his powers,” she said, “to drive it away.”

The foreman squinted his eyes. “Nikaro. Used those half-rate paintings of his to drive away astable nightmare?”

“That’s what he said.” Yumi looked to Painter, who nodded firmly.

The foreman studied her, then sighed. “I should have expected this…”

Painter frowned. Expected? A stable nightmare?

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