Page 86 of Yumi and the Nightmare Painter

Such a novel idea, and so much harder to do than she would ever have assumed. Still, Yumi forced out the words. The ones akin to those she always wished she could have heard.

“It’s all right,” she whispered. “I know you’re trying. That’s what matters.”

Pay attention. At times,thisis what heroism looks like.

Painter glanced at her, then let out a long breath. “Thanks,” he whispered. “But you’re right about me. It’s hard sometimes, you know? Keeping on doing the same thing every day, feeling like you’re getting nowhere?”

He pointed at a fire escape—a metal lattice that ran up alongside a building. She squinted, and barely made out a trail of smoke coming off one of the metal corners on the second story. They started upward.

“In school,” he whispered to her, “the teachers always talked abouttheimportanceof our job. They’d preach about the meaning of art, about theory. They said painting was about passion and the whims of creativity. They teach us we’re supposed to see theshapeof the nightmare, and paint that.

“Then you get into the real world, and find that it’s hard to be creative like that every moment. You realize they didn’t teach you important things, like how to work when youdon’tfeel passion, or when the whims of creativity aren’t striking you. What then? What good is theory when you need to feed yourself?

“In the real world, you realize you can do your job by making the same thing again and again. Bamboo captures nightmares just fine. Whatever they say. All of those high-minded aspirations from school fade before the truth, Yumi, that sometimes…it’s just a job.”

They stopped on the landing. She said nothing, though it was hard for her. Merely nodded for him to continue.

“So I got into a bit of a rut,” he said. “Yeah, guess I can say it. I only did bamboo, day in and day out. Foreman Sukishi didn’t like that. He never liked me. I wasn’t…well regarded in school, as I told you. So he’s thought the worst of me. And he always assumed I was doing bamboo because I wasn’t actually finding nightmares.”

They reached the second story of the fire escape, near the sign of the nightmare. And as he looked toward her again, Yumi realized that she understood. She’d made different choices, putting perhapstoo muchof herself into her work instead of backing off like he had. Still, she could legitimately see how doing as he had wasn’t laziness; it was something more personal, and far more relatable.

“It’s really hard to be a great painter,” he whispered as they knelt beside the nightmare sign. “But it’s (lowly) easy to be a fine one. Regardless of what the foreman thinks though, I did my job—and I didn’t let anyoneget hurt. I would never allow that. I…I might not be some warrior, like you wanted. I’m not the personanyonewanted. But I’m trying.”

She nodded to him and put her hand toward his shoulder for comfort, though she didn’t dare touch him.

“Get a good look,” Painter said, pointing to the smoke wafting from the corner where two small metal beams met. “The more of these you see, the easier it will be for you to pick out others when you’re patrolling.”

She leaned in close to inspect the metal—and the black coating. It looked like blood, in a way. Blood that evaporated.

“Why don’t they leave trails on the ground?” she said. “Like footprints?”

“Once in a while you’ll see a footprint,” he said. “But not very often. We’ve never been able to figure it out.”

Curious. It seemed likely the nightmare had left this sign when it had brushed the corner while walking up the steps. “Maybe it has to happen accidentally,” she whispered. “Like when I went through that wall…”

Painter nodded, thoughtful. Then he pointed toward the top of the lattice, where another wisp of smoke was clinging to a bar near a window, all of it highlighted by the reflections of hion lines close above.

“Painter,” she whispered, “are they actually dangerous?”

“Of course they are.”

“But if the stable one has been free for weeks…why hasn’t it killed anyone?”

He didn’t answer, just stared upward at that window.

“Maybe what you know is wrong,” she said. “I thought I understood my life, but it turns out I’ve been profoundly lied to. Is it possible the same is true for you?”

“No. I’ve seen pictures of cities destroyed by these things.”

“How could one creature, even a nightmare, destroy a city?”

“They’re hard to stop when stable,” he said. “And they call to others. One reaches stability, and then others follow.” He paused. “We think.”

“You think?”

“The most recent city this happened to was decades ago, and the few survivors couldn’t explain much. Dozens of nightmares rampaging.” He looked at her. “But I promise they’re dangerous. I’ve personally seen a child bleed after being attacked by one of these things. Maybe I don’t have all the answers, maybe there are holes in our understanding, but I know they’re a threat.”

She nodded to him, took a deep breath, and started to climb up to see what was in that window.

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