The Witches (Book #1)

𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 ℑ𝔰 𝔏𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔱

"It is rude to read someone else's private correspondence."

"Rude?" My brain fights through the fog of fear. "Rude!" I say a little louder. "You broke into my room. You have no right to talk about rude." I shut my mouth tightly, aware of his proximity and hair-trigger temper. His dark gray eyes don't react.

"I can see your manners do not improve upon closer inspection."

"Are you insulting me?"

"And you are not very clever."

It takes everything in my power not to push him off my bed. "Listen, creep, I do not have to defend myself to you. You have to defend yourself to me! Now you better explain why you broke in."

"I have already explained."

"If you want those  letters, why didn't you knock on the door and asked for them?"

"Because you were reading them."

"Tough! They were in my room." I fail to match his calm. "And what? You followed me, watched me through windows?"

"I have been watching you since you arrived in Manyeo."

This is worse than I thought. He's crazy. I look at the door again and bite my lip.

"I told you it was locked."

"Just tell me what you want and go away.'

He sighs. I used to live in this house. And I do not trust you."

His explanation doesn't make me feel better. "So you stalked me? You're a lunatic!" This is where Soojung's getting her information?

His gray eyes narrow. "Then you should leave Manyeo before I do something crazy."

For a second I wonder if I've pushed him too far. "Get out of my room."

"No."

"Then I hope you like jail," I say with force. He almost laughs. I almost punch him. "That book in my library—that was you, wasn't it?"

He nods.

"Why? Because I'm a Bae?"

"That is one piece of it, yes."

"What's the rest?"

"You seem to enjoy repetition in conversation. Once again, I did not want you reading those letters."

He's the most infuriating person I've ever talked to. "So they're yours?"

"More than yours."

"Those letters are really old. They can't be yours." I'm positive they belong to Bona in the painting downstairs.

He pauses. "They belonged to my sister." There is a slight waver in his voice.

"Then, your sister shouldn't have left them here!"

"She is dead." He sounds so sad for a moment, I not only feel bad about yelling at him, I want to reach out and comfort him.

I shake it off. "Well, they were in my armoire."

"They do not belong to you. And neither does the armoire, for that matter," he says with finality.

"This is my grandmother's house. Everything in it belongs to my family."

"Not necessarily."

Is there some situation where my grandmother could have his sister's furniture? "Why would anyone leave their furnityure in someone else's house?"

"Because they could not help it."

"Why wouldn't someone be able to help it?"

"Death is like that."

I examine his face, with its proud expression. "Did your sister know my grandmother?"

"I should not think so."

"When was she here?"

"For the last time, one the day she died in 1692." There is no hint of sarcasm in his delivery.

I take a hard look at him. He wears all black like before, black dress pants, black dress shoes, and a thin black cashmere sweater. The clothes match his formal accent. His hair hangs in waves around his face, and he smells of freshly washed linen. I shake my head, annoyed at myself for even considering believing that he's telling the truth.

"Seriously, what is this? Either you're crazy or you're messing with me. And besides, you touched me. You held my mouth down. You can't be a ghost. This must be Soojung's idea of a sick joke."

"I can see it was a mistake to come here." He stands and walks toward my door.

I swing my legs out of bed and land on the soft white rug. "Don't think . . ." Blacks pots form in my vision. I shouldn't have gotten up so fast. I stumble.

"Sooji?"

I reach out for my bedpost, but he grabs my hand and steadies me. "Lie back down. You are ill."

"Don't tell me what to do." I scowl at him and his accent as he helps lower me into the bed. "I'm calling the police."

"I would not suggest it." He walks to my door but does not reach for the lock or the doorknob. He just keeps going and disappears right though the wood.