The Witches (Book #1)

𝔄𝔫𝔤𝔯𝔶, 𝔑𝔬𝔱 𝔖𝔞𝔡

I almost fumble the tray. Why is he doing this? He takes it and places it in the middle of the rug. He offers his hand, and when our fingers touch I light up. My body temperature steadily rises and I break eye contact. We sit. He opens the basket and pulls out delicious-looking foods.

"Where'd you get all this?" I ask, still flustered.

"The tea and scones are from London. The finger sandwiches and pastries are from Paris. And the Devonshire cream is from Devonshire."

He went all over another continent—Europe, at that—picking out food for me? How's this happening right now? "This is the best cheering-up present I've ever gotten."

He smiles, and all his uncertainty drains away. It's a real smile. The first one I've ever seen on him. He has dimples. Everything in me wants to touch them. I need to change the subject before I embarrass myself. "Do you think Changbin's trapped inside me?"

He offers me a finger sandwich. "The thought did occur to me."

I crinkle my nose. "That makes me want to vom."

"Please refrain from murdering the Hangul language while we eat."

I laugh. His humor always comes as a surprise. I wonder what he was like before Bona died.

"After tonight, I feel like I don't know nearly enough about Changbin."

"Well. I know he was born in 1663 into a prominent family of ministers and followed that path himself. He was prolific and wrote nearly four hundred books and pamphlets."

I glance at the stack of books I brought down from halmeoni's secret study. One of them was written by Changbin. I'll read that one first. "My halmeoni's  notebooks said he had a difficult relationship with his father. And that his need to impress him may have driven some of the things he did?"

"Bae Ilsung was an influential figure in the moralist community. Changbin was determined to match his success. But Ilsung did not agree with the Trials using spectral evidence—the testimonies where people claimed the specter or spirit of the witch was trying to harm them."

I watch his lips as he speaks. Are they cold like his hands? "In history class we learned they would strip people naked and search them for witches teats. Gross word, by the way. Something that a 'demon familiar,' I think my teacher called it, could suck from. And they poked the witches with pins, right? To see if they could feel them? I mean, that's some nutty stuff."

"Indeed. Often, they would show bite marks as proof. Or they would fall into fits in the presence of the witch."

The rash suddenly doesn't seem out of left field. "How did anyone believe these accusations?"

He looks thoughtful as he chews. "They were very convincing. My fiancée was one of the primary accusers?"

"How'd you feel about that?"

"Initially, I imagined her claim to illness legitimate. I worried terribly for her. She would stiffen and stop speaking, or suddenly become frightened by a sight that was not there. I spent many a wakeful hour walking her floors determined to find a medical solution."

"And she was just jealous of your relationship with Bona?" He must have felt so betrayed.

"Yes. That is where it started, certainly. Then it became about old insults and family grudges. She was consumed with the power of it. And her accusations took the lives of good people. By the time I left, she was a shadow of the girl I had loved. Dark and distorted."

It sounds like a scarier version of high school. "How could people push each other to death like that? It seems so cruel."

"She did it because she felt important. People got away with it because no one stood up for the accused. The first people accused of witchcraft in Manyeo were an invalid, a homeless woman, and a servant. Who would speak for them?"

Those poor people.

"It is not dissimilar to your own situation. Do you believe the Lineages could torment vou without the consent of the other students and teachers?"

"It's not like they exactly agreed. They're just kinda silent about the whole thing," I say.

"Group silence can be a death sentence. It was in Manyeo," he says.

"Those accusations went to court, though."

Joohyuk nods. "Court was different then. The accused witches had no way to defend themselves."

That sounds awful. "So, once you went to trial, you were found guilty."

"You went in through the door and out hanging from the nearest tree." Joohyuk says.

"What role did Changbin play, exactly?"

"It's complex. He wrote a book about a witchcraft case in Suwoon. Reading material was scarce at the time, and Changbin's book read like a gossip magazine. As you might imagine, it was extremely popular. When the witchcraft scare broke out in Manyeo Village, the afflicted exhibited the exact symptoms as the people in his book. A copy of that book was present on their bookshelves."

"Oh man. So he unknowingly wrote a guidebook for accusing witches?" Maybe Soojung's answer in class wasn't so far off.

"Also, understand that moralist society was oppressively severe. Everyone worked and prayed and that was it."

I shake my head. "So when these accusations began, it was like crazy reality TV and everyone got consumed by them?"

"Completely consumed. It happened faster than one would imagine," he says, and pauses. "You never know in life when something unpredictable will happen." He looks away quickly and lifts the china pot. "How do you take your tea?"

"Cream and sugar, please." These words feel oddly proper.  "Joohyuk, why did you come back to Manyeo?"

"I missed Bona. I wanted to see something that reminded me of her."

"But you didn't leave again?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Toublesome houseguests." He almost smiles.

"Do you still want me to leave?" I ask, terrified of his answer.

He thinks for a moment, and his boyish nervousness returns.  "Sooji, you are the bravest person I have met in three hundred years."

My eyes well up. I carry so much weight every day, and no one cares. Having someone acknowledge it is almost overwhelming.

"I am honored to know you," he continues. "I only wish that Bona could have had the same pleasure."

I wipe away a tear.

He smiles. "I must remember to compliment you more so that you get used to it."

He's right. No one ever compliments me except my dad. I stare at him, and the fluttering around my heart starts again. Why do I feel this way? And more important, why can't I breathe?

He slides his hand into mine and lifts it up. He gently kisses my fingers with almost warm lips. Goose bumps rise all over my body in the best way. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I jump, pulling my hand out of his grip. Unsure how to recover, I take my phone out. Sehun's calling.

There's a muffled scream of frustration down the hall. "What was that?" I ask.

"Hard to say. Possibly, she discovered the wine on the back of her dress. I dare wonder how she will react when she sets to her new pair of shoes."

"Suzy?" says a muffled voice, and we both look down at my phone. I bite my lip. I must have pressed Answer. Guilt ripples through my body—guilt that I interrupted our room picnic and guilt that I considered not taking Sehun's call.

"Hey, Sehun." I say into my phone, and stare at Joohyuk.

He nods knowingly and disappears.