But she isn’t there. Of course she isn’t. She died. She’s dead.
Ethan picks me up from the dirt floor of the kitchen. I don’t know how I ended up there. He carries me into the only room in the house and sits on the floor with his back against the wall. I somehow end up settled on his lap, my head against his shoulder, with my face tucked into his neck.
I realize I’m crying when he brushes a rough thumb across my cheek. I try to take a deep breath but only manage a shuddering hiccup. I should be embarrassed to be seen like this, but the only thing I feel is ... safe. I squeeze my eyes shut and wrap my arms around his waist. He rests a warm hand on my back and smooths my hair with the other. His breath ruffles the top of my head.
“What happened, Sunny?” His quiet question places no pressure on me to answer. It’s as though he’s wondering out loud to himself. “What did they do to you?”
“I had to relive my worst memory,” I whisper. “I had to relive the day my mother died.”
“That fucking—”
I sit up and press my fingertips against his lips. “Donotdisrespect the Seonangshin. It was a high price to pay, but their sacrifice was greater.”
I drop my hand when the fury dims in his eyes. But his mouth is pressed into a mutinous line. “If you say so.”
“I do say so.” I sigh and let myself take in the room that I shared with my mother.
“This place ...” He studies my face for a long moment, his eyes gentle with understanding. “Is this where you and your mother used to live?”
“How ... how did you know?”
“You looked like you saw a ghost when we came up on this house.” He reaches out and brushes the hair out of my eyes. “Then you ran into the kitchen calling for your mother.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know why Samshin Halmeom sent us here. It seems needlessly cruel ...”
“Or kind,” he interrupts. “Maybe she thought being in your old house will console you.”
“Oh, now you’re taking her side?” I smirk, but my smile fades away as I realize why she chose this house. “You’re right. She was being kind.”
“Yeah?” He seems surprised by my quick acquiescence.
“This house is enchanted.” I notice for the first time that there’s a candle lit on the low dresser and the floor is warm from the woodfire burning in the kitchen. Even in the summer, the mountain grows chilly in the evenings.
“Enchanted?” He cringes. “Like the field?”
“No, not like that.” I put my hand against the wall behind Ethan’s shoulder and speak to the house. “You took good care of yourself all these years. Were you waiting for me to come home?”
The candle flickers and makes happy shadows jump across the room.
“This house isalive?” Ethan pushes away from the wall, jostling me on his lap.
“Not how you think.” I climb down from his thighs, mortified at how comfortable I’d made myself there. “It doesn’t have a life force of its own. My mother ...” I clear my throat. “My mother imbued some of her magic into the house.”
“Okay. It’s not alive, but it’ssentient.” He gazes warily around the room, like the walls might close in on us at any moment.
“Yes, but it exists only to serve me and my mother. Well, just me now, I guess.” When Ethan’s eyebrows shoot up to his forehead, I add, “And my guests.”
“It ...” His brows furrow. “It understands English?”
“Understands English?”Of all things.“It doesn’t need to because it understands our needs.”
As though reminded of its manners, the house rattles the round brass handle on the door leading to the kitchen. It takes me all of onestep to reach the hanji-papered door—the room is no more than three hundred square feet—and open it.
A short-legged wooden table laden with piping-hot food sits on the small landing. I reach down and bring it inside the room.
“See, it even made us food.” I sit by the table and wave Ethan over. “Come on. Let’s eat.”
He sits facing me and glances down at the simple but plentiful meal. “Is this chicken soup?”
