“Now you just sound like a nerd.” I duck my chin to hide my smile and write his question—in English, because I’m curious now.
How old is Ethan?
The answer appears on the page just below my question. It’s in Korean, but the book obviously understands English.Cool.
“It says twenty-four. Is that right?” I think it is, but I want to make sure.
“Yeah, I just turned twenty-four.” Ethan and I grin at each other, giddy like children. He shifts closer and leans toward the book. I try not to breathe in his scent. I fail. “Ask it ...”
But the book isn’t done.
The second evolution of the dragon.
The letters look uneven, like it’s written in a shaky hand. My brows draw low over my narrowed eyes. The book always has meticulous penmanship.
The peak of power. Unleash—
The last letter slashes across the page, like someone physically wrestled the brush out of the book’s metaphorical hand.
“What the hell? What is it talking about?” I flip through the book and check it cover to cover. By the time I turn back to the first page, the question and answers are already erased, like they’ve never been there. Anything written on its pages disappears as the ink dries, leaving the book a blank slate for the next question. “It must be rusty because it hasn’t been used in over a century. Let me ask it something else.”
I write,What’s my favorite color?The book doesn’t hesitate.Is it still pink? Never mind. Of course it is. PINK.The lettering is crisp and clear. I slap my hand over the words.
“What? What did you ask?” Ethan tries to peel my hand away.
“None of your business.” I duck low and cover the page with my upper body. “But it’s working.”
We tussle awhile longer, but Ethan grows silent and stills beside me. “Ask it who I am.”
“Ethan ...” I shoot him a worried glance.
“It’s okay,” he says grimly. “I’d rather know.”
“Just take its answer with a grain of salt.” Nerves churn my stomach. But what can possibly go wrong? All beings of the Shingae are born of the Cheon’gwang, the true light, and belong to one of four life sources—Mountains, Sky, Water, or Underworld. So no answer can bebadunless the book decides to provide an existential soliloquy. “Thebook does better with precise, unambiguous questions. Your question bears some philosophical weight. There could be many answers.”
“I understand.” He nods. “You don’t have to worry.”
I chew my bottom lip as I write out the question,Who is Ethan Lee?
As we watch, black ink splatters onto the page like fat drops of rain. I glance at the ceiling, expecting to see a black cloud hanging ominously above us, but there’s nothing there. But the ink keeps falling until the entire page is drenched in black. I desperately flip through the book. Every page is drenched.
I feel it now. A magic outside the book is silencing it. And that magic is flowing from ... the house? I cover the book with my hands spread wide, like I can protect it from the raining ink.
“No, no, no.”
Ethan’s eyes widen at the alarm in my voice. “What’s happening, Sunny?”
“Don’t do this. Not now. I still need answers. How do you use the sacred ashes? How do I stop Daeseong? Tell. Me.” I shake theBook of Answers. It can’t break now. I scream at the house, “What are you doing to it?”
“Me?” Ethan draws back as though I slapped him. “I’m not ... I’m not doing anything.”
“No, not you. The house.” I look around the room with frantic eyes. “I think it’s doing this.”
“The house?” He looks bewildered and ... disappointed. I realize the book never answered his question. “Why?”
“I have no idea.” I slump, planting my hands on the floor.
The magic choking the book finally dissipates, and the house goes still like it went into hiding.
