Spray paint hits the wall in a multitude of colours. Brilliant greens and purples make way for blues and oranges as I move with practiced ease. My breath is hot and humid inside my mask and the summer air dries the paint quickly as I add the finishing touches.
"Are you sure this is legit, Zi? What if the police rock up and ask if you have permission? Do you have any paperwork to show them?"
"It's fine," I reply, shrugging. "Apparently there was a last minute drop out and whoever is in charge liked my submission so I got in."
The rapid clicking of a metal ball in a spray can fills the silence between us. I had painted most of the piece by myself yesterday as Imogen had been busy preparing for NYU. But the solitude had been good. I could let my mind wander freely as I painted all day. This morning is for the smaller details and to watch as the whole piece comes together.
"I don't have a good feeling about this, Zi."
I sigh and put down my paint can. "Keep your cardigan on Imogen. This isn't illegal, we're not going to get arrested."
"But what if we did? What if there's some mistake and this isn't even the right building?"
I roll my eyes. "This is legit, Immy," I say. "Besides, I'd never let you get arrested."
Imogen raises an eyebrow at me, her fists on her hips. "How would you do that exactly?"
I try to keep a straight face as I say, "I don't know, I'd probably hide you in a trashcan or something. You're small enough."
The horror on her face sends me into a massive fit of laughter and I try hard not to lean on the fresh paint.
"You're the worst!"
"Am I though?" I wink at her. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure the cops would take one look at you and let you off with a warning."
I have one more look over my piece and grab a fluro pink spray can and sign 'Z' on the bottom right corner.
I shove all the paint cans into my backpack and take off my mask before I can change my mind and add more.
"Are you done?" Imogen asks.
"Yep!"
Imogen hops off the milk crate she had been sitting on and stands next to me. "Zi, this is amazing!"
I grin. "Thanks."
"But why does she have green hair?"
I shrug. "It's just how I saw her in my dream."
We both stand side my side, gazing at the wall. Swirling green hair filled with wildflowers frame an ageless beauty and I wonder, not for the first time, who she is. Why she's been roaming my dreams.
The sound of a camera shutter clicking shakes me from my thoughts and I look over to see Imogen taking a photo of me gazing at the mural. I pull a face at her and she takes another one.
"Wow, that must look really attractive," I say and grab my backpack.
Imogen laughs, "It doesn't. You look like a squished potato."
"Ouch! That's just rude!"
Imogen shrugs, "But it's the truth."
"You are the worst friend ever."
"At least I didn't say I'd shove you into a trashcan," she glares and takes another photo of the mural. This time without me in it. Thank god!
We make our way to the road and we're about to wave down a taxi when -
"Ahh, you must be Zivena."
Imogen and I turn around to find a well dressed, dark skinned man standing a few feet away. His too white smile shines from underneath his black umbrella and his shrewd dark eyes travel up and down Imogen before flicking back to me. There's something about him that has me stepping in front of Imogen before I say, "Who are you?"
"Lotair," he says, his voice smooth and cunning. He takes a step towards me and holds out a gloved hand. Frowning, I shake it. "I'm the co-founder of the street art project and I'd heard you were finishing up this morning." Lotair gives me a slow, toothy smile and for a split second I thought I saw...
I shake my head. No, that - that's ridiculous.
"It's an interesting piece you've created. What inspired you?" There's something in his voice and his eyes that tells me that this is no casual question...
"It's just something I saw in a dream," I say cautiously.
Lotair's eyes gleam like a rich housewife spotting a new expensive handbag. I frown at him.
"Well, thank you again for filling in last minute. My partner was very intrigued by your submission."
"Not a problem." I wave down a taxi. I want to get the hell away from this creep and quick.
Lotair continues to stand there, studying me as we anxiously wait for the taxi to pull up. "Have a lovely day, both of you," he gives us yet another wide grin.
The taxi stops beside us and I open up the door for Imogen to get in first. As I'm about to slide in I say without thinking, "It's quite sunny today. Maybe you should get inside before you burn to a crisp."
In an instant his smile drops and his face hardens, "I've found that Guardians who run their mouths don't live very long lives."
Before I can say anything else the taxi takes off down the street.
Imogen turns in her seat to look at me, "What was that about?"
I shake my head, instantly regretting opening my mouth at all. "Nothing."
✲✲✲✲✲
The taxi drops us off at Imogen's house and we hop out.
"I'll see you this afternoon?" Imogen asks.
I nod. "Yep."
She heads up the steps to the front door and I make sure she's inside before heading off towards my home two blocks away.
As I round the corner I notice three tall men with bags slung over their shoulders standing at the front door of my home. I stop at the bottom of the stairs.
"What are you guys doing here?" I ask and they all turn around. "I thought you weren't suppose to fly in until this afternoon?"
"Why does it matter, Zivena?" Evert, the eldest of my three brothers, glares. "Clearly you've been doing something you didn't want us to see." He gestures to the paint on my hands and legs.
I give him the finger before barging past him into the entryway and throwing my bag at the foot of the stairs. It makes an obvious clanging noise.
My brothers follow me inside and they dump their bags in the entryway too.
"Where'd you go this time?" Ahren asks, leaning against the archway into the lounge room.
"I scored a last minute commissioned piece down in Little Italy," I reply and pull off my boots.
Ahren frowns at me. "Which street?"
"I don't know. Mulberry or Baxter, I think."
Evert pushes past me to get to the kitchen and rolls his eyes. "You shouldn't encourage her, Ahren. She already gets away with everything."
I glare at his retreating back. "I had permission this time Evert."
He glances over his shoulder, "Yeah, this time."
"Whatever. Not my fault you've never rebelled, even just a little."
Stuck up prick.
He ignores me and stalks into the kitchen.
I turn back to my other, more reasonable brothers. "It's going to be great having you guys back. Now Dad has new people to annoy. He's been driving me insane!" I suppress a grimace.
"Oh no!" Ulfric gasps in mock horror. He drops the joking tone, deadpan. "Mom's gone on a decorating spree again hasn't she?"
I laugh, "Yeah, she did the kitchen and living room about a month ago. The poor brownies stopped doing any work and almost left before I convinced them to stay with the biggest bowl of porridge and honey they had ever seen." We all laugh and make our way into the kitchen.
As I walk in, I smell waffles and freshly toasted Pop-Tarts; I sit at the table and slap two stacks of Pop-Tarts and pancakes onto a plate. To top it off I send it all swimming in a sea of maple syrup.
"Well good morning to you too, Zivena," Mom says, eyebrows raised. My dad is sitting at the head of the table and sends a grin over the top of his tablet.
"Oh, mornin'," I say around a mouth full of food.
"And where have you been this morning?" Mom places a new bottle of maple syrup on the table. "I could smell the spray paint the moment you walked in with your brothers."
"And that's saying something," Dad butts in. "Those boys stink. I'm surprised your mother could smell the paint at all."
"Hey!" Ahren and Ulfric yell together.
I try to stifle my laugh but it just comes out as a snort.
"I don't know why you're laughing, Zivena. If I hear a police report about a girl with short black hair running away from the police for illegal graffiti, you're grounded."
I gape at her. Evert smirks at me.
"Mom," I reason with her, "I had permission. Besides you can't ground me. I'm almost eighteen and we all know what that means."
Mom rolls her eyes. "Just because you're about to go through the transformation, doesn't mean you can do whatever you please."
"Mom's right, Zivena," Evert says as he sits down with his overfilled plate. "You shouldn't provoke the police."
"I didn't even see any police because I didn't do anything illegal!"
"Sure, Zivena," Ahren winks.
I go to open my mouth but Mom quickly says, "Stop it all of you. I finally have all my kids back under one roof, I don't want you all to start fighting straight away."
Ulfric gives Mom an innocent look. "I've never fought with my brothers and sister before."
Dad snorts and starts choking on his cereal. Mom loosens up and sits down with her coffee, a small smile brightening her face.
I glance around the table as we all enjoy breakfast, joking and laughing and catching up on everyone's lives. All three of my brothers look practically the same. Tall, over six foot, lean athletic bodies with dark green eyes. Easy smiles. I catch Dad's eye and he gives me a wink.
Although everyone seems light and happy, I can sense the underlying exhaustion and stress. My parents have been in and out of the house for days. Working like mad. I wonder what my brothers have been up to these last few months they've been away?
Ulfric stands up and limps to the stove to help himself to more pancakes and waffles. I hadn't noticed the limp when he'd arrived.
"What happen to your leg?" I ask. Amusement sparks in Ulfric but reluctance flares in Ahren.
"He tripped down some stairs," Ahren replies.
"Yeah and landed on top of a-"
"Ulfric," Evert warns.
"On top of a what?" I press.
"On top of some pot plants," Ulfric adds quickly, his amusement souring.
"Pot plants? Really? Yeah, that's likely."
"It happened, Zivena," Evert says bluntly.
"Gee, hi to you too Evert. Home five minutes and you're already treating me like I'm a kid."
"I am not."
"It happened," I mimic him. He glares at me for a few seconds then reluctantly keeps eating. Immature jerk.
"Hey, could someone pass me the maple syrup?" Ulfric asks, breaking the awkward silence.
"Sure thing," Ahren grabs the glass bottle and throws it, "Catch."
With unnatural speed and accuracy, Ulfric grabs the bottle and is already pouring it before my eyes can catch up.
"Hey!" Mom shouts, "Can we be a little more careful? Is it to much to ask for one civilized visit without breaking something?"
"Mom you know that's impossible for us," Ulfric says. "Remember last year when we were playing video games? Ahren got so angry that he threw his controller at the TV." We all laugh. Dad even does an imitation of Ahren getting angry and pretends to throw his coffee cup. It makes us laugh even harder.
"How could I forget?" Mom mutters as she gets up to start on a giant batch of scrambled eggs, glaring playfully at my dad.
"I wouldn't have broken it in the first place if it wasn't for you and Evert!" Ahren snaps at Ulfric. "You ganged up on me on purpose!"
It's become an accidental family tradition to break at least one thing every time we're all together. Two years ago we were fighting in the kitchen and I broke the fridge. Somehow. To this day, I still don't know how the door opened or how I fell into it and got food all over me but that hadn't stopped our bickering.
"That is so not true, Ahren, and you know it. You're just a lousy player with bad aim," I snort.
I shove more food into my mouth and get up to turn the TV on. The morning news has just started and there's a report that the body of a teenage girl has been discovered in Central Park. Everything about this murder sounds familiar. It sounds exactly like the other murders that have occurred in the last four months. The reporter says the investigation has been handed over to an unidentified government agency.
The room's mood spirals down then. It ranges from dread, to anticipation and frustration. The sudden change in emotions makes me dizzy and I quickly grab the counter to steady myself. I glance at my family and their stares.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart." Mom looks away, avoiding my gaze.
"Those murders have something to do with our world, don't they?" I question my dad who suddenly finds his breakfast interesting enough to stare at.
Evert shoots me a look and is no doubt about to say something cocky when Ahren cuts him off, "I'm sorry, Zi, you know we can't tell you yet." Ahren appears truly upset whereas Evert is rearing to rub in the fact that I'm still 'underage' and haven't earned the 'privilege' to know about the Guardian's investigations.
"Oh, come on! I turn eighteen in two days!"
"Doesn't matter, Zi," Dad finally speaks up. "You know we're not allowed. Trust me, your mother and I would love to tell you everything. We knew years ago that you could handle it all but we just can't."
"What more do you have to tell me?" I prompt Dad. When he ignores me again, I look to Mom and then Ahren.
What else could there be? If the myths and legends of vampires and werewolves are true, what else could possibly be out there?
"You're going to have to wait like the rest of us, Zivena. You're no more special than us; you can't get any special treatment. Understand that." Evert looks at me, his eyes heavy with arrogance.
I stare back in frustration and stand straighter, "I never once said I was special. Don't keep treating me like a child Evert. You are no better than any of us. Understand that."
Mom looks between Evert and me as we continue to glare at each other. Everyone suddenly becomes very intent on eating their breakfast.
"Zivena?" Mom says quietly, "Are you still meeting up with Imogen and the boys today?"
I nod and make a move for my dishes.
"Oh and before you go can you take this to the brownies," she hands me a small bowl of eggs and grilled tomatoes.
"Sure can, Mom," I say. I head for the pantry and open the little cupboard that's hidden in the back. I place the dish inside so the brownies — the little fairies that inhabit our home — have something to munch on. As I pull my hand away, I notice a little pink-cheeked face poking out from behind the wall. Her face is lit with curiosity. Mom once told me that brownies never show themselves to anyone other then small children and that they only like cleaning during the night when everyone is asleep. I give the little brownie a smile.
When I was younger, I would tell Mom and Dad every time I saw one but as the years went on, my parents sat me down and told me that very soon I would stop seeing them and not to be disappointed. They liked their privacy. When I was thirteen, I told my parents that I was still seeing them. They just shared a look of surprise and wouldn't explain to me why that wasn't normal. Since then, I've stopped mentioning them. I don't want to feel as if there is something wrong with me.
I sit back down and rush to finish my breakfast. There is a stiff awkwardness wafting through the kitchen. Only small talk about the weather and the latest news breaks out here and there. It doesn't last long. As I leave to head upstairs, I feel the tension shift from me to Evert as Mom asks him if he'd like some eggs. I shake my head as I climb the stairs. I don't understand why Evert has a problem with me. He's so frustrating.
After the huge breakfast with my family, I spend some time sketching a new idea that has been floating around in my head since I finished that mural this morning. The relief from graduating high school has let me coast a high and I know, for at least a few weeks; I can draw and paint without other things getting in the way.
I grab a fresh canvas and set my easel by the window that overlooks the street in my little art studio. I slowly begin to shape my new idea; a figure starts to emerge. The elegance of the cascading, green hair is difficult to work with as I try to capture the calm beauty. Her narrow face and almond eyes radiate power. Of course, it's only an outline for now as I start to add the base coat to the forest and the woman.
An hour or two has flown by before I check my watch and -
"Shoot!"
It's already ten. I'm late. I run from my studio and grab my backpack and Dr Martens from my room where I had stashed them earlier. I try not to trip down two flights of stairs as I pull on my boots and skid to a halt in the kitchen. Mom and Dad are the only ones still in here and I can hear my brothers playing video games in the lounge room. I grab the dishes that I'd left on the kitchen table and place them in the sink before giving Mom a quick kiss on the cheek.
"I'm off. See you Dad." I turn towards the lounge and shout, "Bye!"
All I get is distracted, half-hearted goodbyes in return.
"Say hello to Imogen and the boys for me," Mom says.
"Sure thing."
I walk out the front door and a wall of heat hits me. It's summer and the tar roads have started to soak up the sun and spit it back up at me. Thankfully, trees line my street at even intervals and the few shady spots help me keep cool, though it isn't a long walk to Imogen's house.
Thankfully my family was able to distract me so I didn't think about that strange man, Lotair. But as I walk to Imogen's all I can think about is how I've gotten on the wrong side of a vampire. Yippee...