I’m giving my readers what I didn’t have. What I wish someone had been there to offer me.
I inhale, shoving the grime of misplaced guilt and shame aside, and allow the pleasure and bone-deep satisfaction to bloom in my chest as I stare at the screen. At the illustrations that are my original creations, that come from my imagination and hand. At the story line I plotted and wrote. This issue, which will end up in the third Ravaged Lands omnibus by the time I’m done, is shaping up to be my best yet, and my online readers are devouring each installment I post. This—my career as a graphic novelist—brings me joy. It’s the accomplishment I’m most proud of, so far.
And it’s also a secret.
A knock at my office door sends a pulse of panic tumbling through me, and I fumble to save the progress on the current chapter of my graphic novel and put my tablet to sleep. And just in time for my brother, Levi, buttoned up and proper in his immaculate three-piece suit, to open the door and stride in.
Charge inwould be a more accurate description.
My older brother, and Zora’s twin, doesn’t do anything as casual asstride. Actually, he doesn’t do anything as casual as breathe. He inhales, circulates air for the function of his brain, organs, and other bodily functions, and then exhales. Everything in his life must have purpose or a reason, or he wants no part of it.
A real charmer and people person, Leviticus is.
He’s Zadok. A tall, lean, imposing figure draped in all black—long black coat, black shirt and pants, sword with a black hilt strapped to his back. He’s a judge traveling from settlement to settlement handing out justice and punishment. He’s the Law in the Ravaged Lands.
My brother would probably pop something irreplaceable if he discovered I’d drawn him into a graphic novel as a righteous executioner of men.
The thought brings a small smile to my lips.
“It’s customary for a person to wait until they’re invited before barging into another’s space. Even vampires understand that rule.”
Levi stops in front of my desk, a dark eyebrow raised high. Even with the whole cyborg impersonation thing going on, my brother is, well—shudder—hot. Lawd, that hurt even thinking it. Still, with his striking features; tall, wide-shouldered body; and alpha-hole demeanor, he’s not hard on the eyes. But he is a pain in my ass. And I’m sure his visit in my office isn’t to check on my welfare.
“It might be customary, but since you would’ve said you weren’t here or not answered at all, I decided to bypass the ‘niceties’ and let myself in.”
That eyebrow arches higher, as if daring me to deny his accusation. I shrug and lean back in my desk chair, lifting my legs and propping my red-and-white high-top Converse up on the desk. To Levi’s credit, he doesn’t even blink an eye. Not at the footwear he considers inappropriate for the office—I know this because he told me—or the black-and-white plaid skater dress and oversized Gryffindor cardigan. Hey, I represent my house proudly.
I’m a mood dresser. Sometimes I feel sexy and wear leather, stilettoes, and lace. And other times I feel equally badass and don my I’m-about-to-be-up-to-all-kinds-of-wizardry-shenanigans clothes. Both set my brother’s jaw a-twitching, so I consider it a win.
“Facts.” I give my foot an extra wiggle because I’m mature like that. “What’s up, brother dearest?”
“What’supis that last month’s marketing budget has increased by thirty-five percent. And already, next month’s projection is looking to be the same, if not higher.” He taps on the tablet he holds in his hand and extends it toward me.
Levi doesn’t bother trying to break down the spreadsheet to me. To some people, the rows, columns, and numbers might as well be Greek, but they’re a second language to me, and I’m bilingual. It’s one of thefew things we have in common—an innate understanding of math. Only he loves it, and I’m gifted in it.
And that’s one of our many differences.
“There’s a question hidden among that statement. I can sense it.” I narrow my eyes on him. “C’mon, Levi. You can get it out. I believe in you.”
He cocks his head. “How is it that a grown woman with two degrees still possesses the mentality of a fourteen-year-old in need of a grounding?”
“Meh. It’s a gift.” I flick my hand. “Now, can you tell me why you’re here so I can get back to surfing porn on company time?”
“Is it hentai porn? That would explain the outfit.”
I snicker. Okay, so that was a good one. “Dammit!” I snap my fingers, giving him an exaggerated wince. “Got to remember to clear my browser.”
If my brother did things ashumanas roll his eyes, he would do that right now. Instead, he sets his tablet on my desk and nudges it closer until the edge hits against mine.
“Explain the increase in the budget that we all agreed on at our last meeting.” He crosses his arms over his chest.
A hot flash of anger ignites in my chest, a flare in a dark night that warns of an imminent explosion. He never enters Zora’s office requiring explanations for her business decisions. It’s not just about being the youngest sibling. No, this perpetual “accounting” that both Levi and Zora unconsciously demand stems from the sheltered, awkward little girl they remember and the “crazy” woman she became. Because that’s how they see me. Crazy. Eccentric. A step away from joining a league of supervillains and becoming their brilliant, charismatic, evil leader. Which is fucking silly. I mean, I don’t mind the custom-made suits, but I refuse to shave my head of these bomb-ass curls for anyone.
Seriously, though. It’s a catch-22 with my brother and sister. They respect my intelligence and talent. And they definitely appreciate themoney I invested in BURNED. But my personality, my live-out-loud demeanor confuse them ... scare them.
Neither one has asked me why I changed from the quiet, shy, naive girl I was when I left for college. They haven’t asked if someone stepped in the path of who I was and shifted the course to change me into who I am. They haven’t asked what happened to make me say, no,yell, “Fuck it. I’m going to be who I want, say what I want, and screw who doesn’t like it.”
Even though Zora knows thewhat, she’s still never connected the dots of thewhy.
