Blood and Guitars

by Heather Jensen

  Just as promised, Aurora had left the back door unlocked for me. I turned the knob and let myself inside. There was music playing from somewhere above.

  “Hello?” I shut the door behind me. “I heard the artist who owns this joint might be up to giving a painting lesson tonight.”

  “I’m up to it if you are,” Aurora’s voice called back. I smiled and walked forward. “Come on up.” The volume of the music dropped considerably.

  I climbed the stairway and found myself standing in a loft with a long table toward the back. Several paintings were hanging along the back wall and there was a small kitchenette on the far left. A myriad of paint tubes, brushes and other containers were organized on the table. A few small lounge chairs were positioned at the half-wall next to me and a rolling tray of some kind sat in the corner. Aurora stood a few feet away placing a medium sized canvas on an easel. She looked up and smiled at me when I approached.

  “Nice work space you have here,” I said.

  “Thanks,” she said. “It suits my needs.”

  I stepped forward to get a better look at the pieces that were hanging along the back wall. “Any reason these aren’t downstairs with the others?” I asked curiously.

  “I just finished this one a few nights ago.” She pointed to a night scene with a pyramid. “It’s probably dry to the touch now, actually,” she continued. She gestured to the other two hanging next to it and added, “These are waiting to be varnished. I might get them finished tonight while you create your first masterpiece.”

  “Masterpiece, huh?” I chuckled. “Don’t know if we should be throwing that term around so loosely.”

  “Have you thought about what you want to paint?” She picked up an apron that had been draped over the end of the table.

  “Not really,” I admitted, feeling like an idiot.

  She stepped up to me and looped the top string of the apron over my head. “The most important thing is to paint what you love.” Then she stepped around me slowly and pulled on the side strings, tying them together behind my back. “So, I guess the question is what do you love?”

  I bit my lip. “More specifically, what do I love that I can attempt to paint?”

  “That too,” she agreed.

  I wracked my brain for a few seconds and then said, “How about a guitar?”

  “I think that’s reasonable.” She went to the table and gestured for me to follow her. She handed me a palette and pointed to the various colors of paint tubes laid out. “Get some color on your palette. Don’t worry if you don’t find the exact shades you want here. We can mix them up as we go. First, I’d start with the background of the painting. Decide what colors you want behind the guitar.”

  I rummaged through the colors and grabbed a tube of black. Once I had the paint on my palette she pulled the rolling tray over to the easel and spread out a bunch of brushes on it for me. Next she set a jar of water down and said. “The water will thin your paint out so you can spread it easier on the canvas. I think you’re ready to get started.”

  “How long does this stuff take to dry?” I fingered through some of the brushes, selecting one of the bigger ones without a pointy tip.

  “Not long. This is acrylic paint. The oils I use take much longer.”

  “Cool. So I just start slapping paint on then?”

  “Pretty much,” she said with a smile. “You can’t really go wrong.”

  “Sure, you say that now but you might just change your mind once you see the mess I’m going to make of this canvas,” I teased.

  “We’ll call you an impressionist and sell it for an absurd price,” she retorted with a wry smile.

  I set to work painting my canvas black with big sloppy strokes. Aurora took a painting of a pyramid down from the wall and opened a mason jar full of a clear liquid that I assumed wasn’t water once she started painting it over the image on the canvas.

  “Do you always paint at night?” I questioned.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious. The girl I talked to the other night, Kacie, said that you’re not usually around during the day. I just wondered if you had another job or something.”

  “I like to pretend I don’t have a job,” she answered. “The truth is, I’m just a night owl and I find that’s when I’m most inspired to paint. I’m kind of useless during the day.”

  She must have caught the smile on my face because she turned and raised an eyebrow at me. “You must think I’m strange.”

  I shook my head and chuckled. “Not at all. I just don’t usually meet girls who can relate to my mostly nocturnal schedule. It’s nice.”

  “What do musicians who work at night do during the day?” she asked.

  “Sleep,” I said with a laugh.

  “Can’t argue with that logic.” She walked around to inspect my work. “It’ll only take a little bit for that to dry. You can help me varnish this piece for a minute if you want. There’s a sink over there you can rinse that brush in.”

  I went to the sink in the kitchenette and rinsed the brush until the black was gone and the water ran clear. Then I set it back with the other brushes on the rolling cart. I went to her side and she handed me the brush she was holding and gestured for me to give it a try. I dipped the brush into the jar with the clear mixture and then stared at the painting. I was suddenly worried that I was going to do it wrong and ruin the awesome pyramid. Aurora must have sensed my hesitation. She took my wrist gently with her hand and guided the brush down to the canvas, using long sweeping strokes. After a moment, she released my hand and watched me work.

  “See, you’re a natural.” She smiled when I looked over at her.

  “Hey, there’s no need for sarcasm.” That made her laugh, and for the second time I enjoyed the musical quality of her laughter. She smiled at me and I realized I had paused, hand in the air, to gaze at her. Our eyes met and the strange sense of vulnerability I’d experienced last night washed over me again. I was caught in her green eyes for a long moment before I forced myself to look down at the painting.

  Aurora looked down as well and said, “Would you like something to drink? I think I have some soda here somewhere.”

  “That would be great. Thanks.”

  She returned a moment later with two cans of Rootbeer, handing one to me. I set the brush back in the mason jar of varnish and opened the can, taking a sip.

  “Rootbeer. I know it’s silly,” she said. I grinned and waited for her to continue. “It just reminds me of being ten years old. The taste is nostalgic, I guess.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Rootbeer.” I leaned against the table. “In fact, if you ask me, there are a few things in life that just require Rootbeer.”

  “Is that so? Like what?”

  “Uh … pizza for instance. Pizza and Rootbeer were made for each other.” I took another drink to buy some time. “And uh … board games.” She gave me a doubtful look. “And painting lessons, apparently.”

  She smiled, biting her bottom lip while she played with the tab on the can. “I bet your paint is dry now.” We walked over to the easel and Aurora inspected the canvas. “You’re good to go.”

  I picked up my pallet and went back over to the table, selecting a tube of green paint and a tube of white. “I need this green to be uglier.” I held it up, inspecting the shade. “Like a muddier color, or the color of manure or something.”

  She snickered and reached out for a brown tube, handing it to me. “Manure could be tricky,” she teased. “Try adding a little of this. Just don’t add too much to begin with. You can always add more.”

  I mixed the paint until I was satisfied and then began filling in the basic shape of my guitar on the canvas with a smaller brush. I decided to do a close-up on the body of the guitar, angled down toward the bottom right corner, with a third of the neck showing and disappearing up at the top toward the left. Once I had the shape of the body painted and filled in, I used some more black to outline it and then add the three knobs. The
n I used the same brown Aurora had given me for the neck and fret board. I went back over some of the outline in white, feeling like it was missing something. The white helped.

  “Not bad,” Aurora said from over my shoulder. I nearly jumped at her voice. I hadn’t realized she was standing there. “Sorry.” She grinned. “I didn’t realize you were getting so into it.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “This is the guitar you were playing the other night, isn’t it?” she asked.

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “You remember that?”

  “Photographic memory,” she said rather matter-of-factly.

  “Seriously?”

  “It’s a big bonus in the art department.”

  “Yeah, I guess it would be. That’s cool.”

  “It’s my little secret.” She brought a finger to her lips.

  “Your secret is safe with me,” I promised, crossing my heart with my free hand. She grinned and walked back over to the table where she was varnishing the other painting. I took a few minutes to sip my Rootbeer and gaze at my painting, but my thoughts were far from the canvas in front of me.

  “The guy I met last night, Mark, are you guys…” My voice trailed off as I tried to find the right words to ask her the question that was burning in my head.

  “Together?” She glanced over her shoulder. “No,” she said simply. “Mark’s always just been a friend.” She put down her brush and turned to look at me, picking up her can of Rootbeer. “I’m sorry about the way he was acting last night.”

  I shrugged it off, doing my best not to grin like a fool. “What are friends for, if not to get super protective and jealous when someone new comes around, right?”

  “Wow, he really was a jerk, wasn’t he?” A small laugh escaped her lips at the thought.

  “It’s cool. I get it.” And I did. I could only imagine how torturous it would be to spend a lot of time with Aurora and never make it past the friend stage. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to handle it.

  Aurora and I talked for another hour while I continued to work on my painting. She finished up what she was doing with the varnish and got comfortable in the chair nearby, watching me as I worked. I expected to feel self-conscious having her sit there and watch every brush stroke, but instead I found that I was really enjoying the whole painting thing. It was kind of therapeutic, which surprised me, since I usually only felt that way about my guitar. Then again, I was painting my guitar. Apparently that was close enough.

  “What do you think?” I stepped back to admire my finished work.

  “Not bad for your first try,” Aurora teased, appearing at my side again.

  “At least it’s recognizable,” I said with a grin. “I wasn’t expecting as much when I started.

  “I like it,” she said. “If I ever decide to go on a long vacation or something I’ll let you keep the gallery stocked while I’m gone.”

  “Very funny,” I said. Then I realized Aurora was gazing at me with a smirk. “What is it?” I asked.

  “You just have a little paint on your face,” she said. I wasn’t entirely surprised by this news, considering I had managed to get it all over my hands and even on the apron she’d given me. “Where?” I asked.

  She grabbed a wet rag and cupped my face with her free hand, wiping the paint from my cheek with it. “There. I think I got it.”

  “Actually, you have some, too.” I said.

  “Huh? Where?”

  I swiped my paintbrush lightly on the tip of her nose, making her gasp in surprise. “Right there,” I said, laughing as she shoved me playfully.

  “Now you’re asking for it.” Faster than I would have thought possible, she had a brush in her hand and loaded some paint from my pallet onto it, grazing my face with a big stroke of manure green. We spent the next few minutes dodging around everything in the loft and trying not to knock the easel down as we took swipes at each other. When we finally succumbed to our laughter, it was obvious that she’d painted me way more than I had gotten her.

  “I give,” I said, laughing. “You’re the master.”

  “Don’t forget it,” she said, smiling at me. I sighed in happy defeat and she gestured for me to follow her. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

  We walked over to the kitchenette and she turned on the sink, getting a rag with warm water. She took my arm and pulled me over to the counter top. I leaned against it and she started to wipe the paint from my skin. She was biting her bottom lip and smiling. Even covered in paint she was beautiful. Having her so close made it impossible to resist the gravitational pull she emitted. Aurora must have sensed my gaze because she paused and looked into my eyes for a second. That second was all I needed to lean in and brush my lips against hers.

  She stiffened but only briefly and then she relaxed and leaned into me, lifting her hand to rest on my chest. She tasted like summer. Like Rootbeer and a salty breeze. When we pulled apart, she gazed at me, her eyes full of wonder. She seemed surprised at herself, but when I leaned in again she met me halfway. Our lips touched once more and my breath caught in my throat. My stomach twisted up in a way that completely surpasses the nervous feeling I get before I go on stage in front of thousands of people. I just knew Aurora could feel my heart pounding out of my chest, but I didn’t care. Pretending that she didn’t have this affect on me would be a lie, and in that moment I wanted her to know everything.

  Aurora pulled back suddenly and turned away from me. Maybe I’d moved a little too fast. I mentally berated myself and reached out to touch her arm. She hesitated for a second but then she turned back around to face me, a shy smile on her lips. I brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear, staring into the depths of her green eyes. She bit her lip and picked up the wet rag to wash some more paint from my arm.

  “I have an idea,” I said, bolstered by the adrenaline of the kiss. “Come to the studio with me tomorrow.” She opened her mouth to speak and I could see the hesitation in her eyes. Not wanting to give her a chance to refuse, I interrupted her. “Just say you’ll come. I’m recording the vocals for a song the band is working on. I just … I’d love it if you could be there.”

  She bit her bottom lip and glanced down for a heartbeat before meeting my gaze again. “Okay. I’ll come.”

  I sighed in relief, grinning like an idiot. “Great,” I said. She finished wiping the majority of the paint off of me, and what little bit I had managed to get on her. I checked my watch and saw that it was almost midnight.

  “You’re more than welcome to leave your painting here to dry and get it later. It’s probably best,” she said, as if she’d read my mind.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” I said. It would just give me an excuse to come by and see her again. “I should probably get going. I’m sure I’m putting a damper on your creative process anyway. I’ll pick you up at five tomorrow? We’ll probably order in dinner from the studio with the guys if that’s okay.”

  She nodded and said. “Sounds like fun. Do you remember how to find my place?”

  “I think so, but maybe I should get your number in case I get lost like an idiot.” That was a lie. I could have driven straight to her house right then if I’d wanted to. But she didn’t need to know that. She laughed again and the irresistible sound echoed off the walls in the loft. “Wow. This place has great acoustics,” I mused while retrieving my cell phone out of my pocket to trade with her. We programmed our numbers in the phones and handed them back to each other.

  “Thanks for tonight,” I said. “I had a lot of fun.”

  “Me too, and you’re not a horrible painter, either,” she added, grinning.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I said. I stepped toward her again and left a soft kiss on her cheek. Then I turned and made my way down the stairs, letting myself out the back door of The Waking Moon and into the moonlit night. Only one thing was keeping Aurora from really knowing me, and that was all going to change tomorrow night when I introduced her to th
e band and my life.

  Chapter 18

  I stopped pacing long enough to glance at the clock on the wall and realized that Trey would be here any minute to pick me up. I put my phone, keys and wallet into my little grey purse and checked my appearance in the mirror. I had decided on a green sleeveless blouse and black skinny jeans with grey ankle boots. I sighed and realized with some mortification that I was actually nervous about going with Trey. It’s sort of ridiculous for a vampire to feel much of anything as far as a human is concerned, much less nervous, but I couldn’t think of a better way to describe the butterflies in my stomach. I was finding it hard to think past the kiss we’d shared last night. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

  The moment our lips had met, I was overcome with a surge of emotion, except that the emotions weren’t my own. That was the confusing part. After a second I’d realized that I was experiencing Trey’s feelings. Some aspect of the kiss had given me a direct link into what? His mind? No, that wasn’t quite it. Although the moon had definitely been out I hadn’t been reading his thoughts. No. This had been something else. Something deeper. And my reaction to the kiss had been completely out of my control. It was like a part of me I hadn’t known existed had taken over, allowing me to enjoy the unexpected.

  Then there was the undeniable fullness of Trey’s human heartbeat, which differed greatly from any vampire heartbeat. Trey’s was warm and rich and pure, whereas mine is hollow sounding with an echo-like quality. When Trey had kissed me, it was the first time since my change that I had taken a moment to really appreciate the untainted sound.

  Then the panic had set in. I realized as I let myself get lost in the kiss that I was risking exposing my true self to him. If, in the heat of the moment, I let the adrenaline overtake me it would mess everything up. My eyes would take on their supernatural luminescence, and my fangs unsheathe themselves. It would be pretty impossible to hide something like fangs while in the middle of kissing a guy. Trey had seemed surprised when I’d pulled away from him, but he hadn’t asked me to explain. It made it that much harder to see all of the reasons why I shouldn’t be kissing him to begin with when he was being all patient and understanding.