When Letha’s eyes fluttered open, and the black cavern greeted her, she groaned.

“Damn,” she muttered, rolling onto her stomach, “Just my luck.”

Pain shot through her back, but she jammed her teeth together and used the balcony rail to haul herself up. Panting heavily, she assessed herself. Her back was aching, her hands throbbing, and her jaw was stiff. Her shoulder was warm, the cut from that morning reopened, and she felt sick in the stomach. Letha rolled her shoulders around, loosening her muscles, and walked towards her brothers room; she’d felt worse.

Opening the door quietly and slipping through took some work, her muscles disinclined to move properly after several hours of uncomfortable sleep at the head of the stairs. As Letha pressed the wood shut, hearing a reassuring click, she flicked the lock and marched to her brother’s bed.

Hadrian was lying on top of the covers, still in his school uniform. His throat was an angry red, his face pale, and beads of sweat glistened by the lamplight. Letha, her lips pursed, noted that he had made it to a bed. Her fingers grazed his hand, his cold skin sending Goosebumps up her arms, and her brow furrowed. She tugged off her brother’s boots, dropping them as quietly as she could by the foot of the bed. Untucking the doona, she flicked it over his socked feet. She felt like a mother putting her child to bed.

Suddenly tired, Letha slunk across to the desk. Collapsing into the chair, she ran a hand across her face and neck, ignoring the pain, and glared down at the books her brother had set out. The textbook glinted at her in challenge, and Letha looked back at Hadrian in annoyance; school, like many things, mattered to him. Flipping to the last used page in his workbook, Letha glared at the unfinished questions, waiting for them to complete themselves. Sighing, she opened the textbook to the corresponding page and began copying, trying to imitate her brothers neat cursive. Hopefully her messy forgery just looked as if he were sleep-deprived and caffeinated.

There was a gentle sigh behind her, and Letha glanced in the window above her, catching the reflection in the glass. The Gymnast was swaying to imaginary music, muttering under her breath. Letha wondered whether it was this town or decades stuck in a half-existence that had turned these ghosts batty.

“Handspring tuck pike,” the girl said in accented English, smiling at Letha.

She nodded politely over her shoulder, “same to you.”

The German wondered to the window, where she cocked her head, rolling her eyes, “Twist flip pike.”

Trying to track a date on the page, Letha ignored her, scribbling below the third question. She was halfway there. More insistent, the gymnast bent her head in front of her, blocking her view of the book with her luminescence. Irritated, Letha looked up.

“What?”

“Twist flip pike.”

“Yeah,” Letha gestured for her to move aside, “Like that helps.”

The girl frowned at her like she was an idiot, shaking her head.

“Ich spreche kein…. Gymnast!” Letha protested.

The girl took a deep breath, “Double handspring roll jump, leap twist land, spring pike land.”

“I hear you,” Letha growled, knocking the chair backwards as she rushed to stand, “I just don’t understand you.”

Gesturing to the window, the gymnast pressed her shadowy head through the glass, and Letha watched enviously. Doing her closest imitation, Letha pressed her face against the pane, squinting into the night. A writher of movement caught her eye, and flames poured into Letha’s cheeks.

“Twist flip pike,” the girl intoned, nodding at Letha’s expression.

“Trust me,” Letha said, assuming she knew what the gymnast meant, “he’s not staying long.”

It satisfied the German though, because she faded back into purgatory, leaving Letha standing by the window of her brother’s room, glaring down at Mickey. Grabbing Hadrian’s pocket knife out of the draw, Letha crept to the door, checking her brother was still breathing. As his chest rose and fell, his sister snuck out the door, leaving it unlocked behind her and shuffled down the stairs. Her father and uncles were most likely asleep, plotting or gambling in the other end of the house, but she thought it was better safe than sorry.

Without incident, Letha made it to the front door, twisting the knob. Suddenly, she found herself outside in her ripped up jeans and t-shirt, standing outside at midnight in the middle of winter, preparing to brandish a knife at the new-boy. Too cold to enjoy the moment, Letha marched around to the side of her house.

Mickey was standing in the garden bed, one hand pressed against the wall. He was wearing a hoody and track pants, his blue curl visible by the light of the moon. Dead flowers stood sentinel by his legs, and cobblers pegs clung like beggars to his socks and laces. Her eyes narrowed, Letha stormed across the pebbles, her joggers grating stone on stone.

The boy spun in surprise, slamming his knuckles into the bricks.  He swore quietly shaking his hand, and slipping across to her.

“What the Hell are you doing here?” he hissed. He wasn’t far off.

“No, no,” Letha growled, “No, no. I get to ask that question.”

Mickey’s eyes drifted to the knife, and his brows hit his hairline. He looked around them curiously, as if expecting a film crew to leap out from the shadows, and then shook his head at the floor, smiling. Letha’s nostrils flared.

“Just to be clear, I am asking that question.”

Licking his lips, Mickey shrugged, “Azrael…” He trailed off, glancing at the house, “Why are you here?”

Letha closed the blade slowly, “I live here.”

Turning, she made her way back to the front door. Mickey fell into stride beside her, grinning, and raking the hair out of his face.

“You live here?”

Letha shushed him, whispering back, “No. I just found that particularly fun to say.”

“Ok, ok,” Mickey hissed, biting down on a laugh, “Point taken.”

Muttering under her breath, she opened the door. Standing in the archway, Letha smiled cruelly.

“Goodnight, Mickey.” She desperately wanted to slam the door, but resigned herself to close it softly. She flicked the lock quickly, letting it serve as her dramatic exit. The click was low, resounding as Letha turned to sneak back up the stairs. She stuck her head into her brother’s room, checking he was still alive. His eyelids flickered and he tossed his head like a dog running in his sleep. Ducking across to the window, Letha peeked out, happily noting that she couldn’t see Mickey. She flicked the lamp off, sliding across the room and out into the corridor.

Letha’s own room offered as little comfort as the rest of the house. Her bed was pressed against the far wall, beneath the wide window, with the plain blankets arranged neatly. Her chest of draws and cupboard were standing on her right, completely bare, and that was the extent of her room. Unbuttoning her shirt, Letha grabbed a singlet and a pair of shorts from the draw, wriggling out of her uniform. Chucking the pyjamas on the bed, Letha looked around her room. There was no colour, no personality, but she didn’t care. This was a place to recuperate before suffering through the day.

There was a tap at the window, and Letha jerked to face it. Mickey was grinning, his expression sprained, and he tapped again, his mouth moving.

Open the window.

Scowling heavily, Letha knelt on her bed, pushing the glass aside so there was a narrow gap. Mickey wedged his elbow in the crack, drawing himself over the sill, and rolled onto the covers. He let out a breath, lying on his back. Letha stood, fixing her hands on her hips.

“What on earth are you doing in my bedroom?” she whispered, glaring down at him.

He opened an eye, peering up at her. He pursed his lips and looked away, studying the wall.

“You’re not wearing a shirt,” he muttered.

Letha blushed, looking down at her bra is surprise. She grabbed the singlet off the bed, dragging in out from under Mickey’s leg. She shoved it over her head, crossing her arms again and huffing at Mickey. He glanced back at her, smiling, and tilted his head.

“Once more,” Letha snarled, “Why are you in my room?”

Mickey raised a finger to his lips, sitting up. He wriggled over and patted the bed beside him, waiting for her to join him. Annoyed at being invited to sit on her own bed, and disgruntled at his presence to begin with, Letha perched on the edge, as far from Mickey as she could. Mickey smiled.

“I am here, Letha,” he said, “because I want to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

Mickey’s smile widened, “I don’t care.”

“It’s midnight,” Letha groaned, taking a deep breath, “You’re annoying, and I’m tired. Won’t you just leave me alone?”

Mickey shook his head. His eyes narrowed, and he focused on her cheek. Before Letha could react, her chin was in his fingers, holding her gently.

“What happened to your face?” he asked.

She ripped her head free, aghast. Swallowing, she said, “I head-butted a kitchen cabinet.”

“For fun or….”

“It’s a hobby of mine.”

Reaching out, Mickey grabbed her wrist, where his eyes had wandered. Her other hand rose in reflex, but he was ready, and pinned it to the bed. Instead, Letha balled her hands into fists.

“And here?” He asked. His hands slipped down to her palm, peeling her fingers away to linger delicately on the blistered skin.

“I also enjoy ironing.”

Letha pulled her hands free, resting them against her stomach. Mickey’s smile faded, and he watched her carefully.

“Do you ever tell the truth?”

She nodded, gritting her teeth, “yes.”

“Is that even the truth?” Mickey asked wryly, leaning back against the wall. He didn’t expect an answer, so moved on, “How long have you lived here?”

Glancing to the door quickly, Letha waved a hand, “A year or so.”

“Where’d you live before here?” Mickey was watching her keenly, his lips curved into a grin.

“Places.” She tucked curl behind her ear, frowning sternly.

“You really are a strange character,” Mickey said. “In the last 18 hours, I’ve seen you smile once, and frown at least once per heartbeat. You believe in, but dislike, God. You sleep in a cemetery and have nothing in you room. You are well and truly ‘Red and Black’.”

Letha looked at the boy sitting on the end of her bed. He was smiling thoughtfully, his head tilted back against the wall, and his blue curl brushing his temple.

“Ok,” Letha said, “I’ll bite; what does ‘Red and Black’ mean?”

“It’s from Les Miserable,” he said, switching to a low singing voice, “Red, the colour of desire. Black, the colour of despair.”

Letha’s expression grew guarded, her eyes wide, and she rose quickly. She opened her mouth, but a moan from next door interrupted her.

Mickey rose, asking, “What was that?” as Letha charged from the room, breathing her brother’s name.

Swinging into Hadrian’s room, Letha was at his bedside in a second, resting the back of her hand on his head. He was warmer, some colour returning to his cheeks, but his breathing had quickened. His eyes flickered open, the pupil’s wide, and as he focused on his sister, he smiled slightly.

“Letha…” He said, taking a deep breath.

She swallowed, nodding at him, “Good to see you awake, Hadrian.”

Mickey, standing in the doorway, approached slowly, craning his neck to ook at Hadrian.

“Your brother?” he asked quietly as the boy struggled to concentrate.

Hadrian closed his eyes quickly, still smiling though, “You boyfriend?”

Letha scowled, “Yes, and no.”

Her classmate walked over, kneeling beside Hadrian and offering him his hand, “My name is Mickey. I’m knew to town and your sister was kind enough to befriend me.”

Her brother snorted, “I doubt that.”

“Well, you can smile and laugh, so what’s Letha’s problem?” Mickey asked playfully, as Hadrian clasped his hand. His skin was clammy, but Letha noticed Mickey didn’t wipe his hand when he withdrew it.

“That,” Hadrian smiled, “is just Letha. She was born scowling.”

Mickey threw back his head, but laughed quietly, meeting Letha’s irritated glare without concern.

“This afternoon,” he began, but Letha interrupted.

“Enough with the boyish bonding. Hadrian needs to rest, and you, Mickey, need to get out.”

Her brother’s eyelids flickered softly, his smile tired, “What were you doing in my sister’s room at midnight, Mickey? Am I going to have to beat you up to defend her honour?”

Mickey was watching Letha when he replied, “I doubt she needs anyone to defend her.” Letha’s frown deepened.

“You know, we have breakfast at Bill’s Place around the corner,” Hadrian began, “and you’re welcome to join us tomorrow…”

“Hadrian!” Letha snapped, biting her tongue to keep her voice quiet.

“…at 7:30.” Hadrian raised an eyebrow at his sister, closing his eyes in contentment.

“I’d love to.”

Letha threw her hands in the air, pointing to Mickey, “Ok; you, window, now.”

Scuttling to the other side of the room, Mickey opened the glass, stepping onto the sill. Checking her brother had dozed off, Letha strode over to him, all too prepared to shove him out. Sitting on the ledge, Mickey turned back before jumping, scrutinising Letha. For once, he wasn’t smiling.

“What’s wrong with your brother?”

“He…” Letha swallowed, “sort of has fits.”

Mickey bit his lip, nodding, “I’ll pray for him.”

Letha stiffened, “leave.”

Looking stranger than usual, Mickey turned, pressing his lips to Letha’s cheek. her lips parted slightly in surprise, all cynicism vanishing from her face. She looked innocent, and Mickey caught a glimpse as he pulled away.

“Still beautiful,” he said, smiling.

Her frown reappearing faster than the speed of light, Letha gave him a shove. He laughed quietly, slipping off the edge and crashing into the wall. When she could, and his fingers no longer blocked the runner, Letha dragged the window shut, finding great enjoyment in not checking if he was alright. Turning away from the sill, Letha’s eyes met her brother. They were filled with amusement, though the lids half closed in exhaustion.

“Were we anyone else,” He said sleepily, “I’d be telling on you right now.”