Chapter One :: Story of my Life

You’ve probably never met my parents, although if you have, I wouldn't really be surprised. Ophelia and Frank Black both travel the world and have vowed to visit every single little town in every single little country. So if you came up to me and said, “Yo, you're parents scerfuffled my house” (scerfuffled: aka, completely destroyed) I would shake my head and say, “Oh no, not again,” and never press questions about who the heck you are.

Anyway. It’s the school holidays right now, and I'm staying at my parent's house. Normally I'll go and spend the holidays at Amber's house, or stay at school with Brock, but this year, during the end-of-term break, my parents have just arrived back from Laos and their planning on sticking around for a while, meaning I (and my two older sisters, Sophie and Brittany), got to actually spend some time with our folks.

They came down a couple of days ago. By then Amber had already left and I waved reluctantly to Brock through the tinted windows of my parent's new SUV. Brock's parents force him to stay at school. They’re not friendly folks (trust me, I know) and they think every minute they spend with their son is Hell. I watch as he turns and heads towards the boy's dorm, his head lowered against the rain.

“So …” Mum begins, and then delves into an entire story about what they did in Asia. Laos, Vietnam, Japan. Especially Japan. I've always wanted to go there ever since I started my addiction to Manga. *Sigh* Bleach.

It's dark by the time we finally get to Black Wolf Manor, although it's only actually twelve o'clock. It's because of the rainclouds, and for once I really wished that our house which sat on top of Spoken’s Hill, overlooking the town, wasn't so tall. I've never really told anyone, but lightning really does creep me out. A lot.

As soon as the car pulled to a stop I swing open the door and leap out, rushing up the front steps and bursting into the house, the smell of vanilla and strawberries greet me pleasantly. I pass our neighbour, Lauren, who's been house-sitting, and burst into the kitchen where a strawberry cake sat waiting. Before my parents arrive I scoop up some frosting and stuff my finger into my mouth.

I love it here, at the Black Wolf Manor. It's beautiful and reminds me more of home than school ever will. There's a “tut” from behind me and I spin around to see my mother standing at the door, her silky died black hair reflecting the ceiling light as she frowns at the finger mark I left on the cake.

“At least it tastes nice,” she murmurs, and then her green eyes flicker to my face, and she smiles. “I made it.”

I raise an eyebrow, a neat trick which took me around three years to finally master, and you can actually master it, with lots of patience, self-control and lots of time. "If you made it," I say, trying to hide my smile. “Then why aren't I dead?”

Ophelia frowns. “That’s mean; my cooking’s not that bad.”

In a flurry of pink Lauren enters the room. “Not joking about your mother’s cooking again, are you?” She grins.

I shake my head. “Wouldn’t dare ...” and we snigger to ourselves. Ophelia gives us an ungrateful look and disappears into the study, there’s a noise from upstairs and I realise my sister’s must have found their rooms and her busying themselves empting their luggage. I wait until my mother is out of earshot and then I turn to Lauren who is cutting the cake.

“When did they arrive?” I ask quietly.

Lauren glances immediately at me. “What?”

“You know …” I nodded to the study. “When did my parents get back?” Lauren gaps at me like a fish and I snap, “What? Have their sworn you to secrecy? It’s not a big deal! Just tell me!”

Lauren sighs. “Two weeks ago.”

Now I gap at her. “Two weeks.”

She shrugs. “Does it matter, you were still at school,” she looks extremely uncomfortable, and I know as soon as I end the conversation she’ll disappear into her house and probably not return for a while. “They didn’t want to busy you.”

“Right …” just as I say this there’s a crackle of thunder and Lauren looks alarmed. “Better get back before I’m stuck in the storm,” she says and leaves just like she came—in a flurry.

In her absence I glare at the study where my mother is, and I see a shadow move from under the door. She heard what we were talking about. Sighing I trudge upstairs and empty my bags too.