He went to his project board in an attempt to find things that would make him feel like he was staying in control. Of the countless projects yet to be done, the one that spoke to him was painting. The bullet holes had been filled and the plaster sanded and primed, but none of the walls had been given a final coat of paint. The whole building looked infected with the countless white spots bright against the grimy walls. Fresh paint would erase the last traces of the oni on the enclave and make it wholly theirs. Buying paint would also take him to one of his favorite places: the hardware store.
Wollerton’s had ruled over the South Side, like so many of the successful surviving businesses in Pittsburgh, for generations out of mind. Its narrow, dim aisles had everything conceivable for keeping a home livable on Elfhome, from paint and ladders to flamethrowers and wolf traps. Becky Wollerton leaned toward crockpot dishes while tending the store, which wreathed the place with the smell of stewing meat. Occasionally there was the thunder of little feet overhead as the next generation of storekeepers played soccer or tag in their sprawling apartment. It was a comforting safe place for Oilcan.
He guided his kids to the painting section while Thorne slipped through the aisles like a grim shadow. He couldn’t imagine the pain she was going through, losing all her brother warriors in one night. At night, in bed, she allowed herself the freedom to cry, but he’d learned that daylight meant she was working, and she preferred her space.
The kids stood silent and still in front of the massive array of colors, apparently stunned at the number of choices.
“They’re so pretty.” Merry fingered the paint chips. “We can only choose one?”
“You can choose two or three if you want.” He pulled out cream and paired it with a dark green in the same family. “The trick is to pick colors that look good together. See, we could paint three of the walls this cream and one wall this green.”
He put the chips back into the trays. “The rooms are big. We can paint them any way you want, but the easiest is just to pick one color you like a lot.”
“What does this say?” Cattail Reeds held out a warm gold to him.
“Each color has a name. That one is”—he paused a moment to translate into Elvish—“Happily Ever After.”
“Happily Ever After,” Baby Duck echoed and took the chip from Cattail.
“But what kind of name is that?” Cattail protested. “It doesn’t tell you anything.”
Oilcan waved a hand at the large section of yellows. “We ran out of names and started to make up new ones.”
“I like this.” Merry held out a chip of pale buttery yellow. “What’s it called?”
He translated the name. “Pure Joy.”
Merry did a little dance. “I love it.”
Cattail laughed dryly at Merry and drifted toward the reds.
Rustle of Leaves picked out a deep green called Paradise Valley and Barley chose a warm tan called Honey Oak. Oilcan found a rich brown called Weathered Oak for his bedroom and paired it with a cream.
“This one.” Cattail held out a strong purplish red called Raspberry Truffle. “And this one.” A warm dark gray called Stardust. “And this one.” An off-white called Mannequin Cream. “And this.” A lighter gray called Sandlot Gray.
Oilcan laughed. He had no idea how she was going to use all four, but he trusted that she would figure it out. The four chips harmonized in his hand. “Okay.”
Cattail and Barley started into a debate on colors for the foyer. Oilcan deposited the chips with the paint mixer, ordering three five-gallon buckets of every color that the kids picked out. After the “family” bedrooms, they would need to paint the guest bedrooms, too. It would cost over a thousand dollars in paint, but it would be another step closer to opening the enclave.
Paint ordered, he went in search of drop cloths, paint brushes, rollers, paint pans, and ladders. The tile section reached out and took hold of him as he passed through it, reminding him that he needed to start on the bathing room on the third floor. They were doing bathing out of the sinks. There was a marvelous iridescent glass tile of blues and purples that whispered to his soul. Of course it was hideously expensive, but it would be beautiful.
“He shapes stone with coarse hands,
rough as rock, unyielding.
Builds a palace to capture light, a stolen gem,
an artist’s restless eye.
She illuminates his silent walls and empty rooms,
fills the lonely
Corners with impossible color,
paints a secret language
Only he can read; every word fractures
the jewel of his heart.”
He realized he was singing and laughed at the tune. It was the song about the quirky romance between Forge and Amaranth. The male had loved the painter Amaranth at first sight but for some reason didn’t think his love was returned. He hired her to paint the palace he’d built, and then to be sure the task would take as long as needed to win her heart, he’d added rooms and wings and outbuildings to it. The chorus was an urge to build faster, as Amaranth had nearly finished painting.
Oilcan tore himself away from the tile and moved on to the painting equipment. The bathing room would have to come later.
“Sama.” Baby Duck was suddenly beside him with two kittens in her hands. All three stared at him intently.
“Where did you find those?”
“Upstairs.”
Oilcan sighed. He was going to have to have a long talk about privacy with her. “I’ll see if they’re for sale.”
Aaron Wollerton laughed as he explained the situation. “We’re about drowning in cats, so she can have them.”
They started with his room; his theory was that he liked to repaint often anyhow. It wasn’t so much he grew tired of the old color, but that he enjoyed trying new colors. If the children messed up painting his room, he would only have to live with it for a short time.
He taught them how to prep the room, taking covers off the light switches and electrical boxes. He showed them how to tape off the areas that were going to be painted later. He trained them on cutting in with brushes and rolling with rollers.
“Please, no painting each other,” he said as he stepped back to let them work.
“Why would we paint one another?” Merry asked as they all stared at him in confusion.
“I’m not sure.” He and Tinker had done it when they painted for the first time; he could no longer remember why. He was sure it made sense at the time. “Just don’t.”
They were neat and careful painters, if painfully slow. He’d never realized that living forever meant there was no rush to get work done quickly; apparently their whole lives they’d been taught to do things right, however long it took. They kept stepping back and frowning at the coverage. For having paintbrushes in their hands for the first time, they were doing a wonderful job. If they expected perfection, though, painting the entire building could take forever.
“Sometimes it takes two or three coats for complete coverage,” he cautioned them. “Just be as neat as you can and keep working. Trust that the end product will reflect the care you put into it.”
“Sama.” Barley was cutting along the chalkboard at the front of the room. “How are you paying for everything?”
“I’m using my own savings for now,” Oilcan said. “I don’t have enough to buy everything to open an enclave, but it’s more than enough to make this place livable.”
“What are we doing for sponsorship?” Barley asked.
The others paused in mid-work to look at Oilcan. He didn’t really want to talk about this now; it felt too soon. Still, they had a right to meet it head on. “Wind Clan is willing to give me sponsorship, but if I took it, all of you would have to become Wind Clan.”