The Opal Blade (The Ashen Touch Trilogy Book 1)

by Kristy Nicolle

  Lilliana’s eyes widen at the sound of her Kindred’s call, which I’m sure she can hear clear as day as though it’s nothing more than whispers in the wind. The demon pack reaches out to her from the mortal plain, her brow furrowing and her pupils dilating, casting her face into greater darkness as the whiteness of her irises shrinks.

  “No!” she cries out, only seconds before I grasp the box in my palm and throw it high into the air above the broken ceiling. The pack launches themselves from the innards of the tiny wooden contraption, falling through the roof of the building and the disrepair of the ceiling, morphing to full size as they land atop the table between us.

  I lean back, the smell of wet dog too much to bear, as I realise that it’s no wonder the place is in ruin. The way they treat it, I’m actually surprised it’s not worse.

  Claws scrape along the stone of the table and unbearable whines emit from the matted fur muzzles of the three Banshee as they approach, shoulders sharp as they bend before their master with ghostly white eyes.

  “What is it?” I ask, placing my hand over the pocket in my gown where I store the box, returning it to its rightful place as it falls back to the table. I do this often, feeling it’s weight when I need to be reminded of the power I still possess, even though it’s not physically held within my bones.

  I feel the two scars on my back tingle and sigh out, anger boiling within my blood.

  “Alpharia… he’s dead.” Lilliana gets a look on her face like she might cry, her eyes becoming round and childlike like an orphan who has been found lost in the forest.

  “Dead? How on earth? Demons can’t just die!” I exclaim, knowing full well that even starvation cannot destroy the darkness within such a beast. It might be painful, torturous even, and the demon may become weak as a newborn kitten, but still, they will return, be reborn from the Mortarian soil. It is their curse for wielding such a primal power. The only way to destroy them at soul level is with The Eternal Flame.

  “They say it was a girl.” She moves her head from left to right, as though she’s hearing a song audible to no one else. The small animal bones around her emaciated neck clatter against one another, the only sound apparent in the silence.

  “A girl? Killed a Banshee?” I voice the absurdity of this claim, wondering how intelligent the beasts before me actually are. They can pack a good punch vocally that’s for sure, but when it comes to logic I’m not sure exactly how many brain cells are swimming around inside their massive skulls, if you know what I mean.

  “They say she wielded the fire of eternal damnation.” Lilliana speaks for them, trancelike in her utter detachment from the surrounding room. She reaches up, placing her long, dark, claw-like fingernails onto the side of one of the Banshee’s faces. She looks into his eyes and I watch as something passes between them, which I cannot even fathom.

  “We smelled her power… the magic in her bones. We hungered for it… Then, when we saw Alpharia fall, we ran,” she breathes, eyes half closed now as though she’s not speaking of her own volition, but instead, channelling the Banshee themselves as a collective.

  “A Kindred soul perhaps?” I ask, wondering if the Circle of Eight or Aetherial Court have been up to something.

  “No. We could smell no blessing.” Lilliana’s voice rings out, and she lowers a hand, her pupils contracting as she moves to look directly at me now, her brow furrowed with grief. “It is lucky that the Succubi have already returned,” she sighs, looking anxiously over her shoulder and down into the red lighting of the crumbling corridor which leads to Katerina’s quarters.

  “Indeed. Where exactly was this girl?” I ask.

  Lilliana turns to the Banshee who is closest to her, looking it deeply in the eyes as she cocks her head again, as though something is being pushed into her ears against her consent.

  “… Chicago,” she announces after only a moment, as the lighting in the room is made intermittently bright with sparks which are falling, disintegrating to ash just before they reach the top of the building prior to falling around us like scorching hot snow.

  “We must go. We must see for ourselves. I will not let my own children be slaughtered this way. Alpharia will be avenged.” Lilliana’s face blazes in a terrifying hue of blood and fire from the downpour of sparks overhead and I nod, concerned about this new threat, if that is in fact what it is. The last thing I need right now is some new kid on the scene with the power to destroy demonic souls.

  “Yes. Come Lilliana. We will investigate. Do you want to inform Katerina of where we are going?” I ask her, and she shakes her head.

  “No. He was my child. I will go, and you will accompany me. Bring the box,” she orders me, like I’m no more than one of her mongrels, and I narrow my eyes slightly, displeased.

  I tame my fury, knowing that perhaps if I do this, I will win further favour, show that I am not in this for purely selfish reasons, but to benefit their collective.

  Taking the box from my pocket, I turn to the side with a tree burned into the dark wood, staring at it and watching as the edge slides away at my will.

  As the portal to the mortal world re-opens, we step inside in silence, and the hunt for newfound magic begins.

  SEPHY

  I awaken as the dawn breaks over the horizon, and dappled sunlight falls over the room. My eyes crack open as the glare hits my eyelids, and I feel my heart begin to race as my eyes shoot open fully only seconds later. There is an enormous shadowy mass at the end of the bed.

  “What the fuck?” I cry out, reaching beneath my pillow for the opal dagger or Ol’ Faithful, whichever one is closest. I grab the hilt of one of the knives, but pause with the blade in mid-air as I realise who the stoic face staring down at me belongs to.

  “Good morning.” Xion smiles, and my mouth falls open, fury following shortly after.

  “Oh, my God! You freaking psychopath! You can’t just stand over a woman while she’s sleeping!” I get up onto my knees, grabbing a pillow and hitting him over the head with it as I yell in a staccato of pissed off grievance. “Do. You. Know. How. Freaking. Stalkerish. That. Is?!” He doesn’t move, just takes the blows with an oblivious smile as I feel the night before coming back to me.

  Too much whisky… far too much.

  My head becomes tender too fast as the blood slows around my system and my heart rate returns to normal. I’m naked, not that I care if people see me this way, and take a minute to stare around the room. “Hey, where’s… uh…that guy?” I ask, seeing the dent in the pillow next to mine. Don’t get me wrong, I’m relieved he’s gone, but with Xion in close proximity I wonder if he’s still breathing.

  “Oh, he’s gone.” Xion smiles to himself, and I narrow my eyes.

  “Again, crazy I know, but I find myself having to ask, is he alive?” Xion laughs, being very careful not to look at me anywhere but directly in the eyes.

  “Some might say barely, but yes, he’s breathing if that’s what you mean.” With this, I exhale an overly-dramatic relieved sigh and fall back among the sheets, not caring for modesty as I flutter my lashes up at him. I give him a provocative look as my fiery red hair falls out around me in a flaming halo, and he laughs.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask him and he raises an architecturally flawless eyebrow.

  “You think you’re so hot,” he retorts and I snort.

  “I know I’m hot, thank you very much,” I retort, stretching my arms up above my head whilst he continues to chuckle.

  “And you’re so easy to bait.” His laugh becomes louder now, reverberating off the walls as I get up.

  “Well, you’re…” I begin my next retort, but the thudding in my head suddenly becomes unbearable as the night’s whisky intake comes back to me in full force, and I lose my train of thought.

  Where is Jules with my morning pick-me up?

  What time is it anyway?

  “Did I just beat the infamous Sephy Sinclair in a shit slinging match?” Xion asks me, the sentiment one I recognise from England. Yo
u never hear it round here much.

  I get to my feet, wondering where he’s from, how old he is or if he has a family.

  Actually, it’s pretty obvious from my lack of explanation for his persistent behaviour that I really don’t know anything about him other than that he’s a pain in my ass.

  I stride across the room, bare for him to admire, opening my closet doors and stepping inside to dress. As I do, I hear him cough.

  “So, do I need to ask you why you’re here, towering over me in my sleep like some mass murdering freak, or are you going to let me in on that fact?” I call through the doors, placing on a fresh set of panties and a bra. Over the top of this I pull on some skin-tight leather pants, my favourite pair, and a low-cut black vest top with metal studs along the spaghetti straps. Last night’s makeup is smudged but still acceptable as I stare into my pale, tired and hungover reflection in the vanity. I hear Xion’s tread get closer and his voice louder.

  “You’ve been summoned to the Indicatus Courts.” His explanation isn’t very informative, and I frown as I open the double doors again in one sweeping motion before stepping out. I find him leaning against the wall on my right, casual and cocky in posture.

  “What’s that? Like a gameshow or something?” I ask him, moving over to sit on the edge of the bed as I put on some shoes.

  “No. It’s the courthouse in The Underworld. They want to see you, to review your case.” His voice is slow, certain, as though he thinks I’m stupid or something. I scowl.

  “You know this really isn’t funny anymore. I’m all one for fun and games, the odd prank, but you have to know when to let it go… you know?” I cock my head, getting to my feet and deciding to go and see Nightshade. It’s too early for anything seriously taxing, and from the looks of things it’s only a little past six am. I might as well enjoy the peace before Peter rises and this whole business thing starts infringing on my time again.

  Walking away from Xion without another word, I hear him exhale in frustration.

  As I pull open the door to make my exit, I nearly walk into Peter who is standing behind it, hand raised. It’s weird; he never ventures this far into the upper west wing, which is just the way I like it.

  “Persephone,” he addresses me, surprised I’m awake, as though I actually live in a permanent zombified state or something.

  “Peter… I was just going to…” I begin but he frowns.

  “I’ve called the directors back this morning, early, so you can get a head start on things after yesterday.” My mouth falls open, but then quickly downturns into an annoyed expression.

  What the hell?

  He managed to get them back here so soon after they’d almost been eaten by a rabid genetic experiment gone wrong? I mean, I hate him for that, but he must be one hell of a persuasive entity on the phone.

  “Well, uh, actually I have plans. Xion is taking me to the Indicatus Courts.” I pull the excuse out of thin air, too lazy to think of something actually inventive in my fatigue.

  “The Indicatus Courts… Oh. Well I suppose that’s more important. I’ll reschedule. You uh… talked everything out then? You know about Mortaria?” he enquires, his expression nervous.

  “Oh yes, Xion’s been really helpful. He explained everything.” I nod enthusiastically, the motion making my head pound harder.

  I push past him and move into the hall before taking off toward the landing. My tread quickens, but soon I realise I’m not alone as I hear an unmistakably loud and non-covert footfall in my wake.

  I quicken my pace, grabbing my car keys, which are lying on the table beside the double doors of the exit, where I usually leave them for Jules when I stagger in.

  I run out of the door, hair moving out behind me like fraying ribbon in messy un-brushed curls, and hear his call but ignore it, determined to get some space.

  Taking a right, I move around the front of the west wing of the estate, taking long quick strides and kicking up gravel in my wake as I head toward the garage.

  Once inside the open front structure, I realise that my car hasn’t been brought back…

  Of course it hasn’t, the keys were still on the table.

  Lucky for me, I’m a billionaire and have about twenty cars at my disposal.

  I select Goldfinger as my ride and fish out the spare keys from the safe in the cage at the back of the parking structure, just as Xion rounds the corner.

  “Hey! Wait! Where are you going?!” he demands, breaking out into a jog as I scurry over to the golden Vanquish which I haven’t driven since I’ve been home. I click the button on the key pad, making sure that the doors are open and ready so I can make my escape. “Wait!” Xion yells out.

  He’s about ten feet away from me one moment, and then the next I’m being spun on the balls of my fast-moving feet as his enormous hand falls down on my shoulder from directly behind me.

  Huh. He must have been closer than I thought. I muse, turning to look into his smouldering bronze eyes.

  “What?!” I yell into his face, angry at the fact I’m being hunted down like a freaking dog for no reason. It’s like I’m a prisoner in my own home, for Christ’s sake.

  “Where are you going?!” he growls, grabbing me by the arm. I pull away and slip from his grasp, stronger than I realise.

  Thank you Jacque. I think triumphantly.

  Turning, I dash toward and slip into the interior of the gold Vanquish before starting up the engine as quickly as I’m able to with just the touch of a button.

  The engine roars to life and I feel my heart pound with the excitement. It’s sad really, the fact that I’m, yet again, making a prison break from my own home, but it is what it is, and I wouldn’t spend one more minute with stuck-up or crazy pants if you paid me.

  I pull out of the garage, car crawling along under the periwinkle blue of the early morning sky. I’m no longer able to see Xion anywhere, that is until I’m out on the white gravel of the driveway.

  Turning right and away from the house, so I’m facing straight down the long driveway which leads through the forest toward the road, I catch him in my sights.

  He’s standing directly in front of the car and only a few metres away, expression pissed beyond what I’ve seen from him so far. His brows are pinched together and his facial architecture is carved into nothing short of what can only be described as feral abandon.

  I rev the engine, trying to get him to move, but he widens his stance, almost like he’s challenging me. Driving forward a few inches, revving all the way, beeping my horn, trying anything to get him to move, I feel my temper stoked by his stubbornness. My fingers tighten on the wheel and my foot twitches over the gas pedal, impatience growing as I get closer and closer to his tall intimidating silhouette.

  Finally, when I’m only centimetres away from his knee caps, something happens that I have no idea how to explain.

  Through the broad windshield, I watch as his eyes blaze a hot orange, igniting from the molten gold and bronze of his irises. His skin ripples, becoming charred, and his body expands within his clothes, making them tear at the seams. Lines of glowing, burning colours etch themselves through his body, glowing through the material of his shirt, and his entire stature transforms within seconds to something terrifying, something dark.

  He brings his hands down toward the hood of Goldfinger, making the entire car shake under the force behind the impact, and the rear wheels lift off the ground. An enormous thud echoes in my ears as his palms make contact with the metal and the tonne-age of the machine tilts.

  My eyes widen, and my heart begins to race as I take my foot off the accelerator. Blink once, then again and rub my eyes.

  Did I really drink that much last night?

  I don’t know what comes over me, but I am unable to stop myself from opening the driver’s side door and stepping out onto the gravel of the drive, which crunches beneath my feet as I rise from the driver’s seat, and turn to stare at him.

  The early morning sun is rising to the east a
nd casts his now dark skin in orange light, only highlighting the red-hot glaze of his swirling tattoos. They run like rivers of fire across his charred skin, cutting through the definition of his muscles as though it were rock and every pulse from his veins is yet another seismic vibration. As he balls his fists, he causes his biceps and pectorals to shudder and strain like tectonic plates. Immovable, yet volatile beneath his clothes. He is an organic oxymoron in every sense of the word.

  “Xion…” I stutter, taking a few steps forward, unsure of what to do next. He straightens, removing his hands from the bonnet of the car, leaving two hand prints in the previously spotless metal.

  “Do you believe me now?” His voice has changed; it’s deeper, more terrifying than anything I’ve ever heard, kind of like a cross between Darth Vader and Alan Rickman. It might even be sexy if he didn’t sound so furious.

  I look him fully in the face, feeling the heat from his body radiating out and toward me. I reach out to place my fingers gingerly on his cheek, trying to make sure he’s real, but he pulls away.

  “No. Don’t,” he warns and I drop my wrist to my side, curious beyond anything I’ve ever felt in my life.

  What is he?

  “So, this is all real? The fire, that thing from last night?” I ask him, frowning, as though the fact that he could be telling the truth about what has been going on has never even occurred to me.

  “Yes. This universe is more complicated than you can possibly imagine. There is power, and there are those who wield it. The way in which they do so dictates the fate of this plain and every other. It’s serious Sephy. You need to come with me. You could be in danger.” He’s pleading with his alien gaze, but behind the new fire in his irises, I can tell it’s still him.

  “Seriously?” I demand, blinking again and wondering if I’m going crazy, or dreaming. This time though it’s harder to deny, harder to shake off the feeling that this might be real. Mainly because I can’t believe that my intoxicated brain could come up with a monster who is not only terrifying but also this smouldering hot… literally.