The Opal Blade (The Ashen Touch Trilogy Book 1)

by Kristy Nicolle

  “Thanks,” is the only word that I allow to pass my lips.

  He doesn’t respond, merely smiles and continues to examine me as I go back to looking out of the window, feeling as though I’m trapped in a goldfish bowl, looking out upon Mortaria but not really a part of it. I’m supposed to belong here. This is where my mother had fallen in love with my father and they had made me. The real and true story of my creation. This is my origin. And yet, I feel like nothing more than a stranger in a strange land.

  “Come on.” Xion encourages me to move as the carriage stills upon the road and he opens the door, yet again not waiting for the driver to descend onto the path and do it for him. I step down the small, black collapsible stairs and out onto the sidewalk. We’re dwarfed by an enormous skyscraper made from white stone, which is speckled through with crimson spots and splashes. The construct twists upward like a mangled spine that’s been contorted into a thick double helix, and I swallow hard as Xion leads me in through a set of tinted, spinning glass doors before we step through into the lobby.

  “What floor are you on?” I ask him, feeling my stomach grumble against my will.

  “The penthouse. Perks of working for The Nexus,” he elaborates, and I nod as we take quick and careful paces towards a flight of stairs.

  “Don’t you have an elevator?” I ask him, and he shakes his head.

  “This is hell, Sephy, not the Hilton.” His tone is teasing, but I don’t laugh, realising that I’m actually nervous, though I can’t put my finger on why exactly. Could it be the fact that I’ve once again narrowly avoided being a demon entrée? Or is it that I’m entering Xion’s personal territory for the first time?

  I guess it might be the second one. After all, I’m not used to having to rely on anyone for anything. Him taking me in is more than I could have expected, especially when I didn’t exactly ask him first.

  We climb more stairs than I would have thought possible and reach the top after around ten minutes of trekking.

  “Jesus, where is your apartment? Heaven?” I ask him, out of breath. I bend over, hands on my knees as I try to catch my breath. He probably smirks, but I’m too distracted to see it because the boning of my corset is pushing into my ribs. After a few seconds, I start to feel faint. Shaking my head, my stomach gives an audible rumble yet again.

  Xion takes one look at me and takes several steps across the brushed steel of the floor, his tread causing the metal to echo loudly.

  Finally catching my breath, I follow him towards a door as he reaches inside his leather jacket for a key with which to unlock it.

  I take the top hat off of my head, feeling my stiletto heels pinching my feet, and quickly trail after him into the apartment as he steps aside just inside the door.

  The place is simple – black stone floors, walls and furniture, with only a dash of silver here and there. The torches on the walls burn blue, and I wonder why nobody seems to have electric lighting even though Xion had mentioned before that this place does have power.

  The doorway is at the head of the apartment, and it spreads back in a single, long room, partitioned only by two sliding glass doors that separate the open plan kitchen and living area from the enormous bedroom. He has a huge bed, but it looks like no guest room. So, I guess I’ll be taking the couch if that’s the case.

  My stomach growls again and he stalks behind me, yanking open the fridge and looking back over his shoulder.

  “How about we silence that yowling cat inside your stomach before it alerts the Demon Lords to your exact location… though with that volume it might deter them… huh…. maybe I should just starve you.” He’s sarcastic as he grabs a container from the fridge, opening it and throwing it into a black microwave with a tinted glass screen and neon blue dash.

  “You cook?” I ask him, surprised. He doesn’t seem like the domestic goddess type.

  “No. I reheat. The gluttony sinners bring stuff over here from the kitchens in the Exilia. Luce knows I suck at cooking and also at being hungry. Demons don’t do well when they’re hungry.” He gives me a wicked grin while I stand in the hallway, staring at him like a spare part. “Well don’t just stand there. Come, sit down; you’re starving, and I can imagine your feet hurt in those things. How is your throat?” He’s suddenly in his element, looking after me in his own rugged, masculine way, and I can’t stand it. I feel totally redundant and vulnerable.

  “Fine,” I reply, slipping my heels off and padding over the cool marble of the floor. The heat and ache ebbs from my feet before I jump up onto a silver stool across the kitchen island from where Xion is stood beside the humming microwave.

  It emits a small ping and he turns, grabbing the container from the inside of the appliance and handing it to me with some cutlery.

  “Eat,” he orders, watching me with a caring but firm gaze. I indulge him this once as the smell of meat sauce fills my nostrils and I begin to salivate.

  We don’t talk again for a while, mainly because I’m too busy stuffing my face to speak. Xion gets me a glass of water and then moves back through the apartment, taking off his jacket and pacing noisily through to the bedroom.

  He disappears for a while, but I’m too distracted by the spaghetti and bolognese sauce that’s possibly even better than Jules’ – though I’d never tell him that – to really notice.

  Once I’m finished, I stretch up to the ceiling, full and in the beginnings of sleepiness. I turn around on the stool, spinning it so I’m facing the room, looking back into his home. Xion is setting up a pillow and blanket on the couch, and looks up to me with a jerking motion, almost as if he didn’t realise I was watching him.

  “I ran you a bath. I have a spa tub and figured you could use it. I’ll take the couch,” he announces and I frown.

  “I’m happy to take the couch,” I argue, fatigue beginning to hit me hard.

  “Look, I’m not letting a woman sleep on my couch when there’s a perfectly good bed right there. You’re sleeping in the bed. End of discussion,” he growls, and I roll my eyes.

  “You know I don’t need you to take care of me,” I snap at him, defensive. I’m in his place, eating his food and from the sounds of it, about to be forced into his comfy ass man-bed. He’s making me weak.

  “I know you don’t need me to. I want to. That’s what friends do. Now, go and get in the bath.” He is saying this now through gritted teeth, clearly aggravated at my lack of compliance. I know he mentioned he had a spa tub before, so I hop down off the stool and move past him.

  “You know just because I’m taking a bath doesn’t mean I’m obeying you. I’m just dirty… that’s all,” I remind him. He smirks and then shakes his head.

  “Just get in the damn tub, and stop complaining,” he retorts, not looking at me, but continuing to set up a makeshift bed on the sofa instead.

  I move through the bedroom, finding an ensuite connecting with the right-hand wall.

  I push open the heavy black wood of the door, my feet finding yet more cool marble. The walls remain in the same flawless black, as does the floor. The only difference in here is that there’s spotlighting built into the ceiling, casting a stark white down onto my form. I see a mirror above the vanity across from the door. Closing it behind me, I take a few steps forward and examine my face, finding it too pale. My makeup only partially remains, clearly having been washed away by sweat from the dancing and then assault. The bath is steaming up into the air, and the jets are going as I take off my armour, shedding the glittering corset and then pants to the floor.

  Stepping into the tub, the hot water causes me to relax, and I lean back into the bubbles, the scent of bergamot and Himalayan salt filling my nostrils.

  I look down at my thin, pale body, finding it no longer strong as I had once thought, but now, seemingly frail. That demon had the ability to end my life in the palm of his hand, and if it weren’t for Xion’s quick thinking…

  Then something occurs to me.

  How had Xion known they were demons bef
ore they had even shown their true faces? Did he recognise them from before? Can he sense other demons like him?

  I suddenly have a million questions and realise that for someone who claims he’s my friend, I know very little about him. A wave of something like paranoia floods my gut as I sink back into the water, my mind racing over all our interactions. He’d offered his home to me. When he had no reason to… or did he?

  Is he working with his father?

  Am I just another target for him to annihilate?

  What if I’m playing right into the Demon Lord’s hands?

  I should be afraid at these thoughts, but instead, I just float in the tub, numb as I let the water caress me and my anxiety bob away on a sea of steam and spa jets.

  Once I’m out of the bathtub, I wrap a black towel around myself, realising I have nothing to wear. I pad through to the bedroom, looking through the still open sliding doors to where Xion is sat on the couch, looking through a book of some kind.

  “Um… I don’t have anything to wear,” I mumble, knowing that if he is working with the Demon Lords, I’ll definitely need clothes to flee. Xion turns at the sound of my voice, looking at me, my face clear of makeup and my hair sodden through. He smiles a little. “What?” I demand, and he suddenly looks guilty.

  “You look… well, a lot more like yourself,” he admits, and I scowl. What does that even mean?

  “Right… well could I look like me in clothes?” I ask him, feeling my vulnerability increase as he rounds the sofa quickly and approaches me.

  “Of course,” he replies, taking a right and opening a closet, which is built into the wall right next to the ensuite door.

  Inside, he pulls out a few black garments and then throws them at me.

  “They’ll probably be a little big, but I’ll go back to the Exilia and get your stuff tomorrow. I’ll check on Cerb too,” he adds as I open my mouth to ask. I slam my jaw shut again, not sure what to say.

  I stand, holding the clothes in my pruning fingers, and he moves back to the sofa without another word.

  “Thanks,” I call, turning on my heel and moving back into the bathroom to get changed. I normally don’t care about people seeing me naked, but for some reason, it’s different in his apartment. I don’t have Jules, or anyone else to clean up after my decisions. It’s just me, and well… me.

  I drop the towel, pulling an overly large black v-neck shirt over my head. He’s also given me a pair of boxer shorts, unsurprisingly also black, and so I put those on too, looking ridiculously slim in this baggy attire.

  My hair hangs down over my breasts, dripping and ratty, and my face is pale with heavy bags that are all too evident beneath my eyes. I guess I really do need some sleep. It’s been far too long. In fact, it feels like forever.

  I quickly pick up my clothes and the used towel and fold them up, putting them on the floor so I can pull them on in a hurry if I need to upon waking. Stepping out into the bedroom once again, I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I know he’s watching me, and it prompts me to ask the question that’s been burning inside my chest since I first got into his tub.

  “So… how did you know those two back there were demons?” I ask him, hoping he has a perfectly reasonable explanation. He twists to face me, his arm flopping over the back of the couch, and says, “They weren’t wearing pendants.”

  His explanation is simple, and it makes me frown as I hop up into the hold of the black leather sleigh bed. The sheets are black velvet, soft to touch, and my legs brush against them as I inhale the scent of pomegranates and spice from his shirt.

  “Pendants?”

  “Yes, all sinners in Mortaria have a sinstone pendant. Like this.” He pulls up a shard of black crystal hanging on a steel chain around his neck.

  “What’s it for?” I enquire, curious now.

  “Each sin has a different stone, but the intent is to pull the darkness out as a Sinner repents. Then the stones are thrown into the well of eternal torment and destroyed when they’re full and the soul is pure.” He explains away my doubt, and so I nod, paranoia defeated as I yawn.

  “So why do you wear one?” I continue to question him, shuffling up the mattress and pulling the sheets back so I can slide into the bed, the cotton under-sheet caressing my still sore feet. There are stacks of pillows at the head of the bed, all velvet, silk or cotton, and I fall back amongst them, giving out a sigh as a fog of fatigue continues to roll in across the forefront of my consciousness.

  “It helps me control the darkness. It gets cool, when the dark part of me starts to overpower the light…” He looks sad as he tells me this, and I wonder why he’s so ashamed to be part demon. He’s not a bad person, well, not from what I’ve seen anyway. He’s the first friend I’ve ever really had.

  “So… you didn’t recognise their faces, from before?” I ask him, wondering exactly how much experience he has with the demons of which he is a part.

  “No. Abraxians, well, full Abraxians, pure Abraxians, can take the form of anyone they’ve killed. I can’t do that… I’ve just got my true demon face and my true mortal face.”

  “So, you got all of the fun burden and none of the perks of being able to look like Brad Pitt?” I ask him, and he shrugs.

  “Yeah, well, if I had any desire to kill Brad Pitt, that is,” he chuckles, clearly amused at this thought, and I smile, glad I’ve been able to make him feel better.

  “I don’t know… his movies are pretty terrible,” I admit. Xion looks outraged.

  “What… Mr. and Mrs. Smith? The Curious Case of Benjamin Button? Are you mad?! Those are great movies!” he exclaims, and I’m surprised as my mouth pops open.

  “How would you know?” I demand, curious even still.

  “I like visiting the cinema… in the mortal world that is. I get to sit in the dark like anyone else and lose myself in someone else’s problems. Plus, cinema popcorn is better than sex,” he claims, and I cock an eyebrow.

  “You can’t have had very much good sex then,” I quip, intending it to be funny, but instead his face falls serious and stoic.

  “I, uh… I haven’t. Not since… not since before,” he adds, and things suddenly turn awkward between us again. How has he not gone insane by this point? I mean, he’s either got a wicked case of blue balls or a hellishly large stash of porn hidden somewhere in this apartment.

  “Well, goodnight. And uh… thanks for letting me stay. I’m glad we’re friends,” I confess, trying to show my gratitude in a subtle way.

  “Me too. Goodnight, Sephy.” He moves to close the doors between us, shrouding the bedroom from the blue light of the sconces. I turn onto my side, finding a panoramic glass widow that looks out over the ever crimson sky of Mortaria.

  Snuggling into the sheets and allowing Xion’s sweet and spicy scent to surround me, I close my eyes, blocking out the view of The Underworld and slowly falling into a troubled sleep.

  “Sephy! SEPHY!”

  I’m woken to the sound of screams and my body being shaken rapidly by some external voice. I look up to the dark ceiling, and the screaming stops as my eyes fly open. Then I realise.

  It was me who was screaming.

  “Jesus. Are you alright?” Xion demands, his head glazed in a thin layer of perspiration. His large eyes are baring down into mine and I take a few seconds to process the fact that I’m not being damned by my Mother for hating Haedes, not falling into a fiery inferno, but rather lying in Xion’s oversized bed.

  “I’m fine. It was just a nightmare.” I whisper, trying to convince myself of this fact. I’m shaking slightly, and Xion moves to sit on the edge of the bed as I prop myself up against the pillows, my breathing ragged.

  “Well, I think you’d give a Banshee a run for its money with that scream. You sure you’re okay?” he asks me again, eyes filled with concern. It makes me feel sick, the amount which he clearly cares.

  The velvet sheets are clinging to me, heavy, and I feel suddenly claustrophobic, not unlike the nig
ht I’d run into the forest back at the estate.

  “I need to get some air,” I breathe, and Xion turns to look out the window beside the bed.

  I let my gaze wander too, finding the world outside alight with sparkling rain. Or at least what looks to be that way.

  “Come on. Let’s go up to the roof,” Xion suggests, and I nod, longing for fresh air but also somewhat curious about the state of the Mortarian weather.

  I let my feet find the floor as I twist atop the mattress, getting out of bed and finding the marble once again a sweet relief. I follow Xion out of the apartment, flesh riddled with goosebumps and legs shaky underneath my weight. I’m still exhausted, but now a lingering terror at the idea of sleep threatens to never let me feel fully rested again.

  What is happening to me? I ask myself.

  I have never been this needy, this scared, this weak before. I have always tackled everything in life with relative ease.

  Why is it that suddenly I feel so… mortal?

  I sigh as we leave through the front door, walking across the landing at the top of the ridiculously long and winding metal staircase that leads down to the bottom floor.

  Xion falls into a metal door and it groans beneath his weight, opening and leading out onto more stairs, which presumably ascend to the roof.

  At the top of the stairs, Xion walks through an archway, leading me out into the muggy Mortarian night air. I stare up and around as my eyes widen.

  “What… what is this?” I ask, holding out an open palm. Tiny sparks fall into my outstretched hand, causing a momentary sizzle on my skin, which merely tickles before turning to nothing more than memory.

  “It’s a spark shower. The sun, it causes them once in a while,” he explains, moving over to the corner of the roof and looking for something. I look up to the skies where it appears as though stars are falling from the bloody heavens. As the sparks get closer to me they brighten, as though moving through the air is only fanning the flames, which drift like snowflakes, dancing a silent and stunning ballet through the night.