The Opal Blade (The Ashen Touch Trilogy Book 1)

by Kristy Nicolle

  “Nope.” I sip more rancid wine, cringing at the taste but continuing to drink it anyway.

  He comes around the corner with a cart to take away the rubbish and the glasses for cleaning. He hasn’t stopped working since the morning I’d found Sephy dead in her bed. He’s like a fly on acid.

  “Jules…” I sigh out, and he looks to me, instantly alert.

  “For the love of God, please sit down and have a drink with me.” I hold out a glass of wine to him, and he shakes his head.

  “I’m not drinking that crap.” He disappears a moment and returns a minute or so later with a new bottle.

  “Why are we serving this, by the way? Don’t the Sinclair’s own a vineyard?” I ask him, and he rolls his eyes.

  “Peter’s orders. He’s been tight with money for the funeral. He’s been waiting for the Sinclair funds to transfer to his name, which still hasn’t happened,” Jules explains and I nod, amused by this, though I know I shouldn’t be.

  “Ah, I see,” I express, wondering why exactly it is he would scrimp on his own niece’s funeral. He really is a complete tool.

  Jules opens the wine with a corkscrew that he magically procures from the inside of his suit jacket. Pouring us both a glass, he collapses onto the sofa opposite me across the littered coffee table.

  “I keep thinking… if I’d have been here… If I could of…” I begin, but he waves his hand, taking a slug of wine and closing his eyes as he savours the flavour.

  “Don’t you dare. It’s not your fault,” he whispers, voice hoarse like he might start crying.

  “I’m sorry. I mean, I was close to Sephy, but you… you’ve known her since she was born.” I feel my heart break yet again, this time for him, and he looks like he might cry.

  “Yes. I just don’t think this has all quite sunk in yet for me. I love her. Like she’s my own daughter,” he admits, and I smile at him, sadness lingering in the back of my eyes.

  “I know; anyone who saw you two together could tell. She loved you,” he smiles at me, looking like he could sleep into next week, and takes another sip of his wine.

  “Thanks… I…” he begins but is interrupted by a knock on the doors.

  “It can’t be anyone for the wake, can it? It’s far too late,” I conclude, and he shakes his head, getting to his feet slowly and walking over to the door. His motion is odd, kind of like a clock that needs rewinding.

  I hear him mumbling to whomever is on the other side before the door slams shut and echoes out into the room. He returns several moments later with a large wodge of papers. He’s got them open in his hands and is scanning the document like it’s a life or death matter.

  “Xion…” he breathes, and I sit up, straightening and becoming attentive as his expression turns shocked.

  “What? What is it?” I ask him, intrigued.

  “It’s… Sephy’s will. She made me her power of attorney.” He sounds delighted, and I frown, confused as I put my glass down in front of me as gently as I can.

  “What does that mean?” I demand, and he takes a seat, this time in the armchair beside me.

  “It means that she entrusted me with the job of making sure her will was carried out as she wished,” he explains, and I nod.

  “Oh, I see.” I don’t know what this has to do with me.

  “Xion, she left it all to you.” He hands me the papers, and I scan them once, then twice.

  She did what?

  “What! Wait…I don’t understand?” I exclaim, and as I shuffle through the papers, a small white envelope falls to the floor. On the front of the thick white paper, the letter is addressed to me in only one word.

  Bigfoot.

  I feel my heart begin to race as my fingers tremble on the paper. Slipping open the back, which is sealed with wax, I pull out a single thick sheet with trained cursive scrawl upon the front.

  Xion, Aka, Bigfoot…

  I know that you probably don’t remember me, or… if you do then good because you know I am pretty awesome. The reason I’m writing is both terrible and fantastic, terrible because I’m dead (boo) but fantastic because I want you to have my money.

  I know this might come as a surprise, but without you, without your efforts, I would never have made it back from Mortaria alive. This, I feel, entitles you to my fortune. Think of it as back payment from Haedes for all those hours you worked without pay down in Mortaria… I mean, he must owe you a lot by now!

  So yep. That’s it. You’re a billionaire, so I’ll be finding my tiny violin up in heaven to play for you as I watch you on your adventures.

  Perhaps take up some ninja lessons? Get some less stomp-tastic shoes? I dunno.

  Just please, stop feeling guilty about the past. I want you to take my money and do whatever your demonic heart desires. Go on adventures, see the world, spend it on a million identical leather jackets (this last one seems like you), but don’t sit in Mortaria and rot. Don’t let your soul wither and die. There is so much to live for, especially when you have limitless funds and the world at your feet. So please, take the same freedom that you gave back to me, and make it yours.

  Sephy x

  P.S I’d kind of appreciate it if you set Jules up in a really nice place… perhaps the Bahamas?

  P.P.S Please, also take care of Cerb; he’s my best friend, and I don’t want him to get lonely.

  I stare down at the letter, then to Jules, handing it to him. He snorts as he reads, undoubtedly because the tone reminds us both of the sarcastic spitfire Sephy really was. He gapes at me once he’s done, and I stare back, neither one of us sure what to say.

  “Well. Peter is going to be pissed,” I comment, and Jules smirks for a millisecond before he straightens his face, though I notice he can’t resist getting a rather amused twinkle behind his eye.

  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I think she’s bloody brilliant,” he adds, and we both sit and smirk in silence, stunned.

  “Yes,” I agree. “She was.”

  Chapter Thirty Four

  You Belong to me

  XION

  I don’t know what to do. I no longer have any reason to stay here. Sephy is dead, and Peter no longer wants me here. If he hadn’t had a reason to hate me before, he certainly does now after discovering that he’s been once again legally inched out of his sister’s fortune by the skin of his teeth.

  I don’t know how to feel about The Sinclair Estate. I don’t want to sell it off; Sephy would probably never forgive me, especially if Peter made a bid for it, but I can’t stay here either. The memories are too painful, not to mention the fact that Sephy’s suite is in ruin after my demonic fists have taken to it.

  The police tape has finally been removed, and I’m concerned, to say the least, regarding the current investigation which is ongoing. Sephy has taken care of my biggest problem unknowingly, as with the Sinclair fortune, she’s also had my identity made real for the world, no doubt utilising her cash in order to buy such a luxury. For the first time in a long time, I have an actual social security number, a passport and a driver’s licence, though after my trip in the mean machine, I’m amazed she’s gone for putting me behind the wheel again. I’m sure, of course, that none of this is strictly legal, but I’m also sure that Sephy is smart enough to have tied up any loose ends that could incriminate me.

  I sit on the bare mattress, which has been stripped of the sheets that were collected as evidence, along with the murder weapon, looking around at the destruction. I keep my back on the large bloody stain in the middle of the mattress, which has not yet been washed clean, not wanting to think about the last moments of her traumatic end.

  The carpet has been pulled up from the edges of the room, no doubt my demonic attempt to get rid of the second bloody stain by the edge of the bed, where the red had dripped down. The curtain rail and drapes are on the floor, wallpaper has been ripped from the walls, and the marble of her bathroom floor has been smashed beneath my fists and feet. The Grecian pillars, which surround the bathtub, h
ave been destroyed too, leaving my knuckles bruised and bloody even still, not that I care.

  My bag is on the couch opposite the bed, perhaps the only piece of furniture I’ve left untouched, still packed and ready to go. I stare at it, more lost than I’ve been in a while.

  Go where?

  I can’t go back to Mortaria, and I have all this money now… I suppose I should probably go travelling, see the world, just as she had wanted, but the thought of seeing so many new places without her sarcastic commentary alongside just makes the grief even less bearable.

  Getting to my feet, I walk over to the door and pick up my bag on the way, slinging it over my shoulder, which is clad in my favourite leather jacket. I breathe out, looking over the remnants of the pastel room one final time before I turn my back on what could have been and step out into the hall.

  My tread is heavy on the runner, the high rich colours of the walls more isolative now than ever before, and as I reach the landing, I find Jules coming up the staircase, a look of irritation plastered on his face.

  “What is it?” I ask him, concerned, and he purses his lips, a silver tray held on level with his ear.

  “Peter continues to run me ragged like some kind of pack mule. I know he’s angry, but it’s hardly my fault.” I look at him with a pitied stare and frown, my lips twisting into a disapproving grimace.

  “Want me to kick him out? I mean technically, this is my house now,” I remind him, remembering the hell of the last few days.

  Lawyers, meetings and endless paperwork to sign. Who knew so much money came with so many damn forms and dotted lines on which to put my name. I was kind of hoping they’d roll it up in a van full of silver suitcases, like something out of a James Bond movie.

  “Going somewhere?” he enquires, ignoring my last comment as my bag comes into his eye line. I shuffle atop the bottle green runner beneath my feet, feeling awkward as I shift the strap of the bag up on my shoulder and meet his gaze with an open demeanour.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I thought maybe I’d take a trip,” I express, before adding, “I think I need to get out of this place for a while. I’m having a hard time. Every time I turn a corner I just…”

  “Expect to see her sassing you?” Jules finishes my sentence with a sad smirk, and I nod, sighing out as I run my fingers through my hair. The motion reminds me of her fingers doing the same thing, causing my heart to become momentarily heavy as lead.

  “Yes,” I breathe, feeling the grief sneaking up on me like a tidal wave. I thought I was over the spontaneously wanting to go to sleep and never wake up part, but apparently, it’s still ongoing and never fails to take me by surprise.

  “Do you want me to call the jet?” he enquires, and my eyebrows rise on my forehead.

  “Seriously? The jet? We have a jet?!” I exclaim in surprise, and he smiles.

  “Of course, you have a jet. You’re a billionaire now, Xion. Your wish can be made reality. All you have to do is pick up the phone. Do you have your phone with you by the way?” He looks suspicious, and I huff.

  “Yes, though I don’t like it. Just to be clear. What is this incessant need of being able to harass someone at any hour of the day or night? It’s a little creepy if you ask me,” I express, and he shrugs.

  “You’ve got me there, but nonetheless, I’d like to be able to contact you, just in case I actually do want to have Peter made suddenly and unapologetically destitute.” The look in his eyes is playful but sad and unmistakably exhausted.

  I wonder a moment, looking at Jules’ broken yet remarkable upright form, whether or not Peter should be given the right to stay here. I know out of us all, he’s the only one with actual blood relation to Sephy, and yet, he seems to be the one with the least amount of love in his heart for her, which makes no sense to me at all.

  “Call the jet.” I make the decision in the moment, and Jules nods.

  “Right away. Peter will have to wait on his… tea with exactly 415 grains of sugar in,” he rolls his eyes, and I snort, finding the pomposity of Sephy’s uncle sickening.

  Descending the stairs as my steps echo out into the high ceilings of the open plan space, I make my way through to the now immaculate sitting area in the lobby.

  Where should I go? I wonder, leaning back into the same chair I’d taken to at the wake.

  In all the world… I have the choice to pick anywhere… so where?

  I ponder this, listing off a myriad of dream vacations in my head, but cannot come up with anywhere that sounds like it would be truly fun alone. I need to get away, but an island vacation, sun, sea and surf, without Sephy seems lacklustre at best.

  Maybe I should go somewhere rainy, somewhere cultured.

  England, perhaps?

  I know Sephy was brought up there in boarding schools and then made into the person she was at university, so perhaps it would be nice to see some of the places that had been a part of her life.

  Thinking this is as good of a plan as any, Jules returns.

  “The Jet is waiting for you at the airport. Want me to call you a cab?” he asks me, frowning. “One moment,” he steps with agility over the chequered marble, the heels of his polished black shoes ringing out with purpose as he moves over to the window. Staring, I watch him with interest as the audible sound of gravel crackling under the high-speed motion of tyres reaches me. I get to my feet, moving to stand next to him at the ceiling high arched pane, the roar of a feral engine sounding moments after.

  “Do you know who this is?” Jules asks me, moving the enormous drape aside from the glass, which looks out over the front of the estate. I peer out, and as the sports car gets closer, I feel my eyes narrow and my heart sink.

  The car is a Ferrari of some kind, a new one by the looks of it, and it’s been customised in jet black with electric blue flames climbing up the front of the hood and around the wheels.

  “I’ll handle this.” I growl, grabbing my bag from the sofa and heading out of the large wooden double doors. The car stands, stationary on the drive, no doors opening, no sign that it’s not on autopilot.

  Storming across the gravel, the stones crunch beneath the fury of my tread as a tinted black window rolls slowly and dramatically down.

  “Xion,” Haedes’ voice calls out to me.

  He’s in the driver’s seat, a pair of fluffy blue dice hanging down from the rear-view mirror of this modern mean machine. He’s wearing sunglasses so I can’t see his eyes or guess his mood, and a black trilby covers his abnormally coloured hair. His face is pale and lined with worry. I’m surprised at his presence to say the least. I haven’t seen him in the mortal world for years because he knows it ages him. I mean, he hadn’t even made the time or effort for Sephy’s burial.

  “Haedes,” I reply, not giving anything away. I have no desire to speak to him or have anything to do with him at this point.

  “Get in,” he commands, and I keep my face masked with cool reserve.

  “I can’t; I have a plane to catch,” I state in a dull tone, and he smiles, like a cat licking cream.

  “What a coincidence; I’m looking to travel myself. I’m heading out on a little retrieval trip,” he informs me, and I shrug.

  “What’s that got to do with me?” I ask him, nonchalant, and he gives me a deadpan stare.

  “Well, if you’d get into the damn car, I’d tell you,” he retorts, and I feel my eyes narrow as my curiosity rears its head.

  “Well, I do need a ride to the airport,” I express, putting aside my fury and satiating my curiosity. The door rises from the vehicle vertically, and I duck beneath it before pulling it closed as I relax into the leather of the seat. Haedes wastes no time in putting the car into gear and taking off at top speed back down the driveway, causing my fingers to dig into my seat as the world begins to move around us in a high velocity blur.

  “So… are you going to enlighten me before I die in a high speed fiery inferno?” I press him for an explanation, and he snorts.

/>   “I’ll have you know I’m an excellent driver,” he claims, and I roll my eyes as I rub off the sweat on my palms off, pushing my hands against the snug roughness of my jeans.

  “Cut the crap. I’m not even supposed to be leaving the country while the investigation is underway, so as soon as we hit the tarmac, I’m out of here,” I retort, and he smirks, only causing my fury to grow.

  “Oh, no need to worry about that. I am owed quite the debt by the Chicago chief of police. I’ve had the case diverted onto a more likely candidate.” He says it like it’s nothing, and I gawp.

  “Like who?” I ask him, and he shrugs.

  “The person who’s been sending her flowers with no note or card, calling Sephy hundreds of times from an unknown number. I’m having them look at the florist to try and pinpoint who was sending them,” he elaborates, and I frown. Why hadn’t Sephy said anything?

  “Someone was sending her flowers?” I ask him, and he nods.

  “Yeah, a lot of them. I came from the police station, looked through the evidence locker, found her cell phone, which they’d neglected to check…” he rolls his eyes at the incompetence of the investigative team, and I feel disappointment settle in. He catches my look of aggravation and looks at me, seemingly kind this time. “Don’t worry, Xion. We’ll catch this bastard. When we do, he’ll wish he was in hell… you mark my words.” The threat lingers between us as we screech around a corner, and I lurch sideways in my seat. It is from this point we begin to charge down a street lined on either side by large fancy houses and tall equidistant oak trees.

  “Okay, so you’ve taken me out of the hot seat. Great. But that still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here. You didn’t even come to the funeral.” I condemn his cowardice, and he turns to me after checking his rear-view mirror and breaking harshly at a set of oncoming traffic lights as they turn red.

  “I’ve been busy,” he replies, as the car stills to a halt, and we wait to turn a corner so we’re heading towards Chicago and out of Forest Glen. The rumble of the engine coming through the bottom of my seat is making my stomach churn, making me want this little journey over with even faster than I’d originally thought.