“I can’t help it. I’m not pure like you,” I whisper as she places a hand on my cheek and crushes her lips to mine. She tastes like blackberries and pine, and her skin is rough against the softness of my own.
“You’re the purest person I know, baby,” Thane whispers back, bringing her long arms around me and pulling me close to her jagged frame. I melt into her, hard on soft, my shadow against her light.
I need to speak to Haedes. There’s so much to do. So many things that need to be said.
For now, though, I abandon all language except that of touch and fire. I’ll let her show me I’m perfect in her eyes, even if in my own I can never be.
Chapter Eleven
Train in Vain
PANDORA
I am greeted by the all too familiar sound of mortal screams as I walk into the shadowy broken corridor of Barbas’ wing in The Halls of Antiqua. Spiders flee at the sound of my tread, and I feel my hair catch on dangling webs that fall from cracks in almost every stone lining the walls. I hear the scurry of the arachnids, their desperation to return to their master and tell him of my approach, but fortunately for me I can move far quicker than a stupid bug, so I doubt he’ll know I’m coming.
As I reach the end of the long stretch of corridor, I see smoke, dark and unnatural pluming around the entrance room.
The screams get louder and an enormous shadow, one which I know is a mere illusion cast by the mind of the mortal who is no doubt hung in chains against the far wall, sprawls forth toward me.
Barbas is lucky; sinners make for just a decadent meal as living mortals, and so his suffering in the loss of Mortarian ground has not come close to that of Katerina or Lilliana. He doesn’t need that which can only be procured from living mortals or Mortarian feeding grounds; fresh blood, ichor. He needs only fear. Which, luckily for him, is in no short supply whether the soul is encased in a doppel body or not.
“Barbas?” I call out into the dark, this part of the building the most intact by far.
The screams end at my call and the smoke dissipates unnaturally fast, revealing the stick thin man belonging to the false perspective shadow which attaches at his feet.
“Pandora. What brings you to my little dungeon of terror?” he asks, his voice sharp as a serrated knife. He steps toward me in precise motion, brushing one hand back through his too-white hair which falls in razor sharp straight curtains around his face, stopping abruptly just above his waist. His skin is wrinkled, saggy even, and his pale blue eyes are sunken so deep into his face that it’s hard to believe The Scream by Edvard Munch was not his self-portrait gone wrong.
“I have a little favour to ask of you actually.” I put my cards on the table. No doubt he already knows why I am here. Barbas is by far the hardest Demon Lord to fool or lie to except of course Abraxis. Once someone knows your fears, they can discern more about you than I’d thought possible. Fear makes up so much of who we are as Mortals, then Kindred, and then as Titans – it is as though in seeing my fears, he has a map of my heart and soul.
“You’re afraid I’ll say no. It must be important. Ask.” He gestures for me to move across the floor of the chamber and into his personal quarters as the naked body hung up against the far wall whimpers.
Barbas whistles a slow tune, and I hear the scuttle of the Phobias’ legs closing in, readying to feed now their master has had his fill.
Stepping under the pointed archway and into an even darker, danker space than the one I’ve come from, Barbas sits beside a lone candle which flickers, illuminating his face as though he’s about to tell me some kind of ghost story.
He doesn’t though, instead he merely waits for me to speak. Taking a seat on a rugged chaise longue of black leather and smoothing my skirts, I begin.
“Haedes, he has a daughter. I’ve just come from the Indicatus Courts. She’s just made some rather unsavoury discoveries, least of all that she’s related to him.” I purse my lips.
“And what, my darling, could be more unsavoury than that?” Barbas cocks an eyebrow expectantly and looks down at his immaculate fingernails. As he does so, his favourite arachnid, a large Black Widow called Mrs. Skinny Legs, appears from behind the candle next to him, scurrying across the table before climbing atop his hand and beginning to weave webs between his fingers.
“She killed her parents. It was an accident. Or so everyone will tell her, but I doubt she will believe it.” I smile, and he mimics my expression, his mouth becoming a gaping orifice of joy which swallows the candlelight so utterly it’s hard to believe his internals are not pure abyss.
“Well, that does sound simply delectable, and what might I ask is the reason for you handing me such a weak, innocent and terrified young morsel on a plate?” he questions my intent, always suspicious. He’s probably the most intelligent of the Demon Lords by far, even when you compare him to Abraxis who is the master of riddles and lies. Barbas is less flare and more action, which I most definitely prefer.
“I want her in my grasp. I think I can use her against Haedes. To get Mortaria back,” I explain. Barbas’ smile grows beyond what should be possible, continually eerie in its gaping width.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that losing a child is high up on Haedes’ list of deepest fears now. Would you?” He looks at me with a careful gaze, waiting with curiosity as to what I’ll say next.
“And what if I told you… that his daughter was also the daughter of one Mrs. Demi Sinclair?” I ask him and he throws his head back in a laugh.
“Oh, well isn’t that just perfect. You’re sharp; I like that.” He clips his consonants short and concise, his teeth continually snapping shut too fast like the jaws of an alligator.
“So, you’ll do it?” I ask, surprised at the ease with which I’ve been able to convince him.
“Well, I can hardly deny my Kindred a solid meal of that magnitude… after all, there is no fear in The Underworld like that on the mortal plain. The uncertainty, the fear of death, the weight of momento mori; it gives the fear this taste… a kick unlike any other,” he speaks like he’s a gourmet chef reading off the specials list and I smile, content.
“She’s guilty. Make sure to play on that.” I wink at him and he rises to his feet.
“It would be my pleasure,” he purrs, the long bony fingers of his hand grasping mine, skeletal and cold, as he pulls me after him and out of the room.
Sephy Sinclair will not evade death at the hands of Demon Kindred again. She will perish, and then I will snatch her like the bargaining chip she can become. I am fearless, this only more evident because a shudder runs through Barbas as my confidence grows. He calls back to me, leaving me full of a delicious anticipation for the night ahead as his words reach me. I catch the excitement in his dead gaze, an odd combination to say the least.
“Come, let’s select which of my Kindred will feast tonight.”
SEPHY
It’s the longest, deepest sleep I can remember having since before my parents died that hasn’t been brought on by alcohol.
I stir, waking from my slumber to the familiar knock on the door. I want to reach beneath my pillow for a knife to throw, but after a few seconds, I realise what’s passed, and my heart begins to pound frantically, causing me to freeze where I’m strewn amongst the pillows. I let the moment wash over me, the rediscovery of grief and guilt crippling.
“Come in,” I call, my voice cracking as my arid tongue unsticks itself from the roof of my mouth.
As the door opens and Jules enters, I hear someone let out a slight groan before the rustling of leather sounds and two thuds emit from the bathroom. From around the corner, Xion emerges.
“What… what are you doing here?” I demand, sitting bolt upright in bed now. Then, it all comes flooding back.
Last night had been a huge mistake, a giant mistake. I’d let him see me weak. I’d hugged him for Christ’s sake. Like one of those needy girls who thinks her problems are so enormous and need to be held like some damsel.
I feel physic
ally nauseous at this thought.
“I… uh… slept in the tub.” He rubs the back of his neck, as though it’s sore. I scowl at him.
“You know we have over twenty-five spare bedrooms in this house? You seriously chose to sleep in my bath?” I berate him and he sighs.
“I wanted to be close. You… you asked me not to leave you alone,” he confesses, and my eyes widen.
That’s right. I did ask him to stay…Well, shit.
“You didn’t think I was serious, did you? I mean come on, I don’t even know half of what I said last night. I was exhausted and practically delusional after everything I’d seen.” I make the excuse only too easily as Jules shoots a confused look between us both, bringing in a larger tray than usual and sitting it bedside.
“I brought you breakfast,” he informs me with a spark behind his pupil as he continues to look between Xion and me.
“Thank you. We’re going to need it.” Xion expresses, and I narrow my eyes again.
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to start training you today. I’m not wasting any time.” Xion lifts the silver cloche of the breakfast tray and inhales heavily as the smell of poached eggs and fresh coffee rises into the room. He picks up a plate and some cutlery and begins to eat as I pull a face of disgust.
“That sounds like fun…” I sigh out, knowing that I shouldn’t fight him on this. I’ve already seen what my powers are capable of, and I don’t want that to happen again.
“I know. Yet another thing you don’t want to do.” Xion reads my mind as he places a poached egg into his mouth whole.
“Yep.” I twist so I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, still wrapped in sheets, and pick up a fork, ravenous.
“Well, dealing with demons is no small task, Sephy. You need to be prepared, or you’ll end up dead.” He shoves a small piece of ham into his mouth and chews without pause or etiquette. I begin to wonder if he was raised by wolves as the sound of his lips smacking starts to irk me.
“I didn’t seem to have any trouble with that last one… what was it, a Banshee, you said?” I ask and he nods, mouth still full, as I continue, “I’m not exactly your average woman. Not even counting the fact I’m a demi-god, I trained as an elite gymnast for years. I competed in figure skating. I’ve got medals in dressage, fencing, horse jumping, kickboxing, mixed martial arts…” I continue to recite my long list of achievements that has accumulated over summers with nothing but time and a whole lot of money.
I want Xion to look impressed, but he merely lets out a deep throaty laugh, making me scowl as I take an angry sip of coffee which burns my tongue.
“This isn’t some kind of underworld warrior princess pageant. I’m sure you’re very talented, but training to fight when it’s life or death… it’s different.” He finishes off his breakfast, and I follow him with an annoyed stare as my eyes rise over the rim of my tea-cup.
“Do I look like Miss Underworld Warrior Princess to you? I mean, what about a red head with a fetish for leather pants exactly screams ooh crown me!” I give him a scowl, and he laughs again.
“It’s nice to see you’ve recovered your sense of humour.” He takes a sip of his coffee and winces, obviously hating the taste or the temperature, though which one I can’t tell.
“I’ll get dressed. What should I wear?” I ask, looking him up and down. He’s not exactly in the kind of attire I’d associate with mortal combat. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s been wearing the exact same outfit since we first met. I wonder if his closet is like something out of a cartoon with like twenty of the same pairs of jeans, followed by twenty of the same leather jacket and so on. I smirk; this definitely seems likely.
“Wear whatever you like. I always wear tough fabrics because of shifting. You might want to consider that you’re also going to be dealing with fire.” He places the cup back on the trolley, unimpressed as he stares at it with momentary disgust and leaves the room.
“I’ll see you in the main entrance hall in five minutes,” he calls over his shoulder as I get out of bed to get dressed.
“It’s a date,” I call back, and I know after I do that, he’s smiling as he goes.
Several questionable outfits later, I descend the staircase, only to find Xion and Jules waiting for me. I’m wearing a leather jacket, a black corset and leather pants, topped off with knee high flat leather boots. I look to Jules, my eyes widening as I see he’s holding a silver tray with a fire extinguisher atop it.
“Your confidence in me is touching, really.” I glower at Jules and he smiles.
“Better safe than sorry. I like my beard intact thanks,” Xion adds, and I cock an eyebrow.
“If I was you, it wouldn’t be my beard I’d be worried about,” I retort, irritated already and sure I’d much rather be training with Jacque, or drinking… or… well, anything really.
“You have the only thing that can kill me in the palm of your hand, Sephy. We need to be careful,” Xion warns me on a more serious note, and I roll my eyes.
“Is it bad that makes me feel all tingly inside?” I feel my lips curve upward on one side as his broad width turns, leather jacket flaring out around him, pretending like he hasn’t heard me. I do an internal cheer.
Sephy, one.
Demon of sarcasm, zero.
With a smirk on my face I follow the two men out of the front doors of the estate and into the cool Illinois air. It’s ever so slightly windy, and I wonder if that will affect the fire that I am able to produce from seemingly nowhere.
Adjourning out onto the lawn, which is moist with a light glaze of last night’s rain, I latch onto an unfamiliar sight at the edge of the forest. Or to be more accurate, hanging from multiple trees at the edge of the copse.
“What the hell is that?” I point toward the crude dangling monstrosities.
“Those would be Banshee piñatas, for target practice,” Jules coughs, and I give him a look of utter confusion.
“Are you serious? Where the hell did you get them?” I ask him with an incredulous tone as we near the dangling targets.
“Well, I made them of course. What do you think I went to demonicplaydummies.com?” Jules retorts with equal incredulity in his voice, and I turn to him with a smirk.
“You made these? Should I be flattered? And also concerned because… well, you tied them to trees… wooden trees,” I ask him, placing my hand over my heart in mock besotted plight. He rolls his eyes but doesn’t reply, and as I near the hanging dummies a ridiculous giggle escapes my lips. “Oh my god, you drew little angry faces on them!” I burst out laughing, and Xion lets out a small snigger beside me.
Jules scowls at us both, and Xion looks down at his feet but is unable to remove the smirk from his lips.
“He said to make them realistic!” Jules defends the angry faces attached to bags filled with something I’m hoping is flame retardant. The piñatas have four fake legs made from what appear to be women’s hosiery and are stuffed with rocks. Their heads have crudely stitched ears and drawn features which in all honesty are the least offensive things I’ve ever seen.
From behind me, I hear the tread of paws and turn to see Cerb approaching.
“What do you think, Cerb? Threatening?” I ask him, and his ears perk up at the sound of my voice. He pads forward, looking up at the targets. He doesn’t bark, or growl, but simply lies down and then proceeds to roll over, displaying his belly as his tongue lolls from one side of his jaw.
“Well, that settles it. You should have trusted the professionals at demonicplaydummies.com,” I tease, and Jules looks to the fire extinguisher on his still erected silver tray and then back at me.
“I will remember this conversation when one of you needs putting out.” His posh British accent is dripping with disdain, but I know he’s only joking. Or at least, I hope he is.
“Okay, enough joking around. As crude and uh…” Jules looks like he might hit Xion over the head with the tray he’s holding as he moves to defend his handy work once agai
n. Xion continues carefully, “…well made as these might be, they’re supposed to bring back the state of mind you had when I first saw you controlling the Eternal Flame.” His explanation makes me raise an eyebrow, and I try so hard not to laugh, but it is oh-so difficult.
“These are supposed to terrify me… to make me fear for my life?” I ask him, choking on my words as I stifle a blatant giggle. Jules sighs audibly behind me, and I press my lips together in a hard line, taking a deep breath through my nose and trying to keep my cool.
“Yes, we’re going to try and have you destroy them,” Xion explains, and I nod.
“Okay… let’s get this over with,” I express, feeling my heart sink a little.
I won’t deny I’m afraid. Who wouldn’t be? I’ve lost first hand at the consequences that come with powers I didn’t even know I possessed, and willingly using them makes me hesitant to say the least.
“Let’s try the first one from close up, then as you get more adept, we’ll try from greater distances,” Xion suggests, and I nod.
I widen my stance, looking at the demon-pig-sack hybrid and debate momentarily on nicknaming Jules Dr. Frankenstein for his troubles.
I hold out my hands, squeeze my eyes shut, and try to focus.
“Hey, no! Don’t shut your eyes! Jesus, you need to be able to see what you’re doing. This isn’t like in some fantasy novel where you’re trying to be all Zen and shit!” Xion barks, and I jump slightly, humiliated as I spin around on the spot.
“Hey, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here! Why don’t you tell me?” I yell at him, and he blinks once, then twice, before looking annoyed.
The Opal Blade (The Ashen Touch Trilogy Book 1) Page 16
