Slate Gray

Chapter 8.1: Perrin Slate

I crack my eyes open and the first thing I see is Ace's empty bed. Winter sunshine slants through a gap in the curtains so I can tell it was at least slept in, the covers tossed to the side. But now its vacant.

Alarm catapults me into consciousness. Where is she? Was she taken? Do I need to employ my particular set of skills?

I rise only to feel a warm weight against my back. And peering over my shoulder, there she is, curled on top of my covers, comatose. The infuriatingly, delightful bane of my existence.

Grasping panic melts and a rush of affection fills my chest instead. Waking to Ace in my bed isn't novel. When we were little, it was a weekly occurrence. Apparently, her terrible dreams vamoosed when she listened to me breathe, or so she claimed when I yelled at her about it. This, of course, shamed me into allowing the bad habit to continue longer than it should have.

But she hasn't pulled this particular stunt since the months following Mom's funeral. And even then, it was mostly me crawling in with her. Needing to hear her breathe. To remind myself that there was at least one person I loved still alive. Someone to keep fighting for. No matter how badly I wanted to roll off this world's non-stop thrill ride of grief and death.

She's a bit bigger these days and the small twin bed isn't suited for two adult sized humans. She must have had a doozy of a dream to want to sleep like this. Or maybe she just needed the comfort.

Her weight has pulled the covers tighter than a straightjacket and squirming does little to loosen them. Muttering a string of curses, I struggle to free myself without waking her but an extricated arm foils my plans.

"Ow!" Ace squeals, recoiling from the elbow that just bonked her in the head. "What the hell?"

"My bad, my bad," I shush. "Go back to sleep."

"Fat chance. What are you doing?"

My freed arm grabs the headboard and I pull myself into a sitting position. "Practicing for when you have me committed."

Ace rubs the sleep from her eyes, a childhood trait she has yet to shed. And one I hope she never does. 

"Nightmares?" I ask, scratching my scalp, hair a tangled mess because I fell asleep with it wet.

"Yeah. Weird ones." She yawns but doesn't elaborate. "You?"

"Nah, I was a log."

"And by that you mean sawing one?" A musical cackle follows her dumb joke.

"Nonsense. I'm a lady. I don't snore."

"Pfft, whatever you need to sleep at night." Sitting beside me, her long, brown hair is of course silky, perfect and tangle free. "How you feeling?"

"Better," I answer, lacing my fingers and pushing them out to stretch my arms. "Consider me thawed and ready for action."

Checking the time on my phone since I demolished the alarm clock (whoops), it's later than I would've liked. Almost eleven. I also have a text from Dad.

Left 2 grab coffee. Didnt want 2 wake u. Looks like u needed the rest.

And underneath he's sent a picture of us spooning each other in our sleep. Big bad demon slayers, obliviously cuddling.

Ace takes one look and tries to snatch the phone. "Oh my God, delete that."

"Hell no. You're looking at my new background." Giggling, she yanks on my bicep, trying to pull it closer but I palm her face and follow through on my threat. "Now I can bask in your beauty every day," I gush.