Frost Fire

Chapter Five

                                      Chapter Five 

Pearly. It was the prettiest word she’d ever been able to find for the scar.

Allai used her bathroom mirror to stare at the scar on her neck. It looked the same as it always did: pale, thin, smooth. A whisper of spider’s silk across her skin. But the scar had been throbbing ever since she’d encountered Drake the previous day, like her wound was fresh and not years old.

She sighed and threw her pajama top at the mirror. It didn’t really do anything to help, but at least it blocked the image for a second, giving her enough time to rip her gaze away from the glass and focus. She needed to get dressed, because it was already six o’clock and nearly the end of breakfast. There probably wouldn’t be much food remaining by the time she got down to the Hall, but there might be a muffin or two left over. That was enough motivation to get her moving. 

Allai walked into her adjoining bedroom and fished around her dresser drawers for clothes, not really paying attention to what she pulled out. Not that she ever did. Skinny jeans and a t-shirt was her usual attire, and there was no reason it should change for today.

A little breath of relief escaped her when she pulled her hoodie on. The hood sat snug around her neck and hid every sign of the scar. For a while after the event, she’d constantly looked around at the Demon warriors she lived with. Their bodies were covered in scars from fights and scuffles, and it somehow made her feel good knowing she wasn’t the only one with an ugly mark. But the good feelings were always short term. Because Sentinel Warriors weren’t human, and their scars eventually regenerated with seamless, fresh skin.

Hers didn’t.

She made sure to leave her bedroom door closed when she left for the Hall. That was number five of the unspoken rules of the Manor—you want privacy, you make it.

Then it was a two story trudge downstairs. The Hall stood in the in the very back corner of the Manor’s first floor, which was an odd place for a room so huge and heavily-trafficked. But with Demons of all kinds joining together, all ignoring clans and racial alliances, and all accepting that a Nox or Persequor may enter the room at any time—the room was just destined to be strange.

A young Trident held open the door to the Hall for Allai, meeting her eyes in respect. What was the kid’s name? Archibald, that was it. She nodded at him and gave him a pitying smile. Partially because she knew the grunt-job of holding open a door for the thirty-eight resident Warriors totally sucked. And partially because his name sucked.

The Hall was set up as usual. Food lined up buffet style, people lined up beside it domino style. Tip one over, and they’d all fall flat, too tired to catch themselves. Because, by this time, it was just the younger Manor residents left in the hall. The ones who stayed up until one o’clock, only to be rudely awakened at five every morning.

Allai grabbed a paper plate and began picking food from the buffet, careful to only take from the platters marked “H” for Hunter. They were the only dishes guaranteed to be cooked. All of the others were mostly raw meat and various spices. Because somehow a dash of paprika just made raw beef so much more appetizing.

“Can someone just close the blinds?” a voice moaned from way back in the line. “The sun isso damn cheerful.”

She didn’t turn around to see who said it. She already knew who it was: Some kid that’d been found in the nearest town, a Hunter who’d ended up with human parents through an adoption screw-up. That sort of thing happened rarely, like twice a century. Hunters were a close-knit, secretive bunch, and they didn’t like humans dabbling in their lives.