The Orbs of Tala

01 | To Die Among Wretched Humans

If mood was visible, Emily was the brightest one in the train that morning, with a beam of light over her head, spewing gold glitters that staled everything else in the gray, metallic tube speeding down the tracks.

Sitting across the human, Isla's eye twitched at the terrible sight. Wrapped in a stylish black coat with a thick apricot scarf around her chin, Emily tugged her lip between her teeth, smile escaping as she tapped on her phone.

Boyfriend.

No. Janet, best friend.

It was not just Emily's mood that bothered Isla. It was the woman's future. Her eyes flickered back to the group of singing humans at the end of the train. Someone hopped on earlier and started singing about healing the world.

The ignorant fools.

She did not hate that they were happy. She hated that not one soul was feeling as miserable as she was, blind to what she could see from one head to another, how their fates were tied together.

Disaster.

If there was anyone to blame, it would be the woman sitting across from her—Emily. Human, naive, Emily. And maybe Cris, her secretary.

They could have flown to her great-grandfather's estate, but all private Opulent planes were banned in Vestian air since yesterday following the arrest of five Opulents in a commercial flight after they illegally carried vials of their own blood. It was not unheard of for Opulents to carry drops of their own powerful blood, but it was criminal inside a Vesta. As if the blood would work in their pathetic, powerless grounds.

When she complained about the train ride, Cris had said, "Unless you're willing to leave your weapons behind, we can fly in a commercial human-manufactured metal box."

The weight in her midriff was growing heavy, stretching her insides. Like accidentally eating soup from a vampire's kitchen, but worse. Her gloved hands were shaking. The inspirational, hopeful singing was pushing the heaviness up her throat. She wanted to throw up. The heat and tangy taste of blood in her tongue melted the bitter taste of her morning coffee.

It was a lonely struggle of seeing, feeling, tasting.

And dreading.

She stood. From the corner of her eye, her fifteen-year-old secretary looked up from the copy of the lyrics he accepted earlier, a lock of his brushed up black hair hovering over his forehead. His gaze followed her across the aisle to human Emily. The three guards they were traveling with, dressed in black suits and strategically scattered nearby, like spies in a terrible action movie who get killed before the big fight, became slightly more alert.

"Congratulations," Isla said, sitting close to the woman, voice deeper than that of a typical twenty-three-year-old.

The dislike was instant in the woman's head. Emily was not pleased to find a young woman dressed in an elegant moss green dress with sheer sleeves. Isla recognized the white tea scent of her own hair as it registered in Emily's brain, and she could also sniff the hint of envy playing around the woman's thoughts. And now, realizing Isla was sitting too close, Emily was also thinking her space was being violated.

But Isla was planning something more than that.

Emily's light brown eyes measured Isla up and down as she slid away, her perfectly trimmed eyebrows fused.

A bead of sweat formed on Isla's temple. The hairs on the back of her neck perked up as the train continued its fast approach to their death. She crossed her leg over the other, back straight, shoulder stiff.