The Obsidian Key -an UnAuthorized Key story- Part 1 by Kristin Huntsman The key was black-lacquered, finely wrought in steel, and it was heavy. It was strung on a satin cord that was the right length to use as a necklace. Also attached to the cord and key was a chunk of black, shiny rock. When held up to the light, or felt with a finger, the conchoidal fracture of the smooth surface was rather soothing. It was a stone known as obsidian, a chunk of black volcanic glass. It was from the stone attached to it that the key drew its name: the obsidian key. One edge of the stone was sharp, very sharp. He had absolutely no idea what the key opened. All he knew was that it had come to him in part of the same package as his payment for the most recent exorcism he'd done. //Sumeragi-san,// the note inside had read, //I can in no way thank you enough for giving my brother's spirit rest. In addition to the financial payment enclosed, I give you this key. Please do not treat it lightly - it is very rare and usually very expensive to become the holder of one of these keys. It belonged to my brother last, and I believe he would like you to have it. I have alerted the appropriate people as to its change of hands, and they shall be in touch with you shortly. Again, you have my eternal gratitude.// Shortly after he had received the package (no more than half an hour, in fact), he had answered his telephone, and a voice had given him instructions to activate the key. Two people, a young man and a young woman, had arrived at his door and escorted him to a waiting car, and then to Narita Airport. A private jet had been waiting, and now they were flying south to somewhere. He held the key in his hands, felt the stone warm for him, and did not think. The plane flew on. Inside the black room, the obsidian room, Seishirou waited. Life had reached another peak of boredom for him, so he had decided to indulge himself and have a small adventure. He had learned of this place several years ago from the mind of one of his victims, a fat old politician with a taste for child molestation. The idea of visiting the Palace had intrigued him at the time, and for a while after, but then the matter with the other onmyouji (ah, cute Subaru-kun - Seishirou wondered how he was doing now) had come up and distracted him for a bit of time. By the end of that affair, the inclination to visit had been put out of his mind. But in his recent spate of boredom, he had suddenly remembered the place, and decided to amuse himself even more. Better than going as a client - why didn't he try to be there as an "employee"? It would definitely be more interesting. And heaven knew he could play the role. And now his first "master" was arriving. Seishirou smiled. He had, during preliminary auditions and his training, affected the persona that had been so effective in his life, and others'. He was simply known as "Sei," or "cause," the slave with the cute personality and willingness to learn. It was a diminutive of his real name, taken from the one Subaru's sister had given to him, and substituted with a different meaning. Officially, though, his name was "Sakura." That was the only name his master would know him by. He didn't look quite himself either. A slight, constant extension of his maboroshi gave him another look than his true age. Rather than being thirty-one, he appeared just on the cusp of adulthood - nineteen or twenty, perhaps. Apparently most of the clients here preferred younger men. There was nothing to be done about the fact that his eyes didn't quite match... the illusion wouldn't quite extend to that, nor did Seishirou want it to. Subaru looked at the door before him, one decorated with a huge chunk of obsidian within the intricate carvings. It was just one of a hundred doors here, all of them decorated with different carvings and gems. He looked closely at the richly decorated door, and felt an insane hatred-pleasure in the sight of the blossoms that covered it. Cherry blossoms. Always... cherry blossoms. "Sir?" The young boy by his side bowed respectfully. "The room has been fully prepared for you. Sakura waits inside for you. Anything you wish, you have only to ask for." "Thank you," Subaru murmured, feeling that moment of reaction inside himself freeze and shatter, destroyed at the touch of the real world to him. "That will be all." The boy bowed again, then scampered away as Subaru inserted the key into the lock. "Sakura?" Probably the name of the slave waiting inside for his "pleasure." He had asked about his destination of the attendant on the plane and gotten that much assembled out of her answer. This was a place where slavery was apparently still practiced. He wasn't interested. The door opened before him, and he noted only that the darkness inside was like the whirling black infinity of space. He didn't care; all he wanted, after the hours of flight, was sleep. He slipped his shoes off as the door shut, leaving them by the entrance, and walked over the the bed. It was at least three meters in length and width, and dressed in black satin sheets. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. He didn't see the slavegirl, and quite frankly he would be quite happy if it continued that way. Dropping his duffel bag by the bedside, Subaru climbed on top of the bed and curled up in a very small space, still wearing his clothes. Heartsick and weary, he closed his eyes and very quickly fell asleep. From his place cloaked in darkness, Seishirou moved to the bedside, surprised beyond all belief. His "master"... was Subaru-kun?! Obviously, some deity had seen his boredom and acted in a way that promised to nullify it for a long time. He stood beside the bed watching the onmyouji, thinner now, taller, and dressed in clothes that were so forgettable Hokuto-chan would have died (well, perhaps she had) before letting her brother wear them, breathe in and out in sleep. Slowly a smile curved Seishirou's lips. This promised to be most fun.