Sekka stared into the mostly-bare fridge. Orange juice, coke, beer. He peered down at his hands, which were still shaking, and decided that the orange juice was the safest option. He yanked it from the door, unscrewed the lid, and took a long drink, draining it to the last trickle. He let the fridge door swing closed, and threw the empty bottle towards the rubbish bin. It missed. Sekka stared at it blankly for a moment, and then decided that after being shot at, there were simply more important things in life than keeping the kitchen tidy.

He sat down at his rickety little table and stared at the sole object upon it. The box was made from rich, polished wood. Possibly mahogany, he guessed, though he didn't exactly have much experience with things as obviously expensive as this. The catch was worked metal of some kind, locked, and beyond his ability to pick.

What did it matter? He didn't particularly care whether he ruined the mechanism, since he wasn't planning on returning the box to its owner. Especially since said owner was probably occupying a tray at the morgue right about now.

A screwdriver and a hammer, and the lock was no longer locking. He lifted the lid carefully, holding the box away from him, in case there was some kind of jack-in-the-box trap ready to spring out at him. But nothing happened, and he brought the box back to him, examining the contents intently.

There was a piece of card on the top. Sekka drew it out, peering at it with furrowed brows. On one side were words printed in gold ink, on the other side was a message scrawled in pen. He ran his eyes over the printed side first. The title was easy enough, it read simply: "The Palace". What followed had the shape of an address, so he didn't bother sounding it out just yet. He flipped it over, settling it back into his palm.

The writing was neat, but the words still took him a few minutes to puzzle out. "The Ice Angel Key is second to none. Enjoy him while you can. Donald Wilks."

What on earth did that mean? Another reference to a key, but the only people he knew that took to naming inanimate objects definitely had a few screws loose. He set the card down on the table, and turned back to the box. The lid was lined with blue velvet, and another flap of blue was settled over the contents. Carefully he drew it back, his eyes widening at what was revealed beneath.

It was a key - but it wasn't like any key he'd ever seen before. For a start, it was made of glass. No, not glass, he realised, crystal. Even with only the dim light from the bare kitchen bulb, the key decorated the roof with a thousand rainbowed sparkles.

The shaft was facetted, rather than cylindrical. At one end, three jagged teeth protruded. Sekka poked at one experimentally, wincing at the sharp sting as the point pierced his flesh. Sharp, too. He stuck the finger in his mouth, sucking at it absently.

The handle of the key had been intricately cut to resemble a naked man with wings arching from his back. An angel, Sekka supposed, amazed at the fineness of the detail in the angel's face, and body.

An Ice Angel, his mind supplied, and he recalled he'd read the words on the card. The Ice Angel Key. Well, this certainly fit that description. The key was set deep into the box, a wall of padding between the velvet and wood. Even so, Sekka was amazed that it was still in one piece, after the tumble it had taken.

He lifted the key out of its velvet hollow with the utmost care. Despite its fragile appearance, the crystal was heavy in his palm. Well now. Such a large amount of money, and one dead body, for this. Pretty though it was, Sekka figured that the key itself wasn't valuable enough to warrant such attention. He settled the key back into the box, tucking the velvet covering back over it, and closed the lid.

Sekka went back over everything he'd heard and seen. Obviously the key was only a loan. A week, Wilks had said, then he wanted it back. So it wasn't the key itself that was valuable, it was something that the key could do. Well, what did keys usually do? Open locks, of course. He considered this option dubiously. The key would most likely shatter if shoved into any lock he'd ever come across.

Putting all that together, he decided that the key must be symbolic only, perhaps to be used like some kind of pass. He went back to the card, with it's fancy gold lettering. "The Palace". Well, that seemed to fit - most likely the key got you a room in this Palace place. And Wilks said that the loan was for a week. His mind began to turn over rapidly. If Wilks was charging that much money just for a week's loan, imagine how much money he could make in a year. The possibilities were endless.

His reverie was interrupted by a loud banging at the door. Sekka jumped in his seat, panic suddenly flooding him. Had he been followed after all? His mind immediately ran through the windows in the house that opened widely enough for him to squeeze through.

"Open up, you little bastard! I know you're in there." Relief rushed in, along with irritation. Rens, the Landlord. Better than homicidal gunmen, but not exactly his favourite person in the universe.

"I'm coming!" He yelled, adding under his breath, "You limp-dicked old git." Sekka cracked the door open, leaving the chain fastened, taking care to lean casually against the doorframe.

"Where's my rent?" The balding man demanded, the top of his head gone red in fury.

"I don't have it right now. Gimme a couple of days, and I'll have it for you--" Sekka was cut off abruptly.

"That's what you said a week ago! I'm tired of waiting. Pay up now, or get out!"

"Come on, man, just give me 'til tomorrow night, I swear--"

"Tonight, or I'll throw your stuff out into the street!"

Fuck. He didn't have any money. He had the key, but he needed a few days to figure out how he could make best use of it. Wait a minute - he had the key, and Wilks said it had been 'paid-up for the week'. If the key really got you a room in some Palace, then what the hell did he need this hovel for?

"Fine. I'm outta here."

That brought Rens to a screeching halt. "What?!"

"I'm gone. Give me an hour to get my stuff together, and you can kiss my sexy little ass goodbye forever."

Rens began to splutter. "You... you can't do that! You still owe me--"

"Watch me."

Sekka slammed the door in his face. For a moment, it was satisfying as hell. And then he begun to wonder what on earth he was doing. An hour. He had an hour. Maybe less, if Rens decided to call the cops on him.

Half an hour later, his meagre personal belongings had been crammed into a large duffel bag, and his remaining furniture and various knick-knacks sat in a clutter in the middle of the living room. All in all, it made a pitiful pile, and Sekka sunk to the floor, resting his head on the coffee table. He'd been royally screwed, all right, in more ways than one.

Fucking Dale. The bastard had run off with his TV, stereo and a good half of his wardrobe as well. That was the first and last serious relationship Sekka attempted. It had been the one and only time that he'd forgotten that there was no such thing as a free fuck, and he'd be damned if he was the one who was going to pay for it from now on.

Enough wallowing, he thought sourly. Dale was probably off screwing over the next naive kid that he'd managed to lure by now, and he'd be damned if he'd waste any more of his time thinking about the asshole. Sekka hauled himself to his feet, resolute. Time to go. With a grunt, he hefted his bag and slung it over his shoulder. And without a backward glance, he walked out the door.

Halfway down the dingy concrete stairwell, he bumped into two of the ratty neighbourhood kids, Leila and Benji. They ducked past him, as slippery as fish, laughing in delight as he tried to snag them by the backs of their shirts and failed.

"Oi!" He called out on a sudden impulse, "catch!"

Leia halted quickly, spinning, hands upraised automatically to catch the object that looped through the air towards her.

"Your keys?" She asked, examining the keyring and assorted keys with an expression of confusion.

"Yep. Keys to my room. Give them back to baldy when you've finished with them."

"Finished...? Finished doing what with them?" Leia raised an eyebrow.

"Taking whatever you want. There's some furniture, kitchen things, other bits and pieces, stuff you can keep or sell."

"You’re not serious." Hazel eyes widened in a grubby face.

"Sure I am. I’m outta here for good. Not coming back. And where I’m going I can’t take anything but what I can carry."

The girl peered suspiciously at him for a few moments, and then seemed to decide that he was telling the truth. "You’re really going, Sekka?"

"Yep." He was surprised and somehow pleased when they both returned to him, and Leila wrapped her skinny arms about his waist. He patted both their heads awkwardly. "I’ll miss you guys." They were good kids, really.

"We’ll miss you too." Leila spoke for both of them as they drew back.

"Pass the word around that I won't be back, eh? I've come into my fortune, and I'm off to live the life of the rich and famous. Well, the rich, at least. Wouldn't want the paperazzi following me around or nothing like that."

Leila laughed as if that was the best joke she'd heard in a while, and Benji peeked out from behind her, giggling. "You, rich and famous? Yeah _right_!

"Ha! Just you wait and see! I'll come back and take you for a ride in my limo, then we'll see who's laughing. You two stay out of trouble, huh? And stay _in_ school! Hey, shouldn't you be in bed already? Don't you have classes in the morning or something?"

"Duh! It's Friday!" Leila made an impudent face in his direction, and then the two scuttled up the stairs, laughing hysterically to themselves at Sekka's confusion.

Sekka smiled as he walked away from the apartment block. He wouldn't miss the squat concrete building, but he'd sure grown fond of some of the people in it. He turned onto the main street, and headed towards the bus depot.

The Ice Angel Key finally rose to his feet and padded back into his suite. He paused in the hallway, not entirely sure what to do with himself. The light was too poor at night to paint, and he wasn't hungry enough to cook himself anything. That didn't really leave many options, except reading. He enjoyed the feeling of losing himself in a book, of travelling to other times, and other places. It was his only form of escapism. Every week Shadow would sneak him a new bundle of books and return the old ones to wherever he pilfered them from. Ice Angel never dared to ask, not wanting to get the serving boy into trouble.

He curled up in a corner of the couch, feet tucked underneath him, devouring the pages rapidly. This one was about Egyptian history, which he found interesting, although probably wouldn't have been his choice, if he was able to chose his own reading material. But he had to made do with what he was brought.

He read, with a vaguely horrified fascination, about the mummification process, and the beliefs that led to the preservation of the dead. He always thought about death with a sort of detached fascination. Death wasn't a part of his world. His world was these six rooms, and the men who came to be pleased. Not even death was an escape, for him.

He wound a couple of long, thin braids around a finger absently. He didn't rail against his captivity, like some of the Keys did. He knew his place was here, in the Palace. It was his fate to live, and to serve, with no release.

Somehow, he knew that the thought should disturb him, upset him, but he couldn't feel it. Couldn't feel anything, really. Except cold. He hugged his knees to his chest for warmth, and went back to reading his book.