Seasons of Chaos

by Elle Cosimano

  “Spooky down here, isn’t it?” she says in a hushed voice. Hairline cracks branch like spiderwebs over the walls, and the steel doors are bent in their gnarled frame. It looks like we parachuted into a war zone.

  “Did Fleur do this?” I ask.

  “Gaia,” Kai says, testing the latch on the door. “When Doug killed her, her magic went apeshit. I was certain it would bring the entire place down. The Observatory was still quaking when I left.” She throws her shoulder into the door, but it doesn’t budge.

  “How’d you get out?”

  “Through the catacombs.”

  “Wait.” I take her arm, steadying myself against a wave of vertigo. “You know your way through the catacombs? All of them?”

  Kai nods, her eyes reflecting the eerie light from the exit sign above us. There’s no power in the catacombs. No cameras. No Guards. If there’s a way to pass from wing to wing through the tunnels, we can move through the Observatory undetected.

  “Can you show me?”

  Kai stiffens. Her head cocks toward a muffled noise on the other side of the broken door. Our eyes catch as the voices grow louder.

  “I heard it on the shortwave radio,” says a female voice. “A Guard in the Control Room said there was a disturbance in the south portal.”

  Kai and I back away from the door as footsteps stop in front of it.

  “They have to be in here.” Another female voice. “It’s the only way they could have gotten in.”

  Kai readies her bow. Drawing an arrow from her quiver, she kneels in the middle of the hall. I palm a knife and press back against the wall.

  The door rattles on its hinges. The metal groans, reluctant to open.

  “Help me brace it.” The male voice is familiar. Probably one of the Guards who attacked us at the villa.

  A section of loose rebar slides through the opening. Kai lines up her shot as the gap in the door widens. A shoulder wedges through, the Guard’s biceps bulging and the muscles in his forearm straining as he forces it open, holding it for the others.

  A long leg in tactical pants stretches through the gap. Kai draws back her bowstring, taking aim as a slender arm and two long auburn braids slip sideways through the opening.

  “Wait!” I shout, shoving Kai’s bow as the string slides from her fingertips. The arrow flies wide, ricocheting off the wall and skidding to a stop at Amber’s feet.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” The rush of adrenaline makes me sway on my feet.

  “Thank Gaia we found you!” Amber throws her arms around me. My arm throbs as she squeezes the breath from me. “We got a direct flight out of San Diego. Did you seriously think we would let you go after Fleur and Chill alone?”

  I pry her away as Julio, Marie, and Poppy slither through the gap in the door. “Sorry, I tried to call, but the battery on my phone died, and I—”

  The hall flares with light as Amber conjures a flame. Kai peels another arrow from her quiver, shielding herself behind me as Amber’s firelight finds her. “What the hell is she doing here?” Amber’s flame kicks up sparks. “Stand clear, Jack. I am going to roast her.”

  “Wait . . .” I raise my hands, nearly falling as I back into Kai’s bow. The tip of an arrow slides into my peripheral vision, and I shove it to the side. “It’s not what you think. She came to help.”

  Julio stalks closer. “You’d better explain fast, Jack, because I’m about ready to drown someone.” I can’t exactly blame him. Julio was the one who yanked three arrows from my back and got stuck performing CPR on my bleeding corpse after Kai skewered me.

  Amber’s flame roars and Kai ducks behind my shoulder.

  Poppy pushes her way to the front of their group. “Knock it off, all of you! And put that fire out. The air’s thin enough down here already.” Poppy turns her attention to me, her big blue eyes softening when they find me. “It’s good to see you, Jack.” She plants a kiss on my cheek.

  “How’d you get down here?” I ask. Obviously, they didn’t come the same way we did.

  Julio snatches Kai’s bow from her hands. The look she gives him could burn the place down. “We staked out the Winter freight elevator and got a message to Boreas,” Julio says, passing the bow to Amber. “He smuggled us down. We’ve been hiding out in my old room since we got here a few hours ago, but we can’t stay there. The whole wing is operating on reserve power. A team of Guards just escorted all the Seasons and Handlers from Amber’s old hall and relocated them somewhere else, probably to conserve power. All the systems running to the vacant rooms have been shut down, including ventilation. We can’t risk turning on the air. Someone is bound to notice.”

  Marie checks the hall outside the door. The wheel of her lighter rasps in her pocket as she inclines her head toward Kai. “If we’re going to kill Robin Hood, let’s get it over with already. We don’t have much time before the Guards come to the same conclusion we did and start looking for Jack.”

  Kai backs away from them, using me as a shield as she pulls me by the shoulder toward the dead end. “I just want to find my sister.”

  “No one’s killing anyone,” I say, holding out my arms. Amber and Julio stare at Kai as if they’re actually considering it. Sweat soaks through my shirt. The room spins and I shake my head to clear it. The movement sends shock waves of pain through my skull, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to vomit. The tension between Kai and the others feels like it’s the only thing holding me up. “Kai knows a way through the catacombs,” I say, taking Julio by the arm as he tries to sidestep around me.

  Julio and Amber exchange a look. I loosen my grip, dangerously light-headed, as the tension dissolves.

  Marie juts her chin at me. “Whatever we do, we’d better do it fast before lover boy over here bleeds out.”

  Confused, I follow the line of her gaze down my arm. My sleeve’s dripping, a steady patter of blood. A pool of it spreads over the floor, almost black under the dim red light.

  The room swims. Kai sucks in a sharp breath and Amber swears. Julio surges toward me. The floor drops out from under me as I sink into his arms.

  25

  One Step Backward Taken

  FLEUR

  Doug stares at me, his hands flexing at his sides. I can’t tell if he wants to strangle me or he’s resisting the urge to wipe the blood from his nose.

  His phone lights up in his hand and he paces away from me, wedging it in the crook of his shoulder. “I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed,” he snaps, tearing at the loose pink hairs dangling from his watch and stuffing them in his pocket. “How long ago? . . . Where are they now?” His jaw hardens. “You had one job, Lixue. I want this handled. What about the storms? . . . How many more?” He swears quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Get an escort team ready. The Spring and I are leaving, and I want the situation in the south portal under control before we return.” He starts to disconnect, then changes his mind. “And bring a toothbrush and some clothes. I can’t take her out of here looking like this.” He disconnects and drops his phone on the side table.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “Above ground,” he says, dabbing at his nose.

  I resist the urge to look at the door. If I can get close to a park or a forest, I can overpower him and escape. I can find Jack before Jack finds me, and get him someplace safe. If Amber and Julio are already on their way here, we can come up with a plan to rescue Chill and figure out what to do with Gaia’s magic.

  “Don’t get any stupid ideas,” Doug warns me.

  “What are you going to do? Put me in time-out in your big scary bedroom with your ginormous, intimidating four-poster bed and your traumatizing room service? You and I both know you don’t want to hurt me.”

  A few tense minutes pass before there’s a loud knock on the door. The taut wire between us snaps as he turns to answer it.

  He comes back with a stack of clothes and drops them in my hands.

  “Get dressed,” he says.

  The clothe
s smell like Gaia. The thought of putting them on makes me ill. When I don’t move, Doug pushes me toward the bedroom. I stumble into the breakfast cart, dropping a blouse. As I kneel to pick it up, my gaze catches on the side of the cart. A sticker says it belongs to the north kitchen.

  I stand slowly, clutching Gaia’s clothes.

  The dining hall manager had smelled faintly of Winter. When I lived in the Observatory, I never met Boreas, the retired Winter who helped Jack and I escape through the freight elevator behind the north kitchen, but Jack had described him to me once. The man who delivered the cart fit Jack’s description, and he had looked at me strangely when he offered to come back for the cart, as if maybe he knew who I was.

  If I passed him a message, could he find a way to get it to Jack?

  Doug and Lixue whisper in urgent tones, arguing over some incident in the south portal. I slip quietly into the bedroom and shut the doors. Dumping the clothes on the bed, I tear open the drawers of an antique secretary, rummaging through them for a notepad and a pen.

  I write a hurried note to Boreas and fold it into a tight square. Then I change into the slacks and blouse Lixue brought for me and shrug on Gaia’s overcoat. The clothes all fit me, even the low heels, and suddenly I want to tear them off.

  I turn away from the mirror, tucking the note in my palm before I open the bedroom doors.

  Doug’s back is to me, his voice clipped as he quietly tears into Lixue for whatever security slip her team must be responsible for. My hand brushes the cart as I pass, sliding the paper under the fruit plate a moment before Lixue comes to retrieve it.

  My eyes trail after the cart as she pushes it into the hall.

  Doug snatches his jacket off the couch and tucks the cracked potted plant under his arm. “You wait here,” he says, not bothering to look at me as he strides to the door.

  I rush after him. “You said I was going with you.”

  “I have something I need to take care of first.”

  He slams the door behind him, and I kick it, fingers itching at my side. This is the first time he’s left me alone in this apartment, and I turn, taking inventory of anything I can use to my advantage. No phone. No computer. No way to communicate with anyone outside. Just a faux window and a stupid . . . TV.

  I grab the remote, remembering the black-and-white images of Chill’s holding cell. I don’t know as much about technology as Poppy does, but if the TV is connected to a network, there must be a way to get a message out. I flip channels . . . weather, global news, closed-circuit feeds of the Control Room, the Crux, the gallery, and there—Chill’s cell.

  I click on the menu button and scroll through the options, pausing on the word “camera.” The arrow keys seem to control the camera’s angle. But there’s no audio. No speaker or way to communicate with . . .

  Three figures enter the holding area and approach Chill’s cell. Doug leads the way, carrying his scythe, and my breath punches out of me as I move closer to the screen. There’s something strange about the staff—something wrapped around the head, like a scarf or a sash. Doug glances up at the camera as he talks into his phone. It’s as if he’s staring right at me.

  The image flickers and static fills the screen.

  “No,” I whisper, frantically pushing buttons. “No!” I race through every channel, but the only ones that work are the weather feeds and the news.

  I sink into the couch, the bright blooming splashes of color on the radar images still bursting inside my closed eyelids. I take a slow, deep breath. Doug won’t kill him. Not yet. Doug’s plans are bigger than that; he told me that much. He’s just using Chill to get to me. The same way he’ll use them all to get to me. Every person I love in this world is on their way here, stumbling into his trap to save us.

  There has to be some other way to send a message. Or a way out of this room.

  I pitch the useless remote against the wall. The radar maps on the screen are awash in storms. Tidal surges, power outages, fires. My eyes well with tears as I read the news tickers. There are already hundreds of victims. Within weeks, there will be thousands, millions, maybe even billions more.

  Soon, what Doug has planned for Jack and our friends won’t matter. If I can’t find a way to stop him and fix what he’s done, we’re all going to die—every last one of us.

  26

  Snow for Cold

  DOUG

  The Guards in the hall part for me. Their fear is palpable as I stride past them. I gesture for Jora and March to follow me to my office. They stand guard outside as I deposit the plant and retrieve my staff. My burns are still raw, and I slip on a pair of gloves before grasping it. Even through the leather, the staff sends cold flickers of agony through my joints, and I double over at the sudden fire in my chest.

  You can’t fix something if you can’t acknowledge that it’s broken. Before you can heal pain, you have to be willing to feel it. . . .

  With a barely contained scream, I slash my arm across the desk, narrowly missing the potted plant as I send pens, folders, and a stapler flying.

  I’m not broken. There’s nothing wrong with me or the magic. I just need time. Time to master it.

  Braced against the desk, I focus on my breathing. The pain is nearly intolerable. But pain is an inextricable part of my life now. Power can only come from pain—from conquering it. I can master this magic—all of it.

  Jaw clenched against the throbbing ache, I storm from the office with my scythe. My Guards fall in behind me. The pointed heel of the staff taps the floor as I lead the way to the Crux, the blade reflecting their wary expressions as the elevator doors slide closed around us.

  Jora and March keep their heads down, refusing to meet my eye in the mirrored walls. Along with the clothes Lixue brought to my apartment earlier, she delivered the kind of news that should result in a mass Culling. If my mood were any worse, I’d have every Guard in the south wing lined up for Termination, but Kai and Jack managed to dispatch four of them before disappearing into the south portal, and I need every remaining, conscious Guard in this place ready at my disposal.

  I can’t afford any more mistakes. I won’t risk underestimating Jack and Kai, who are probably scampering like roaches through the tunnels under my feet. They were never supposed to make it this far. The portals were all manned and armed. Jack and Kai should have been intercepted and captured coming in. And yet one of the few functioning cameras in the south wing captured an image of them ninety-seven minutes ago. And they weren’t alone.

  I don’t know how Amber Chase or Julio Verano managed to penetrate the portals, but I’m damn sure going to find out.

  The elevator doors glide open. The Guards follow close enough for me to feel their heartbeats as I storm toward the catacombs. The tunnels to the holding cells narrow around us. A torch roars as I stride past. Fleur’s cell door hangs open, and I kick it shut, the loud clang reverberating off the walls as I march past it toward Chill’s cell.

  A camera whines behind me. I turn, watching the lens move clumsily back and forth, as if someone is messing with the remote. I glare into it as I drag my phone from my pocket and dial the Control Room. Bradwell answers. “Disable all the closed-circuit feeds to the TV in my suite.” Pocketing my phone, I turn toward Chill’s cell.

  “Get up,” I growl into the shadows inside. I can smell him, his unwashed body and stagnant breath. I snatch a torch off the wall and pitch it between the bars. It lands beside him with a hiss, and he jerks his leg back to keep his jumpsuit from catching fire. “I said, get up!”

  Torchlight glimmers in his eyes as he kicks it away from him. He rises slowly, bringing his face close to the bars. This isn’t the same timid Handler Denver and I once dragged from the mess hall. Not the same pathetic loser who hid behind a pair of phony glasses and used his Season’s reputation as currency to buy a seat at the cool kids’ table. Chill’s eyes swirl white, his magic building like a storm, waiting for a chance to bury me.

  He stares at my eyepatch with blatant disg
ust. “Where’s Fleur?”

  “I’m not here to talk about Fleur. You and I are going to have a talk about Poppy.”

  There’s a lengthy pause between his fogging breaths. “What about Poppy?”

  “You’re going to tell me how the hell she and her friends made it down here.”

  His knuckles tighten around the bars. “She’s here?”

  “With Chase, Verano, and their Handler. And you’re going to tell me how they got in.”

  “How would I know? I was asleep when you and your friends snatched me off the ley lines. If Poppy and the others are here, I wasn’t along for the ride.”

  “No, but you were instrumental in planning their escape from here, so I’m betting the key to solving this mystery is locked away in your skull, and if you won’t tell me how they got down here, I’m willing to crack it just to see what spills out.”

  Chill takes a step away from the bars. “Do what you need to do, asshole. I’m not telling you shit.”

  I call over my shoulder for Jora to unlock the cell. Chill fights as the Guards haul him out and Jora cuffs his wrists behind him. She kicks his legs apart and secures each one to the bars.

  “Open his eyes,” I bark as Chill turns his cheek.

  March holds the Winter’s head, turning him to face me. Jora pries open his eyelids.

  His memories rush me, disorienting and chaotic. I struggle to grasp a single image before the next one starts. A house in Alaska . . . the lake in Cuernavaca . . . a fire in the desert . . . the earthquake in Tecate . . . a beach by a cliffside . . . the back seat of an SUV with his Handler . . . a subway underground . . . a cabin in the woods . . . a boat . . . an elevator . . .

  “There.” By sheer will, I seize the image. My head pounds as I wrestle to hold it.

  A wooden crate rests on a dolly, wheeled by a man with a familiar ruddy face. Money exchanges hands. A set of keys is pulled from the pocket of a kitchen smock. . . .

  I bend over my knees, hand pressed to my eye as the sharp pain begins to dull.