I crouched down in front of Logan. “Listen, we both know that you can’t fight Preston with your wounded leg, and I can’t beat him by myself. But maybe we can stop him—together.”
“What do you mean?”
I quickly told Logan about this new thing I’d learned how to do with my psychometry.
“So you want to touch me and take my memories of all the battles I’ve been in and all the weapons training I’ve had. Then you want to use them to fight Preston yourself?” Logan asked after I explained everything.
I winced. It sounded completely nutso when he said it out loud like that. “More or less.”
Logan thought about it a second. “I think that’s one of the craziest things I’ve ever heard—and one of the most brilliant. Let’s do it.”
I blinked. “You ... believe me? You really think it will work?”
“I think you’re one of the smartest, bravest people I know,” Logan said. “I trust you, Gypsy girl. If you think it will work, then I know it will.”
Certainty blazed in his ice blue gaze, and his voice rang with an absolute, unwavering trust. The Spartan’s rock-steady belief in me, that I could actually use my magic to get us out of this mess, made hot tears sting my eyes. Emotion clogged my throat, making it hard to breathe. I nodded and stretched out my hand toward his.
Logan held up his own hand, signaling me to stop. He looked at me a second, then gave me a crooked grin. “Come on, Gypsy girl. I’m bleeding to death here, in case you haven’t noticed. At least make it worth my while and kiss me before I die.”
Despite the situation, my heart lifted at his words, and I found myself grinning back at him. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted that more than anything, especially since this might be the last chance I ever got to do it. But I wanted to make sure Logan knew what he was doing—and what might happen when I touched him.
“Are you sure?” I whispered. “I don’t—I don’t know what I might see, and I know there are some parts of yourself that you want to stay ... hidden. That you have ... secrets you want to keep to yourself.”
Logan nodded. “I’m sure.”
I stared at him. “It’ll be okay, I promise. No matter what I see or feel. You’ll still be Logan, and I’ll still be your Gypsy girl.”
He stared back at me, his eyes as bright as blue stars in his rugged, pain-filled face. “I know it will, Gwen. I know it will. Now shut up and kiss me before I pass out.”
“Well, when you put it like that, how can a girl possibly resist?” I quipped back.
Before I could think too much about what I was about to do, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his.
Chapter 22
The feelings and images immediately overwhelmed me.
Touching Logan, feeling his skin against mine, flashing on him with my magic. It was all just—just—elec-tric. He was so strong, so full of life, so fun and crazy and irrepressible. The Spartan’s strength flooded my heart and mind, even as his arms crept around my waist and drew me closer. His spirit gave my own new power, energy, and hope.
Logan’s lips were firm against my own, and the kiss was everything I’d ever dreamed it would be. Warm, caring, and sexy. I opened my mouth, and our tongues touched, slowly stroking against each other. For a moment I just let myself enjoy the kiss, just let myself relish the feel of his hot mouth on mine, the feel of his hard, muscled body pressed against mine.
Being this close to Logan made me dizzy and breathless, but I forced myself to focus. I concentrated on the Spartan, going beyond that crazy jumble of desire and longing, and looking for the memories I needed to help us both survive. I could feel Logan concentrating too, trying to call up every bit of his fighting and weapons knowledge and bring it to the surface of his mind, so I’d be able to see it, remember it, use it.
My plan worked.
The memories poured into my mind, and hundreds of images flashed by, one after another. Logan using swords, staffs, spears, and weapons I didn’t even know the names for. The Spartan sparring with other Mythos students in gym class and almost always winning. Him battling kids outside of the gym, for real, and winning all of those matches, too. Even Logan fighting the Nemean prowler in the Library of Antiquities the night Jasmine had tried to kill me. Logan’s strength roared to the surface then, along with his ferocity and pride at overcoming something as dangerous as the prowler.
It was like a light snapped on inside my head. Suddenly, I saw everything I’d been doing wrong during our mock fights in the gym. All the sloppy mistakes I’d made, all the obvious weaknesses I had, all the easy ways Logan had been able to “kill” me time after time. And I realized what I had to do to beat Preston, what I had to do to save us both.
I was just about to pull away when the memories of Logan fighting faded away, and a different one popped into my head. I should have ended the kiss then, but I didn’t. Even though I knew it was wrong of me, I still wanted to see the image. I wanted to know everything there was to know about Logan. I wanted to learn what deep, dark secret he’d been so desperate to hide from me.
In this memory, Logan was a little boy, only around five years old. Even back then, he was cute, with big blue eyes and a tousled mop of black hair. But the memory wasn’t a happy one—not at all. Logan huddled on the floor of a large closet, hidden in the very back, behind a rack of clothes. Screams sounded just outside the closed door, and shadows twisted and writhed on the other side of the wide slats. Logan clutched a small metal sword in his hands, but he wasn’t using it. He wanted to, though. The urge to run out of the closet made his heart pound, but he was so afraid of the screams, so scared of the shadows, that he felt frozen in place.
The image abruptly shifted and bled into another memory. Logan stood over two bodies, a woman and a girl who was a few years older than he was. His mother and his sister, a voice whispered in my mind. They were dead, their throats cut, and blood covered the floor all around them, coating their faces. So much blood. Logan still clutched his sword in his hand. Angry, he threw it away, then lay down in between his mother and sister, not caring that he was getting their blood all over him. Tears streaked over his small, pale face, and then, he started to scream.
Logan drew back, breaking the kiss, breaking our connection. I would have fallen over, if he hadn’t caught me and cradled me in his arms.
“Gwen?” Logan whispered against my cheek. “Are you okay? What did you see?”
I saw why part of you is so sad, I thought. Why you won’t let me get close to you, because you once lost the people you cared about the most. But I didn’t say the words. I just ... couldn’t. Not now. Later. We’d ... talk about it later. If we had a later.
I shook my head and drew back, looking into his rugged face. “I’ll give you this, Spartan. You sure can kiss. Feel free to lay one on me anytime you want to.”
For a second relief flashed in his eyes—relief that I hadn’t discovered his secret. That I hadn’t seen the blood and bodies that haunted him so. Then Logan grinned.
“Well, I do aim to please,” he drawled. “You should see what I can do with my hands. And other parts of my body.”
I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? You’ve been cut open like a fish, there’s a psycho-killer Reaper after us, and you’re still hitting me up for sex?”
Logan shrugged, but the devilish light didn’t fade from his gaze. “Hey, you can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Right. We’ll talk about that later. Now, come on,” I said. “I have an idea.”
I stood behind the doorway and waited for Preston Ashton to come and kill me.
I didn’t have long to wait. I’d barely gotten into position when footsteps scuffled, and a shadow appeared at the far end of the half-finished hallway.
“Gypsy ...” Preston’s voice echoed through the semidark construction site. “Oh, Gypsy ... I’m coming to kill you... .”
I gritted my teeth and gripped Vic tighter. I knew Preston was trying to scare me, but I could still hear the crazy in his voice
, loud and clear. How had I ever thought he was cute? He so needed to be locked up in an insane asylum somewhere. Too bad Batman wasn’t here to come and drag his ass off to Arkham.
I looked over at Logan, who leaned against one of the walls, hidden in the shadows. The Spartan clutched a loose brick in his hand, the only weapon we’d been able to find in the construction debris, since I’d dropped the hammer earlier. I nodded at him, and he nodded back. Showtime.
“Here goes nothing,” I whispered.
“Cut him to bits!” Vic crowed. “And feed me the pieces! It’s been a long time since I’ve dined on Reaper blood.” Underneath my palm, the sword’s lips smacked together in anticipation.
“Let’s just hope I win. Now, shut up, Vic. I need to concentrate.”
I drew in a breath and stepped out into the hallway, so Preston could see me.
The Reaper spotted me at once, and a mocking smile curved his lips. “Coming out in hopes that I’ll kill you quick? I hate to disappoint you, but that’s not going to happen, Gypsy. Not now.”
He stepped closer, and I realized that blood covered the lower half of his face. I must have done more damage with that hammer than I’d thought. Preston’s nose had swelled up to twice its normal size, and black and purple streaks radiated out from it like sunbeams.
But his eyes were what really creeped me out. They glowed a wicked, wicked red. It looked like someone had filled Preston’s eyes with dozens of matches and then lit them all at once. Crimson flames danced in his gaze, burning so hot and bright I thought he might just shoot fire out of his eyeballs and fry me where I stood.
Jasmine’s eyes had looked exactly the same way when she’d tried to kill me in the Library of Antiquities. Preston must be channeling Loki, tapping into the evil god’s magic or whatever Reapers of Chaos did when they were intent on killing their enemies.
But I had Logan to channel and all his fighting memories to tap into. It would be enough to save us both. It was going to have to be.
“You want a fight?” I called out. “Then come and get it, you arrogant, snot-nosed punk.”
I didn’t have to taunt him twice. Preston screamed with rage and raced down the hallway toward me. I turned and ran to the far end and into an open area, drawing him out past Logan’s hiding spot. The plan was simple. I’d keep Preston busy, and as soon as Logan got the chance, the Spartan would lurch up behind the Reaper and brain him with the brick he was holding until Preston was unconscious. All I had to do was not get killed in the meantime.
I whirled around, moved Vic into position, and summoned up all of the memories of Logan that I had. Preston broke free of the hallway, raised his sword over his head, and brought it down at me.
CLANG!
Preston had struck with all his Viking strength and skill, trying to split my skull in two with one blow. The force of his vicious attack rocked me back, but I thought of Logan, called up my memories of him, and managed to hang on to Vic.
And so we fought.
Back and forth we moved in the chaos of the construction site. Screaming, snarling, and trying to hack each other into bloody pieces, just like Vic wanted. Preston was in a frenzy now, his eyes getting redder, brighter, and angrier with every passing second. Even with my memories of Logan, it was all I could do to keep the Reaper from shoving his sword through my heart. And Preston and I were locked so close together that Logan couldn’t jump into the mix with his cut leg—not without getting sliced to ribbons by one of us. If I was going to beat the Reaper, I was going to have to do it myself.
I reached for my Gypsy gift again, and I thought about Logan. I focused on how fierce he was, how strong, how he never gave up no matter what. I flipped through my memories of all the battles he’d ever been in, and I concentrated on that sweet, electric thrill of victory he felt every time he won. I called up image after image of Logan until the Spartan’s face was all I could see, and his emotions were all I could feel—until Logan was all that I was.
And then I attacked.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
I stepped forward, swinging my sword in a rapid series of moves.
Thrust, thrust, thrust.
Preston managed to block my blows, but he did something he hadn’t done before: He stepped back instead of forward.
For the first time worry flickered in his gaze, right along with his burning hate for me. “How did you suddenly get so much better with that sword?”
“I’m a Gypsy,” I snarled. “Nike’s freaking Champion. Blessed and gifted with magic by the goddess herself. And Nike is victory itself, remember? That’s who and what she is.”
“So what?” Preston muttered.
“So I found a way to beat you, dumbass. I found a way to win.”
Okay, so maybe I was only winning because I was tapping into Logan’s memories and fighting skills, but the smack talk was all me.
Preston opened his mouth to say something else, but I didn’t give him the chance. I pressed my advantage, going at him with everything I had, with every sneaky trick Logan knew and a couple of even dirtier ones I’d thought of myself.
On my first blow, I nicked his arm.
On the second, I sliced Vic across his stomach.
And on the third, I knocked Preston’s sword from his hand.
Preston bent down, scrambling for his weapon, but I didn’t stop my attack. I drew my leg back and slammed my foot into his face. Something crunched underneath my sneaker, and the Reaper screamed.
In another second, it was over. Preston lay sprawled flat on his back on the floor, and I had Vic up against his throat.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Vic crowed, his eye glowing like a purple moon in the shadows.
Vic’s voice brought me back to myself, and I blinked a few times. I felt a little dazed and disoriented. Maybe it was because I’d been concentrating so hard on Logan’s memories, but even though I’d just been fighting Preston, it was hard for me to remember exactly what had happened, exactly how I’d beaten him.
Preston glared up at me. That eerie, flashing, fiery hate still burned in his crimson eyes, even though his face was bloody and bruised, and his nose broken. “Go ahead, Gypsy. Kill me. I dare you to.”
I moved Vic a fraction of an inch, but it was enough to break the skin on Preston’s neck. A single drop of blood rolled down his throat.
“Do it,” he hissed. “Kill me!”
I wanted to—I really, really wanted to. For everything he’d done to me, for how he’d hurt Logan, Oliver, and even the Fenrir wolf. But Preston was injured and unarmed now. He wasn’t a threat to me anymore, and killing him now would make me no better than he was. Besides, I had a sneaking suspicion of what he really wanted anyway.
“Why?” I asked. “So you can dedicate your death to Loki and make him stronger, right? That’s what Reapers do. They sacrifice other people and even themselves to their god, trying to help him break out of that magical prison he’s trapped in. Kind of a whacked out thing to do if you ask me. I wouldn’t want to serve a god like that.”
“And it’s working,” Preston hissed. “The seals are all but broken, and it won’t be much longer before we find the key to unlock the last one. Soon, Loki will be free, and his Chaos will reign once more. And when that happens, you will rue the day you were ever born, Gypsy. You and Nike and all the other members of the pathetic Pantheon.”
Seals? A key? I didn’t know if Preston was spouting total bullshit or if he actually knew what he was talking about. Maybe it was his twisted face, or the red fire flickering where his eyes should be, but a cold shiver slithered up my spine.
“You’d better finish me now, Gypsy,” Preston snarled. “Or I’ll get free one day, and I’ll go kill that doddering old grandmother you love so much.”
I’d never known my dad, and I’d already lost my mom to a drunk driver. I couldn’t lose my grandma, too. I just—couldn’t. Rage exploded in my heart then—cold, black rage that the Reaper would dare to threaten my Grandma Frost—and
sharp, bitter fear that he might somehow make good on his terrible promise. My whole body vibrated with the force of the two warring emotions. It took a few seconds, but the rage won out.
My hands tightened around Vic, and I pressed the sword deeper into Preston’s neck, until his blood looked like crimson teardrops drip-drip-dripping onto the concrete floor.
“Come on, Gypsy,” Preston muttered. “Do it!”
Footsteps scuffed in the sawdust, and Logan limped over to stand beside me.
“Gwen,” Logan said in a soft voice. “Gwen.”
There was no judgment in his voice, no reproach, no condemnation, and I knew the Spartan would go along with whatever I decided to do. If I killed Preston, Logan would stand here and watch me do it. And I wanted to do it so badly. My hands trembled from the urge to just end Preston and the threats he’d made against my grandma.
But I didn’t want Logan to see me as that kind of person—someone who could kill in cold blood—and I didn’t want to be that kind of person myself. I didn’t want to be a monster. For the first time, I truly understood what that was.
I let out a tense, ragged breath and pulled the sword away from Preston’s throat.
“I’m okay now,” I whispered. “I’m okay.”
Logan reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m glad,” he whispered back.
Chapter 23
Scarcely a minute had passed after I lowered the sword before shouts started echoing through the semidark construction site.
“Gwen! Logan! Oliver!”
“Over here!” Logan yelled back.
A few seconds later, a flashlight cut a bright path through the gloom and landed on my face. I squinted against the harsh glare, keeping my sword and eyes trained on Preston, not daring to let myself be distracted by the fact that we were about to have company. I might not have killed Preston, but if the Reaper moved an inch now, I’d cut him and worry about the consequences later. He’d do the same to me, try to kill me any way he could, no matter what. Something else Daphne had been right about.
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