Blood Winter

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  They looked undamaged, except—

  Max scowled. Red dust sprinkled the sheets covering them and outlined their torsos like tiny bulwarks of powdered crimson chalk, although strangely, it didn’t seem to touch their skin. It almost avoided doing so, in fact.

  More layered the floor and had turned the waterfall basin to blood. It was scuffed where Kyle and Giselle had walked, but even as she watched, the dust swirled up and then settled back down in a pristine blanket.

  “What the hell?” she asked. Her voice sounded loud.

  Annoyed, she brushed at the heap surrounding Tutresiel. The dust coated her hand, then slid up over her fingers and forearm like a bloody glove. Max turned her hand, splaying her fingers. It was thick as velvet. She scraped the fingernails of her other hand through the compacted dust, and it slid up over her fingertips and congealed around that hand, too.

  As it skimmed over her palm and the scar left behind when Tutresiel’s feather had pierced her skin, the tide of red dust halted, and then the edges recoiled. Her palm glowed, the feather a shining shape inside its nest of tendon and muscle.

  Light flashed, and the dust dropped to the floor in a sprinkle of black ash. The heat and light from her hand flared and ran like a jolt of lightning up her arm into the rest of her body. For a moment, Max felt like the center of a star. Her vision went white. Her body was incandescent. Every cell vibrated with elemental force, the kind that had sparked the birth of the universe.

  For an instant, she felt the entire world on her skin; she felt every death, every birth. Fire and water poured through her veins. Salt, earth, and ash swirled on whirling wind.

  It stopped.

  She blinked and drew a slow breath, surprised that it didn’t hurt. Her body throbbed with the fading memory of the pulse of power. She looked down at her hands. The dust had fallen away, and all that littered the vault was gray. Which meant that even though he was comatose, Tutresiel had enough residual juice to incinerate the invader.

  Max smiled a smug smile. It faded just as quickly. This just added fuel to Giselle’s argument for using the angels to power spells. As a necessity.

  Fuck that.

  She reached out and slid her palm over Tutresiel’s cheek and down to rest on his chest. “Never,” she said, and bent down to brush his forehead with her lips. She did the same to Xaphan, momentarily resting her head on his chest. She hoped to hear a heartbeat. Something to say he was still alive. But, as ever, she heard nothing. She straightened. She had better hearing than a bat on super-steroids. If his heart was working at all, she’d hear it.

  Then again, he wasn’t exactly dead. That was something.

  She turned to leave, and as she did, a flicker caught her attention. She froze. What was that?

  She stared, stepping closer. She saw it again.

  A gleam of silver along the edge of a feather.

  It flashed and was gone. There was another. And another.

  Max lost track of how long she watched. The shine moved over Tutresiel’s wings without any pattern. She waited for it to vanish like a blown candle. But it didn’t. Hope lurched in her chest. Could he be waking up?

  But nothing more happened. Max waited, the minutes ticking by. Still nothing. She sighed. She had things to do.

  Max turned and left, scuffing at the gray ash on the floor.

  Her stomach rumbled, and she headed for the dining commons to calorie load. After that, the first order of business was to go down into Missoula and figure out who the preacher witch was and find him.

  And if possible, kill him.

  ALEXANDER LISTENED TO MAX SHOWER, DRESS, and leave. A moment later, he felt the spike of her emotions and the surge of her Prime. He leaped out of bed in response but stopped himself from exploding through the door. He could feel her grief and knew that if he went to her, she would only push him away.

  Instead, he showered and dressed. Most of his clothing was still in his apartment, although he slept every day in Max’s bed. He did not think she would welcome anything more permanent.

  As he was putting on his shirt, he felt her Prime rise again. He went still for a moment, then finished dressing. Every particle of his being was homed in on her. But whatever had set her off, she was safe enough inside the fortress. She would not want him showing up to help her. His mouth twisted. Lately, she seemed to want him in her bed and nowhere else.

  As he strode out of the bedroom, Beyul and Spike lifted their heads, cocking them. A strange flash of energy burst through the room and was gone. It tingled over Alexander’s skin, leaving behind a faintly itchy sensation.

  Beyul gave a low bark and stood up, shaking himself. He went to the door and walked through the wood as if it were not there. Spike, who had followed him, barked at Alexander to open the door so she could follow.

  Alexander did as commanded and followed them out into the corridor. Beyul was already at the steps, bounding up. Spike flowed after him like a silver shadow. He followed the pair.

  They glided through the fortress, clearly heading for the outside. More Grims joined them, until all thirteen trailed behind Beyul and Spike. They were silent as ghosts, their green eyes lambent. Unease prickled down Alexander’s back.

  The Grims spilled out of the fortress into a whirl of thick snow. The flakes were heavy and wet. A thin layer already covered the ground beneath his feet. The temperature had gone from the sixties to the twenties since the night before.

  He brushed the snow from his eyes. The Grims had spread out, all facing the southeast. Their noses tipped up into the air as if smelling something.

  “What’s going on?” Thor stepped out into the snowy darkness beside Alexander. “What’s up with the puppies?”

  “I do not know.”

  Alexander felt Thor’s long stare but ignored it. He was feeling unsettled and violent. He needed to move, to hunt. He needed to let his Prime off its leash.

  “Go get Max,” he told Thor quietly, ignoring the cell phone in his pocket. “Giselle, too.”

  The other Blade slipped away without protest. Alexander edged through the Grims, stopped beside Beyul. He crouched, his shoulder rubbing against that of the tall beast.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Beyul had the power to answer. Alexander knew the Grim could communicate telepathically, but whether he chose to was always an entirely different question.

  He waited for some response. A minute ticked past. Then another. Alexander waited, snow mounding on his shoulders and thighs, dampness trickling down his forehead and neck.

  Thor returned. Max arrived a few minutes later, and then Giselle and several other Blades showed up. He ignored them all.

  Finally, Beyul turned and nudged against Alexander’s ear with his nose. An image flashed through his mind. A crack in the ground with fire pouring from it. The flames were blue, purple, green, red, and orange. Within them, lizardlike creatures wriggled. They had frills around their heads, mouths like alligators, and wings that folded compactly to their long, sinuous bodies.

  The image vanished. As fast as it went, so did the Grims. They trotted off into the snow. Spike went with them. Alexander straightened, watching them disappear behind the heavy curtain of snow. His stomach tightened. Would they be coming back? Or was that good-bye?

  “Did Beyul tell you anything?” Giselle asked.

  He turned. Snow had turned her into a ghost. “I got a picture of a crack in the ground, colored fire, and lizards with big mouths and wings. That is all.”

  “Salamanders?” Giselle wondered aloud. “Nobody’s seen anything like them for centuries.”

  “Nobody’s seen a lot of things that have suddenly come back,” Max pointed out. “But they are the sort of thing that would make the Grims curious. Convenient timing, if you ask me.”

  “You should follow them,” Giselle said, looking at Alexander. “If they are here, we need to know. They can cause a lot of damage, and they aren’t easy to stop. Take Thor.” She paused, frowning, then shook her head. �
�I can’t spare anyone else. You’d better hurry before you lose them.” She glanced up. “This snow isn’t going to stop soon. It’s not natural. Take a truck.”

  The witch walked away before he could answer, not that he had anything to say. His entire body had leaped at the chance to go after the Grims and get away from Horngate and Max.

  He glanced at Thor. “Better eat first,” he said. No matter how big a hurry they were in, they needed at least twenty thousand calories a day just to function. It was asking for trouble to leave without eating.

  Max fell in beside him. She smelled of Divine magic. And the angels. Alexander wrinkled his nose and then quickly forced the expression away before she could notice.

  “Something happened,” she said quietly, so that only he and Thor could hear.

  Alexander stopped, waiting for Giselle to disappear around a corner. “What?”

  She related what had happened inside the vault, ending with a description of the gleams that had appeared on Tutresiel’s wings. “He might be coming closer to alive,” she said.

  For her sake, Alexander was happy. He despised the angel, but Max liked him. And Tutresiel had been trapped in his coma as a result of trying to help Horngate.

  “What do you think caused the dust?” Thor asked, examining himself for evidence of it.

  “It has something to do with that preacher witch,” Max said with complete certainty. “When he disappeared, he left a pile of it behind. Can’t be coincidence. Somehow he got it inside before the wards, and even though Giselle reinstated them, the dust was still attacking me in the vault. I think it’s gone inert now that Tutresiel’s magic reacted to it. But we need to take the preacher down before he comes after us again. Who knows what else he has up his sleeve?”

  “You have not told Giselle?” Alexander asked.

  Max’s expression went cold, her eyes flat with hate. “Not yet.”

  “Why not?” he asked, sensing that something had happened between them. Something else. The two women had a long history of hate and love between them. Mostly hate.

  “I came across her and Kyle working out a way to use the angels in their spells,” she said. “An angelic pantry of magical supplies.”

  “Shit,” Thor said.

  “They think the angel ingredients will help fend off our enemies?” Alexander asked.

  Max glared at him, her mouth pulling down. “You think it’s a good idea, too?”

  “I confess I would not mind seeing Tutresiel rammed into a jar and his guts sprinkled into a cauldron,” he said. “But I would miss Xaphan.”

  “She’s not getting her hands on either one of them,” she declared, and spun around. “I’ll see you in the dining commons in fifteen. I’ll warn Magpie you’re coming so she’ll have food ready. Get your gear together.”

  PRECISELY FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, ALEXANDER AND Thor dropped their packs outside the door of the dining commons. They both wore tactical vests, the pockets stuffed with ammo, food, and emergency supplies.

  Max sat at a table with Simon, Jody, and Nami. They were already eating stacks of pancakes with sides of eggs, potatoes, sausage, bacon, and steak. In the past weeks, Giselle had sent people to harvest the Wheat Montana farm fields over near Three Forks. There were thousands of acres going to waste. They had brought back truckloads of it, thanks to engines powered by magic. Everybody everywhere was hoarding fuel.

  Alexander loaded his plate and wished for fresh fruit. But the greenhouses would not produce any berries for another month or so, and tree fruit was another year off, if not more. There was canned fruit, which he spooned into a bowl. It was better than nothing.

  He sat across from Max and dug in.

  “What we should have done is clean out the Costco,” Nami said in a low, throaty voice. “Or locked it down.” She took up the saltshaker and sprinkled a snowstorm on top. “I’m not looking forward to running out of peanut butter and chocolate. Magpie’s a genius with food, but I’m not sure she can make those.”

  “Should have done it with all the stores in Missoula,” Simon said, shoveling a pile of cheesy potatoes into his mouth.

  He and Nami were both small. Nami stood about five six and probably weighed about a hundred forty pounds soaking wet. She was mixed Mexican and Japanese, with ripe curves and black hair that fell to her waist in a starched silk curtain. Simon was maybe an inch taller and looked as if he had some Native American somewhere in his background. His hair was straight and dark brown. His eyes were nearly black, and his face was sculpted like wind-cut stone. He moved like a whip, sharp and fast.

  “Might have upset the locals a little bit,” Thor drawled. “What with starving to death because we hoarded all the food.”

  “Survival of the fittest,” Simon said with a shrug.

  “Seriously?” Jody asked. She was close to Max’s height, with rippling muscle beneath her toffee-colored skin. Her hair was close-cropped, and she looked like a model. “The people in Missoula are looking down the barrel of cold, starvation, sickness, not to mention that insane preacher witch, and here you want to come steal what little food they have. They’d drop like flies.”

  “That is exactly what the Guardians want. To cull the human herd,” Alexander said, feeling Max’s fury rising and her control starting to slip.

  “So why not let them?” Simon asked, either totally clueless that Max was about to rip his throat out or not caring. He could not be that stupid.

  Thor stared. “Think about it. Maybe you’ll come up with something,” he said.

  Simon opened his mouth to say something else, and Nami punched him in the thigh. He yelped and leaped to his feet, his chair careening across the floor.

  “What the fuck did you do that for?” he demanded.

  “Because you weren’t going to survive the next few minutes without help,” she snapped. “Sit down and eat, if you can pry your foot out of your mouth.”

  The boy glanced at Alexander, who had leaned back in his chair, his eyes hooded. Then he caught Max’s gaze. He turned white. Retrieving his chair, he sank down and ducked his head over his food.

  Max shook her head, her jaw clenched so tightly Alexander wondered if she would need a crowbar to finish eating.

  The rest of their meal passed in silence. They all seemed to find themselves full at the same time. Almost as one, they rose.

  “Everything set?” Max asked Thor, her gaze sliding past Alexander.

  “Got everything we need, Sugar,” Thor said with a wink. “Unless you want to come along to sweeten things up a little.”

  She snorted. “Tempting, but word is you’re all talk and no action.”

  His mouth fell open, and Alexander chuckled.

  “Who said that? It’s an absolute lie!”

  “What was it that Shakespeare said about protesting too much?” Alexander asked.

  Thor clamped his mouth shut, and he flushed red. Then, “Anytime you want to go for a ride, Sweetness, let me know, and we’ll see who’s ‘all talk.’ ”

  “I will cut your balls off first,” Alexander said without an ounce of humor.

  Thor and Max looked at him, and Thor nodded and backed away, lifting his hands. “I’ll meet you at the truck.” He grabbed both packs and disappeared down the hall.

  Jody, Nami, and Simon glanced from Max to Alexander, and all three trotted off without another word.

  “Gather everybody,” Max called after them. “We’re heading into town.” She looked at Alexander. “I’m not your fire hydrant to pee on and claim.”

  “But you are mine,” he said quietly.

  “Am I?” she said, her chin jutting.

  He tipped his head to the side, and impatience and annoyance kicked hard in his chest. When was she finally going to choose him? Maybe she was never going to embrace him fully as her lover, her mate, her other half. Maybe this was the best he would ever get from her.

  Pain and fury slashed through him. His body went taut, and he stepped back, his mouth curving in a bitter smile. “
I had thought so. But maybe I was wrong. I tell you what. You let me know when I get back from chasing down the Grims. I would like to know where I should be sleeping.”

  With that, he spun and strode away, feeling her gaze drilling into his back.

  WHEN ARE WE LEAVING?”

  Max turned around, still reeling from her exchange with Alexander. What had happened? Why did she have to keep shoving him away?

  Tory and Carrie stood waiting, both practically bouncing off the floor with their excitement.

  “Leaving?” Max repeated stupidly. Of course, she was Alexander’s. She didn’t want anyone else. Didn’t want him having anyone else. And yet—

  She couldn’t go that extra distance to make it real, make it permanent. She kept holding on to the wiggle room that it was just for now.

  “Going into Missoula,” Tory said, as if speaking to a mental patient. “To look for information with you and Uncle Kyle and Tyler. We’re going tonight, since last night there was all that other stuff going on.” Tory waved her hand vaguely.

  She didn’t have any idea what had really happened. Time to buy her a clue.

  “Last night, a witch broke into Horngate with a mob and burned five people at the stake in front of us,” Max said baldly. “So today I’m taking a team to try to hunt them down. You are staying here until he’s been taken care of, maybe longer. It’s too dangerous for you to go into Missoula now.”

  Carrie and Tory stared at her, uncomprehending. Then the news slowly took on meaning.

  “Burned them at the stake?” Carrie whispered, turning pale and clutching her fingers together.

  “Tortured them and then burned them. Two died,” Max said. “The others we got to the infirmary, but they aren’t out of the woods yet.”