Blood Winter (18 page)

Max watched her for a long moment. At the rate Giselle’s torment was increasing, it wouldn’t be long before she tore her own skin off. Part of Max—the old part that still hated Giselle for betraying her and for suggesting that the angels were fodder for harvest—was eager to watch it happen. The new Max was working on forgiveness.

“Can you fight it?”

“I can’t—I can’t think.” Giselle growled and clawed at her legs, jumping up and down and scraping her back against the rough wall. Her teeth ground together, and she made a sound of frustration. “Maybe if I could concentrate for half a second, I could do something.” She began jerking at her hair. “It feels like I’m being eaten alive by termites.” She caught a hard breath, and her body spasmed. “Oh, shit. Make that rats. Or maybe feral cats.”

She moaned and gouged herself harder. Blood rose along the scrapes and trickled down her arms. Max grabbed Giselle’s wrists, easily keeping her from jerking away.

“Let go of me!” Giselle wailed as she twisted, fury and desperation flickering through her eyes.

“And have you rip your own face off? As entertaining as that sounds, I think everybody is better off if you keep whole. You’ve got to give the pain to me,” she told Giselle. “Do it now before you shred yourself to pieces.”

“I—no.”

“Why not?”

“Because. It isn’t—”

“Isn’t what?” Max demanded in exasperation. “Just give me your pain, and you’ll be able to concentrate on kicking Sterling’s ass. You designed me for this.”

Giselle’s face contorted, and she wrenched backward. Max didn’t give an inch. Threads of magic curled over the witch’s flushed skin. Ordinarily, it flowed in a graceful embroidery of danger and threat. But this time, it was knotted and tangled, matting together in flat patches that stuck like tar.

“Quit wasting time,” Max said. “Give me your pain now before you take a permanent ride on the loony bus.”

“I—”

For a moment, Max thought she was going to have to pull Giselle into the abyss, far away from any attack. Then, suddenly, an ugly grinding sensation flowed through her wrists, followed by a sadistic, unholy itching. It chewed its way up her arms and sank into her bones. The feeling was relentless. It gnawed in places she couldn’t reach. Her fingers curled, her nails digging hard into Giselle’s wrists. Giselle made a high-pitched sound that instantly cut off. It was all Max could do not to let go and scrape at the merciless sensations enveloping her. But if she did, Giselle wouldn’t be able to concentrate.

“Fix this,” Max hissed. She’d suffered plenty before—pain of every kind. But this was different. It found places she’d not realized existed, and it inflamed them with a violent itch. She want to rip herself apart to get at it.

Giselle’s face hardened into a mask of cold fury. Her magic lost its tangled, matted look and became elegant, roping around her in muscular vines. She wrenched one hand free and gripped Max’s wrist with the other. Giselle towed her to the wall with sharp, determined strides and slapped one hand flat to the stone.

“Get the fuck out of my house!”

Magic forked across the vault. The mountain trembled and shook. The floor bucked, and cracks spread across it.

Max staggered sideways and crashed hard to her knees. Giselle’s hold on her wrist slipped. Max’s hand twisted and clamped down on Giselle’s forearm. She knew she was holding too hard. She felt Giselle’s bones compressing and bending beneath her fingers. But the demonic itch had burrowed deeper inside and intensified. She could barely think anymore. It was worse than pain; she didn’t know how long she could continue to endure it without clawing herself to pieces. Sterling could teach Giselle a thing or two about torture, and the witch-bitch was an expert.

Magic cascaded over her like wet cement. Unfriendly magic. Red magic. She struggled to stand but couldn’t move.

She heard Giselle swearing, a flat string of words running from her lips like an incantation. Maybe it was.

Max couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t blink. Her heart stopped, and her body went numb. For that, she was grateful. With the numbness came relief from the raging itch.

Roaring filled her ears, and she couldn’t tell if the sound was in her head or something she was actually hearing. Her body began to ache. It was a dull pain, as if her muscles were starving for air. Globs of yellow and orange and red spotted her vision. She was going to pass out.

Before she could, she pushed down inside herself, searching for her fortress and the door into the abyss. She fumbled blindly, unable to find it. She was lost inside her own body.

Her consciousness ebbed, and she felt the edges of herself curling up like an autumn leaf.
No!

Unexpectedly, Alexander’s face filled her mindscape. His eyes were piercing, his expression coldly accusing. “So you’d run away from me again?” Max thought she heard him say, and the condemnation and pain in his voice made her cringe. “Always running. Why can’t you just choose to stay? Why can’t you choose me?”

She wanted to answer. She
had
chosen him. She just hadn’t figured out what that meant yet. And this, now, wasn’t a choice. She was fighting as hard as she could.

“Fight harder.”

The implacable words cut like a falling ax. Then his face faded to gray, and her mind was full of pearly mist. Gradually, it, too, faded, until there was almost total darkness.

She was dying.

It wasn’t the first time, but it could be her last.

GISELLE’S VOICE SIFTED THROUGH THE DARKNESS FIRST
. Her words were scattered and jumbled, but then Max grinned as she realized the witch was still swearing.

Feeling prickled over her body and then sank in like pins pushed slowly into a corkboard. Fire followed. Max sucked in a breath as her body twitched and contracted. She became aware that she was still holding on to Giselle. She told herself to relax and let go, but her knuckles refused to unlock. She blinked, opening her eyes.

She was lying on the floor of the vault. Giselle knelt beside her, her free hand pressed flat against Max’s heart. Black strands of magic spooled and looped around her. Her hair flowed with it, turning her into a wraith. Her face was white, and her lips were clamped tight as she continued her litany. She fell silent when she saw that Max was awake.

“About time,” she said, pulling her hand away. It shook. “Can you let me go now? I think my arm is broken. I’m at least going to have serious bruises.”

Max followed her look down to where her fingers coiled around the witch’s arm. She was white-knuckled, and Giselle’s skin was already purpling beneath her grip. All the same—

“I don’t think I can let go at this point,” she said, and her voice was disgustingly weak. “Did you get rid of Sterling?”

“For now,” Giselle said. “But we have to put him down soon. I used the Fury Seed, but I’m pretty sure that only slapped his hand. I’m hoping he’s tired from the energy he already expended today. If we’re lucky, it will take him a day or two to collect himself.”

Max lifted her head. It was probably the heaviest thing she’d ever lifted. “Luck is a fickle bitch.” Her head fell back against the floor. She told herself to sit up. She didn’t listen. Even breathing was exhausting.

“So,” she mused sardonically. “Sterling has Kyle, Carrie, and Tory and seemingly endless power. We have two mostly dead angels, no Grims, a bunch of semiparalyzed people, and let’s see—one territory witch, two Triangle witches, a Circle witch, one untrained Star-level witch, and one hedge witch who is next to useless. Oh, and we have the Fury Seed.”

“That about sums it up. Except for me having a broken arm and you being somewhat dead as well,” Giselle said.

“I guess it’s pretty much business as usual, then.”

“Pretty much. Can you move yet?”

Max had been trying to relax her hand, and it finally gave a fraction. Her brow furrowing, she concentrated. Finally, her fingers spasmed open and then curled into a claw. Giselle jerked away, cradling her arm against her stomach.

“That hurts a bit,” she said. Her face was pale, and sweat sheened her skin. She smelled rank, and now Max noticed that her shirt was drenched. Scratches hashed her skin, and blood trickled from many of the welts.

“Attack by itching. That’s a new one on me,” Max said.

“I’ll have to remember it,” Giselle said. “It’s very effective.”

“So something good came of all this,” Max said as she finally persuaded her stomach muscles to sit her up. “A new torture technique to add to your inventory. How nice for you.”

Giselle’s phone rang suddenly. It was a low trill of clarinet notes. She dug it awkwardly out of her pocket, having to use her opposite hand. She glanced at the screen and lifted her brows at Max, then answered. “Alexander. I was going to call you.”

“Is she all right?” he demanded without preamble. “I tried calling her. She is not answering.”

With her supernatural hearing, Max heard every word clearly. She frowned. How did he know something was wrong? But then, he’d gone feral for a while and come back from it, which was unheard of. After he’d come back from the other side, he had abilities he’d never had before. Maybe this was one of them.

“She’ll live,” Giselle said. “But I want you back here.”

“We are just west of Deer Lodge. We will get to the River Market an hour after sundown.”

“You had the dream, too?”

He laughed harshly. “That was no dream, and you know it.”

Giselle grimaced. “What about the Grims? Are they with you?”

Silence. “I would not expect them soon.”

“What happened?”

“They went . . . elsewhere.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but he said nothing more. “All right. Do you want to talk to Max? She’s right here.”

More silence. Thick and hot. “I think not.”

Giselle’s brows rose as she looked at Max. “Okaaaay,” she said. “Then we’re done. Get here fast.”

“We will. Do try to stay out of further trouble until we return. I would rather not scrape your ass up off the floor.” The phone went dead.

Giselle lifted it from her ear and glared at it. “Just who the hell does he think he’s talking to?”

“You,” Max said.

Giselle scowled at her. “You and I both know the message was for both of us. He was perfectly aware that you were listening in.”

Max shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s still funny.”

“I may have to teach him some manners soon,” Giselle said.

“I’d like a front-row seat when you do. And popcorn. For the record, I’ll put my money on him for the win.”

The witch arched a brow. “Then you’ll be broke. I’ve taken both of you to the woodshed before, and I can do it again.”

Max shook her head, a slow smile curving her lips. “I don’t think so.” She heaved herself to her feet. “Besides, for once, we’re on the same side. You don’t want to fuck that up. Making enemies out of us would really ruin your day. Sterling already has too much going for him.”

“Got any idea why Alexander didn’t want to talk to you?” Giselle shot back. “Did he find himself a new girlfriend? Maybe one who doesn’t chew his ass and treat him like he’s got leprosy?”

Max recoiled from the barb. It was too close to the truth. If she didn’t get her shit together, Alexander wasn’t going to hang around. He would find someone else, someone who acted like she wanted him. The question was, how long before he had a bellyful and gave up on her?

She straightened and glanced around the chamber. Tyler had managed to push himself up onto his elbows. He gave her a searching look. She turned away, feeling exposed. Her gaze hooked on the continuing gleams shining on Tutresiel’s wings, then flicked to Xaphan. Tiny blue and purple flames flickered around the edges of his iridescent feathers.

Max blinked. The flames didn’t go away.

“Holy Mother of fuck,” she whispered, and treacherous hope started to thud heavily in her chest.

I
T WAS AFTER NIGHTFALL WHEN TYLER HAD RECOVERED
. He and Max had eaten all they could, and both had drunk a gallon or more of the disgusting Ugly Juice.

“Ready?” Max asked as she shoved herself away from the table.

Tyler stood, giving her a pirate smile. “As I’ll ever be.”

A brambly recklessness had grown up around him in the last few hours. It was prickly and unpredictable, with an edge of wildness. It was also catching.

Max found herself grinning back at him. “Let’s go raise some hell.”

“Please don’t,” Giselle said, walking in through the door. She looked haggard. “I came to tell you to be careful.”

Max just stared at her.

The witch rolled her eyes. “I’m serious. Your job is to find Sterling and then bring us to him. No more.” She glared at Tyler. “Keep an eye on her.”

“Don’t I always?” he asked innocently.

“You’re just as likely to follow her into her insanity,” Giselle said.

“But I watch her the whole time,” he said with a grin. “Most times with both eyes.”

“I can’t believe I’m sending you out together. Neither of you has the sense the Spirits gave rocks. Where’s Gregory?”

“We were just going to get him,” Max said.

“No need. I’m ready.” The dark-haired witch strode in. His black hair fell over his eyes. His lips were set in a flat line, and Max could feel his magic like a trapped thunderstorm. He wore a lightweight jacket with a lot of bulging pockets. Max didn’t bother asking if he would be warm enough. His clothing was no doubt magically warm and protected against weather.