Dead of Winter (32 page)

The Empress didn't get collared or caged—and she didn't lose
those she loved. Despite my injuries, the heat of battle welled inside me. My heart thundered as I wobbled to my knees. Aric wanted me to unleash the red witch? I was ready!

But how to fight Bagmen? My eyes darted.
How?

Dig deep
, the witch whispered.
As you would in earth.

Could my arsenal come from . . . within me?

“Goddamn it,” Jack bellowed. “Out of arrows too!”

“
Sievā
, I can't hold this.”

My body began to thrum in unknown ways. As an almost electrical pleasure spread inside me, my breaths shallowed until I panted.

I was familiar with the feel of roots churning beneath the ground. Now they seemed to churn within me.

And it was
sublime
.

The red witch rose—
watch out Death, here she comes
—and I let her free. Light exploded from my glyphs, radiating from my face, through my clothes.

The Baggers screeched, shielding their sensitive eyes.

My body vine shot upward from the back of my neck, dividing into a mix of ivy and rose. Writhing green ropes fanned out behind me like a giant aura.

I snatched the base of the vine, ripping the wriggling mass from my skin. With a scream, I hurled it into the shaft.

A grenade of my own.

I envisioned spears of green shooting out, branching like arteries,
invading
—growing not from earth, but from my own power.

My lips curled with bliss as I let myself go adrift—until I could perceive vines as they punched through slimy chests and impaled skulls. As they opened up Bagmen from the inside out.

Yes, sublime.

Baggers wailed as ravenous ivy suckers burrowed into their skin, prying hands from Jack.

“That's it, Evie! I'm loose!”

Before my eyes, rose stalks and ivy slithered up the sides of the shaft, blanketing the rock. Shimmery green painted everything. Vines wove a net above me to catch falling debris.

Aric released his hold on the stone lip and dropped down a few feet to grasp one of the strong stalks. He reeled in that cable, hauling Jack up.

Then Death and Jack ascended—like mysteries brought to light.

Once they'd reached my floor, Aric demanded, “Were you bitten, mortal?”

Jack inspected his legs, yanking up the slime-covered material of his jeans. No blood. No broken skin. “
Non
. It was close, but no.” We'd saved him in time.

I commanded that net to drop, trapping the swarm of Baggers below. They tore at it, clawing to rise up—just as the red witch continued to clamor within. My outside battle mirrored the one inside me.

With the scent of roses flooding the air, my gaze slid to Death. Five icons from him alone. He had no helmet to protect him.

“Rein this in, Empress.” Death's face was tense, his brows drawn. “Remember: I will not fight you.”

I turned to Jack for help. Yet as I met his eyes, I realized he wasn't my
anchor
.

He was my
reminder
—that I wanted to keep my humanity.

Wasn't Aric a reminder as well? Of my vow never to hurt him again?

Inhaling deeply, I grappled to contain the witch. Anxious heartbeats passed before my claws retracted, my glyphs fading.

I'd used my powers as never before. A handful of icons had been there for the taking. But I'd muzzled my witch!

Eerily carried by my vines, Death's fearsome black helmet floated upward. I retrieved it, handing it to him. “How'd you like that?” I said between breaths. “Unleashed enough for you?”

He shook his head.

“Come on! It gets worse than that?”

Slow nod. “That wasn't even a fraction, Empress.”

“Seriously?” As quickly as the heat of battle had risen, it dissipated.
Light-headedness overwhelmed me. “My glyphs could've lit up a small Midwestern town. And I went all
Little Shop of Horrors
with those vines.” Selena's nickname for me.

“Indeed. Still not more than a fraction.”

Jack swiped his hand over his face. “Where'd you learn how to do that,
peekôn
? Baggers thought they were in the sun! How many vines can you make at a time?”

At least he was impressed. “I don't know. It's a new bag of tricks.”

Jack turned to Aric. “At every second I thought you'd drop my Cajun ass. But you didn't.”

“I suppose it wasn't your time yet.” Aric donned his helmet.

“In any case, thanks for not
making
it my time.”

Seeming uneasy with the gratitude, Aric knelt beside me. “You cut your scalp?”

My surge of adrenaline dwindled, making way for the excruciating pain in my body and an onslaught of nausea.

Aric parted my hair. “Not just a cut. You cracked your very skull. And your side was pierced through.”

“I'll heal.”

Jack watched us with narrowed eyes.

I narrowed mine in turn. “What were you thinking? It made no sense for you to face off against Bagmen, with limited weapons—and no armor.” My worry morphed into anger. “Just like it made no sense to rush into a horde of them the other night! Even though you'd promised me.”

Jack's expression:
busted
.

“Another time for this, perhaps,” Aric said. “There's movement in the stairwell.” A green EXIT sign gleamed not far away, below it an open door.

“Out of ammo, me.” Jack ran his sleeve over his sweating brow. “More Baggers?”

“We won't be so fortunate.”

A chorus of voices sounded from that doorway:
“We will love you ever so much.”

Carnates spilled into the room, so many that my woozy mind couldn't reconcile what I was seeing.

Faultless duplicates. Paper cutout dolls stretched side by side forever, except these carried swords.

Death unsheathed his own and marched into the fray. Right beside him, Jack snagged a fire extinguisher as his only weapon.

When I tried to rise, I heaved. Turning to one side, I vomited into that pool of my blood.

“Just stay back, Empress!” Aric's swords sliced out.

“We got this!” Jack bashed in a Vincent head.

I tottered to my feet, propping myself up against a wall. Once my strength returned, I'd call for a flood of green from the elevator shaft—

A hand covered my mouth!

The ground seemed to move under my feet—no,
we
were moving. A false wall rotated us into a hidden area. Would Jack and Aric even know I'd been taken?

“If you want to see Selena alive,” a male whispered, “you'll be a good girl.”

Vincent. I sensed he was the
real
one.

His idea of a good girl was something I'd
never
be. When he looped
an arm around my neck, I grew my thorns, about to inject him with poison. One half of an icon was about to be mine!

“Recognize this?” He raised a pressure sensor in front of my face. “Selena wears the collar now.”

But . . . but the Lovers' icon . . .

No, no, Selena was my friend. She'd lost the Archer's arrow meant for me.

I inhaled for calm. Vincent might take me to her—and to Violet—guiding me through the Shrine. I raised my hands in surrender.

“I'm amazed, Empress. You
do
care for another card.” He dragged me into a smaller secreted elevator, not much larger than a dumbwaiter. “Vi and I debated if this threat would curb your bloodlust.”

He and I ascended—couldn't tell how many floors before we stopped. He hauled me out into a hallway with that same industrial look, those same orange words spray painted.

SMITE STRUCK FALL MAD

His tableau appeared over him, upside down, but crystal clear.

At last, I faced one of the source twins.

Vincent was a far cry from his tall, flawless carnates. His real body was somehow both scrawny and pudgy, his skin jaundiced and slicked with oil. His black hair was matted, his sleeveless T-shirt and jeans bloodstained. Scars and new slices covered his arms—from his bloodletting.

He'd created carnates with his
idealized
appearance. Vain? Oh yeah.

I couldn't wait to see the real Violet. “Admit it: you Photoshopped your carnates.”

“Do you really want to go there about appearances?” Even his voice was higher pitched than his carnates'. “You're covered in blood. Surprisingly it's your own this time.”

That was fair. “Where are your sister and Selena?”

“I'm taking you to them.” He motioned for me to walk with him.

I did, deciding to play along while I recharged and healed. I would
come up with a plan to get that sensor, take out the twins, and get back to Aric and Jack.

Vincent and I strolled side by side down the hall, like we were heading to class. As if I wouldn't kill him at the first opportunity. As if he wasn't imagining how he'd first make me scream.

As if Baggers hadn't just eaten his father.

The calm before the storm. Both Vincent and I knew it.

“Why paint those particular words?” My voice was thick from throwing up and screaming.

“So Violet and I never forget the power we wield.”

“And that is?”

“We control the most destructive force in the universe.”

I was
done
hearing that. “I was wrong when I said that about love.”

He scowled. “Of course it's the most destructive force—it's
our
power. Love begets violence, murder, and war. Why else would mortals equate it with such horrible things?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Sunstruck, moonstruck, and lovestruck all mean maddened. We fear storm breaks and heart breaks. We fall blind, fall into a trap, fall sick, fall
madly
in love. Why not rise in love?”

I had no answer for that. I didn't know exactly how to describe love—just knew his idea of it was perverse.

“If shot through the heart with an arrow, you get lovesick. Sounds painful, doesn't it?” With his free hand, he pulled the collar of his shirt higher, rolling his head on his neck. “And
smitten
? One touch of the dart, and an invisible affliction smites you down.”

“Love hurts. I get it.”

He grinned; I grimaced. His yellowed teeth resembled his father's. “You hurt right now, Empress. Your love isn't diluted anymore. It's divided—between the hunter and Death.”

Somewhere in this lair, Aric fought tirelessly for me. I
did
love him. As I loved Jack.

“It's complicated.” My answer of the month.

“You broke our rules by bringing Death here. But I'm glad you did. Now we have two beloved to use against you. Perhaps we should take them alive.” Vincent's gaze went blank, his irises turning black.

“You're seeing through your carnates' eyes right now.”

“We are.”

—Sievā, open your mind to me!—

Aric! I'm okay for now. Are you and Jack?

—Engaged at present.—

I'm with Vincent. Can't find Selena or Violet.

—I'm coming for you soon. Hold tight.—

I can stall.

No answer.

Vincent's eyes had cleared. “Have you remembered our history?”

I shook my aching head. “But when Death translates your chronicles, I'll read all about it.”

“Our carnates are retrieving our stolen property from your horses as we speak.”

“From the Reaper's armored mount?” I had to laugh. “All the best with that.” They had better hope they
couldn't
catch that stallion. Thanatos bench pressed three eighty and made Bagger Spam with his hooves. “Why are those chronicles so important to you?”

“Our earliest memories are of Father reading them to us, each night before we went to sleep.” Blood-drenched bedtime stories. “We're sentimental.”

Sentimental? “Because of you and your sister, your dad is being
digested
right now.”

He nodded. “Today we loved our father. We loved our mother as we began these new incarnations.” Had she died in childbirth?

A suspicion arose. “Vincent, have you ever left this place?”

He blinked. “Why
would
we?”

At my disbelieving expression, he explained, “Our father bought the Shrine when our mother was pregnant with us—just in case his children would ring in a new game, and a new catastrophe. As soon as
he found out we were twins, he knew the game was starting. We've been safe within here since before we were born.”

The twins had never felt the sun on their own skin?

He pointed toward a doorway. “In there.”

Again, I made the decision to go along with him.

Once we'd crossed the raised threshold, he shut the door behind him. Never taking his finger from the sensor, he locked us in with a combination I didn't see. I was trapped with him?

He
was trapped with
me
.

Come, Lover, touch . . .

He'd taken me to a sizable game room. Against one wall stood a fridge, a microwave station and sink beside it. A trashcan overflowed with frozen food packages and empty potato chip bags. Clothes were wadded up around it.

A hi-tech desk ran the length of another wall, covered with keyboards and video game controllers. Monitors hung above. Different video games had been paused mid-action.

In front of a cushy gamer's chair sat a plate with a half-eaten Hot Pocket beside a can of Coke.

“So this is your dukedom. You sit in here and play?” While everyone else in the world was fighting for survival? How did the least deserving assholes on the planet score these digs?