Dead of Winter (8 page)

“What the hell, Evie?” Selena cried.

She and Gabriel would have no idea why Tess was in this condition. For them, only an instant had passed.

“She used her power?” Gabriel demanded, his disguise faltering.

“Just take her back! Get her warm, and help her. Make sure she survives.”

“I go anon.” He cradled her slight weight and took to the sky.

As her illusion faded to nothing, Selena narrowed her gaze. “You and Tess don't have disguises. You're bleeding and soaking wet. Portal to another dimension? Or did you go back in time?”

“Violet is here. We have to save Jack in the next few minutes or he loses his eyes—”

“How many minutes?” Selena was already hastening toward the camp. She fiddled with a hi-tech sports watch on her sling arm.

I scrambled to catch up. “Enough time for Tess and me to run to the water's edge, then fight off the Priestess.”

Selena raised her brows at that. Then she returned her concentration to the mission. “We'll say four minutes of running. How long did you and the Priestess tussle?”

Tussle? “I have no idea. Three minutes? Thirty?”

“I'm giving us eleven minutes total.” Selena clicked the timer on. “Which tent is J.D. in? Without Gabriel—”

“I know which one.”

“We don't have disguises!”

“No soldiers are out.” I led Selena into the ghost-town camp.

When we passed the hobbled woman, I pressed my forefinger to my lips. After a heartbeat's hesitation, she nodded.

Selena and I continued on, picking up speed as we turned the corner.

“That's the tent.”

She slowed. “The one heavily guarded by guys in gas masks?”

“Just keep running!” I passed her.

“This is suicide!” But she sped up.

“Do you want to save Jack or not?” I asked when we were side by side.

“Damn it, Evie!”

“Take off your sling and go all-out Arcana. Even without your bow, you can still look weird. Like you once told me: sell it, sister, or we are dead.” I acted on that advice, calling forth my body vine.

It budded from the shimmering glyph over my nape. No more delicate ivy; this time I made it into a thornless rose stalk. Recalling Matthew's mention of a crown, I let it coil around my head, oversize leaves pointing up like arches. In lieu of a dozen stars, I fashioned twelve blooms to garnish it.

Roses were the red witch's flower.

My
flower.

Selena tore off her sling and tossed it away. Her every footfall jostled that arm, but she gritted her teeth and withstood the agony.

For Jack, Selena Lua could do
anything
.

She began to glow, her skin the luminous red of a hunter's moon. Her silvery hair danced all around her head like gossamer moonbeams, an awing sight.

“Okay, Archer, how about hammering these guys with some doubt?” One of her powers as the Moon Card.

“It's not that easy.” Her eyes darted. “I can't laser-focus it.”

Another power secret? “Oh, that reminds me. I think the twins can teleport.”

“Son of a bitch!” She glanced at my face. “Your glyphs are dim. Can you fumigate their tent?”

“I might've blown my wad against the Priestess.” So much for conserving.

Selena scowled. “I'm going forward, even against teleporters.”

“Like I'm not?”

When the soldiers caught sight of us, they aimed their guns, eyes going wide at Selena's appearance, not to mention mine.

We stopped in front of the detail. Selena had once told me that the Empress of Old was “slithery and creepy and sexy.” I took a precious instant to catch my breath. “We're here to deliver you from the twins,”
I said in a throaty voice as petals wafted down from my wild reddened hair. “Step aside, and I'll rip their heads from their bodies. Your army will be freed.”

The men gazed from me to Selena. We both wore expressions of otherworldly malice.

“It takes creatures like us—to destroy creatures like them. Let us do our jobs, soldiers. Just walk away.”

They remained frozen in shock.

The tent behind them was large enough to house a small circus. Jack was somewhere within! So close . . .

I raised my hideous dripping claws. In a tone that might give even Death chills, I said, “If Jack Deveaux loses his eyes, I will slice your flesh to ribbons and choke your lungs with vine. Am—I—clear, Franklin?”

Finally, one man lost control of his bladder. Franklin startled when I said his name. A risk.

Then, with a swallow, he waved his handpicked men away.

We were on.

Selena checked her watch. “Nine minutes. Smash and grab, and watch for teleporting freaks. Let's bring J.D. home.”

At the tent flap, Selena pulled her gun and mouthed,
One . . . two . . . three.
We charged in.

The
stench
. The air reeked of smoke—and rot.

Randomly placed gas lanterns cast fluttering light. Moving shadows cloaked most of the space. Large beams supported the canvas roof. Rare sawdust covered the floor. With wood so scarce, this extravagance might as well be silk.

Along the edges of the tent, the twins had sectioned off areas with canvas, like stable stalls. The first stall contained a cage of snarling Bagmen.

Unclothed Bagmen? All of their oozing skin was bare. I'd never encountered one completely naked.

Though the creatures looked well-fed—were those blood troughs in the cage?—they were as hostile as ever. Like post-apocalyptic guard dogs. In a frenzy, they stretched their slimy arms past the bars enclosing them.

Each of those mindless beings had a brand on its chest, some kind of symbol, but I couldn't make it out under all the pus and slime.

Behind that cage stood another just like it. Inside, four young guys curled naked on the floor, bodies covered with bites. They gasped through blistered lips, as if dying of thirst.

Dawning realization. The twins were
making
Bagmen. Those four were in transformation—and they knew it. One wept over a trough of blood.

Selena remained grade-A stoic. “Keep going. Eight minutes.”

The next stall housed a piece of equipment that looked like a giant juicer. Gore coated it.

Past another partition was something that resembled a sawhorse with a length of sharpened metal atop it. More blood and gore.

The next stall . . . a stand with bats, canes, whips, and pincers. Other things I couldn't place.

Had these very instruments been used on Clotile?

On Jack?

The Hierophant had slaughtered people for food, and the Alchemist had murdered for his sick pursuit of knowledge. I couldn't comprehend why the Lovers tortured. “Where the hell is Jack?”

“We'll find him.”

Faced with more and more blood-curdling contraptions, I felt as disconnected as I'd ever been. A few Halloweens back, I'd gone to a haunted house filled with gruesome displays—for
fun
. None of the ghastly things had been real.

This was
happening
. Right? Even as it felt like I'd stepped into one of Matthew's visions.

What was real?
Un
real?

We came upon another victim, a man kneeling with his wrists bound together, tied above his head to a roof support. He was shirtless, his body gaunt, his shoulders bulging at weird angles. Dislocated?

I thought he was balling his hands into fists, then realized his fingers had been cut off.

Stoic Selena actually gave a shudder. That would be her worst fear, wouldn't it? Never to draw another arrow.

His mouth was open. No teeth. A gash had been carved into his stomach. He had one of those brands below his collarbone, but his was older. The raised scar was about the size of a bookmark and depicted
an odd symbol: a pair of overlapping triangles, bisected by two arrows, one pointing up, one down.

In front of him was another contraption that looked like a crank over an old-timey wishing well. A slimy rope of some kind had been wound around the crank.

“They're pulling it out,” Selena murmured.

Pulling
what
out? She could see so much better than I could! Yet some part of me must have understood because nausea churned.

They remove things, discard them, transform people.

The man turned his head toward us. His eyes were solid black. No, not eyes. Sockets. The twins planned to do that to Jack.

“Six minutes, Evie. We'll come back for that guy.” When we neared the far end of the tent, she whispered, “Behind the partition in the back. Listen.”

Moans? Of pain? Selena readied her pistol. I bared my claws. We sidled closer.

Closer. Past the partition, we saw—

The twins.

I dry heaved. They were . . . kissing. Twincest.

When the pair started groping, Selena bit out, “Jesus. Get a womb, freaks.”

Vincent and Violet took their time breaking apart, their gazes locked. Their pale blue eyes were just as Jack had once described: vacant, like a dead fish's.

Why weren't they threatened by us? Why weren't they trying to mesmerize us?

Though fraternal twins, they were nearly identical, with their marblelike skin and sharpish features.

Their clothing was all black, neatly pressed. Violet wore a cropped jacket and a skirt as full as a ball gown. A trench coat molded over Vincent's tall muscular form.

Expertly drawn eyeliner highlighted their lifeless eyes. Their nails were painted black, no chipping.

Vain? Oh, yeah. They weren't physically attractive, but they were faultless.

They sported brass knuckles on their left hands, as well as a Goth-looking tattoo. In her right hand, Violet held what resembled a remote control.

The twins finally turned to us. They stared at me with such intensity. As if seeing a ghost . . .

“We were wondering when you would arrive, Empress,” Vincent said. His voice carried a trace of some European accent.

The Lovers' tableau appeared over them, but the image differed from other Arcana's. Theirs was upside down—reverse, perverse—and flickered like a bad copy. Because they shared it?

“Where is he?” Selena demanded from behind the gun barrel.

I gazed around, saw trunks, tables, and one bed—because the twins shared it. No Jack.

“You're just in time,” Violet told us. “Our knave refused to turn the crank.” With a swish of her overblown skirts, she stepped aside, drawing back one last partition to reveal—

“Jack!” He knelt with his hands tied and hung above his head, like the other man. He was shirtless, his torso covered with bruises. He seemed to be in and out of consciousness, trying to raise his lolling head.

His arms were dislocated, the right side of his face bloodied. They'd been hitting him with the brass-knuckles on their left hands.

I choked on a breath. That symbol had been branded into Jack's chest, over his heart.

The twins
had
met up—they'd started his torture. They'd burned the smooth skin that I'd sighed against and kissed.

They'd branded my Jack.

As I imagined that ungodly pain, my glyphs went ablaze, radiating through my clothes. Rage pumped inside me. My rose crown slithered around my head and neck as I grew stronger.

These two Arcana were not just going to die; the red witch would make them die bloody.

Selena was ice cold as she aimed her gun. “We'll be taking him now.”

“Notice something?” Violet grabbed Jack's hair with her free hand. He didn't react, now completely out. She yanked his head back, exposing a metal collar around his neck, with wires attached and a railroad spike jutting from the loop. “If anything happens to me and I release this pressure sensor”—she raised that remote control—“the hunter gets the spike. Then it's game over.”

Dread overran me, and I fought to rein in the witch, to call back my fury.

“If you want him to live, drop the gun, Archer.” Vincent motioned toward her weapon. “And kick it over here.”

Outwardly cool, Selena complied. Then she eyed the twins with deadly intent, waiting for her opening.

Vincent swooped up the gun, smiling at his sister. “It never fails. Control the beloved, control the lover.”

Violet smiled back, releasing Jack. “We go into a person's heart and see who it aches for. Then we enslave both lovers.”

Vincent stowed the gun in his waistband, turning to me and Selena. “Imagine our surprise when we discovered the hunter loves the Empress. Could it be requited? We heard your call nearing and we knew—”

“—you were here to save him,” Violet continued seamlessly. “Our soldiers might have failed to seize you in the stone forest, but we forced you to come to us. We can control you utterly, because of how you feel about Deveaux.”

They were crazy—and that made them hard to gauge—but I didn't detect true animosity toward Selena. Me? They seemed to
despise
me.

“But I sense something else.” Violet's eyes widened. “Your love is diluted! Another makes claim to your heart. And not just anyone!”

Vincent laughed. “It's her old nemesis!”

The twins found this astounding. Which, I guessed, it was.

“Unfortunately, we only have one of the men you love,” Vincent said. “For now.”

Violet frowned at Selena. “The Archer loves the hunter as well? What's so special about him? All he does is steal.” When she slapped Jack's face, my claws ached to plunge into her neck like hypodermic needles. “Oh dear. He's gone under again. The selfish man only wakes for his beatings. Which clearly means those are his favorites!”

“We gave you the choice,” Vincent told an unconscious Jack. “Torture or be tortured? You mortals always choose incorrectly, until we introduce you to pain, enlightening you. Then you never choose the same!”