Dead Of Winter (The Beautiful Dead Book 2) (17 page)

I shove her into a wall, hurrying further down the street while the lady continues to call at my back, insisting that her hiding place will keep me safe, and I already know it’s just Grim in another face, another body. Is there anyone I’ve spoken to in this city who wasn’t controlled by Grim somehow? The desk clerk at the hotel? Oreo and be-a-tortilla? Were they all just Grim’s “extra hands” …?

“I’m sorry about Grim,” Megan says into my ear, gripping my neck tighter.

I don’t know if I am.

We turn down another street, Megan insisting to know the way, and suddenly a burning man is pursuing us. I have no idea where he came from. Then, from out of nowhere, another appears right in front of me, bursting from the door of a shop.

When our eyes connect, I feel like I’m looking into Grim’s eyes … what his eyes
used
to look like.

I dart the other way, racing down a side street that empties onto the main drag. “Hurry, hurry,” Megan cries into my ear, and I can’t help but feel like I’m being chased by ten Grims, by a hundred Grims, by a thousand Grims. All of them have his eyes, even the women, even the little fiery children. He is everything and everyone. I can’t get away from him, no matter where I turn.

“There, there,” she directs me.

I try pushing through the door, but it’s locked. I slap my face against the glass of the window to the bread shop and bang, bang, bang my steaming fist against it. “John! Helena! Let me in, it’s Winter and Megan!”

Their faces lift up from behind the cash register. The sight is one of the most beautiful in the world, the two of them. My Reaper and my heart.

“Hurry!” I shout, feeling the eyes of Grim on me, feeling him everywhere. “We gotta go! Now!”

They rush out of the store and, together now, the four of us run down the street. If we continue on, we’re well on our way back to Trenton in just the same way we came. Such a shame we couldn’t enjoy the hospitality of this place a bit longer. I’m sure before it was taken over by Grimsky that it was, in actuality, a decent place. You know, something you might have found in a travel brochure.

When we break from the edge of the city and begin to cross the shattered slabs of highway, I realize we’re alone. Helena’s noticed the same. “Why aren’t they pursuing us further?”

“Likely because we’re out of his range,” I say, coming to a stop. The whole city carries the Undead’s colorful haze of rainbow-fire.

“Whose range?”

Better now than never. “Grimsky’s.” I turn to look at Helena, finding her eyes wide with surprise. Clearly she wasn’t expecting that answer. “Grimsky’s behind all of this. He’s something of a Warlock now, I guess. Except he’s Undead, so … well, that so-called Army Of Fire is his. They’re under his control. And he’s trying to … annihilate all life on the planet, or something.”

“Of course he is. And why wouldn’t he? Sounds like a downright pleasurable pastime.” She glares, then adds, “It was a mistake to show him mercy.”

As if I don’t already feel horrid enough.

“What about Gunner?” asks John between inhales. I forget sometimes how inconvenient being a Human can be, especially when we seem to be running for our lives all the time.

“What
about
him,” grunts Megan bitterly in my ear.

“And Jasmine!” I point out, alarmed. “I need to go back! This is all my fault, John, Helena. I should—”

“She’s
fine
,” says John, wheezing. “She
has
to be fine. We are
not
going back in there.”

And Ben! “And the wagon of food!” I go on, unable to help myself. I’m in hysterics. “A-And our
steel!”

“There
is
no wagon of food. There never
was
,” bites back Helena, annoyed. “Those fire-nuts burned it all. Their Humans too, all of them. Dead now, I guess. They stole our steel. We were morons. The Chief and I are stupid and we made a stupid deal. We shouldn’t have trusted anyone, neighbors or not.”

“They’re not dead,” I tell her. “The Humans who lived here. Grim is Raising the Humans he kills. He wants to turn the remaining world Undead so there’s no Living things left. Even the plants, the trees … everything.”

“Undead trees. Never thought I’d live to see—Oh, I made a joke.” Helena sears the sky with her glare.

The haze of colors seems to be deepening, brightening and glowing and rising. I guess that’s the nature of a fire; it burns and burns, and anything in its way burns too.

“This is not good,” says Helena, her voice suddenly calm. “They’ve disarmed us, Winter. Now when these Neo-Deathless raid Trenton, we’ll be defenseless.”

“They won’t raid Trenton,” says a voice.

All of us turn. Gunner stands on a tall slab of cement, his crossbow slung over a shoulder. His hair’s a mess and there’s a nasty cut running down his face and neck.

It makes me feel guilty that for a split second I was hoping it was Jasmine or Benjamin.

“We’ll think of something when we’re back,” says Gunner, “but we’d better hurry and go now.”

I step forward, eyeing him. “Did you see the others? Jasmine? Another Undead who may have been with her?”

“Jasmine and I were running together,” he says, “but we got split up. I don’t know what happened to her.” He squints at me, his oily eyes full of focus. “I’m certain a woman with her smarts and her cleverness will find a way out. We can’t just wait here for her, though.”

Studying his face, I am so conflicted. Do I trust him? Has he really changed, like John insisted? Or is Megan’s hatred of him justified? After Grim’s speech about second chances, and then proceeding to try and capture and kill my Living friends … I find my capacity to trust anything shot beyond repair, even to trust that the ground beneath my feet will still be there if I keep standing on it.

“She knows her way back,” John agrees quietly. “She’s the town forager, after all. She knows the lay of the land.”

“I came with another friend, too,” I say. “Benjamin. Did you see him?” Gunner shakes his head no.

“Good old Ben made it out of the damn Necropolis without an inch of our help,” Helena points out. “
And that was without legs.
I think he’ll manage.”

“Let’s go,” calls Gunner, leading the way. John and Hel follow. I watch them for a while, uncertain, pained. I don’t share any of their confidence. Maybe Grim’s words are still affecting me. Maybe a part of me is genuinely swayed by his vision of the world … painless, lifeless, no worries, no fears … no tempting blood …

I look behind me at the burning city, almost admiring the spread of sickly beautiful colors that threaten to touch the sky. “I’m sorry,” I whisper to them, hoping Benjamin and Jasmine are, in fact, not in that city, and that my apology is in fact falling on vacant ears.

As we’re walking down the shattered highway, Megan leans into my ear from behind, still clinging on tight, and says, “Maybe someday I’ll be more than Human. Maybe someday I can help put a stop to it all.”

“You’ve done enough for a lifetime,” I say back.

“Winter, we still have the other Warlock’s Eyes. Don’t you remember?”

Long ago, Megan had found three green stones near camp and gave them to me thinking they might grant us leverage during the Battle For Trenton. I kept one for myself—which literally saved my existence. Of the other two, one was given to the old Judge Enea, who sadly was killed anyway, and the other to Jasmine. In theory, they protect us from the powers of a Warlock, and if worn by the right person, can bestow powers … apparently such as in the case of Grim, to whom I gave my own stone. After the Battle, the one from the short Human Warlock was claimed as well, totaling three currently in our possession.

I kept Old Judge Enea’s stone. Jasmine’s stone and the one that was taken from the short, metal-legged Warlock we’d killed were taken back and are being kept safe in the Town Hall Treasury.

“Yes,” I admit, reflecting on them all. “I remember.”

“That’ll save Trenton! We just need to use the Lock-Eyes!” she exclaims, like she has it all figured out.

“No, sweetheart. It’s more complicated than that. We have tried many times, to no avail.” I even remember Marigold popping one of them into her socket. She didn’t suddenly become capable of anything extraordinary, except when she blinked it made an awful squishy sound. We tried the Warlock Eyes inside several different people and nothing made a difference. They’re just dull green stones now, dead as the dead. Whatever connection Grim seems to have with his, it’s bequeathing some strange otherworldly abilities on him that I cannot explain.

“Oh. Too bad.” Megan sounds gravely disappointed that her idea to save Trenton has already been squished by big bad Winter. There’s not much I can do about that. My own heart is too heavy to believe in any miracles, let alone green stones that won’t even glow in our presence anymore.

I really can’t get to Trenton fast enough.

Megan slips off my back finally, giving my hand a squeeze, and joins the others ahead. As I follow, I choose to leave behind my labyrinth of emotions, which feel more like tattered threads on the sleeve of some ruined dress … like a red one, for instance, with a hole through its stomach. Like Hilda’s best dress, impaled by the steel sword. Like Claire’s red prom dress, impaled by my mother’s kitchen knife.

Grimsky in a tower somewhere in that burning city, impaled by the blade of a brave Human girl.

Feeling a mild sting, I bring my hand up to inspect it. It’s still steaming, even now. Frowning, I slide John’s steel ring off, wondering how Grim’s wound could possibly still be lingering on my palm … and notice the skin under the ring is charred black.

I stare at the ring now, pinched between the thumb and index finger of my other hand. A new tendril of smoke, soft and airy, begins to rise. When I drop the ring in alarm, my fingertips are still hissing.

C H A P T E R – T E N

S K I T T E R

It’s actually kinda funny. As we’re walking through the barren landscape, breaking into what I’ll lovingly call the No-One-Lives-Here Woods, and trekking over a dusty lowland that might have once been a swamp that I’ll hereby name Gross-Things-Underfoot-Don’t-Look-Down Dry Lands, I have my own chant going through my head:

I am not Deathless.

I am not Deathless.

I am not Deathless.

If there’s anything my First Life has taught me, it’s that denial is the most powerful force we are capable of. If any semblance of science existed in this world, I’d argue that the reason we don’t remember our First Life when we wake as an Undead is because we’re in instant denial that we are dead at all. At once, we deny our existence, deny what’s happening to us, deny that we ever lived …

Horrified at our new self, we’d sooner believe that this is a Second Life than we would that we ever had a First.

“You alright?”

It’s John who scares me out of my thoughts. He lifts a brow, noticing he jostled me. “Yes,” I say, reassuring him quickly. “I’m still a bit preoccupied with … you know.”

“Jazz and your friend Ben, I know.”

Yes, I’ll let him think that. I won’t mention the other two things that haunt me. Grimsky, for one. And my sudden and inconvenient steel-allergy development.

After another hour of walking, Gunner and John say it’s time for a rest break. Even with the Undead stamina of Hel and I, we’re both as exhausted from the recent events as any Human might be, and a rest sounds downright necessary. My body might be able to walk for all eternity, but my mind is blown to pieces.

Gunner makes a spot against a slanted grey tree to redo his bandages while Megan curls up next to Hel, who is uncharacteristically rubbing Megan’s back like she were a daughter or a favorite niece; I’m thinking she’s just a step away from braiding her damn hair.

John and I share a mound of twigs, peeking through the leafless branches into a swirling grey sky. His shoulder is pressed against mine and his hand is close by. I hope he doesn’t notice I’m no longer wearing his ring. With present circumstances considered, I doubt he cares much; Jewelry’s not forefront on any of our minds.

“We can’t stay here long,” says John.

“I know.”

He sighs, rocking his head to one side, resting it on my shoulder. I lean into it and try to smile, ignoring my worries. I don’t want to calculate whether or not Grim has already left After’s Hold with his army, or how long we have before we’re descended upon. Maybe Grim is feeling patient and won’t think to claim the Humans’ lives in Trenton. Surely his self-proclaimed “calling” can wait a day or two in the very least.

The whole way walking, I stared at Megan’s hair as it swung left and right with her every step, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how easily and effortlessly she struck that blade through Grimsky’s chest. I keep telling myself it isn’t my fault that she’s capable of such horrors; it’s the world’s fault.

We have no other measures left to take but desperate ones. It’s all we have, the whole desperate lot of us.