White Winter (The Black Year Series Book 2) (9 page)

He shivered as his body temperature dropped sharply.

Madoc turned toward him, eyes wide.

The air distorted like Jonas was looking through a lens, and the candle flame spun into a sphere like a tiny sun. Jonas gasped, leaning away from it, then had to grab the edge of the tub to stop himself from falling in. As he dropped his hands, the sphere turned an angry shade of red and pulsed like a speaker playing heavy bass.

“Run!” Madoc told Damien.

Jonas panicked and tried to will the fireball away. He felt the heat flash along his arms into his chest, burning him, making him feel like his body was expanding. Jonas looked at Damien, wide-eyed, and said, “I’m—”

Damien’s boot slammed into his chest and he fell backward into the tub of ice. The water seethed, Jonas screamed and thrust the heat outward, flashing the entire contents of the tub into steam, but it was too much, and Jonas, feeling his body go painfully numb, drew some of the heat back into him.

It was all over before he had time to think about what he was doing.

He sat up in the empty tub. He’d burned through his whole blood supply. His mouth was dry, his hands shook, and he couldn’t get warm. Madoc had his back against the opposite wall. The warded metal was “real” to him.

Damien was smiling with his eyes again. “We’re going to have to work on that.”

The tub was empty. The rest of the room was coated with a thin layer of frost.

CHAPTER 11

“It’s nice out here,” Jonas said.

“Mmm hmm,” Kieran answered without looking.

Jonas tugged at his collar and pressed his head against the cool window, watching as they drove north on Lakeville Road. He hadn’t worn a suit since his father’s funeral. They drove past two-story houses and a country club, then through a town that still felt small to Jonas though it was several times bigger than Temperance had been. Kieran didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood, so Jonas used the time to check on his barrier.

♘

“Hey Sam, how’s it coming?”

“See for yourself, sir.”

Sam keyed the code and the hatch unlocked, letting them climb on top of the casemate.

His mind still hadn’t fully recovered from the fight with Fangston. There were craters and scorch marks all over the grounds outside the perimeter, and in some places where the demon had attacked, the ground was still warm. But that wasn’t important - short-term memory, the name of a pop singer he’d heard on the radio… he’d worry about it later.

The wall was gone. He’d buried everything underground, and anyone looking for his memories was going to have to dig through several feet of him brushing his teeth, first. A deep ditch ringed the area he’d decided to reinforce, covered by caponiers placed every 500 yards in a hexagon. At the center was a low, concrete fortress that housed his heavy weapons. He felt a fleeting sense of regret at the ugliness of it, compared to his earlier barriers.

“It’s not elegant,” Sam said, “but anyone who comes in here is getting a bloody nose.”

“I know. I just hate being forced into it.”

“Everyone’s out to get us.”

Jonas grinned, then realized Sam wasn’t joking. He shook his head and tapped the jetpack activation key on his wrist before stepping off the edge.

He’d spend three to four hours a day in the Agency library, reading up on advancements in fortifications during the 19th and 20th centuries as well as tearing through their military science fiction section. The more he read, the more his barrier felt real, and the more pieces of himself he could split off. He’d managed to create 1,250 guardians during the fight with Fangston. Now-

♘

“Jonas? We’re here.”

“Already?”

“Yes, clan leader. We were five minutes away when you nodded off.”

Jonas started to say he wasn’t sleeping, but Sam’s paranoia kicked in and he said, “Sorry, I’ve been on Damien’s schedule all week, it’s a bit early for me.”

Kieran looked at him for a moment, then nodded and got out of the car. Jonas undid his seatbelt and opened his door.

There were trees everywhere. They were bare, just white trunks and naked branches, but he couldn’t see a building in any direction, just the gate at the end of the private driveway. Several cars were parked nearby, and Kieran waited by a trail of footprints in the snow that led into the woods. “Where are we?”

“The southern end of Kings Point Park.”

Kieran started down the trail and Jonas followed. They crossed over a footbridge and continued into the woods. Most of the prints were spaced wider than his, so every two or three steps his foot crunched through the snow, getting the hem of his trousers wet.

Kieran stopped and looked at the trees to his right.

“What is it?” Jonas asked.

Kieran just stood there for a moment, his nostrils flaring, then he shook his head. “I thought I heard something. We get trespassers on the property, sometimes - people who resent my family’s association with the Agency. ”

They continued to walk.

“You know, you still haven’t explained what I’m doing here,” Jonas said.

“I’m not supposed to. It’s a feel thing more than a think thing.”

“Right, but I don’t even know what the thing is.”

“You’re meeting the pack as their new clan leader. Either they accept you, or they don’t.”

“And if they don’t?” Jonas asked.

“They challenge you, and I fight in your place.”

Jonas stopped. “Wait, what?”

Kieran kept walking.

“Damn it, Kieran, stop!” Jonas grabbed Kieran’s shoulder and his friend turned on him, eyes bright blue and jaw clenched.

“What?” Kieran shouted, and Jonas flinched. He was suddenly aware of how alone they were, surrounded by trees and silence.

He spoke softly. “I need you to help me. I don’t know what’s expected of me here. I want to do what’s right by your family-”

“You can’t,” Kieran said, lowering his eyes.

Jonas felt a lump in his gut, but he pressed on. “There has to be-”

“You’re four inches too short, 100 pounds too light, and you have no scent. They’re Agency trained, so if you read their minds they’ll attack you. You can’t do it. If my father was here, the others would stay in line because of him. But he’s not, so they won’t; I’m probably going to have to kill one or more them, and it’s my fault for choosing you.” He sniffed, then wiped his nose with the back of his wrist. “So if you don’t mind, clan leader, I’d rather not speak.”

“I… Okay,” Jonas said. Kieran started walking again, and Jonas hurried to keep up. He kept thinking of questions he wanted to ask, or ways they might get around whatever was going to happen, but every time he opened his mouth to speak, he saw the set of Kieran’s shoulders and stayed quiet.

The trail took a few turns, and Jonas realized there was camouflage netting hanging between some of the trees. After a few more minutes, they emerged into a clearing. Jonas felt a tingling in the back of his head. Leticia Macready was waiting about 100 yards away, hands clasped in front of her.

“Keep moving,” Kieran whispered, and fell in to his right, a step behind. “Try to look confident.”

Kieran’s family stood to Leticia’s right, facing the asphalt walkway to the three-story mansion like a colonnade of people. Children as young as five or six stood next to their older siblings, sorted from smallest to tallest so Jonas could see all of them, even though they weren’t looking in his direction. At a gesture from Phillip’s widow, all 30-or-so of them went down on their left knee. He could hear their surface thoughts like he was standing in a crowded room, talking and questioning and crying and shouting… he clamped down on his barrier, but he couldn’t shut out all the noise. The tingling in Jonas’ head spread to his hands and face, and his heartbeat picked up.

Leticia bowed at the waist, eyes downcast, bringing her head to his level. “Welcome, clan leader,” she said, her face stiff, her voice resigned. “May I present-”

But Jonas knew exactly what to do. He grabbed her by the back of the neck and pressed his forehead to hers. Kieran sucked in a breath. “It’s good to see you, Lettie,” Jonas said. She stiffened, eyes widening, but before she could respond he let go, moved toward the line of people, and grabbed the first little boy into a bear hug. “Oh my goodness you’re heavy! Why did they put the heaviest Macready at the head of the line?” The boy giggled with joy. The little girl next to him looked up in surprise, then blushed and looked down at the ground. “It’s okay, Julie,” he said, touching her cheek.

He moved down the line, greeting Phillip’s kids by name, and it felt like a sort of magic. Their thoughts went from a susurration to panicked babble, but he knew who to touch, who to shove a bit, who to punch in the shoulder. He crouched in front of a fourteen-year-old who was probably his height and outweighed him by 20 pounds. “Look at this one, Leticia! Probably ready to start Agency training soon.”

“Y-y-yes, clan leader,” she stammered. The youth fought to keep a proud smile from his face.

The babble dimmed to a whisper, and he noticed they were already grinning and relaxed when he got to them, even though he was now dealing with people older than him. He stopped between the twins and said, “Sean, you’re looking twice as pretty as your brother today.”

“That’s Sean, clan leader. I’m Ryan.”

“Of course you are! If I thought you were Sean, I would have called you Ryan.”

The man next in line snorted, and the twins guffawed.

It was all going perfectly until the third woman from the end met his eyes. He felt Kieran stiffen behind him; her eyes burned gold, and she tensed to stand; Jonas put all his training, strength, and blood-fueled power into the punch.

There was a loud snap, like the sound of a dry twig breaking.

The blow knocked her sideways into the next man in line. Jonas’ right hand went numb. Blood streamed from her split cheek, and her eyes were wild as she pushed off the ground.

“Stay down, Nell. Haven’t your mother and brother suffered enough?”

She froze, glanced behind Jonas, and her shoulders slumped. He recognized her now; she’d almost challenged Kieran the first time he transformed.

Nell went back to one knee. “My apologies, clan leader.” He could see the wound on her cheek healing. “I just-”

“It’s okay, I miss him too.” He squeezed her shoulder with his left hand and moved on so she wouldn’t have to cry in front of him.

♘

Leticia sagged into a massive leather chair that reminded Jonas of the ones in his mother’s office. “That was a hell of a thing,” she said.

“Yeah.” The study was twice the size of his bedroom, with deep, royal blue carpeting and cherry wood paneling. “This house is amazing.”

Leticia grunted. “It’s your mother’s.” Jonas raised an eyebrow. “Phillip made a deal with her after we got married, her resources for our allegiance to the Agency. I thought you knew.”

Huh. Guess that’s why the furniture looks familiar.

“How’s your hand?”

“Broken, but it’ll heal.” The numbness was starting to wear off; it felt warm and jagged. “How’s your family?”

“The same. Thought I was going to lose you or Nell, for a minute.”

Jonas nodded. He hadn’t really thought about it, just the right thing to do at the time. He gestured at the wall with his left hand and said, “Do you mind if I…?”

“Not at all. Could you pour me a scotch while you’re at it?”

He grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with two fingers of scotch, neat, then popped the concealed fridge open with his shoulder and tucked a blood pack under his arm. He hesitated as he handed the glass to her, wondering how he’d known where everything was. Leticia took the glass, and her eyes gleamed the same color as the drink. “Thank you, Jonas.”

CHAPTER 12

Jonas cradled his right arm with his left, and leaned to hit the button with his elbow. The door slid open just as Eve was reaching for the button on her side.

“Hi,” he said.

Eve’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

“It’s my hand, actually. I didn’t-”

“Did Damien break it?” she said, shifting to look behind him.

Jonas dropped his head for a second and took a deep breath, trying to will himself through the sharp, grinding pain that radiated from his fingers to halfway down his forearm. “I know you’re being protective, and it’s super cute, but I’m a little shaky right now.”

She blushed. “Right, sorry. Can I-”

“Blood. I need blood.” His mouth and throat ached. They weren’t dry - the sight of Eve’s neck was making him salivate. The feeling was closer to starvation than thirst.

“Okay then,” she said, getting out of his way. Headache; shoulder pain; he walked toward the cafeteria with Eve in tow and, for once, he was glad people didn’t try to strike up a conversation.

“I didn’t know you were back,” he said, opening the fridge with his foot.

“Yeah, I took the noon flight back. I could help with-”