Jennifer Estep Bundle (53 page)

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Authors: Jennifer Estep

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He shrugged. “Everyone always comes to the Winter Carnival. It's a Mythos Academy tradition.”
I could have laughed at the irony. Daphne had said those very same words to me earlier this week, but I hadn't really believed her—or known that such a tradition was probably going to be the death of me. On the floor, Oliver hit some more buttons on his phone.
Desperate to give him more time, I looked back up at Preston. “But what about—”
“Enough!” Preston snapped. “Stop talking. Your whiny sniveling is driving me crazy. Face it, Gypsy. The Spartan's dying, and you're down here all alone with me and the wolf. You're not getting out of here alive.”
Preston stared at me, his blue eyes glinting with hate, his handsome face twisted into something black, ugly, and evil. Then he raised the crossbow until it was level with my head and pulled the trigger.
Chapter 21
Everything happened at once.
I dove to my right, Preston pulled the trigger on the crossbow, and the Fenrir wolf bumped into his side, making Preston stumble. I don't know if the creature did it on purpose or not, if it was trying to help me or not, but the wolf screwed up the Reaper's aim and the bolt zipped over my head and disappeared into the semidarkness.
I scrambled to my feet. For a second I thought about running, about getting as far away from Preston as I could. Then my gaze dropped to the floor, where Oliver still lay, more and more blood pooling underneath him as he fumbled with his phone. Yeah, maybe the Spartan had scared me, but I couldn't leave him down here, helpless and defenseless with a barbed bolt sticking out of his shoulder.
So I did the only thing I could think of: I withdrew Vic out of the leather scabbard strapped to my waist.
“Well, it's about bloody time,” Vic muttered, glaring at me with his purplish eye. “I was wondering if you'd forgotten about me, Gwen.”
Yeah, I kind of had a little bit, but I wasn't going to admit that to him.
“What was I supposed to do? Whip you out right in front of Preston?” I hissed. “My hands were up in the air, in case you didn't notice. And hello, he had a crossbow aimed at my head. Crossbow beats sword in that case.”
Vic just sniffed.
“Oh, look, the Gypsy has a sword,” Preston said in an amused voice. “Good thing I do too.”
The distinctive, raspy whisper of metal sliding free of a scabbard made my heart drop like a stone in my chest. I whirled around and raised Vic. Preston had climbed back to his feet and drawn his own sword. He must have been wearing the weapon underneath his long, flowing, black coat. The edge of the blade touched one of the cracks of sunlight. Maybe it was my imagination, but the metal seemed to wink at me, even as it took on a bloody, reddish tinge. I shivered and tightened my grip on Vic.
Preston walked closer and closer to me, picking his way through the construction debris and nonchalantly swinging his sword from side to side. “You know, I'm kind of glad I missed you with that bolt,” he hissed. “It'll be so much more fun to cut you into pieces.”
I really,
really
wanted to scream, drop Vic, turn, and run. But I couldn't leave Oliver to the Reaper's mercy. Besides, Preston would just stab me from behind anyway. All I could do was stand and fight—or at least try to.
I glanced past Preston, wondering what the Fenrir wolf was doing. The creature sat upright on its haunches, like it was an ancient statue that had been frozen in place, like one of the gryphons outside the Library of Antiquities. Its red eyes met mine. Something like sadness flickered in its gaze, and it let out a low whimper. I might have helped the wolf during the avalanche, but I knew I couldn't count on it to come to my rescue. Not again, not here, not against its master. Spoiling Preston's aim was the only aid the wolf was going to give me. I'd just have to make sure it was enough.
Preston looked at me, taking in my stance and focusing on the sword bobbing up and down in my trembling hands. A cruel, cruel grin curved his face. And then he attacked.
Clang-clang-clang!
Preston launched himself at me, his moves a shadowy blur in the semidarkness. Maybe some of my weapons training had finally sunk in, because I was able to deflect his blows. But Preston was two years older than I was, six inches taller, and totally ripped with muscle. Not to mention the fact he was a Viking. He was stronger than I was—so much
stronger
—and his blows jarred me from my wrist, all the way up to my shoulder. Every stinging, ringing clash of his sword threatened to rip Vic out of my hands. I could feel Vic's mouth moving underneath my palm, trying to shout out words of encouragement, but I had such a death grip on the hilt that my hands muffled his voice.
“Not bad—for a five-year-old who just got her first toy sword to play with,” Preston sneered. “I can't believe you're supposed to be Nike's Champion. Start saying your prayers to that stupid goddess you serve, Gypsy, because you won't last another minute.”
I blinked. “How do you know I'm Nike's Champion? I never told you that.”
Daphne, Professor Metis, and Grandma Frost were the only people who knew the truth. Well, them and Vic, of course.
Preston's eyes narrowed, and something red and evil sparked to life in the depths of his gaze. “Oh, we know all about you, Gwen Frost, and what you're supposed to do.”
What I was supposed to do? What the hell was he talking about? I didn't have time to think about it before he charged me again.
Clang-clang-clang!
I managed to block all of his attacks once more, although I was panting from the effort. Sweat slicked my palms, and my arms felt heavy and slow, like lead weights attached to my shoulders. I didn't know how much longer I could stop Preston from running me through with his sword. He was right. I wouldn't last another minute.
He came at me a third time, his sword whistling through the air, getting closer and closer to my neck with every single blow until—
CLANG!
Preston finally broke through my defenses. He smashed his weapon into mine so hard that I lost my grip on Vic, and the sword sailed off into the shadows.
“Gwen! Gwen!” Vic shouted, his voice getting fainter and more frantic the farther he slid into the darkness.
I started to lunge after him, but Preston grabbed me by my hair. I shrieked and then punched and clawed at him, but he just laughed at my weak blows. Preston jerked me back, then threw me forward. I tripped over one of the bags of cement on the floor and hit the wall hard. My legs slid out from under me, and I landed in a heap.
Before I could even think about moving, Preston was on top of me, his sword an inch away from my throat. I kept my head perfectly still, scarcely daring to breathe.
“Like I said,” Preston sneered. “Didn't even last a minute.”
A flash of movement caught my eye, and a shadow broke free of the wall, creeping closer and closer to Preston.
The Reaper stared down at me and frowned. “What are you smiling at? I'm about to slit your throat, you stupid Gypsy.”
“Nothing much,” I drawled. “Just my hero.”
Logan erupted out of the darkness. The Spartan slammed into Preston, knocking the Reaper and his sword away from me. The two of them fell to the floor, punching, kicking, and rolling over everything in their path. Oliver must have texted Logan and told him what was going on. That was the only reason I could think of as to why he would be down here right now. Despite the fact that Oliver had done his best to scare me, I was
totally
forgiving him for everything.
“Vic!” I shouted.
“Here! Over here!”
I scrambled to my feet and followed the sound of the sword's voice. I plucked Vic out of the pile of sawdust he'd landed in. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a hammer lying on one of the sawhorses, so I grabbed it, too, then turned and ran back the other way, so I could help Logan.
The Reaper and the Spartan had both gotten back on their feet and were slowly circling each other. Eyes narrow, faces tight, lips drawn back in silent snarls. Logan had his fists up, while Preston was doing that annoying, wavy-wavy thing with his sword again.
Smack! Smack! Clang!
The two of them clashed together. Logan landed two solid punches to Preston's face, but the Reaper lashed out with his sword, making Logan jump back. And on it went. The more I watched, the more worried I got. Preston had his Viking strength to rely on, and he was a good fighter, almost as good as Logan. I hadn't been at Mythos Academy long, but even I could tell that.
Plus, Preston had a sword and Logan didn't. That was what was tipping the scales in the Reaper's favor. Logan just couldn't get in close enough to do much damage to Preston, not without getting cut up in the process. I stood there and bit my lip, swallowing my screams, not daring to do or say anything that would distract Logan.
Smack! Smack! Clang!
The two of them came together again, and Preston sliced his sword through the air. This time, Logan wasn't quite quick enough, and the blade cut across his left leg, opening up a deep, deep wound. He stumbled back, and Preston raised his sword for the killing strike.
“Logan!” I screamed.
Adrenaline, concern, and fear for Logan surged through my veins, blocking out everything else. I didn't think—I just acted. I charged in between them, raised my sword, and swung it at Preston. Of course, he blocked my clumsy blow.
Preston laughed at me. “Sorry, Gypsy. I'm going to kill your boyfriend, and then I'm going to kill you—and there's nothing you can do to stop me.”
“Shut up, Reaper,” I snarled.
And that's when I snapped up my left hand and smashed him in the face with the hammer I'd grabbed. Preston screamed and stumbled back. I followed him and hit him again, cracking the hammer across his skull as hard as I could. He tripped over a couple of two-by-fours and fell face-first onto a pile of cement bags.
I didn't look to see how badly I'd hurt him before I dropped the hammer and raced back to Logan's side. He had dropped to a knee on the floor beside Oliver. Logan put his hand under Oliver's shoulder, trying to help his friend get to his feet, but Logan was just too weak to do it with the deep cut in his leg.
“Leave me,” Oliver whispered, his face white, the tendons in his neck tight with pain. “Go. Save yourselves.”
“Spartans never leave each other behind,” Logan rasped, and tried to lift his friend again. “
Never,
remember?”
Once more, he failed. In the middle of the pile of cement bags, Preston let out a low groan. The Fenrir wolf stayed where it was in front of the door, blocking our escape and watching all of us with its glowing red eyes.
“Make him go, Gwen,” Oliver said, pleading with me. “Or the Reaper will kill us all.”
Logan grabbed for his friend again, but Oliver slapped his hands away and flopped back down onto the floor. He shut his eyes and let his head loll to one side. Playing dead, which was the only thing he could do right now, the only way he could protect himself.
Preston groaned again. The Reaper got up onto his hands and knees.
“Come on! Come on! Come on!” I shouted at Logan.
I put my arm under Logan's shoulder and got him on his feet. Then I dragged the Spartan away from Oliver, Preston, and the wolf, heading back into the gloom of the construction site.
 
I didn't know how long we hurried through the site, navigating around all the piles of tools and lumber and moving from one half-finished hallway to the next. All I could think about was getting Logan away from Preston before the Reaper killed him or sicced the Fenrir wolf on both of us. The Spartan limped along beside me, and I took as much of his weight as I could on my left shoulder. I carried Vic in my other hand.
“Stop, Gwen, stop!” Logan finally said. “I have to stop and tie off the wound. I'm losing too much blood.”
I didn't want to stop for anything, but I knew that he was right. So I helped him sit down on a couple of bags of cement that had been stacked up on top of each other. I unzipped my hoodie and took it off, passing it over to him.
Logan grabbed the jacket and used Vic to tear the fabric into a couple of long strips. He quickly wrapped them around his leg, tying them off with a series of tight knots. Blood from the gash had already soaked his jeans, turning them more black than blue. My stomach twisted. So much blood.
“Can you go on?” I whispered. “We have to get out of here.”
“I think so.”
Logan tried to stand and immediately sat down again, biting back a scream of pain. Sweat rolled down his forehead, and his lips were a thin white stain in his face. The fabric strips he'd just tied around his leg were already turning an ugly brown as the blood seeped into them.
“I'm sorry,” he rasped. “I don't think I can walk any farther. Go on, Gwen. Get out of here. Run. Before he finds us both.”
I shook my head. “We already left Oliver behind. I'm not leaving you, too.”
Logan grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “Listen to me! This isn't like that night in the Library of Antiquities. I had weapons then. All we have now is your sword, and I'm stuck with a bum leg. There's no way I can beat Preston like this. He's almost as good as I am, and we all know it.”
“Listen to the Spartan, Gwen,” Vic chimed in. “Go and get help. I'll stay here with him. We'll give you time to get away.”
“Shut up, Vic,” I snapped. “I'm not going anywhere. Be quiet and let me think a second.”
Logan frowned and looked around, probably wondering who I was talking to since he didn't know about Vic. I ignored the Spartan and his confusion. Instead, I paced back and forth, my sneakers sending up puffs of sawdust into the shadows. Thinking. Logan couldn't beat Preston, not now, not with his leg cut up, and I simply didn't have the skills to go toe-to-toe with the Reaper and win. Preston had said that I was like a five-year-old with a toy sword, and he was right.

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