Kiss of Frost (24 page)

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Authors: Jennifer Estep

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Fantasy & Magic, #Action & Adventure, #Survival Stories, #Paranormal, #General

BOOK: Kiss of Frost
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An empty chair stood on the other side of the table from Preston, and Metis pulled it out for me. I undid the strap of my gray messenger bag from around my shoulder and set it on the floor. Then I sank down into the chair, trying to keep my hands from visibly shaking. The stone chair felt as cold as ice against my back.
“Take your time, Gwen,” Metis said in a kind voice. “There’s no rush. Whenever you’re ready.”
Preston’s lips thinned out into an amused smile. “Ah, so they’ve brought you in to try to break me. Oh, Gypsy, trust me when I tell you that you won’t like what you’ll see if you use your psychometry on me.”
I blinked. How did Preston know about my magic? I’d never told him about my Gypsy gift, but he was talking as if he knew all about it.
Oh, we know all about you, Gwen Frost, and what you’re supposed to do.
Preston had said those words to me in the gloom of the construction site. I hadn’t thought much about them then, but now they filled me with worry. What did the Reapers know about my magic that I didn’t? What could I possibly do with it that would interest them?
Preston kept staring at me, expecting me to say something.
“I don’t like breathing the same air as you,” I finally snapped back. “But I make do.”
I stared at his hands resting on top of the table. They were just hands, I told myself. Hands that belonged to an evil, psycho-killer Reaper, but just hands nonetheless. Five fingers on either one. I could do this. I could handle this.
I drew in a breath and let it out. Then I reached over and grabbed his hand, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. Wanting to get Metis the information she needed so I could leave this awful place and never see Preston again.
The feelings and images flooded my mind the second my skin touched the Reaper’s. Even though I didn’t want to, I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes, and let the memories carry me away.
 
Maybe it was all my years of tracking down lost objects, of touching desks, purses, and wallets and trying to get specific vibes off them, so I could locate the phones, jewelry, and laptops that people had misplaced or others had stolen. But going into Preston’s mind was easier than I’d thought it would be. I could feel him trying to block me, trying to think of nothing at all, just a blank wall of white, but I went deeper, slipping past the emptiness he tried to fill his mind with.
I saw so many things—so many horrible, horrible things. Preston fighting, Preston killing other people, other kids, even whipping the Fenrir wolf until its back was red with blood. And Preston wasn’t alone while he did these things. Jasmine was right there with him most of the time. Laughing, smiling, and killing alongside her brother. I could feel how much Preston had loved her, how happy he had been that she was just as vicious as he was, just as devoted to Loki. They were like two sides of the same evil coin, mirroring each other in almost every way. And I felt his burning pain, his deep anguish, when he learned that his little sister was dead. It would have made me feel sorry for him if I hadn’t seen all the other evil things that he’d done, all the people he’d tortured and killed.
Each and every thing I saw turned my stomach, but I kept looking, searching for something I could tell Metis, something that would help her and the others stop whatever the Reapers of Chaos were planning.
Through it all, I was aware of a pair of burning red eyes following me. The eyes jumped from memory to memory just like I did, watching me all the while. I knew who they belonged to now: Loki. His Reapers were the evil god’s window to the mortal realm, a way he could see out of his magical prison, and I could almost feel him glaring at me from inside Preston’s brain. I told myself over and over again that the eyes couldn’t hurt me, that Loki was locked away where he couldn’t touch me, but the thought didn’t comfort me as much as it should have.
I was about to give up, let go of Preston’s hand, open my eyes, and tell Metis that I wasn’t getting anything useful from him, when an image of Preston pulling on a pair of gloves popped into my head. It was the same memory I’d gotten when I’d touched his gloved hand outside the Solstice coffee shop that night in the alpine village. It seemed strange, given all the other more violent and disturbing things that I’d witnessed so far. Curious, I concentrated on that memory, digging it out of the depths of his brain like a miner prospecting for gold, shining it up, and pulling it into sharper focus. Suddenly I was completely in the memory, seeing everything from Preston’s point of view.
He sat in the driver’s seat of an SUV, pulling on the gloves. Once that was done, he looked in the rearview mirror at the person sitting in the back of the vehicle. Shadows cloaked the inside of the car, so I couldn’t tell who was there, although I got the impression it was a girl about my age. Whoever she was, Preston knew her—and was afraid of her. A tingle of fear tickled his spine just from looking at her. Weird. What kind of person would frighten a Reaper like Preston?
“Are you sure she’s still in the police station?” the girl asked in a low, soft voice.
“I called and asked for her five minutes ago,” Preston said. “She’s still in there. See? There she is, coming out right now.”
Preston turned his head, and I saw who he was talking about. Brown hair, violet eyes, beautiful smile. My mom stepped out of the back door of the police station.
Oh no,
I thought, somehow knowing what was coming next.
No, no, no.
My mom strode across the parking lot and got into her car, just like she had in the dream I’d had of her at the ski resort. I’d wondered where the awful memory had come from, and now I knew. It had been an image, a feeling, associated with Preston’s glove, one that my psychometry and my subconscious had picked up on, even if I hadn’t immediately seen it when I’d touched his glove.
“I thought you said the daughter would be with her,” Preston asked. “We could kill them both tonight and be done with this whole thing.”
The girl shrugged. “So the daughter’s not here. So what? We have our orders. We disable the mom and question her about the dagger and where she hid it. That’s what’s important tonight. Now let’s go.”
Dagger? What dagger? What were they talking about? Why would my mom have a dagger, much less hide it?
I lost my focus, and the memory blurred and shifted before I was able to latch onto it again. Now the SUV idled at a dark intersection, its lights off. Preston’s head was turned, looking out the window.
“Here she comes. Get ready,” the girl ordered from the backseat. “Now ... go!”
Preston smashed his foot down on the gas, and the SUV hurtled out of the dark toward my mom’s car. She never even saw it coming. The sound of metal screeching and glass breaking roared in my ears, as though I’d really been there when Preston had rammed his vehicle into hers.
I drew in a ragged breath, and the memory blurred again. Now my mom was out of the car and lying on her back on the blacktop. A light rain had started to fall, but it couldn’t hide the fact that blood covered her whole body—her legs, her chest, her face. The ends of her broken bones poked against the skin of her arms, and her breath came in shallow rasps. Dying—my mom was dying.
The girl stood in front of Preston, a sword glinting in her hand as she towered over my mom. She was wearing a hoodie, just like I did all the time. Except the girl’s hood was up to protect her from the rain, so I couldn’t even see the back of her head, much less her face.
“Where’s the dagger?” the girl snarled. “Where did you hide it?”
My mom smiled at the Reaper girl. “Someplace you’ll never think to look.”
“Fool. There’s no place you can hide it that we won’t find it. It’s only a matter of time.”
“I’m not a fool,” my mom said, raising her head. Despite her injuries, pride blazed in her violet eyes. “I was a Champion in my time, and I’ve served my goddess well. There is comfort in that, even now, at the end.”
Nike. My mom was talking about Nike. She must have hidden the mystery dagger—or whatever it was—on the goddess’s orders. But why? And why did the Reapers want to get their hands on it so badly?
“So am I,” the girl snapped. “I’m Loki’s Champion, and he’s decided it’s time for you to die. Tell me where the dagger is, and I’ll make it quick. Otherwise ...”
She swung her sword in a menacing arc, and raindrops hissed against the blade.
“I’m dying anyway,” my mom said, coughing up a mouthful of blood. “So do your worst, Reaper. Because in a few minutes, I’ll be beyond your reach.”
“But your precious daughter won’t be, and you won’t be able to protect her from me,” the girl said. “What’s her name again?”
“Gwen,” my mom whispered. “My lovely, lovely Gwen. There was so much I wanted to tell you, so much I wanted to teach you... .”
Her voice trailed off, and tears streamed down her face, mixing with the cold, cold rain. My mom started mumbling then, about all the things she’d wished she’d said to me. I was so shocked by what I was seeing that I couldn’t quite focus on what she was saying. Her voice grew raspier, and her words more incoherent, until the only thing she muttered was “Gwen, Gwen, I love you, Gwen... .”
“She’s not going to talk,” Preston said. “Finish her, and let’s go before another car comes along.”
“Oh, very well,” the girl huffed.
She gripped her sword and raised it over her head. She turned toward Preston, and I saw a smile curve her lips despite the shadows that cloaked her face. Then she brought the weapon down with a vicious slash. I shoved the memory away the second before the sword plunged into my mom’s heart.
My mom hadn’t been killed by some anonymous drunk driver like I’d thought. No, she’d been
murdered
—murdered by Preston and the Reaper girl.
I opened my eyes, wrenched my hand away from his, and sprang up out of my chair, stumbling away until my back was pressed up against one of the glass walls of the cells. I was only about a foot away from Raven and her desk.
“I told you that you wouldn’t like what you saw, Gypsy,” Preston sneered. “Tell me, how did it feel to see your own mother murdered right before your very eyes?”
Everyone froze for a second, then they all turned to look at me. Metis shocked, Coach Ajax angry and disgusted, Nickamedes with a pitying expression on his face. Even Raven looked up from her gossip magazine, a haunted look in her eyes.
“Just wait,” Preston sneered. “Because I’ll be doing the same thing to you real soon, Gypsy.”
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t even breathe. Everything just
hurt
. Every cell, every nerve, every broken, bloody bit of my shattered heart.
Desperate, I turned to Metis, searching for some kind of comfort, some kind of reassurance. Instead, what I saw was guilt. Sometimes if a memory was vivid enough, if an emotion was strong enough, I didn’t have to touch an object or person to get a vibe off them. Guilt filled the professor’s green eyes, and her whole body radiated with it, like heat boiling off the sun, burning me to the bone.
“You knew my mom was murdered,” I whispered. “This whole time, you
knew
.”
“Gwen—” Metis started, stepping toward me.
I turned and ran from the prison, but I didn’t even make it to the door before Preston’s mocking laughter started ringing in my ears.
Chapter 26
I sprinted out of the prison and back up the many flights of stairs. Somehow all the doors opened at my touch, despite the fact that I didn’t know the codes or the magic mumbo jumbo. Or maybe Metis just hadn’t locked them behind her. Either way, I stumbled out of the math-science building and into the cold. And then I just
ran,
desperate to get as far away from Preston and the awful thing I’d seen, the awful thing he’d helped the Reaper girl to do my mom.
They’d followed her home from work that night. They’d caused the car accident. They’d murdered her. They’d taken her away from me. Not a drunk driver. The casket at her funeral had been closed because the Reaper girl had murdered her, and Grandma Frost hadn’t wanted me to see my mom like that.
Grandma
. She had to have known about my mom’s murder, just like Metis. When I’d first come to the academy, I’d asked Grandma over and over again why I had to go to school at Mythos. I’d thought it had been because I’d had a freak-out with my magic. Now I knew the real reason why: Reapers had murdered my mom, and Metis and Grandma Frost had been afraid they’d do the same thing to me. So they’d shipped me off to Mythos, so Metis could keep an eye on me, thinking I’d be safe on campus, that the magic protecting the grounds would protect me as well. They just hadn’t realized how dangerous the academy would turn out to be for me.
But as hard as I tried, as fast as my legs pumped, I couldn’t outrun the memories—because they were mine now, too. I couldn’t unsee them, and I couldn’t forget them—ever. My psychometry wouldn’t let me.
For the very first time, I thought of my Gypsy gift as a curse.
I don’t remember exactly how, but I wound up in the Library of Antiquities. Students and staff crowded into the first floor of the library, clustered around the study tables and checkout counter. I kept to the back wall and raced past the bookshelves and glass cases full of artifacts. For once, I was glad the other kids never paid any attention to me. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this, much less start gossiping and texting about it on their stupid cell phones.
I didn’t stop running until I sprinted up the stairs and reached the second floor, where all the statues of the gods and goddesses were arranged in an enormous circle on the balcony. Nobody else was up here, and the silence pressed against my face like a blanket, smothering me. Or maybe that was because I was out of breath from my frantic run.
My footsteps finally slowed, then stopped, in front of Nike’s statue. The Greek goddess of victory towered thirty feet tall, like all the other statues, her feathery wings just peeking out from behind her back, her proud gaze fixed on something only she could see.
“Why?” I whispered. “Why did they have to kill my mom?”
Nike’s face remained cold and impassive. I didn’t know why I’d come here, what I’d thought would happen, but the grief overwhelmed me, weighing me down until I couldn’t take another step.
I curled up into a ball at the goddess’s feet and wept.
 
I don’t know how long I cried—the eerie, still silence of the second floor swallowed up my sobs—but at some point, my exhaustion overpowered everything else, and I fell asleep right there in the library. I woke up, stiff and sore from my awkward position, my eyes crusty with dried tears, and my heart just—just
sick
with what I’d seen in Preston’s mind. His awful, awful memories of my mother’s murder.
It took me two minutes to realize the statue was gone.
I’d collapsed in a heap at Nike’s feet, but now only empty air filled the space where the goddess’s statue had been. I jumped to my feet and looked around, but all the other statues were still in their places along the second floor balcony, all turned the same way, staring down into the first floor of the Library of Antiquities. Only Nike was missing. I took a few steps back from the spot where she’d been—
“Hello, Gwendolyn,” a soft voice called out to me.
Somehow I managed not to scream. Instead, I slowly turned around, and there she was—Nike. She looked the same as she had the last time I’d seen her, the night Jasmine had tried to murder me in the library.
Nike might have been the Greek goddess of victory, but she was also the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Her hair slipped past her shoulders, the soft brown waves shimmering with a metallic, bronze sheen. An elegant gown in a soft lilac color rippled around her body like water, while a thin silver belt looped around her waist. The belt matched the crown of silver flowers that ringed her head—laurels, the symbol for victory. Soft, feathery wings arched up from the goddess’s back, making her look as if she could take flight at any moment.
Nike was pretty enough, but the thing that made her striking to me was the sheer power that radiated off her—cold, beautiful, and terrible all at the same time.
“Okay,” I said. “We’re doing that weird dream world thing again, aren’t we? Where we’re in the library but not really there at all? That’s why there aren’t any students studying on the first floor right now?”
It was the same thing that had happened the last time I’d spoken to the goddess. One minute I’d been in the library, fighting Jasmine. The next I’d still been in the library, but everyone and everything else had disappeared except for me, the goddess, and Vic.
Nike laughed and stepped closer to me. “Something like that.”
The goddess’s eyes met mine, and I felt I could stare into her gaze forever. Her eyes were a curious shade, not quite purple, but not quite gray either, just like Vic’s eye was. Her gaze made me think of the soft color of twilight, that instant of time just before darkness came and covered the land in blackness for the night.
Maybe I should have been more humbled, maybe I should have been more respectful, but now that the goddess was here in front of me, I couldn’t help asking the questions that burned in my heart.
“Why did the Reapers kill my mom? What did they want? What are they up to? How can I stop them? What am I supposed to
do
now?”
Nike’s face was kind, but sadness tugged down her mouth. “Walk with me, Gwendolyn.”
I fell in step beside the goddess, and we started strolling around the balcony, passing the other statues of the gods and goddesses from all the various cultures of the world. Maybe it was my Gypsy gift or maybe it was only my imagination, but it seemed that all the stone figures stared at me, their heads swiveling around one by one to watch us circle the balcony. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself, dropping my gaze from the statues. I didn’t know what I’d see if I kept looking at them. Part of me didn’t want to know.
Finally, Nike spoke. “Long ago, after Loki was defeated in the final battle of the Chaos War, the other gods and I combined our powers and locked Loki away from the mortal realm, trapping him in another realm, another dimension. In a sort of prison, if you will.”
“Kind of like this library is a mirror image of the real one that I’m sleeping in right now ... or whatever?”
She nodded. “The gods placed seven seals on Loki’s prison, using various artifacts and other magical safeguards to keep him contained.”
The goddess stopped and looked at me. “Six of those seals have been broken. And when the last one, the seventh seal breaks, Loki will be free once more.”
The seals are all but broken, and it won’t be much longer before we find the key to unlock the last one. Soon, Loki will be free, and his Chaos will reign once more. And when that happens, you will rue the day you were ever born, Gypsy. You and Nike and all the other members of the pathetic Pantheon.
Preston’s words echoed in my head. Back at the ski resort, I’d wondered if the Reaper knew what he was talking about or if he was just crazy. I really, really wished he had just been crazy.
I drew in a ragged breath. “But—but how is that even possible? You’re so
strong
. I can feel the power rolling off you in waves. Surely, you and the other gods together have enough magic to fix the seals.”
Nike shook her head. “It took all the magic we had to create the artifacts and seals in the first place and trap Loki with them. Centuries have passed, and some of the gods still haven’t recovered from the ordeal.”
“But how did the seals even get broken in the first place?” I asked.
“By Loki’s followers,” Nike said. “They found the artifacts and other items we used, took them from the Champions who were guarding them, and destroyed them. They also weakened and eventually broke through some of the other safeguards with their blood sacrifices. Blood has great power you see, especially a Champion’s blood, since she has been blessed by her god or goddess. Every time a Reaper kills and dedicates that spilled blood to Loki, the god of chaos becomes a little stronger and gets a little closer to breaking free of his prison.”
Daphne and Grandma Frost had both told me that being a Champion was dangerous, that it was as good as having a target on your back, and that Reapers would do anything to kill Champions. Know I knew why. Because my blood had power—more power than I’d ever dreamed of. More power than I’d ever wanted. I shivered.
Nike walked on, passing a statue of Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom. I thought about Metis then, about how the professor was Athena’s Champion. I wondered if Metis knew about the broken seals—and the fact that Loki was
thisfreakingclose
to being free again.
“So what can I do?” I asked. “Is there any way to keep the last seal from being broken?”
“The last seal, the strongest seal, was an artifact that was entrusted to my Champion,” Nike said, not quite answering my question. “Over the years, it has been passed down from one of my Champions to the other, from your first ancestor all the way down to your mother, Grace Frost.”
Suddenly, the words Preston had said in his memories made perfect sense to me.
“A dagger,” I whispered. “The artifact, the one that’s the last seal on Loki’s prison, is a dagger. That’s why the Reapers killed my mom—because she hid the dagger and wouldn’t tell them where it was, and they need it to free Loki.”
Nike nodded. “Correct. It’s called the Helheim Dagger, because it has the power to open a portal to Helheim, the underground netherworld where the other gods and I trapped Loki.”
“Do you know where the dagger is?” I asked. “Where my mom hid it?”
Nike shook her head. “After the last battle of the Chaos War, all the gods made a pact not to become involved in mortal affairs. We would have torn the world apart otherwise until there was nothing left. That’s why the seals and other safeguards were given to our Champions and other trusted warriors to hide and protect as best they could. The seals were designed to stay in the mortal world, so no god could touch or break them. But, of course, the Reapers have been relentlessly searching for them ever since Loki was imprisoned. One by one, they’ve found the artifacts, and now, only the dagger is left.”
“And nobody knows where the Helheim Dagger is but my mom, and she can’t tell anyone because she’s dead.” Bitterness filled my empty, aching heart.
“I’m truly sorry, Gwendolyn,” Nike said in a sad voice. “But Champions are often called upon to make sacrifices. Your mother gave her life to keep Loki imprisoned, and she saved countless other lives doing that. Every day Loki remains trapped is another day the world isn’t on the brink of war. Your mother died protecting others, which is the bravest, noblest thing a Champion can do.”
I understood what my mom had done and why, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear. It didn’t make my heart hurt any less.
“What am I supposed to do now?” I whispered, feeling like I was coming apart from the inside out.
“These things never stay hidden forever,” Nike said, once again not quite answering my question. “There’s too much power attached to the dagger, and there are too many Reapers looking for it. One of them will eventually find the dagger and use it to free Loki.”
I looked at the goddess. “You want me to find the dagger first, don’t you? And what, hide it somewhere else? What good will that do? Won’t the Reapers just keep looking for it?”
Nike nodded again. “They will. Even now, they are using their blood sacrifices to try to break through the cloaking spell your mother put on the dagger to hide it. Once the spell is gone, they’ll be able to divine its general location and start searching for it. You need to find the dagger, hide it somewhere else, and put a new, stronger cloaking spell on it. Your Professor Metis should be able to help you with that, along with the Spartan librarian, Nickamedes.”
Well, that made sense. If there was anyone here at Mythos who could help keep the dagger out of the Reapers’ hands, it was Metis. But Nickamedes? Really? And he was a Spartan? My brain rattled around inside my skull a little at that revelation. But then, I thought about seeing Logan and Nickamedes together at the ski resort. If they were related like I suspected, it made sense that Nickamedes was a Spartan, just like Logan was.
“Your mother hid the dagger well, and every day the Reapers don’t find it is a small victory for the members of the Pantheon—and the world,” Nike continued. “But time is running out, and the cloaking spell won’t hold much longer. The Pantheon needs more time to prepare for what’s coming.”

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