A Reflection of Ice

by Katherine McIntyre

  A Reflection of Ice

  Katherine McIntyre

  Opal Moon Press

  A Reflection of Ice

  © Copyright 2018 Katherine McIntyre

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  Published by: Davis Raynes Publishing Group, LLC

  dba Opal Moon Press

  PO Box 224

  Middleburg, FL 32050

  OpalMoonPress.com

  * * *

  Cover by AG Designs & Formatting

  Formatting by AG Designs & Formatting

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  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  OpalMoonPress.com

  To the princesses who rescue themselves.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Acknowledgments

  Note from the Author

  About the Author

  Also by Katherine McIntyre

  Note from the Publisher

  1

  Lyra had been born in the cold, and in the stark of winter, she thrived.

  Crisp, pale breezes kissed her cheeks, causing her to tug the sleeves of her peacoat and shiver with happiness. The attempt she’d made at a braid this morning had tangled and barely made it past her first three classes of the day before slipping into its perpetual state of unruly. Her boots slapped on the cracked asphalt along the path home, the sound reverberating around her. Before she reached the trailer, she’d have to finger-comb her hair and smooth her wrinkled shirt in the hopes that Melinda wouldn’t pick a fight. Not that peace was likely—she had yet to see her stepmother in a pleasant mood.

  She’d long ago memorized the isolated path home from school, following the sidewalk as it changed into an uneven dirt one leading to the trailer park. Her stomach rumbled, and the familiar pinch of hunger followed. Lunch had been miserable, and the assholes one table over had knocked her tray from her hand as a “joke.” It wasn’t funny when that tended to be her one meal of the day because what little food they bought Melinda butchered. The woman burned pots of water. Her father could cook, but he was working a long trucking route this week, so she wouldn’t see him much, if at all.

  Her throat tightened, and she slowed upon reaching the dirt pathway leading to her home. She’d spent the first half of this week at Jess’s house, to the point where she could guarantee her friend needed some alone time. With a family who cared and a different roast on the dinner table every night, Jess couldn’t understand how much Lyra despised her own place. Crammed into the tight space of their trailer with Melinda was the perfect recipe for a fight, and they’d spent too many nights screaming their voices hoarse.

  Even though most folks would rush inside due to the cold, Lyra took her time. The first snowfall had hit—early this year for an East Coast winter—and covered the grass with a healthy amount of white, despite the footprints and grime from the roads. While the sidewalks had been shoveled, chunks of ice still made the walk bumpy, glinting under the midafternoon sun.

  Tall pines cast long shadows, blocking many of the trailers from view. At the right angle, she could almost pretend the weathered siding and makeshift clotheslines weren’t marring the park as she stepped onto the brown blanket of dried needles and leaves coating the ground. A familiar shadow approached, a black stray cat she’d named Midnight. The cat rubbed up against her legs, and Lyra reached down to run her fingers through the soft, dark fur. Those luminous green eyes conveyed all the warmth she needed.

  He padded close behind her as she passed the dozen or so trailers tarnishing the landscape, most in several shades of decay. She quickened her pace past the MacKenzies’ lot, and the Raymonds’ whose nightmare of a kid liked to throw rocks at her when she walked to school. Not like his dad would cuff him for that, since the man maintained a full schedule of emptying a six-pack by noon.

  No one loitered outside this afternoon—either they holed away indoors or were off working the night shift. If she got lucky, Melinda would be gone on an errand, and she’d have some precious, precious time by her lonesome. Not like she wanted to dive into her history homework, but if she finished early and got to steal away to her glade in the woods with a book, tonight might not be all bad.

  Snow crunched underfoot as she walked up the narrow dirt pathway to her trailer. The sky-blue color stood out from here, one that as a kid had made her think of a house made from ice, even surrounded by mud and matted leaves. After years of neglect though, the color had faded, turning sullen and gray, and between the rusted pipes and scratched paneling, none of its original splendor remained. Midnight brushed by her legs with a purr. The cat slunk past her, heading in the direction of the forest. Even with her gentlest steps, the stairs creaked as Lyra ascended.

  When she reached the door, Melinda’s voice carried out the open window. Lyra allowed herself a small sigh before straightening her stance. She tried once more to press down her flyaway strands and prepared for the onslaught as she opened the door with a creak to creep inside. Her wet boots left imprints on the somewhat squishy carpeting. With the couple of feet of snow that had accumulated over the past week, they hadn’t a chance to dry the rug, which left a residual mildew scent permeating through the place.

  A giggle came from the other room, drawing Lyra’s attention. Now, that was a sound she’d never heard from the woman. She bent down to unlace her size-and-a-half too big combat boots, when a rustling came from the bedroom, followed by a man murmuring. Her heart skipped a couple beats. If dad had come home from his trip early, maybe the rest of the week wouldn’t be the hellscape she’d anticipated.

  She’d gotten the one untied and begun working on the other boot when her stepmom emerged from the room she shared with Lyra’s father.

  “Want a beer?” Melinda called back into the room. “We’ve got a couple Buds in the fridge.” Lyra’s stepmother stood taller than the average woman at about five foot nine, and today she’d prepared for the winter weather with cutoffs revealing the sloping length of her fake-tanned legs and a gray American flag T-shirt so small it would never fit her. Her long hair swept past her shoulders, undone, and she’d even painted her face with thick liner and pastel-pink lipstick. Lyra raised an eyebrow.

  “After that sorta workout, I’m going to need more than a beer.” A man who wasn’t her dad stepped out of the bedroom. The guy’s heaving stomach strained his stained work shirt, and an unkempt beard hid his mouth.

  Melinda’s eyes widened in surprise the second she spotted Lyra crouched to the ground in the middle of unlacing her boots. “What are you doing home so early?” The woman’s voice came out an octave higher.

  Lyra’s grip tightened on her laces, and her nails bit into her palms. She had never seen this man in her life, but she wasn’t an idiot. She knew what they’d been up to.

  Too many emotions rushed through her—th
e hope Melinda might be gone for good after this followed by anger that the woman would screw over her dad. But the moment Melinda’s face purpled and her mouth opened to scream, fear won.

  Lyra knotted her boot, not bothering to retie the laces, and launched forward, the room surging around her. Her stepmother groped around with those manicured nails until she latched onto a bowl she’d left out. The fury flashing in those dark eyes and the fear creasing the lines on Melinda’s face told Lyra what sort of outcome awaited her here.

  “I’ll kill you,” Melinda screamed, the sound echoing around the small space. “You tell him, and I will kill you.”

  Before that bowl went flying for her head, Lyra yanked the front door open.

  The cold air stung like a slap, but she plunged outside to scramble away from the trailer. She pounded down the steps, the force reverberating up her shins. Melinda burst out the door, grabbing onto the railing. The woman’s screams echoed in the stark air, but Lyra tuned the sound out as she sprinted along the winding path toward the woods. Her loose strands tangled behind her, and her heart pounded in her ears. She needed to leave—needed to run as far and fast as possible.

  Her cheeks heated while she kicked gravel, snapping twigs as she passed the other trailers lining the way to the woods. Though the late afternoon cast dusky rays onto the ground, the nearer she got to the towering pines, the darker the area grew. Here, the boughs blocked the sun, fostering shaded glades. Lyra had escaped to this forest refuge countless time. It was the place she ran to when she couldn’t stand to listen to another hateful word from Melinda’s lips or she grew so claustrophobic she could barely breathe in their tiny trailer.

  In her clearing, Lyra was safe. In the thick of the woods with a carpet of matted needles, the sharp scent of pine, and the fragrant breezes of a winter wind, she was home.

  Lyra dove into the shadows without a glance back. The further into the woods she ran, the more the breezes painted her skin with frost and the temperature plummeted, but she would gladly sacrifice warmth for an escape from the mess she’d left back home. Her backpack slapped against her side, laden with a day’s worth of books and more crumpled papers than she could count. Lyra sent pine needles flying as she passed the fringe of trees lining the clearing’s entrance.

  When Lyra listened and didn’t hear the pound of distant footsteps in pursuit, she slowed down until she was walking at a normal pace. Her ragged breaths came out in visible puffs as she wove her way past weathered trunks with brittle bark and spiny shrubs that came up to her shoulders. This far in she could taste the pine on her tongue with how heavy the scent hung in the air.

  Cold wetness slithered down her nose, causing Lyra to look up. Some snowflakes landed on the ground while others trickled past the boughs of pine overhead. Small patches of mottled white covered the ground from the previous day’s snowfall, but this fresh coat of powder contained all the wonder of her childhood. Back then, she’d raced outside in her pink boots, bundled under her mother’s careful supervision as she explored mounds of snow taller than she was.

  The wind brought more to glide against her cheeks, but she continued trekking toward her glade. As the silence and the snow settled around her, she couldn’t avoid the problem she’d walked straight into. She had witnessed Melinda cheating on her dad, and the woman wouldn’t let it go—not when Lyra wouldn’t hesitate to rat her out. Her dad might kick her stepmom to the curb over this, but he was a lonely man.

  She’d watched him become a husk over years of trying to raise her by himself. Even though Melinda didn’t have a motherly bone in her body, he tolerated the way she ran her mouth because she didn’t leave. He escaped by throwing himself into longer trucking routes, leaving Lyra with the daily reality of a stepmom who hated her.

  Lyra wandered by looming pines as squirrels scurried by, their fluffy tails whipping around. Though the wintry wind caused the tips of her nose and ears to burn, she didn’t mind. Past the giant, crumbling granite rocks and the scattered thorn bushes, the trail made a sharp turn to the right.

  A distant ring chimed through the forest, drawing her attention.

  Although sharp as a birdsong, this noise clinked like crystal. She whirled around. Had Melinda caught up? Apart from the cascading flakes, no motion disturbed the brush or trees. The sound echoed through the forest again, coming from deeper into the woods. Back there, the trees clustered together so thickly they melded with the shadows.

  She paused. To the right lay her normal haven from the chaos of home, a clearing with worn, familiar stones where she could sink into a book and bask in the solitude. However, with the hornet’s nest of problems swirling around in her head, she’d rather avoid the quiet. Curiosity took over, and before she made the conscious decision, her feet led her in the direction of the foreign sound.

  The shade cast a chill, but she persevered, drawn by the steady ding, ding, ding in even intervals. Snowflakes drifted down even faster the further into the woods she walked. The snow’s speed increased, causing her heartbeat to quicken in turn. Where the flakes had skated across the ground earlier, now they piled, creating a thick, fresh coat of powder. Still, even with the snow falling faster, she wasn’t far enough from home to inspire any real worry.

  She glanced behind her.

  Unlike the brewing storm around her, the trail she’d walked happened to barely accumulate anything. Coldness trickled through her veins. Sure, she’d never seen something this weird, but she couldn’t deny the impulse to keep heading toward the sound. The mysterious snowfall held an allure she couldn’t deny, not right now, and besides, winter’s breath wouldn’t frighten her away. Unlike the other kids who basked in the sunlit fields of summer and delighted in the hazy heat, she’d spent her childhood remote, distant, and cold. She was safe in the embrace of the ice.

  She continued to follow the mysterious sound, drawn by the clear regularity.

  To her knowledge, no one lurked around this section of the woods. She hadn’t wandered the path for a year or so, but when she did, it’d consisted of tall pines, a thin stream that dried during the summer, and an assembly of foxes, mice, and squirrels that made their home there. Nothing to explain the sound or why the snowfall escalated the further in she walked.

  White blossomed around her, and she tugged the collar of her peacoat to brush against her cold cheeks, breathing into the thick, scratchy fabric. She whirled around to check the path behind her, making sure she could find her way back through the woods. However, the wind gusted, sending out blinding drifts of snow. Even though she shielded her eyes from their sting, she couldn’t make out the path home as easily as before.

  Worry descended in one quick sweep, chilling her more than the surrounding snow. Her boots crunched as she sank into deeper drifts at this point. Lyra circled around, trying to find any indicator of where she’d ended up. Except she lost track of which direction led to her trailer park. Every step forward, the snow covered her footsteps so fast she couldn’t latch onto the trail. Pines and growing piles of white dominated the landscape in every direction.

  The sound tolled again, louder this time. As Lyra tried to peer past snowflakes stinging her cheeks and clinging to her eyelashes, a blinding glare drew her attention. She took several steps forward, trying to distinguish the source. Ahead, the pines grew spotty, and by squinting, she made out the sloping structure. Except this was no brick building, concrete warehouse, or even a wood cabin. From what she could tell, a structure made from crystal—or ice if possible, rose past the pines in the distance.

  The sun’s rays glittered off the crystalline surface of the walls, complemented by the untouched drifts deepening to shades of powder blue. Ahead, the snow piled so high it even covered the bushes, and the same white blanket surrounded her. Making up her mind, Lyra continued to trudge forward despite the rising nervousness that skittered through her veins.

  Was it snowing this much at the trailer park? She hadn’t stepped through any wardrobes last she checked. The descending snow pile
d on top of her hair, and the cold numbed her toes. Strange noises in the breeze, freak snowstorms, and crystal buildings might not mesh with the reality she knew, but truth be told, she wanted to run fast and far away from her own.

  Lyra slowed her steps as the chill seeped into her, numbing her fingers and toes. At this point, the snow piled to her knees, making each step forward harder. Her throat squeezed tight. Even though she couldn’t go back to the trailer—not now—out here held a different danger. The snow intensified the further she walked, having turned to the thickness of a blizzard in the span of minutes. The cold wasn’t the only thing making her shiver. Her breaths came in short huffs, and her peacoat weighed her down even more, sodden from the sheer amount of snow she trod through.

  Liquid froze at the corners of her eyes. Crap. She needed to keep moving forward if only to be home when her dad returned. If something happened to her, he’d be trapped by Melinda for good—she’d spin another web, her honeyed lies the perfect snare.

  Each step forward offered a better view of the crystal walls ahead, the castle appearing like something out of a fairytale. She felt stupid for mistaking the majestic place for a house. The glittering, translucent walls stretched upward, and a mammoth cobalt door graced the center at ground level. Whatever lay inside had to be better than what waited for her upon return to the trailer park.

  The building rose at least four or more stories high with several spires gracing the tops of the towers. Instead of bricks, sheets of ice glittered under the sun like thousands of diamonds, untouched by the surrounding blizzard. Lyra couldn’t shake the sense of surreal at the way the snow stopped falling around the castle, how those hallowed grounds seemed safe from the wintry blast. The castle’s deeper blue hues matched subterranean depths and contrasted the glow of the sun’s rays as they reflected off the surface. Gothic edges had been carved into the ice with meticulous detail, as if the place was formed in an earlier age. Dark windows peered from the towers like watchful eyes.