A Reflection of Ice

by Katherine McIntyre

  The doors didn’t budge.

  Locked. The door was locked.

  She whirled around, panic seizing her chest. Her one shot and she’d wasted it.

  A slow clap came from the corridor on the right, breaking through the quiet.

  8

  His jagged shadow approached first, followed by the man who had appeared so charming, so isolated, and so understanding when she’d first arrived. However, she’d never seen him like this. In the darkness and sharpened by moonlight, his knife-like features twisted him into the creature dwelling beneath the surface in every tightened smile, in every terse word. The one behind the mask. Fury radiated off him in droves, but he kept a terrifying calm as a too-wise smile curved his lips.

  Those eyes which once had appeared so lonely or hopeful, now blackened, devoid of emotion. Though he’d had the guise of a human before, the creature bred from twisted darkness rose in all its glory. The smile on his face reeked pure malice, but his features weren’t the only things that had changed. His form had as well. His neck had distended, pushing his face forward and forcing the rest of his body into a sort of crouch. His limbs had grown longer than average, ganglier and stretched out like those of a spider.

  Hunched over like this in the liquid darkness with knowledge of her icy fate burning in his gaze, Moro was the most terrifying sight she’d ever witnessed.

  “Stupid girl.” The dark and loathing voice that came out held none of his former silken charm. “You thought I’d let you escape this place?” One glimpse of his face was enough, the way his features burned with hatred and the taut, pale skin turned ashen under the moonlight. The pretense had crumbled to reveal the monster inside. Those eyes, black as pitch and widened in fury, would follow her for the rest of her days.

  The sound of his voice shattered the frozen moment between them.

  Adrenaline shot through her veins, and instinct took over. Behind her lay the locked door. He approached from the right hallway. To the left lay the other corridor.

  And an open door.

  Instinct kicked in.

  Before he could close the distance between them, she bolted for the open door. The blanket fluttered behind her, her breaths caught in her throat, and she tore across the smooth floor.

  Escape. Escape. Escape.

  Panic gripped her in a fierce hold she couldn’t shake, but after looking her own future in the eye, a pristine clarity descended.

  Her mind numbed. She had to reach the door before him. Her surroundings flashed around her, shades of lavender moonlight, deep cerulean ice, and torched shadows. His footsteps pounded from behind, the intense sound echoing to the rafters of this place. Moro was faster, stronger, and lethal. He would overtake her within seconds.

  She bit her lip until it bled and hurled herself into the room.

  Lyra whipped around to kick the door shut. As it slammed against the frame, she groped around the darkened room for anything solid to keep the door closed. Her fingers latched around the back of a chair, right as a thump quaked the doorframe.

  Arms and legs trembling, she shoved the chair underneath the knob to wedge the door shut.

  “You think the door will keep you safe?” his quiet voice wheedled. The door shook violently, splinters drifting to the ground as it creaked under the force.

  “No one has escaped here,” he continued, his voice deepening with rage. “You’ll join the rest as part of the décor, but first, you’ll suffer. You were supposed to be my way out.”

  Lyra’s hands shook as she held the chair to the door. She’d escaped him for a moment but to what end? She’d trapped herself inside the room, and in a matter of seconds he would break the door down. The mirrors inside the room blackened, and his voice reverberated around her. Surrounded her. Consumed her. The remaining threads of her sanity began to snap, and her knees threatened to buckle. Once he destroyed this door, she’d join the others.

  Moonlight spilled through the arched window behind her, drawing her attention.

  “Another ice sculpture for my collection, when you could’ve owned this place. I could’ve been free.” His voice vibrated with fury. The miasma inside the mirrors shifted around, growing more and more turbulent. The walls and the floors all trembled with his might, as if the castle responded to his whims.

  This was the first floor. It’d be a long jump, but maybe she stood a chance at making it to the ground in one piece. The door quaked again with a creak as he slammed into it, and the hinges trembled. A couple more blows like that and he’d be inside.

  Lyra needed to act now. Letting go of the chair, she bolted for the window and peered to the ground. It lay below in a dizzying swirl, but with the deceptive coating of snow, she couldn’t grasp how much of a distance she had to jump.

  She had to try.

  Lyra grabbed a fleur de lis ornament from the nearest desk and raised it in front of the window.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” His voice rose in volume and intensity, but she detected the thread of concern, the first unraveling of his iron-gripped control.

  She smashed the ornament into the surface. The glass splintered, and the cold breeze sliced in as fierce as the fragments that flew past, biting into her hands. Pieces sprinkled to the ground everywhere around her.

  The door quaked again with a newfound insistence. One more blow and he’d be inside.

  Lyra climbed over the broken glass, ignoring the scrapes as her skin grazed the sharp edges and bled while she crouched on the sill, clinging to the sides of the window. Cold, bitter winds snapped at her cheeks, and her trembling arms barely kept her steady, but she prepared for the jump.

  The final slam shook the door, followed by a bang. She didn’t dare glance behind her and didn’t witness the monster rushing inside, coming to claim her for his collection.

  Lyra leapt.

  Her boots slammed into the ground, and reverberations splintered up her shins. Snow sprayed around her, and the blanket around her shoulders tangled behind. For a moment, the world swirled, but she threw her arms out for balance. Moro’s shouts and howls traveled all the way from the broken window, the sort of unearthly sounds she would hear in her nightmares. He’d be coming after her.

  She plunged forward past the spray of white coating the area and toward the maelstrom that awaited. Even though her legs burned and the wind and snow whipped around her, Lyra didn’t hesitate.

  Moro leaned out the window, a cragged, spidery beast drowning in shadows as he roared at her. “Don’t you dare,” his voice boomed, so thunderous it rolled all the way to the mountains. “You will never escape this place.”

  Lyra tugged the blanket tighter around her as she passed the threshold of the castle where idle snow drifted. Time to face the blizzard and hope upon hope she’d made the right call.

  Within seconds of stepping past the castle perimeter, the snow reached her knees. The cold bit at her exposed nose, and the winds stole strands of her hair, lifting them with the breeze. However, unlike the first time when she’d spotted the castle in the distance and the cold penetrated her core, stealing energy with every step, the blanket kept her warm and the snow glided right off rather than soaking in, except for the uncovered front of her peacoat.

  She chanced a look back but wished she hadn’t. Moro rushed through the front doors of the castle, standing out front with those wicked eyes blazing. Even in the early morning darkness where gray streaks crawled across the sky, he stood out with his stark skin illuminated by the moon and the shadows threatening to consume him whole.

  Gone was the disdain. Gone was the charm. Gone was the lonely ice prince.

  The mask had crumbled in the wake of the monster who stood there, disjointed shoulders heaving at the entrance. The one waiting to ensnare solitary souls and prey upon their sadness. As she stared at his wild, hateful gaze, a shiver rolled down her spine. She pulled her blanket tighter around her, letting some of the fabric hang forward like a hood.

  Lyra had to find her way home. She had
to get away from this nightmarish man and his solitary confinement.

  White surrounded her from the piles of snow to the fat flakes descending from the sky. She trudged forward through the blizzard, unable to gauge any sense of direction. As long as she put distance between herself and the castle, she clung to the hope that she headed toward a better path. Even if she died in the blizzard, it would be better than perishing in the dungeon under the slow, inevitable crawl of ice.

  Moro swept his arms out by the doors in violent flourishes. Each movement caused the surrounding winds to churn and the snow to swirl, as if he controlled it all. The effects of his magic grew apparent as the flakes around her fell faster, spiraling into a frenzy.

  He planned on burying her, and in this darkness with the snowfall increasing, he had the chance. If she couldn’t figure out a way past this, she’d freeze in one of these drifts and never be found.

  Lyra jammed her hands into the pockets of her peacoat as she continued to trudge forward. Her fingertips skimmed over a round, smooth object: the stone she’d stolen from the treasure room. Even though she could barely see one step in front of her, and even though her lips burned from the cold and snow clung to her lashes, she lifted the stone out of her pocket.

  It was glowing.

  Beams burst forth from the stone, as radiant as the way those flecks gleamed in the light. She clutched the gem in her palm and thrust it forward to shed faint light amidst this blizzard. Where before she couldn’t distinguish one step in front of her, now she could see several feet ahead, despite the way she stumbled on the slick and deceptive drifts.

  The sheets of snow disoriented her. If she made one wrong turn, she could drift back to the castle, a place she never wanted to return to. At least while holding the stone, she could spot her disappearing footsteps behind her. Lyra sucked in one shuddering breath to gather her resolve as she continued.

  Even though the blanket deflected some of the bone-numbing cold and the flakes of snow weren’t melting into the fabric, her boots weighed heavier with every step forward. Her eyes stung, and her nose numbed. Yet each step forward was for Jenna and the others trapped inside the dungeon. For each and every soul she couldn’t save. Her footsteps wavered, and her muscles ached, but Lyra drove forward. For all of those people trapped inside icy tombs for an eternity.

  She wouldn’t give up.

  Moro wouldn’t defeat her.

  Lyra gritted her teeth and squinted as she pushed on through the tundra and the surrounding storm. Across the horizon, the sky began to lighten in anticipation of dawn.

  Her breaths rasped out, and her limbs seized with big, uncontrollable shakes, but she focused on putting one foot in front of the other. She needed to keep moving away from the castle. Early morning rays spilled onto the glittering white carpets, and the torrent of snow, the thick gasps that whipped around her, subsided to falling flakes.

  Her trailer park seemed a lifetime away, and not for the first time, Lyra wondered if she’d ever make it home. Even though she’d collected sour memories along the way, she had good ones too. Friends like Jess had made sure she had a place to escape to, and some dinners with her dad and Melinda hadn’t ended in fights. Her secret corner of the forest always made bad days bearable. Her life had been far from perfect, but she could still change it.

  After witnessing the people who’d lost their lives down in the monster’s dungeon, she couldn’t help but grasp onto life. If she made it home, she’d fight harder to carve out a better future. She would live for the innocent souls trapped in the castle. As dawn trickled across the horizon, bringing a parade of gold, ruby, and deep, deep magenta, her heart surged. Newfound hope burned in her chest with all the intensity of the sun. Perhaps she would reach her forest after all.

  Lyra blinked the flakes out of her eyes and lifted the glowing stone for extra light, since the sun’s rays were feeble as it peered over the horizon.

  Pine trees sprawled ahead of her, growing thicker the further back they stretched. For the first time in hours, she spotted landscape beyond the blanket of white. Though she trudged through the snow drifts and more piles covered the stretch ahead, rocks protruded and sections of mud and needles created a patchwork of color along the ground.

  Lyra’s heart skipped a beat, and renewed energy flushed through her. The mounds of hip-deep snow reduced to ankle height until each step was no longer an immense strain. She picked up her pace, cutting across the distance much faster. The hope that she’d stumbled home squeezed tight in her chest, and a burst of adrenaline fluttered through her. Her body ached and her energy flagged, but she couldn’t help the giddiness welling in her chest at the sight.

  Her boots sank into the mud, and a grin broke out on her face as she breathed in the pine-laden air, the sort that filled her with nostalgia for her woods. More and more trees spread out, and the snow receded to flurries, many of which melted once they hit the ground. As she walked through the forest, the beaten down dirt path came into view—the one she knew.

  She increased her pace, the skip in her step bouncing her forward faster. The grin on her face strained at the seams, and she couldn’t contain her excitement. She ached for her home with a strength that gripped her by the chest, and she was so, so close.

  To the right, the pathway to her secluded hiding place wove through the trees. Familiar, familiar, familiar. Lyra bypassed it, not wanting to slow in the slightest, even with the resistance of her sodden boots. Early morning slipped golden rays through the dense pine boughs overhead, casting enough light so she no longer needed the stone.

  Lyra followed the path to the trailer park, one she would recognize anywhere. She slipped the blanket from around her shoulders and let the fabric float to the forest floor. While it had served her well through the ferocious blizzard, she didn’t want to keep it. The blanket only reminded her of the castle and of the bed she’d crashed into in an enchanted sleep.

  As the first trailers came into view, a rush of nostalgia flooded her so strongly she almost stopped in her tracks. After what felt like an eternity trapped in that castle with the monster, she had defied the odds. Lyra found her way home. She licked her cracked lips as she slowed upon approach. She had no idea how much time had passed—what if it had been years?

  A couple of trailers down, her own came into view with the sullen sky-blue siding and rusted drainage pipes looking the same way they had when she’d left that afternoon.

  Standing on the porch outside, Melinda leaned against the front door in a tight tank top and slippers, ripping through a cigarette. Tufts of smoke filled the air and trailed upward from Lyra’s chimney of a stepmother. Relief and irritation warred in her chest, but comfort mingled there too at the sight of Melinda looking not a day older. She swallowed, hard. Lyra hadn’t lost years of her life in the castle.

  Her stepmother’s gaze zeroed in on Lyra, and the woman’s face turned ghost-white as she dropped her cigarette. “You…” She trailed off.

  “Let me guess, only been an hour since I last saw you?” Lyra hazarded, scratching the nape of her neck. Her stepmother’s look of shock didn’t sit well with her.

  “You run off for two weeks, don’t contact anyone, and expect to stroll in like nothing happened?” Melinda’s voice rose octaves.

  If the folks in the nearby trailers hadn’t yet woken up for the morning, they would now. Anger twisted the woman’s painted features, but compared to the raw wrath of the monster Lyra had faced, her stepmother no longer frightened her. Behind the anger, Lyra noticed the fear dwelling there. Fear of what Lyra knew.

  “Hon, what are you screaming about?” Her father stuck his head out the door.

  In a robe and pajama pants, he must’ve just rolled out of bed. Strands of his salt and pepper hair bent astray, and he slid his palm along the side of his face. His head almost scraped the top of the doorframe, and with his broad shoulders he had to squeeze through, her giant lumberjack of a father. Once his gaze swung to Lyra though, his eyes widened. Pushing Melinda ou
t of the way, her father raced down the steps and tossed his arms around her.

  Crushed in her father’s embrace, the scents of diesel and coffee overwhelmed her. Lyra couldn’t help the tears springing to her eyes.

  “Where were you?” His voice was harsh, upset, and filled with love all at the same time.

  Melinda stared at her, jaw clenched. Lyra stepped out of her father’s embrace. She’d run away because she’d believed if she told the truth, her dad might not listen—that he might choose a life with Melinda over his daughter. Standing in front of him, witnessing the fear and pain stark in those soft brown eyes, she realized she’d been wrong.

  “Melinda chased me out of the house while you were gone.” Lyra lifted her chin to stare at her.

  Her stepmother’s frown grew, and she took a couple steps closer. “We had a mild disagreement,” Melinda argued. “You know how sensitive your daughter can be.”

  Lyra didn’t miss the edge to her voice, the underlying threat. However, she had faced the ice prince—compared to him, her stepmother held little menace. “Oh yeah, the threat on my life had nothing to do with it.”

  Her father’s brows furrowed as he glanced between the two of them. “That’s why you ran off, Lyra?”

  She shook her head in response, determined to stand her ground this time. “I saw something she didn’t want me to—she’d brought another man to your bed. I stayed away until I knew it’d be safe to return. Hid in the woods.” She might’ve mixed the truth with lies, but she couldn’t bring herself to explain the fantastical journey she’d been on. Nor did she want to re-live it.

  A rush of emotions crowded her father’s face. At first he didn’t say a word. His hand rested on her shoulders, but his gaze rolled from one emotion to the next—until anger claimed him. He whirled around to where Melinda stood.

  “You told me you hadn’t seen my daughter all day, and now you’re claiming you had a disagreement that scared her away?” he said, his voice low. “Whose story do you think I’m likely to believe?”