by Skye Malone
25
Lindy
The first thing Lindy felt was a hard surface beneath her.
The second was the dark.
It swirled through her mind now, a living thing weaving behind every thought, every residual trace of emotion. Her sense of self seemed thin, as if she were watercolor paint on glass. And beneath…
There was nothing.
Breathless, she opened her eyes. Wires hung from the bare framework of a drop ceiling above her, and pipes ran every which way behind it. Beneath her hands, the floor was rough like cement. She lifted her head and tried to rise, but her body felt strange, like her muscles and bones weren’t quite in sync.
The room was enormous, a sprawling space with pillars inexplicably paneled by cracked mirrors and a floor of chipped tile with concrete beneath. Weak gray light filtered into the space from somewhere behind her, unable to penetrate the far reaches of the room, but above an archway to her left, brass letters glinted on a lopsided sign, marking the space beyond as Dressing Rooms.
A department store, then. Abandoned. But she’d just been in the forest…
Memories filtered back, and her thin remnants of self became terrified. Her mother. The draugar. Where had they—
“Hello, Melinda.”
She scrambled all the way up, wobbling unsteadily on her feet. Behind her, Carolyn stood atop a raised section of the floor. Three steps led up to a platform that extended the width of the room, and dusty windows stretched from the ground to the distant ceiling behind her. Nothing lay beyond them but gray sky.
In her robes, Carolyn looked down, a hint of the cold and satisfied smile on her face that Lindy remembered so well. The sight had filled her with pride as a child—the rare expression of approval. The proof that Lindy was worthy.
Now, chills crept through her. When she’d imagined this moment as a child, she’d hoped that expression was what she would see, and now here it was.
And nothing Lindy had done to avoid this had mattered at all.
On either side of Carolyn, other members of the Order stood, their hoods shadowing their faces, their hands folded in front of them. But at the far end of the raised floor, two of them held Frankie, the boy gagged and bound.
His eyes were terrified.
“Let him go,” Lindy demanded.
Her voice came out flat and dull, in spite of the rage and fear filtering through whatever was left of her.
Carolyn’s smile broadened. “Oh, I think I did that for long enough. It’s time for you both to come back where you belong.”
Lindy shook her head. “We won’t. We’re never going back, and I won’t become what you want.”
Her mother made a rueful noise. “This obstinance is tiresome, Melinda. You accepted the mantle of the Scythe. That comes with obligations, ones you cannot deny no matter how you fight. Despite the foolishness your father filled your head with, the mark claims you all the same.”
Carolyn nodded toward her.
Lindy risked a glance downward and froze.
Only her tank top and underwear remained on her, but somehow, she hadn’t felt the cold or lack of her clothes. Her body was a numb, distant thing, not responding to her immediately when she wanted to move. But jagged black marks like vines twisted and tangled across it now, as if the tattoo had spread over her while she’d been unconscious. Her eyes snapped up to one of the cracked mirror panels on a pillar, finding shards of her broken reflection. Of her body, only her neck and face were still her own.
“Every second brings you closer to the moment when you will finally become the Scythe of Niorun. Yet still you fight, and we grow weary of it. The time of the Scythe is at hand. The berserkers and the ulfhednar and all who refuse to submit to order must be brought to heel. So let us make an end of this, shall we?”
Lindy’s feet finally moved, backing her away from the platform as her head shook. “No. I won’t do it. You force me, Mother, and I’ll throw myself out of this damn building. Do you hear me? So just let us go and—”
“Silence.”
Carolyn’s hand snapped out, twitching sharply, and Lindy choked, grabbing at her throat. She couldn’t feel anything on her skin, and yet her body swore something was wrapping around her neck like a collar cutting off her air. Her skin ached and her muscles spasmed in tiny lurches like something else was moving through her body.
Her eyes snapped up to the mirrored panels, and horror suffused her. The black lines of the tattoo twisted on her skin like a thing alive, growing and climbing over her collarbone. From her body, smoke began to rise, tendrils twisting out from her like the wispy fingers feeling their way through the air.
“You will submit to this, Melinda.”
The tightness around her neck increased, and Lindy crashed to her knees, one hand catching her to keep her from falling to the concrete entirely. The skin of her fingertips turned pitch-black as if she was dipping them into ink, and her nails lengthened, sharpening into dark claws. Up her hands and forearms, the stain spread as the smoke around her grew thicker, wafting into the room like tentacles.
Her head shook, and when she spoke, her voice was a rasp. “Never. I’ll never—”
“Franklin?” Carolyn called.
Panic tinged the ashes of Lindy’s emotions. “No.”
Carolyn regarded her with a smile before turning to Frankie with a solemn expression. “Franklin, your sister will cease to exist unless you help her, do you understand? Melinda is about to die, and you will never see her again. But you can save her if you take the mark. Become our Scythe. Save your sister, or else decide you don’t love her enough to spare her life.”
“No!” Lindy cried hoarsely. “No, Frankie, don’t listen to her!”
Her mother turned back to her. “To become the Scythe of Niorun requires willingness, Melinda. Only to the willing will the mark be passed on. You already agreed years ago, but that doesn’t mean another can’t be chosen now.”
Lindy’s ink-black hands clawed at her neck as her lungs fought to breathe. Her skin burned, but with cold rather than heat, as if everything that made her alive was draining away, even as the smoke swirled around her. “No, Frankie,” she begged, staring at her baby brother. Behind his gag, she could see Frankie sobbing, his teary eyes locked on her in terror.
Carolyn smiled. “Submit, Melinda. Or else Franklin will.”
Frankie’s mouth moved, shouting behind his gag, and Lindy knew what he was saying. She could read his face if not his lips, and the way he was screaming to take the mark in her place.
All that was left of her heart ached. There’d been hope, but now it was gone. Wes wasn’t here. The wolves and the bears and the whole damn world hadn’t been able to spare her from this moment.
The one that had always been coming.
She locked her eyes on her brother, praying he could see some trace of emotion past the ice that was spreading through her core. “I love you, Frankie. Always remember I love you.”
Lindy closed her eyes as the darkness swelled around her for the last time.
26
Wes
At least the bears had been pretty damn prepared for the apocalypse.
Wes climbed from the Humvee, staring down the street at the tower of glass and steel right at the edge of the chasm torn through the heart of Minneapolis. Part of a sheltered walkway extended from its second floor, torn in half by the destruction in the city; whatever it connected to now lay somewhere deep in the chasm, gone forever. The snowy streets were still and quiet, not even a whisper of a draug’s shriek on the breeze.
Behind him, the bears pulled weapons and supplies from the vehicle. The Humvee had been reinforced until it was basically a tank on snow tires and chains, with an arsenal of weapons and armor in the back—most of it sized entirely for shifted bears. The journey here had lasted an eternity, though with no need for speed limits or stoplights, it probably hadn’t taken as long as it could have. But every second was a lifetime. Every minute, hell. Lindy was inside that
building, somewhere high above them.
She had to be. The wolf was convinced of it, and the beast clawed at the sides of his skull as if trying to dig itself out.
If only to get to her faster.
“I take it she’s up there?” Knox commented, walking up beside him. The male’s voice was flat and cold.
Wes couldn’t respond. He could tell the dark-haired male disliked him, though the gods knew why. He just didn’t give a shit right now.
After a moment, the male sighed, and when he spoke again, an unexpected hint of sympathy softened his tone. “Hope you know what you’re doing.” Without another word, Knox headed for the rear of the Humvee.
Wes didn’t take his eyes from the damaged building. It didn’t matter, really, whether he knew or not. He was still going up there. The wolf scrambled through him, pressing on his skin, making his bones feel as if they were about to break. But shifting wasn’t the plan, not for him.
If he needed to speak to Lindy, he had to be human.
Around him, seidr rushed through the air as several of the bears shifted. Everett’s enormous form was even heftier than the rest, but they all were huge. Cinnamon fur covered a few, while dark-brown fur covered Knox, who was nearly equal in size to Everett. Scars covered the younger bear—an oddity considering most old wounds to one form didn’t show up on the other—but Wes scarcely cared enough to wonder about it. Their job was to take the lead and the rear, eliminating any draugar on the way, all while hoping the building didn’t fall into the chasm or that Lindy wasn’t gone already.
Shivers ran through him. She wouldn’t be. He’d find her first.
And then…
His wolf pressed against his skull, fit to give him a migraine. The rabid bastard wanted to bite her. Of course it did. Ever since he’d heard the theory that biting her could stop what the Order was doing, the wolf had practically been bashing itself into the walls, ready to sink its teeth into that beautiful woman.
Ready to take everything away from her, same as the Order, just in a different way.
“Good to go?” Henry came up beside him, offering him a machete. A backpack hung from the male’s shoulders and a large knife in a leather sheath was strapped to his waist.
Wes nodded, taking the blade and trying not to think how it reminded him of Lindy.
But he’d figure out a way to save her. Even if he hadn’t come up with a single damn solution all the way here, he still would.
And she’d still be her when he reached her.
With the bears pacing along beside him in human and shifted form, he started down the road. His fingers gripped and re-gripped the machete’s hilt, his every sense attuned to the slightest sound or hint of movement. Ice and snow crunched under his boots, and the wind whistled past them as if to tug them forward over the edge of the chasm. Beyond the ravine, there was only gray sky and fog, with no sign of the other side.
Like the world ended where Lindy could be found.
Shivers crept over his skin. Where was the Order? Or the draugar, for that matter? The heart of Minneapolis was as abandoned as the snowy fields of Nebraska, and not even a symbol for those robed bastards was splashed across a window or doorway nearby.
For all their arrogance, surely they hadn’t assumed no one would come after them?
He glanced at Henry. Tension lined the male’s ordinarily jovial face, and his jaw muscles jumped like he was holding back a snarl. On either side, bears paced forward, their enormous paws leaving clawed marks in the snow and their muscles rolling beneath fur and body armor. But nothing on the street moved at all, and when they reached the glass door of the building, the foyer looked utterly empty.
“This is too easy,” Henry murmured.
Wes nodded.
“Don’t suppose you have the wrong building?” the male continued, eyeing Wes askance.
Studying the foyer beyond the glass, Wes didn’t answer. He knew he was in the right place, though only the gods could tell how. But every fiber of his being said she was several floors above him, scared.
Hurting.
“She’s here.” He reached for the door, pausing before taking the handle. If there were traps here, he couldn’t feel them, though that didn’t mean much. Someone like Hayden may have picked up on something, but for him…
What other option was there?
Wes pulled the door wide.
Cold air reeking of death and decay rolled out at him. In bear form beside them, Everett rumbled a low growl.
“Draugar,” Henry muttered.
With a noise of agreement, Wes walked inside while Henry motioned for a few of the bears to keep watch. Shadows hung thick in the foyer, clustering in corners, swallowing the hallway ahead. To his left, a collection of chairs and potted plants sat near the windows, while a U-shaped front desk waited across from them, a cup of pens scattered across its top and papers on the floor nearby. A cafe with round tables and stylized metal chairs occupied the right side of the space. Bags of coffee beans lay strewn across the floor where they’d fallen from the shelves, and a moldy croissant decayed next to a spilled coffee cup on one of the tabletops. No corpses were nearby that he could see, though there were too many places for a draug to hide.
His nose twitched. The strongest smells came from the hallway up ahead, where brass signs said the stairs and elevator could be found. Without electricity, the elevator wasn’t an option, and that left the stairway.
The narrow, confined, level-after-endless-level of the stairway.
Perfect place for an ambush. Or a slaughter.
He glanced at Henry to find the male regarding the hall. “How good is your night vision?” he asked the male.
Henry swung the bag on his back around, not taking his eyes from the hallway. He drew a pair of clip lights from inside. “Better with this.” He offered one to Wes and then clipped the device to his chest, clicking it on. Wes did the same.
They headed for the shadowed hall, the bears flanking them. The bright beams of their lights reflected like a small sun from the brass doors of the elevator and glinted from the silver handle of the stairway door. Odors of rot and decaying meat stung his nose and made his eyes water. Without a word, Henry walked to the door and paused shy of taking the handle. Glancing back, he held up a hand to Everett and Knox in bear form, ticking his fingers in a silent countdown.
And then he yanked open the door.
Draugar poured out like a flood, their rotting faces thrown into sharp relief by the lights Wes and Henry wore. Snarling and shrieking, the creatures scrambled over each other, clawing at the bears. Knox lunged forward into the dark stairwell, surging over the top of the rotted horde and slamming down on the creatures, his claws and teeth tearing through them and reducing them to dust. Everett came after him, catching any who managed to get past the younger bear and shredding them.
Gripping the machete, Wes followed as they forged ahead. Shrieks rang from the cement walls, and when the bears started upward, he couldn’t even see the stairs for the horde climbing over each other to reach them. Dead bodies in business suits and maintenance worker uniforms flashed into the beams of light, their rotted mouths fighting to bite anything, while their hands scrabbled at the bears’ body armor. The two berserkers acted like a snarling, fur-covered wall, catching draug after draug, but there were so many.
Even as he reached the first step, a draug flung itself from the banister above, clawing toward him as it fell. His machete tore through it, and one of the bears behind him made quick work of the creature as it tried to drag itself toward him anyway, but then more were coming, falling through the darkness from the floors overhead, ricocheting from the banisters on their way down, and grabbing for Wes and the others as they plummeted to the ground.
He swung until his arm grew sore, and his legs ached as they climbed level after level through the darkness. Blood and gore splattered him when rotted draugar tumbled past, falling to the machete or tumbling from the stairs. Dust covered his clothes, turning them g
ray, and exhaustion weighed on him. He hadn’t caught sight of a number on the walls in a while, and all he knew was that Lindy was still above him, up there somewhere.
Gods, please let her hold on.
And then Everett slipped.
Wes’s eyes went wide as draugar slammed into the stumbling bear, tearing him down. In a tumble of fur, the bear careened down the stairs, and there was no time. No space to avoid him.
Lunging to the side, Wes grabbed the banister and leapt out of the way, bracing himself by his feet and one hand on the opposite side of the railing, his other hand holding the machete and nothing but an endless drop of dark, empty space below him. Draugar plummeted from above, slamming into Wes’s shoulders and scrabbling for purchase on him as they fell. Sodden with blood and grime, his grip on the railing began to slide, gravity pulling him toward the drop.
Henry grabbed his wrist. “Climb!”
Wes scrambled over the railing again. Slamming into the wall of the level below, Everett surged back to his feet, while up ahead, Knox roared and hurled a draug over the railing where it fell, shrieking and flailing to the distant ground.
“How much farther?” Henry called.
His heart pounding, Wes forced himself to refocus, trying to feel for Lindy.
Relief hit him. “One more level.”
“Thank the gods.” The exhaustion in Henry’s voice was palpable. Clapping Wes on the shoulder, the male continued up the stairs, slashing at another draug when it got past Knox.
Adjusting his grip on the machete, Wes followed. Two more turns around the stairs led him to the fire exit. On the surface, the door looked no different than the countless others they’d passed, a slab of steel painted gray and bearing scuffs from years of wear and tear.
But the hairs on his arms rose all the same. Something was wrong beyond that door, and his wolf stretched and scraped claws across his insides at the feel of it.
Henry grasped the handle. “Ready?” he called to Knox and the rest. “Three, two—”
