Frost

by E. Latimer

  Erik shifted in his seat. "Listen, you'll have to stay at another hotel for the night, and whatever you do, don't turn your cell phone on. Loki will know right away if you do. He’s been sighted in the area. If it were up to me, I’d come watch your door to make sure that bastard doesn't show up, but I know you don't trust me yet, either."

  Polite protest died on my lips. What was the point? "No, I don't. Not yet. I want to though. You have no idea how much I want to trust somebody right now." My chest tightened, and I fought against hot tears, blinking hard, refusing to let them fall. It would be utterly humiliating to cry in the middle of the busy sandwich shop.

  Suddenly, Erik's hand was on top of mine again, firm and reassuring. "Megan, I promise I'm on your side. I know this is all crazy. I'd like nothing better than to take you back to the palace and show you how safe and happy your friends are there. I do wish you could trust me, but I know I'm also a stranger. You're smart to be wary. Go to a different hotel for the night. Meet me here in the morning. Okay?"

  I nodded. His hand on mine sent tingles all the way up the length of my arm. When he pulled away, I felt a little lost.

  He dug into his pocket and came out with an envelope. "This is from the queen. She knows what's going on, and she doesn't blame you. She wants you to have this because she knows how tough it is to be on your own."

  I gingerly took the envelope between two fingers as if it might contain a very tiny, very flat bomb. Erik smiled, and the corners of his ice-blue eyes crinkled the tiniest bit.

  "Don't worry," he said. "It's nothing alarming. Wait till I go to open it though. I'll see you tomorrow?"

  I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Tomorrow. Same time."

  He bought me a breakfast sandwich before he left, and I sat back down in the booth to eat it, watching him walk out the door and past the windows. He gave me one last look before he was out of sight

  The white envelope was still on the table, looking innocently blank. There was no writing on the front, nothing to indicate that this was from some sort of mystical queen.

  I slid my finger under the flap and tore the corner, widening the gap to peer inside. My stomach lurched as I spotted a thin strip of faded brown.

  Money. The queen had given me an envelope of cash.

  My mind raced. Had she given me the money to prove she could be trusted? Now, I could afford a nicer hotel and I wouldn't have to rack up debt on Charlotte's card.

  I slipped the envelope under the table, making sure I wasn't flashing large wads of cash around, and counted my spoils. My jaw dropped. The bills were hundreds. The queen had given me a thousand dollars.

  I shoved the cash back in the envelope and then into my bag. She was a queen—of course she could afford to just throw away a thousand bucks. But still, a small part of me—some little corner of my heart—warmed up to her. Maybe it was from too many hours alone and scared, but it sent a flush of warmth through me to think maybe she was watching out for me.

  Loki’s face flashed to the forefront of my mind, which put an end to the warm fuzzies. I had trusted him too. Maybe there was another motivation behind giving me money. Could bills be traced? It didn’t seem impossible. Would she use them as a type of tracking device?

  Even to my own mind, I was starting to sound like a paranoid nut job. Regardless of her intentions, it was far more likely she was trying to win my trust. Buy it, even.

  Erik had had ample opportunity to whack me over the head and drag me off caveman style. But he hadn’t.

  I’d accept the cash and worry about it later.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I used some of the cash to take a taxi. I didn't want a hotel too close to the sandwich shop in case anyone saw me and tried to follow me on foot.

  We'd passed several blocks when I saw it, stopping the driver with a shout of laughter. He must have thought I was crazy, but I didn't care. It was a cute little hotel, more a bed and breakfast than anything. Homey.

  The Marigold Hotel. I missed Charlotte so badly that it felt like a physical ache in my chest.

  Checking in, I discovered that it was nice but not fancy. I could have afforded something way nicer, even one of the big chain hotels if I’d wanted, but this place was comforting. The doors had much sturdier locks on them, for one thing, and there was no chance of bedbugs.

  Before heading to my room, I stopped at the little gift shop and bought an envelope and a couple of stamps, quickly slipping the message to Dave inside. After scribbling his name and address on the front with a borrowed pen, I tucked the letter into my pocket and hurried toward the woman at the front desk.

  "Do you know if there's a mailbox around here?"

  The woman was broad and cheerful, with dark skin and ringlets that bobbed every time she moved. She flashed a wide smile. "Of course, dear. There's a mailbox right around the corner. Next to the bagel shop."

  "Thank you. Um…" I leaned my elbows on the desk, keeping my voice low. "Look, can I ask you something?"

  The woman leaned closer. "Uh huh?"

  "I'm...staying here by myself. Does your hotel have policies about... I mean, like, if anyone were to come and ask you if I was staying here, would you tell them? My boyfriend...he isn't very nice. He might show up here." I rubbed my arms and shivered like I was remembering horrible things.

  It was probably totally hammy, but the woman seemed to buy it, because her eyes widened and she leaned across the desk.

  "Oh, honey, don't worry. We have people come here all the time, hiding from mean husbands and such, and sometimes even in witness protection. We would not allow anyone up without your permission. And if a boy comes calling, I'll accidentally point him in the wrong direction." She winked.

  I gave her a huge, relieved smile. "Thank you so much."

  With my key card in hand, I started for the elevator, feeling a little smug.

  ~ * ~

  The hotel room was delightful compared to the last one.

  When I walked in, I let out a sigh of delighted relief. It was a wide, spacious room with a big-screen TV, shiny hardwood floors and a gas fireplace. I poked my head into the bathroom, thrilled to discover that it had a soaker tub.

  I moved to the front door, clicked the lock into place, and then checked all the windows. Yup, everything was locked up tight. I was safe, and tonight would be better than last night. The bed wouldn't be a mattress-shaped rock, for one thing.

  I found a plastic kettle in one of the cupboards and made myself tea before flopping down on the queen-sized bed, sinking into the soft comforter and fluffy, white pillows. This would be like sleeping on a marshmallow.

  The remote was on the nightstand, and I flicked the television on, happily losing myself in the problems of fictional characters. There was something comforting about sitting there on the big, fluffy bed, the comforter over my legs, the crackle of the fire and the noise of the television. It was almost like all the crazy shit that was going on had been put on pause for the night. I was totally safe in this moment.

  A cynical little voice warned me not to get too comfortable, but I did my best to ignore it. I shifted slightly, and a bump in my jeans pocket dug into my leg. I put the mug of tea down and dug my cell phone out. This thing had been nothing but trouble, and I already had Charlotte's number on the napkin. I flipped the covers off my legs and strode to the far window.

  The window was sticky, and I had to use both hands to push as hard as I could. My view looked down onto the busy street and the old movie theater across from the hotel.

  A line of cars had stopped at the light below me, and I stared at the tops of them. There were a few pickup trucks filled with crap, and one had old furniture roped to the back.

  An idea struck me. After sliding the back off my phone, I shoved the battery in and turned it on. It took a few seconds for the screen to light up, and I kept glancing down at the traffic light, hoping it wouldn't turn green.

  Finally, the little icons traveled across the screen. It was on.

&n
bsp; There was a big, white pickup truck beneath me, the back filled with sawdust. It couldn't have been more perfect. With my heart in my throat, I stuck my hand out, my cell phone clutched in one sweaty palm. Then I tossed it, watching it arc through the air, flipping end over end, until it dropped into the sawdust pile without a sound.

  "Yes!" I did a victory dance right there in the window, not caring who might see. The light changed, and the line of cars moved forward. Triumph blazed through me.

  "Chase that, you bastard! I hope that truck goes all the way across Canada."

  ~ * ~

  I had a bath next, and it was glorious, the warmth of the water soaking into my sore muscles. I even filled a wine glass with Coke from the minibar and pretended I was all sophisticated.

  While I soaked, I entertained all sorts of happily bitter thoughts—Loki chasing after the truck for hours, thinking I'd gotten a lift with someone. He'd get tired, hot, and frustrated, and then, eventually, when he found the truck, I wouldn’t be there. How mad would that make him?

  Normally, picturing Loki made me sad, but this time, it gave me a rush of savage pleasure. Let the jerk go on a wild-goose chase. He deserves it.

  Eventually, I climbed out of the tub, my skin wrinkled like a raisin, feeling pleasantly flushed. I toweled off, slipped into one of the fuzzy, white robes on the back of the door, and then flopped onto the bed for a few hours of mindless television. This bed was probably the softest thing I’d ever felt.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A gentle touch, a white face in front of me. I’m faint, almost gone, the life leaking from me with the blood flowing from the wound in my chest. I hang on, waiting to see her before I let myself slip away. The queen’s voice is gentle, but her words make no sense. It’s as if she’s speaking a different language. Her words wash by me strangely, the ebb and flow of an alien tide.

  I feel a pang of distress as I realize her beautiful face is growing fuzzy around the edges. I lift a trembling hand, trying to touch her cheek. She catches my fingers in a firm, cool grasp. I try to tell her that I’m dying for her, that I took the spear for her, but the only thing that comes from my lips is a bubbling gasp. Something drops onto me, and cold spots bloom on the fabric of my tunic, ice forming where they fall.

  The queen is crying, weeping for her child.

  ~ * ~

  In the darkness, an ember flared, casting a burnt-orange halo on the walls.

  After a moment of staring at the fire, everything came flooding back. It was just another crazy dream. I was safe for now. I knew that much. I could worry about the rest later. I relaxed again, about to turn over and drift back into dreams.

  Scratching noises made my eyes snap open.

  That was it. The sound that had woken me up.

  The fog of sleep retreated as the noises continued. Scrabbling from the door, as if something were clawing at the frame. My heart did back flips, and I stayed frozen, clutching the sheets with both hands. There was a metallic click, then a squeak, and a thin shaft of light appeared on the carpet.

  Soft footsteps came down the hallway—past the bathroom, heading toward the bed where I lay, paralyzed. It felt like I was going into cardiac arrest.

  My mind shifted frantically through the layout of the room. There had to be something I could use as a weapon. The fireplace. The metal stand with the bronze fire poker was a few feet away. I braced myself to spring out of bed, my mouth dry and sour with fear.

  A shadow flickered as someone moved closer to the center of the room, a dark figure silhouetted by the orange light of the dying fire, stretched across the wallpaper, made monstrously tall in the light and shadow.

  A bolt of horror shot me, and I went stiff with fear.

  Whoever it was had to know I was awake—I was breathing too hard.

  The figure stepped closer to the bed, and I was about to fling myself in the direction of the fireplace when light flooded the bedroom. I squinted, panicking, kicking the sheets off my legs as I scrambled out of bed.

  A man was standing in the doorway. He was dressed in a collared shirt and black slacks, his dark hair long and shaggy. He had a ring in one ear like some kind of a washed-out ’80s rocker. Not any sort of giant, then.

  He had his hands in his pockets, casually leaning against the wall, as if he were used to this sort of thing. "Sorry to alarm you." His voice was deep, and vaguely familiar.

  I wanted to run and grab the poker, but my knees were hardly holding me up.

  "You must be Megan." He grinned. "Sorry to break in like this. Someone wants you badly—enough to offer a significant cash reward. Which is great, since you’ve been a pain to track down."

  Now I remembered where I’d heard his voice. At the last hotel.

  The man who’d been yelling in the room above mine.

  Slowly, he pulled his hand from his pocket, and I flinched, expecting a gun. What he drew out of his slacks was almost as bad—a pair of heavy-looking metal handcuffs.

  "You can make this easy for us both, y’know. I don't care what you do after I deliver you. You can run away again if you want. I just want the money." He grinned, flashing crooked teeth. "It’ll be better for both of us if I don’t have to use these."

  My mind buzzed frantically, trying to puzzle this out. Had he been sent by the fire giants? It seemed unlikely. This guy was definitely human. The news anchor had said that one of the families hired a detective, but there was no way Dave would have sent someone like this after me. I had to stall him while I figured out my next move.

  "One question first." My voice shook.

  "Yeah, shoot." He shrugged, still smirking. "Long as you agree to come without a fuss."

  "Sure," I lied. "Who sent you? Was it Loki?"

  He laughed. "Loki? What kind of dumbass name is that?" He rubbed his nose with the sleeve of his jacket. "Nah, man. Some helicopter mom back in Cali." He winked at me as if we shared some kind of inside joke. "Says you froze her kid and put him in the hospital. He almost died or something. Police don’t believe her. Can't imagine why."

  I drew in a deep breath to avoid shutting down completely. Adam.

  Adam's mom had sent this guy after me. She knew what I'd done. That also means…

  "The guy, Adam—is he still... Is he okay?"

  The fake detective shrugged. "I think so? Anyways, what do I care?" He grinned again, an expression I was really starting to hate. "Now, come on. That's more than one question."

  "Why don't you just leave?" I rasped, my stomach clenching as he took a step closer. "You could get in trouble for this. It's kidnapping."

  "Not my issue. It's helicopter mom's problem." The fake detective seemed amused. "She sounds like she has quite a beef with you."

  I darted for the fireplace, and behind me, the man cursed. My fingers closed around the cool metal of the poker just as strong hands grabbed me around the waist, yanking me backward.

  I tried to tear myself away, but he gripped my thin nightdress, and I twisted around and lashed out with the poker, catching him on the shoulder. The impact sent a shock through both arms, and I turned for the door. If I could make it into the hall—

  Something struck me in the back.

  I knocked my elbow hard on the headboard as I sprawled onto the mattress, the poker clattering to the ground. Growling came from above me, close to my left ear. His breath was hot and sour, and I recoiled. Then something pinned me to the bed. I thrashed and screamed, trying to reach back and land a blow on his face.

  He grabbed one arm, flipping me over onto my back, pressing my shoulders to the mattress. Pain shot through my shoulders.

  Something cold and hard clicked into place around my wrist.

  I flailed, still screaming, and my fist connected with his face. He reeled backwards with a grunt, and my fingers came away bloody. I'd clipped him right in the wound I'd given him with the poker.

  "Bitch!" He lunged forward, pinning me to the mattress again.

  I shrieked as he swung one leg over my hips, straddl
ing me. Pure terror coursed through me, sending icy tendrils shooting through my nerves. My skin crawled as his face loomed closer. Up close, I could smell him—stale cologne and sweat.

  For the first time, I thought about what else he might do to me.

  He wasn't a professional. He wasn’t with the police. There was no moral code he was held to. No rules. The thought paralyzed me. My throat tightened, my breath coming in sharp, painful gasps.