Blood Winter

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  He stopped as they came abreast of a barnlike building. Or what had once been a building. The roof had fallen in, and the walls sagged apart. Around it were little cabins that had collapsed into kindling. The trees were rusty and skeletal, their needles in dry piles on the ground. Next to the big building were the remains of what appeared to be a swimming pool. It was cracked and buckled, along with the ground around it.

  “That way,” Alexander said, pointing.

  He and Thor jumped over the road and slogged past the pool. Beyond was a hillside of crisped grass and scrub. The ground crunched beneath their feet. Heat pulsed through the air and rose from the dirt. The soles of Alexander’s boots grew sticky and soft and clumped with dirt and weeds.

  They were close. The Grims were just beyond the crown of the hill, and so was the source of the magic and what Alexander assumed were salamanders. The Grims seemed to be arrayed along the hillside, watching. Spike was with them.

  The two Blades staggered up the hill, fighting to breathe. Alexander’s strength was quickly sapping. He straightened his spine, refusing to let Thor see his struggle.

  They both stopped dead at the crown of the hill as a wall of heat slammed into them. Alexander could feel the moisture leaching from his body tissues like water from a sieve. He instantly felt parched as desert sand. He and Thor could only take a few minutes of that heat before they had to retreat.

  The Grims sat watchfully in a semicircle just below the two Blades. Spike was nestled against Beyul, and she whimpered low in her throat. Beyul nuzzled her, and she subsided.

  Below the Grims was a crack in the earth. It was a hundred feet long and fifteen feet wide at its broadest point. Brilliant rainbow-colored flames rose out of it, and the rock on either side glowed orange. Within those flames, serpentine beasts crawled. Alexander counted nine of them. Each was a different jeweled color. They were six or seven feet long, with four short, stout legs. Their tails were as long as their bodies, and their snouts were narrow and toothy.

  They crawled in and out of the crack, their stubby wings fluttering for balance. A green one snapped at a yellow one, and a snarling spat ensued, both losing their grip on the rock and plummeting down inside. A few moments later, they crawled back out.

  “How far down do you think that crack goes?” Thor whispered, his voice dry as dust.

  “Forever,” Alexander replied, not altogether joking. “That is elemental fire, not center-of-the-earth fire. It will not only melt the flesh from your bones, but it will also destroy your essence.”

  “Good to know. As it is, I’m turning into jerky even as we speak. What do you want to do now?”

  “I do not think the Grims are coming back until they are done watching or . . . whatevering.”

  “We can’t wait with them. We’ll mummify. Hell, you’re already halfway there,” Thor said, looking Alexander over. “C’mon. We’re leaving. Now.”

  Alexander hesitated, then nodded. He sent a mind call out to Beyul, asking if the beast would come back to Horngate. The Grim neither answered nor looked at him. The animals were entirely independent; they went where they wanted when they wanted, and even the angels were wary of them. Nobody knew why they chose to do what they did—such as staying at Horngate for the past five or six weeks. Were they moving on now?

  “Let’s go,” Thor said, grasping Alexander’s forearm and pulling him away.

  They barely went a step when something caught Alexander’s attention.

  “Look!”

  A streamer of red dust had appeared above the gemlike flames. It swirled lazily a moment, then gathered into a tight ball.

  “We should really get the fuck out of here,” Thor said, stepping back and pulling Alexander with him.

  But the other man refused to move. Suddenly he knew that this was what the preacher had not wanted them to see.

  The ball dropped like it had been launched from a cannon. It disappeared inside the flames. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then the ground shuddered and power swelled and thickened in the air. Something terrible was about to happen.

  “I don’t think I want to wait to see what happens next,” Thor said, and Alexander reluctantly agreed.

  They started backing up the hill. Neither wanted to turn his back on whatever the preacher witch was up to. They reached the crown of the hill and were turning to launch themselves downward when fire flared up from the crack and the air shook with a rupture of magic. A much larger salamander clawed its way out of the crack. It was at least thirty feet long, nose to tail. It appeared to be made of green fire, its body shifting and flickering like flames. Its head darted to the little salamanders. Then, satisfied, she—Alexander was fairly certain the beast was the mother of the littler salamanders—looked up to examine the Grims.

  Her eyes were the size of hubcaps, and they swirled carnelian red. Her head swung back and forth in a long arc in front of the Grims. She huffed, and yellow flames erupted from her mouth. They enveloped the Grims. Alexander and Thor staggered back from the heat, skidding down behind the top of the hill.

  His skin blistering, Alexander crawled back up to the top. The Grims remained sitting, unfazed by the wash of elemental fire. Spike, however, was not so blasé. She cowered, whimpering. Her fur smoked, although she looked otherwise unharmed. Beyul must have protected her.

  The salamander mother snapped at the air in front of the Grims. She snatched one of them but let go immediately, shaking her head furiously. A streamer of the red dust wreathed around her head. She paused as if listening, then her gaze fixed on Spike.

  Oh, hell! The preacher was directing the salamander! He was going after to Spike, the only beast vulnerable to attack.

  Alexander jumped to his feet, wanting to warn Spike, but Thor dragged him down just as the salamander belched another gout of fire and dove in again. This time, her jaws closed over the Calopus. An instant later she reared up in the air and spun with liquid ease and dove down into the crack. The young salamanders vanished after her. The crack started to zipper shut, the edges pulling together.

  Beyul lost his casual demeanor. He roared and plunged down after the salamanders. The other Grims stood watching a moment, then followed one after another, sliding through the narrowing crack like smudges of smoke. In just a few seconds, they were gone, and all that was left was a cooling scar on the ground.

  Alexander rose and slowly walked down to the seam of melted rock and dirt. It still glowed orange. “They are gone,” he said hollowly, disbelieving.

  “Maybe they’ll be back,” Thor said, pacing to the end of the scar and back.

  “I do not think that is their style,” Alexander said. “They are curious. They go wherever their interest leads. Who knows where that crack really led to? Probably another world altogether.” He hesitated. “I doubt Spike could survive the fire and the salamander.” He thought of Max. She would be heartbroken. She had fallen in love with Spike, despite her unwillingness to care about anyone. To care about him. He shook his head. “That bastard preacher witch has a lot to answer for.”

  “That he does.” Thor looked at Alexander, eyes like frozen diamonds. “Let’s go start making him pay.”

  THE MOVEMENT INSIDE THE DEMON BIRTHING sac had become frenzied. The creatures inside jabbed and pushed in all directions. The membrane stretched beneath the onslaught, threads of blue and black worming through the sickly white expanse. Mist continued to billow off it.

  “I don’t think we’ve got a lot of time before the bastards hatch,” Tyler said.

  “Cut me a hole, and I’ll toss the grenade inside,” Max said. “Might take a lot more out that way.”

  “Sure, and then in the ten seconds it takes to explode, they’ll rip their way out, and the grenade won’t do anything at all.”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll release the spoon and count to three. Then you make your cut, and I’ll pop it in. After that, we’ll run like hell.”

  Liam answered before Tyler could. “If the fuse lasts that long. Cooking off is
risky and stupid. It’s just as likely to blow up in your hand. And trust me, that pineapple will turn even something like you into cat food.”

  “Something like me?” Max’s brows rose. “What do you think I am?”

  “Not a fucking clue, but after watching you fight, I know you aren’t human.”

  She grinned. “Don’t forget it, Chief. Now, get out of the way before you get killed. And thanks for the advice.”

  “Like I said, I want these motherfuckers dead. Good luck.” With that, he motioned at his men, and they hustled back toward the trees.

  Max eyed Tyler. “I suppose you have an opinion.”

  “Damned right I do. We cut the hole and toss the grenade. Better to risk the demon spawn tearing out than having you blow up,” Tyler said, his eyes narrowing to slits. He thrust his jaw out.

  Max only nodded. He wasn’t going to back down, and it wasn’t worth the time to argue. The truth was that a few seconds probably wouldn’t make a lot of difference. But sooner or later, she was going to have to take serious risks, and he was going to have to live with it. Neither one of them was made to sit on a shelf and look pretty. Shadowblades were built for war, and sometimes they died. Niko wasn’t the first brother they’d lost, and he wouldn’t be the last.

  Inwardly, she sneered at herself. Easy to say, harder to do. Like she was handling her losses all that well. She wasn’t doing any better than Tyler.

  She grinned at him suddenly with a flash of her old bravado. “Let’s do this.”

  He stared a minute, then smiled and shook his head. “That sac is dancing around like a carnival bounce house. It’ll be easy to miss the cut once I make it,” he warned.

  “I never miss.”

  “Right. And I get laid every night. Come on, before your nose grows so long you can’t walk.”

  She and Tyler approached the thrusting, squirming sac. Max wrinkled her nose. It smelled worse than the demons had. It was like a stew of hot garbage, rotten eggs, burned hair, and a flooded outhouse. It was enough to make her gag. She spit and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “How can anything smell that bad?” Tyler muttered as he also spit.

  “Natural predator deterrent,” Max said, breathing through her mouth. “Everybody gets too sick walking up to it to actually try eating it.”

  As they approached, the movement inside the sac billowed and bulged toward them. They halted as the membrane stretched so thin they could see scraping claws and snapping teeth.

  “They look hungry,” Tyler said.

  “Maybe they’ll like pineapple,” Max sad, turning the grenade in her fingers.

  “Let’s serve it up and see,” Tyler said. “Ready?”

  Max pulled the pin, holding the spoon down. She kept her sword ready in her other hand. “Do it.”

  Tyler stabbed downward. The point of his blade pushed inward, but the sac only stretched without piercing. Pointed claws scrabbled at it from within. “Houston, we may have a problem,” he said. He lifted his knife and stabbed it harder. Still nothing. “Well, the good news is that they aren’t going to be tearing out real soon.”

  “Which means they aren’t ready to come out yet and are probably vulnerable. That sac is protecting them as much as it’s keeping them away from us.”

  “We could wait for Giselle to show up and let her deal with it.”

  “Now, what fun would that be?” Max asked. “Besides, who knows when the sac will mature? Could be seconds. Not to mention the other demons are starting to get lively.” She surveyed the meadow of mist behind them. It was starting to bubble and churn with hidden currents.

  “So we keep trying. Got ideas on how to cut it open? Maybe you have a cutting torch tucked in your pocket?”

  “No, but maybe I’ve got the next best thing.” Max dug one hand in her vest for a plastic tube of powder, the other hand still holding the spoon down on the grenade. “Hold out your knife.”

  He did as told. She unstoppered the tube with her teeth and poured a line of silvery powder along the edge of the knife. She carefully pushed the stopper back in, slid the tube back into her pocket, and withdrew a lighter.

  She met Tyler’s gaze. “This stuff will melt the knife. You need to go quick.”

  “You could have mentioned that sooner. It’s my favorite knife.”

  “Time to get a new favorite.”

  “Aren’t you helpful? Like rain in a flood. Or warts on a donkey’s ass.”

  “I try to be. Ready?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, flicking the lighter and holding the flame to the powder. It flared incandescent blue, its heat intense.

  Tyler held the knife a moment until the entire blade was engulfed and then struck downward. This time, the blade slid easily through the tough sac. Thick yellow liquid burst outward, drenching the two of them in an acid shower. Immediately, Max’s skin erupted in boils. The stuff dripped down her forehead, and she shook her head to clear it away from her eyes. Some of the acid goo dribbled into her left eye, blinding it. It felt like her eyes were boiling. They streamed tears, and she focused on what she was supposed to be doing.

  The slit in the sac was only about a foot long. Goo-slicked demon arms and legs thrust out, scraping at the air. Unlike the adults, they had dark yellow skin that was almost runny, like melted wax. Their fingers were long and spidery and only slightly smaller than those of the adults. Clearly, they would be born ready to rampage.

  A half dozen claws tore blindly at the hole, while several snouts thrust up between them, jaws snapping wildly. There had to be at least forty or fifty demon babies in there. They couldn’t be allowed to live. They would end up infesting half the world.

  Tyler jabbed at the hungry spawn with his incandescent blade. Demon flesh sizzled, and the stench of the open sac grew even worse. The demon babies wriggled back, and Max thrust her hand inside the sac. It was like reaching into a vat of jellied acid. Her hand burned and bubbled. Taloned fingers clawed her, and teeth ripped open her arm. The taste of her blood sent the demon spawn into a spasming craze. The entire sac exploded with frenzied movement.

  Five or six mouths clamped down on her, one over her fist, its tongue licking eagerly at her hand. Perfect. Max let go of the grenade, pushing it deep into the creature’s throat. She jerked back, yanking her arm free of the hole and the hungry demons. It was nothing but hamburger. At least it was still attached. Not wasting any more time, she turned and fled toward the creek.

  “Move your ass, Tyler!” she shouted before gulping a breath and jumping in. The water was only four feet deep. She pulled herself down to the bottom, wedging herself beneath a shelf of rocks. Tyler splashed down right beside her.

  Three seconds later, the grenade exploded. The ground rocked, and the shock wave rolled through the water. Above, golden fire bloomed, and then rocks and debris splashed down all around them, a lot of it demon parts.

  Max pulled her feet up under her, shoved herself up to the surface, and climbed back out of the creek. Her headphones had been knocked askew, and she was relieved to discover that the wailing had stopped. It had been replaced by the chuckle of the creek and mewling whimpers of whatever demon spawn still lived. She lurched up onto the bank, using her sword as a cane. Her left arm dangled uselessly. It flamed with agony, but she pushed the pain down inside her, ignoring it. She’d hurt worse before and would again.

  Tyler climbed up onto the bank beside her. He glanced at her arm. “Exfoliation usually means leaving behind the muscle,” he said. “I think you’re doing it wrong.”

  “I’ll let the spa know,” Max replied wryly. The milky mist was thinning, revealing the twitching bits of hacked-up adult demons and the deflated birthing sac.

  Slick acid mucus covered everything for a good hundred-foot radius. It was an inch thick at least and squelched under Max’s feet. Her boots had been eaten away to nearly nothing, and the thick glop made her exposed skin bubble and burn. Her skin went from raw red to gray and black.

  “This
is just disgusting,” Tyler said. His boots were nothing but shreds, and his feet looked as bad as hers.

  “Probably shouldn’t wade around in this stuff for long. Your feet might rot off,” Max said.

  “This stuff is everywhere. Unless you want me to stand on your shoulders . . .” He eyed her balefully.

  “No chance. Your feet stink, even without that gunk.”

  The birthing sac puddled flat on the ground. The inside was scorched with burn holes that made it look like melted Swiss cheese. Bits of juvenile demon littered it and the surrounding area. There wasn’t much left to say what else they looked like.

  “Think the little ones will resurrect?” Tyler asked, watching the bits of the adults jiggling and wriggling across the ground.

  Max skewered a chunk of one on the point of her sword. “No idea. But given our luck, I’d say it’s likely.”

  She looked out across the clearing. Liam and his men were picking their way back in a loose scrimmage line. Behind them came Oak, Jody, and Steel. They wobbled uncertainly as if their vision was still recovering. On the north side of the creek, Nami, Simon, Flint, and one of Liam’s soldiers emerged from the trees. The soldier staggered, streaks of blood running from his nose and ears. Flint pulled the man’s arm around his neck and hoisted him along.

  Max wandered around to examine the demon debris and started swearing.

  “What?” Tyler said, coming to join her.

  “They’re fucking hydras,” she said, pointing. The pieces of the adult creatures weren’t drawing back together to make the original demons whole as she’d expected. Instead, they were bubbling and expanding. Fast. “Every little piece is going to grow into a new demon,” she said. “We just exponentially increased the threat.”