Blood Winter

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  Then, suddenly, in the blink of an eye, they left the demon battle behind and entered the chill silence of the abyss. The ebony night stretched out forever, broken only by swirling flashes of jewel-colored magic and thin strands of rainbow light.

  Her companions looked terrified. They both sported scrapes and gouges, and Liam’s left hand hung limp and useless. They opened their mouths to speak, and nothing came out. There was no sound in the abyss. Max shook her head at them and took a breath. Then she reached for her destination. All it required was a thought—where did she want to be? And she would go there.

  Pulling them with her, she dove out of the abyss. The pain this time was doubled. She had few reserves left, and the demands on her ravaged body were excruciating. Still, she had no choice. She had a feeling the demons weren’t going to let the water stop them for long. If Benjamin Sterling was helping them, they’d find a way across all too quickly. If she didn’t bring help, everybody was going to die.

  She dropped out of the abyss onto a snow-covered dirt road. She crashed to her knees, and her companions sprawled beside her.

  She staggered to her feet, turning to look around her. Snow fell thick and heavy, shrouding the world in white and silence. Where was Giselle? The witch-bitch was the only one who could stop the demons at this point. Max had homed in on her location, but where the hell was she?

  She turned in a circle. The road cut through the mountains following a narrow, twisting course. To either side, the jagged slopes rose sharply, trees towering high up into the sky. Just then, she heard the roar of a four-wheeler engine revving to life.

  She followed the sound to a fire road on the other side of a rock jut. Giselle was straddling a four-wheeler in the back of a pickup truck. The tailgate was down, and wheel ramps were clamped into place to allow her to ride the four-wheeler to the ground.

  The witch looked up as Max came into sight. She cut the engine, slid off the four-wheeler, and stood. She wore jeans and a jacket, with hiking boots and thick gloves. Snow caught in her hair and eyelashes. A heavy backpack lumped on her back.

  “Max! What happened? Where is everyone?”

  “You came alone?” Max demanded, fury churning in her stomach. As powerful as Giselle was, would she be enough?

  The witch’s chin jutted. “I didn’t want to leave Horngate unguarded. Where is everyone? Where are the demons?”

  Max gritted her teeth and then let it go. “We’ll go through the abyss,” she said, holding a hand out to help the witch down.

  Giselle ignored her, leaping lightly to the ground. She scanned Max from head to foot. “Can you do it? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

  “Do I have a choice? Give me your hand. There’s not a lot of time.”

  Just then, Liam found them. To his credit, he didn’t ask what had happened or how they’d gotten there. He glanced at Max and then Giselle. “This is the Wicked Witch?” he asked, his brows rising in obvious skepticism that anyone as small and delicate-looking as Giselle could be a threat.

  “Yes,” Max said at the same moment Giselle repeated, “Wicked Witch?”

  “I call it like I see it,” Max told her.

  Giselle glared. “Since when do I have green skin?”

  Max stared a moment and then smiled despite herself. Lately, Giselle had rediscovered her sense of humor. She was still ruthless, vicious, and extraordinarily dangerous, but she was also learning to embrace her human side—the side that had once made her and Max best friends. Of course, that didn’t mean they’d be friends again, especially with Giselle willing to harvest angel parts to fuel her magic.

  Max’s smile slid away as her anger returned.

  “Who are you?” Giselle asked Liam.

  “Name’s Liam. Liam O’Ryan,” he clarified when she just waited.

  “Chief and his men have been tracking the demons,” Max said. “Looks like the preacher witch—Benjamin Sterling is his name—is behind the attack.”

  Black magic twisted around Giselle’s hands and turned her eyes to pits of smoke. She was pissed. Good. “Where are they?” she asked.

  “Through the abyss. Ready?” Max held out her hand, and this time, Giselle took it. Max drew her gore-covered sword. “You’ll have to stay here,” she told Liam.

  He started to protest, but she didn’t bother to wait. Max dropped into the abyss.

  She pushed hard, dragging herself and Giselle into the infinite blackness. Her body throbbed, and her heart ratcheted in her chest like a jackhammer. Her head spun drunkenly, and she felt bitterly cold. Temperatures had no effect on Shadowblades, but now she felt like she’d been trapped in a freezer. She shuddered, and her teeth chattered.

  Grasping Giselle’s hand tighter, she focused on the demon canyon. She pictured the opposite side of the stream and hoped the demons hadn’t crossed.

  A few seconds later, Max hauled them through. They dropped out of thin air onto the rocky bank. Max collapsed in a boneless heap. The sword clattered onto the rock, and she let go, unable to hold it any longer. Her muscles cramped, seizing into tight knots. It took all she had just to lever up on one elbow. She continued to shiver convulsively. She clamped her jaws together to keep her teeth from clacking.

  Giselle had landed on her feet. She took in the scene quickly. Max felt her drawing in magic. It was a powerful surge. It came from the air and the ground and the water—Giselle was an elemental witch, taking her power from the natural world. Power spun around her like a black whirlwind. Dark green lightning forked through the air around her.

  The whirling magic condensed into a tight knot. The air in the canyon went still. Even the yelps and howling cries of the demons seemed muted. Max could hear Giselle muttering a chant. Her voice was harsh with fury.

  Power erupted from her. It rolled across the creek and through the demons like a nuclear shock wave. Rocks exploded into powder. Across the clearing, trees snapped and flattened. The sound of the destruction roared and echoed. After several minutes, silence descended, broken only by the sound of rushing water.

  The cloud of magic surrounding Giselle settled over her like a cloak of smoke. She strode forward, splashing through the creek. She slipped, and Steel caught her arm, holding her erect. On the other side, Flint took her other arm and helped her across.

  The only three men Liam had left knelt on the ground near Jody, who now lay all too still. Her chest rose and fell, and relief sluiced through Max. One of the men had tucked his vest under her head and was stroking a hand over her hair, talking to her all the while. The others stared at the destruction on the other side in awe or horror or maybe both.

  Tyler, Oak, and Nami lurched up out of the water like bloody rag dolls. Max swiveled her head, looking for Simon, the only Blade left unaccounted for. He was nowhere to be seen. She struggled to her feet and instantly sagged. She caught herself against a rock and scanned the canyon again. No sign of him.

  No.

  Her chest hurt like someone had impaled her on a chain saw.

  Not again not again not again.

  She found herself whispering the words over and over like a prayer.

  Giselle slipped her backpack off her shoulders and unzipped it. She withdrew a silver knife. Without any ceremony at all, she slid it across her wrist. Blood dripped to the ground. She started walking around the outside of the battlefield, chanting all the while.

  The ward circle she was creating was enormous. She was going to lose a lot of blood. All the same, when she came back around and closed the circle, she didn’t seem to be any worse for wear. The witch stopped, and her voice rose as she finished casting her spell. The circle flared with orange light. Max looked away, blinking, but orange splotches swam across her vision even after the light faded to a dull glow. It startled her. Witchlight didn’t usually affect her vision.

  Max felt magic collecting again. It prickled all over her body, and scraped along the underside of her skin. It warmed her slightly, although she continued to shiver uncontrollably.

>   Magic wound tighter, making it hard to breathe. The pressure increased for another minute and then popped like a champagne cork releasing. The night turned dull green, as all across the interior of the spell circle, worms of green magic wove back and forth. They burrowed into the ground and knotted together, forming a thick tapestry of pure magic. When it was done, Giselle spoke again, and the weaving began to glow, turning a clear emerald color.

  For a second, Max could see darkness beneath it—black blotches and trails of demon blood. There was no sign of any actual bodies.

  Slowly, the emerald color sank into the ground. It limned the rubble and pulled any demon remains down with it. A few minutes later, the emerald light faded. As it did, a swirl of red dust rose in the air and disappeared. A moment later, snow began to fall over the canyon.

  GISELLE BENT AND RELEASED THE WARD CIRCLE. Magic continued to surround her as she turned to face the five Blades who had flanked her throughout the ritual. One by one, she set a hand on them. Black magic wrapped them and slid away, leaving them healed.

  Once they were done, Tyler sent Oak and Steel to the opposite side of the clearing, no doubt to see if they could find the soldier Max had left there. It wasn’t likely he could have survived the burst of magic and the flattening of the trees. Gates was his name, Max remembered.

  Tyler helped Giselle across the river. A look of relief filled his face when he saw Max. He led Giselle over, but Max waved her away.

  “Jody needs you more. I can wait,” she said, trying to quiet her shivers.

  “Occasionally, you could go first,” Giselle said sourly, but she went.

  Tyler glanced at Max as if he wanted to say something, but then he went with Giselle. Max resisted the urge to call him back and ask about Simon. Instead, she forced herself to stand and wobbled slowly down to the edge of the creek. Dropping to her knees, she scooped up some of the icy water and drank it. She scowled at the taste and realized her hands were covered with blood and demon gore. She rinsed them and washed her mouth out before drinking again.

  Tyler returned, leading Liam’s three men. One of them, the black-haired man who’d spoken up about Gates before, limped over and stopped in front of Max, his legs braced wide, as if he might tip over at any moment. He was wet, and blood trickled from a dozen cuts on his head and arms. His clothes were torn and ragged. He carried his gun propped on his shoulder. The other two men were in similar condition. He scowled at her, his gray eyes tense.

  “What did you do with O’Ryan and Cruz?”

  Max looked up at him, not bothering to stand. She wasn’t sure she could at the moment. Her body was quaking, and her voice, when she spoke, shook almost unintelligibly. “They’re safe.”

  “Where are they?”

  She shook her head and waved vaguely westward. “Over there, I think.”

  “You think?” he demanded, and Tyler made a warning sound.

  “That’s right, Bambi. I think.”

  Hands closed on Max’s shoulders. Giselle. She’d heard the witch coming, of course. Magic coursed downward, filling her. Warmth followed hard on its heels. A moment later, she shook off Giselle and stood. It wasn’t a full healing, but her body could do the rest. Giselle had already used up too much of herself, and she wasn’t done. The soldiers needed help, too.

  Wordlessly, Giselle healed each of the three. Oak and Steel returned carrying a battered man. He looked as if he’d been beaten with a dozen baseball bats. His helmet had an orange-sized dent in it. Blood seeped down his neck and stained his shoulders. His right ribs were caved in, and ends of bone thrust through the flesh of his legs and one arm. His nose was mashed, and his mouth was a pulpy mess.

  “Oh, my God,” one of the other soldiers whispered, and then vomited.

  Bambi’s face went white and blank. He swallowed hard. “Gates,” he grated, and said nothing else.

  “Is he breathing?” Max asked.

  “Barely,” Oak replied as he settled him on the ground. “And not for long.”

  “Get out of my way,” Giselle said. She knelt down. Taking a breath, she drew power from around her. She held her hands out above him, and magic snaked from her palms. It wormed into his body. She began to mutter beneath her breath, and magic swelled thickly in the air. Soon it was impossible to see her or Gates.

  Max pulled Tyler aside. “Where’s Simon?”

  He looked down. “I don’t know. You jumped out with the two men, and we fought our way to the creek. I thought he made it, but then we haven’t seen him. There’s been no time to look . . .”

  She nodded, her throat knotting. Turning to her other Blades, she said, “Simon’s missing. Find him. Check downstream. He might have washed down.”

  They scattered. Max glanced down at Giselle. She ought to stay. The three soldiers might not take it well if their companion died. They might decide to get a little revenge.

  “Yates and Talsky, you’re with me. We don’t leave anybody behind,” Bambi told Max by way of explanation, and he started off with the other two to search for Simon.

  She hesitated a moment and then set off after them.

  THE WIND HAD STARTED TO PICK UP, BLOWING AWAY much of the demon stench. For that, Max was grateful. Giselle’s binding spell had destroyed all of their physical remnants, but the smell wanted to linger.

  Flint and Steel had followed the creek south, while everyone else had begun a systematic search of the canyon. There was still no sign of him. With every passing minute, Max’s chest grew more hollow. Refusing to give up hope, she searched through the flattened trees. A holler brought her running. Oak had found him at last.

  His body had wedged between two boulders in an eddy of the creek. Oak pulled him out, laid him on the bank, and pumped his chest. Simon’s eyes were staring and lifeless. His wounds had been washed clean. The ugly red hashes contrasted sharply with his pale, wet skin.

  “C’mon,” Oak muttered as he compressed Simon’s chest.

  It was too late. There was no life left in him. No small ember to blow back into flame.

  “He’s gone,” Max said in a soft, toneless voice.

  Tyler made a strangled sound and spun around. He strode away, his body rigid with emotion.

  Oak balled his fists, his head hanging down. “Dammit!”

  Max brushed her fingers over his head and bent to pick up Simon’s dripping body. Tears ran silently down her cheeks. She didn’t try to stop them; she couldn’t if she wanted to. She carried him back to where Giselle had just finished healing the injured man.

  Giselle watched as they approached, her arms wrapped around herself. Her eyes were sunken and shadowed, her shoulders hunched with exhaustion. Max came to a stop in front of her. The witch looked at Simon and closed her eyes. A moment later, she opened them.

  “Let’s take him home.”

  Flint hoisted the healed Gates, and they started up out of the canyon. Max sent Nami and Jody ahead to find the truck.

  They went silently, passing the sleeping soldier among them, lifting him over the fallen trees. Max refused to let go of Simon, using her angel’s feather to take long leaps up to the rim of the canyon. Bambi and the other two soldiers clambered over the mess of fallen wood. Despite their exhaustion, they remained alert and watchful. Tyler made his own solitary way, although he didn’t go far. He wouldn’t. Just in case something else attacked.

  They slogged westward through the dense curtain of snow. A foot had already fallen, smothering the mountains and trees in heavy silence. Despite her grief, Max kept an eye out for any sign of the red dust. Where it went, nothing good followed.

  Nami and Jody returned and led the way to the truck. It was a three-mile trek. By the time they arrived, they were all soaked to the skin, and all four of the soldiers were shivering.

  Liam met them. His gaze settled on his injured man in Oak’s arms. He scowled.

  “He’s going to be fine,” Giselle said. “He’ll wake when he’s ready.”

  “What happened?” he asked.


  Bambi answered. “A shit storm,” he said tersely.

  Liam took the hint and asked nothing else. He eyed Simon and gave Max a nod of sympathy.

  He and his companion had kept the back of the truck clean of snow, and now the group loaded up. Oak took the wheel, with Giselle riding shotgun. Gates sat in the backseat with two of his companions, while everyone else sat in the bed. Everybody but Tyler, who claimed the four-wheeler.

  The return to Horngate was made in silence. Max sat with Simon across her lap and her back against the cab. She brushed the snow away from his face, not ready to see him shrouded in death.

  They went north to Highway 90, then down back through Missoula. There was no traffic. Their truck was dead silent, and Oak needed no lights to see by. They were a ghost.

  As they started down Reserve Street, Max came out of her grief enough to realize that maybe Liam and his men might want to go back to their own homes instead of to Horngate.

  “Do you want us to drop you off somewhere?” she asked. “We’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

  Liam rubbed his jaw, considering the question. “Are you saying you don’t want us to see where you’re from? Or maybe you want to know where we’re from?”

  Max shook her head, too tired in her body and soul to spar with him. “I’m saying you might want a ride home. If you don’t want us to know where you live, you can get out here and walk to wherever you’re going. If you want to see Horngate, we’ll bring you back into town whenever you want. I don’t much care. Just make up your mind.”

  He exchanged a look with Bambi, who shrugged, and then he said, “We’ll go with you.”

  “Fine,” Max said, and went back to brooding.

  THANKS TO THE EXTRA HELP OF MAGIC, THE TRUCK WAS able to plow through the snow with relative ease. When they returned to Horngate, everything was covered in a thick layer of white. They pulled into the parking cavern. Everyone piled out in slow silence. Max came last, Simon’s body cold and stiff in her arms.