Blood Winter

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  “What do you want us to do?” Tyler asked finally.

  “As soon as it’s dark, I want you to follow me into the cult headquarters and tear it apart. Find Kyle and Giselle, and put Sterling down.”

  Max stood as her throat knotted with emotion. She was wasting time, and if she stayed much longer, she was going to start bawling. Not exactly the most inspiring image for her Blades. “I’d better get started.”

  Wordlessly, Tyler pulled her against him. His arms wrapped her tightly. She hugged him back. He kissed her cheek and abruptly stepped away. Then Thor grabbed her. One by one, each of her Blades hugged her in a silent ceremony of farewell. Even Gregory locked her in a bony embrace.

  Finally, she was face-to-face again with Alexander. He did not hug her. He did not even touch her. “Be careful,” he said softly.

  “Now, Slick, you’ll make me think you care what happens to me,” she said. She didn’t wait for an answer. She didn’t want one. She felt numb.

  She fished in her pocket for the amulet. One side was polished gold, with a round, faceted black diamond set in the center. The rock was the size of a walnut. Arrows rayed away from it, each interspersed with a circle of orange opals. Around the thick edge were archaic words that spilled over onto the back of the amulet, spiraling down into a small eye at the center.

  Gripping it tightly, she rubbed it against the blood soaking her shirt. Instantly, she felt a tingling, and then power washed over her. She slipped the chain over her head.

  “I guess that’s it,” she said. She hesitated, then went to the door. She opened it and slid through, not looking back.

  As she had planned before, Max worked uphill into the tree line where the snow wasn’t quite as deep. She also appreciated the shade of the trees. The amulet made her safe from the sun, but she couldn’t help feeling like she was about to explode into flames at any moment.

  The calories she’d eaten had given her a boost, but she still felt sluggish. The mark on her stomach did more than just bleed her, she was pretty sure. It was pulling away her strength. Slogging through the waist-deep snow beneath the trees wasn’t helping. She had to be quick if she wanted to get the demon into the abyss and still hope to get back out herself.

  It took her almost an hour to work her way to a point just above Mansion Heights. It was a housing development of expensive homes just south of the university. It rose up the side of the valley on a pair of broad, zigzagging roads that wove together in the center before meeting at the top. A few streets ending in courts filled the space between them. The development was incomplete, and there were only a few houses at the very top.

  Looking down on it from a thin wedge of trees that arrowed down a wash to the development, Max saw that the place was teeming. She smelled enormous numbers of unwashed bodies. Buildings humped out of the snow. They were made of a patchwork of materials, as were the compounder shacks, but these were barnlike. Max guessed each could probably house a couple of hundred people, more if they squeezed in. She couldn’t tell how many there were. All she knew for certain was that the place stank of Divine magic.

  Suddenly, the smell swelled. Flakes of crimson dropped down, mixing with the white. They gathered in a bloody pile, slowly taking shape. Max reached out, snatching at the still-forming demon. Her hand passed through it like it wasn’t there. Shit. How could she get the fucker into the abyss if she couldn’t grab hold of it?

  Its eyes were the last things to settle into place. It stared at her with undisguised glee. Then its eyes boiled with rage. It reached out and traced a red outline finger over her stomach. Instantly, the bloody yellow shirt vanished. “I told you not to cover up.”

  “You can’t always get what you want.”

  “I always get what I want,” it told her. “Come.” It gestured toward the buildings below. As it did, the falling snow cleared, and the sun suddenly beamed down through an ever-widening opening. Max flinched back before she remembered the amulet. She wondered if the demon could see it.

  “Do you have a name?” she said suddenly, tired of calling it the “creature” or the “demon.”

  “I do.” It didn’t tell her what it was.

  “All right, if that’s the way you want it, Daffy, then it’s all good for me. Do you want to clear the road for me, too? After all, you don’t want me passing out before you get to kill me.”

  “As you wish,” it said with a smile, and snow moved away from in front of her. An arrow-straight path cut down to the ground, beckoning her forward. It was wide enough for them to walk abreast, even with Daffy’s wings. Grief speared through Max’s chest. It was so much like walking beside Xaphan or Tutresiel, except that Daffy’s wings weren’t likely to burn her to a crisp or slice her to the bone.

  “I have a surprise for you.”

  Max’s stomach turned. “What?”

  “I can’t tell you. It would ruin it, and I have worked so hard to surprise you.” Daffy’s voice was larded with glee.

  The demon said no more. Max strode forward quickly. “Where are we going?”

  “Follow the path. It will take you exactly where you need to be.”

  With that, the thing faded to nothing. For a split second, Max caught a whiff of that sweet battery-acid flavor she’d tasted in the angel-vault pool, and then it was gone.

  A low hum vibrated through the air. It grew louder and turned into a full-on buzzing, like a planet-sized angry bee. She turned in a circle, searching for the source, but the sound came from everywhere. Then, suddenly, the doors of all the big barn structures opened up. At the same time, the level of the snow dropped until it was no higher than Max’s knees. As people poured out of the barns, they couldn’t help but see her, her upper body bare and bloody. They gathered around, staring.

  Max continued to follow the path. It seemed to lead nowhere in particular. It meandered down to the bottom of the cult enclave, then back up, looping around to display Max better.

  At first, the observers only watched groggily. They were dressed much like the compounders. They all carried weapons, most of them with three or four. As they caught sight of Max, they began to murmur to one another. The murmuring swelled into mutters and then to an onslaught of name-calling and accusations.

  “Slut!”

  “Whore of Satan!”

  “Daughter of hell!”

  “Delilah!”

  “Jezebel!”

  “Hell spawn!”

  A lot of them held up crosses and Bibles, and some made signs of the cross over their chests, while others spit at her. A few picked up rocks and flung them, but they veered wide, never touching her. Daffy had marked her and wasn’t going to let anybody else have fun torturing her. The demon did, however, want everyone to see her.

  A parade formed on either side of the path as Last Standers followed her. She neared the top of the hill again. She found herself on a paved court surrounded by dirt. The path ended. There were no buildings near.

  The spectators gathered around her, not stepping onto the pavement. She waited, but nothing happened. At last, she started walking again, heading for the place where the court melded into the street. She ran into an invisible wall and fell back, rubbing her head. A smear of blood hung chest-high where she’d hit. She reached out and touched it. The air was hard as rock and smooth. She circled, ignoring the bystanders and returning back where she started. She was sealed in.

  She looked upward. She could jump. With Tutresiel’s feather in her palm, she might clear it, if it didn’t have a roof. But chances were it did. Besides, she didn’t want to escape. She just needed to find a way to grab hold of the bastard.

  She went to the middle of the court and sat cross-legged. Daffy wanted to punish her and wanted people to see her suffer. The demon wasn’t going to waste a lot of time before it got started. It was already impatient. All she could do was wait for it to get on with the show.

  It was noon before anything happened. The sun was golden, and Max reveled in its soft touch. It had been thirty yea
rs since she’d last seen it. The spectators continued to rail at her, preaching scripture and even praying, although whether they wanted to save her soul or damn her to hell, she wasn’t entirely sure. Some sang hymns, and the children—there were so many children—eyed her with fear and sadness. As if they hadn’t yet been so brainwashed that they couldn’t feel sorry for her.

  Suddenly, the crowd at the mouth of the road shifted and split. A man was approaching. Benjamin Sterling appeared, wearing his usual Jesus uniform. He passed through the invisible wall as if it was nothing more than air. He approached Max, stopping a few feet away.

  He stared down at her. His face was ruddy, and his hair stood up straight. He’d need a lot of hair gel to get it to lie down flat. An anvil to his brainpan would solve the problem nicely. He was shorter than she was, maybe five foot six or seven.

  “You have come before me for crimes against God. You bear the mark of Judgment on your chest, and you must face God’s wrath. Let it be known that you will be punished. You cannot escape the price of your evil. But now you must decide. Will you confess your sins before this congregation and beg the Almighty’s forgiveness? Will you bow down that you may be lifted to heaven? Or will you deny your guilt and burn in everlasting flames, the plaything of the devil? Choose!”

  His voice rolled like thunder, and there was magic in it. All around, people clutched one another and started weeping. Max was untouched. Sterling’s spell was designed to create awe and worship, but it did little more than annoy her. She’d seen far more things that were bigger, scarier, and more awe-inspiring. Daffy, his sidekick, was one.

  She didn’t bother to answer. She just sat there and waited to see what he would do next.

  Behind her, something like fingers ruffled through her hair, and lips whispered at her ear. “Repent or not. The punishment will be the same.”

  Max stiffened. How could Daffy touch her without her being able to do the same? Her fingers curled into fists. Why was the demon hiding? Didn’t the Last Standers know about it? Did Sterling?

  “Do you repent? Do you call on our Lord God to save your soul? Do you beg forgiveness of the Son of God? This is your last chance.” Sterling bent slightly, his blue eyes brilliant in the sunshine. His fingers were rough and calloused, and his bottom lip was chapped and split. A handful of freckles dashed across his nose and cheeks.

  “God forgives, my child,” he said, and still his voice carried to his followers. “Ask for his blessing. Receive your penance, and rise to heaven to live eternity unsoiled at his feet.”

  Max shifted so she was closer. “Do these people know you’re a witch? A blood witch, if I had to guess. That’s where you get your power, right? Blood rites?”

  He scowled, his cheeks flushing. His hand whipped out, and he slapped her cheek with enough force to knock her to the ground—if she hadn’t been a Shadowblade. As it was, she didn’t move, didn’t look away.

  “What’s the matter? Does the truth hurt? That power of yours is witch magic, and I ought to know.”

  His hand rose again. Max smiled.

  “Does that make you feel better? Does it make you feel strong and tough? Go ahead. Do it again. I can take all you dish out.”

  His flush turned mottled as rage suffused him. He straightened. He pointed down at her. “You will die slowly. You will scream. You will beg for mercy, and none will be granted. You are filth. You are a deceiver, a succubus, a demon seed.” He turned, raising his hands to the gathered congregation.

  “Let it be known that the sinner is stubborn and will not repent! She revels in her demon ways. She is sick with Satan’s poison. We must save her for our Lord Almighty on High. We must help her cast out the evil she carries inside her; we must destroy the root and branch of Satan. If God wills, she will live among us, a symbol of His strength and glory. Pray for her, my friends. Get on your knees and beg for the safety of her soul. We must ask our Lord to have mercy, to lay His hand on her and rip away the evil that stains her soul. We must be strong. We are soldiers for God, the Last Stand for Earth. We must put aside our finer feelings, and though this sinner may suffer, we must hold fast to the one true path. We must look ahead to the light of God and know that if we bear the burden of her suffering, she will be welcomed in His embrace. Can you be strong, my brothers? Can you be strong, my sisters? Can you be strong for God?”

  His voice rose, and shouts answered him. Someone broke into “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” and the rest of the crowd picked it up. Soon everyone was shouting the words at the top of their lungs. They stamped their feet and pumped their fists in the air. Some shot guns into the air.

  Sterling looked back at Max and smiled. His eyes were lit like a child’s at Christmas. He rubbed his hands together. “You will not like being purified,” he said so that only she could hear. “But I will. I will enjoy it very, very much.”

  He was a sociopath, a serial killer with a love of torture, and he’d found the perfect outlet for his lust for blood and pain. Max could read it in the eager anticipation on his face and the way he licked his lips. He probably had a hard-on just thinking about it.

  She doubted there was anything he could do to her that Giselle hadn’t already done. Except maybe kill her. But Sterling had the look of a man who’d tortured a lot of people in his line of work, and he was undoubtedly an expert at keeping his victims alive and squeezing out all the pain and suffering they were capable of. That was good for her. It would give her time. Time for the day to pass and for her to snag Daffy. Time also for the sun to go down and her Blades to come.

  “Screw off,” Max said. “If there’s a god giving you the power to torture, maim, and kill, then he’s a son of a whore and deserves to be hung up by his balls and whipped until his skin falls off.”

  She was hoping to piss Sterling off, force him to reveal more of what he was. It didn’t work.

  He tapped a finger against his lips. “That is an idea I might have to use,” he said thoughtfully. “But you may not insult the Holiest of Holies, God Almighty.” He pointed an imperious finger at her and shouted, “Silence, Whore of Babylon!”

  Once again, his voice carried as if he’d shouted into a microphone. Magic wriggled across Max’s mouth like maggots. She shook her head. The feeling continued. She opened her mouth to scrape her lips with her teeth—but once again her lips were sealed shut. She dug her fingernails into the seam of her mouth. She could not separate them. Sterling and his demon clearly didn’t like people talking back.

  “Don’t worry,” Sterling said quietly, watching her, his eyes glowing with rapt pleasure at her struggles. “I will let you scream. I want to hear you. First I may cut your tongue. Fillet it inside your mouth so you learn not to speak ill of the Lord. He is great and merciful. But a tide of evil has washed across this land, and there can be no mercy for unrepentant evil.” He smiled, licking at the corner of his mouth as if to catch a driblet of drool. “I serve the Lord God with all my heart and soul. I will never fail Him by being too squeamish to do the work He calls on me to do. You will repent, or you will die.”

  She was going to die, anyway, if Daffy had anything to do with it. The demon didn’t care if she repented or not. She doubted Sterling did, either.

  Sterling’s smile widened into unsuppressed glee, before vanishing into holy sternness. “I will give you the chance to repent again, but first you must learn the cost of defying the Lord and defiling this earth with your evil.”

  Max made a sound, her throat swelling with the effort. Sterling watched her and then turned away.

  “Bring her to the temple,” he said to no one in particular, and suddenly, the invisible walls vanished, and the crowd rushed at Max.

  Hands grabbed her, bruising her as the fingers gouged deep into her flesh. Her bare breasts were pinched, and the bloody cuts on her stomach and chest were prodded. She kicked and slammed her fists into her captors. Several fell, but others quickly replaced them. They lifted her above their heads, all the while continuing to sing.

>   Max stopped fighting. This was what she wanted. She forced herself to remain still as the hands hoisted her along.

  The journey to the temple wasn’t short. They marched uphill toward the mountains. That surprised her. Kara had told her that Sterling liked an audience for his punishments. Max had half expected him to take her down into the center of Missoula. At least she could be grateful that she wasn’t nailed to a cross. Yet.

  The stink of rotting flesh permeated the cold air. Max’s head was on the downhill side, and even lifting it up, she couldn’t see where the stench came from. But a new feeling washed through the mob. It was angry and violent. They had been content just to carry her along the path, but now they returned to twisting fingers into her flesh, pinching, gouging, and scraping. They yanked her hair and punched at her. Max didn’t react. They weren’t her real enemy. Daffy was. But where was the demon? Would it show up to the party soon? If it didn’t . . .

  Finally, they jolted to a halt.

  “Lower the sinner,” Sterling ordered. “She must face God’s wrath. Let her see what He has wrought.”

  They didn’t so much lower her as drop her like a hot potato. She landed on unexpectedly muddy ground. Apparently Sterling had melted away the snow.

  Her mass of attendants sifted slowly away but not before stepping on her and pummeling her with sharp kicks. Finally, she was alone on the ground. She staggered up, covered in blood and mud. Instantly, her mouth filled with bile. She couldn’t spit it out and was forced to swallow it back down. She stared around her in horror.

  Sterling wasn’t just a sociopath. He was pure evil. He was the devil himself.

  DOWN IN THE BASEMENT OF THE OLD HOUSE where the Shadowblades hid from the sun, the pain in Alexander’s head sharpened. It matched an ache growing in his chest, just below his sternum.

  He lay on a discarded mattress and stared up at the ceiling. He could not stop thinking about Max.