Blood Winter

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  “You don’t see any sign of that demon she was talking about, do you?” asked Tyler.

  “No.” Alexander leaped through the snow. Why was she not back yet? Depositing the demon should not take so long. Unless she had been forced to take him into the trap. He shied from the thought, the pain in his head spiking.

  A gleaming building rose up on a knoll. It was still more than a mile away. The place was lit up like a gaudy Las Vegas casino.

  Suddenly, an angel rose in the air. His wings glinted silver. Tutresiel. He streaked through the darkness, heading straight for the group of Shadowblades. He dropped down in front of Alexander, landing in the deep snow. He held his sword. It lit the night with a beacon of white witchlight.

  “Where did she take him?” he demanded before anybody else could speak.

  “Take who?” Alexander shot back. Although he had to admit to being glad the angel was alive and ready to fight, he still did not like the bastard.

  Tutresiel bared his teeth. “Shoftiel. Where did Max take him?”

  “Into the abyss. She thought she could dump him there,” Tyler answered.

  Tutresiel tipped his head back, closing his eyes. “Fuck, no,” he murmured. He straightened. “Where are the Grims? They can follow her into the abyss, right?”

  “Gone,” Alexander said tonelessly. One thing was certain, Tutresiel liked Max. He was worried for her, and that scared the shit out of Alexander.

  “Gone? Where?”

  “They followed a family of salamanders through a crack in the world,” Thor said. “All of them just left. So did Spike, Max’s Calopus.”

  “Max had a Calopus?” Tutresiel asked, startled. “When did she find one of those?” He ran a hand through his hair in an uncharacteristic show of agitation. “Just how long were we in Ledrel?”

  “If by Ledrel you mean mostly dead, four or five weeks,” Tyler answered

  Tutresiel’s gaze ran across the Blades, searching for who was not there. “Niko,” he said. “And Simon. Where are they?”

  That he knew who was missing startled Alexander. “Dead,” he said.

  Something passed over Tutresiel’s cold face and vanished.

  “What exactly is going on?” Alexander asked. “Who is Shoftiel?”

  Tutresiel gave him a long stare. Alexander glared back, not backing down. He had fought the angel before, and while he knew he could not kill him, Tutresiel clearly could be brought to the edge of death. Alexander was willing to make the effort to bring him there again.

  “He is one of the angels of punishment—the Malake Habbalah.”

  “He’s an angel?” Tyler said. “How many of you are there? And why are you so fixated on Horngate?”

  “There are thousands of us,” he said. “We all have varying powers and abilities, much like witches or Shadowblades. Shoftiel, however, is special.”

  “Of course he is,” Thor said. “How special is he, exactly?”

  “There are seven angels of punishment. Each one has dominion over a region of hell, which is not in any way hell as your religious books envision it. Each presiding angel has unusually strong powers.”

  He stopped a moment, his teeth gritting together. “Shoftiel has always thought himself superior. Religious documents have named him the angel of God’s judgment, and he loves the role. He believes angels should be ruling the world, with every human and nonhuman enslaved to service. While undoubtedly many other angels agree, we don’t tend to trust one another. Nor do we take orders well. It takes a lot to get us to join together. Shoftiel hasn’t been able to gather the forces he needs. Somehow he learned that Xaphan and I were in Ledrel in Horngate.”

  “Ledrel?” Alexander interrupted.

  “Between life and death. He assumed that the coven was keeping us in order to harvest parts of our wings and bodies to fuel their spells. So he came to rescue us, no doubt expecting us to join his cause and serve him as payment.”

  “So why all this other with Sterling? And why go after Max?”

  “Sterling? What is that?”

  “Not what—who. A witch. He has formed a cult called Earth’s Last Stand and has been hunting down witches and killing them. Your friend Shoftiel has been helping him. Why would he do that?”

  Tutresiel shook his head. “Shoftiel is no friend of mine. He is mad and, at the same time, brilliant. He likes to spoil and ruin. It would suit him well to be worshipped and to destroy witches and corrupt humans in the bargain. As for Max—” He drew a breath and blew it out, turning away. “He said he smelled her on us. She’d touched us. That was enough to punish her.”

  “That’s because she was in that stupid vault every free moment, talking to you and trying to wake you up,” Tyler said hotly.

  The angel nodded, saying nothing.

  “So what now? Max was going to take Shoftiel into the abyss to lose him. Are you saying he can walk the abyss like she can?” Alexander asked.

  “She didn’t go to the abyss,” Xaphan said, dropping silently down beside them.

  Tutresiel scowled. “Of course she did. Where else could she go?”

  Xaphan gave him a long look. “Blade of blood and bone,” he said at last.

  Tutresiel stared, nonplussed. “That’s—” He broke off, a smile playing around his lips. “She beat him. Max beat him at his own game.”

  “What does that mean?” Tyler demanded. “What are you talking about?”

  “I told Max an old story about someone getting vengeance on Shoftiel and sending him to the Mistlands. When an innocent woman was wrongly killed by Shoftiel, her son forged a sword of blood and bone and used it to banish Shoftiel to the Mistlands for five hundred years,” Xaphan explained.

  “What does that have to do with Max?” Alexander asked.

  “At the end, she thrust her arm through his heart. A blade of blood and bone. They vanished,” Tutresiel said. “I had forgotten the story and assumed she took him into the abyss. But that’s not where they went at all.”

  “Where did they go?”

  “The Mistlands.”

  “Where’s that?” Tyler pushed. “How do we get her back?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t know,” Xaphan answered.

  Alexander stood apart, no longer hearing anything they said. A roaring sound filled his ears, and the pressure in his chest swelled so tightly his heart thudded unevenly.

  Inside him, something gave. Armor cracked like spring ice splintering apart on a frozen river. A torrent of emotions washed through him, and he rocked back and forth as if struck.

  “Alexander?”

  He could barely hear Thor ask his name. He turned, eyeing his friend. “What did I do?” he whispered hoarsely. And all of the fear, loss, and pain he thought he could avoid came crashing in on him like a tsunami. It crushed him under its rushing weight. He struggled against the raging cataract, then gave in, letting himself be carried away.

  His Prime rose, smothering all vestiges of his humanity. But he was not out of control. He was brutal, precise, and focused. Max would want him to see the rest of this through. She was not gone. She was not dead. He had given up on her before; he would not do it again.

  He became aware of the sudden wariness of the Blades around him. They had fallen back, watching him carefully. He ignored them, turning back to Tutresiel.

  “How is everyone else? Is Giselle all right?”

  “They are bound in Shoftiel’s magic. Xaphan and I cannot break it without hurting them. A witch might.” He glanced at Gregory.

  “Take him,” Alexander ordered. “We will follow.”

  Without another word, Tutresiel launched off the ground, swooping back down to pluck Gregory out of the kayak and fly him back to where the others were imprisoned. Xaphan leaped into the air after him.

  “You’re eyes have gone white,” Thor told Alexander as they ran after the angels.

  “Have they?”

  “But you’re okay? Not going to rip any throats out?”

  “The night is youn
g yet,” Alexander said with a toothy grin. “And we have a lot of enemies left to kill.”

  The glowing yellow building reminded Alexander of a Greek temple. It had columns all around, with broad steps leading up the front. Everything was made from gold light.

  Sterling and his people had retreated, harried away by Xaphan. They had not gone far, just down to Mansion Heights, and it looked as if they were forming up in a mob. They were going to be back before long.

  Alexander’s stomach tightened. It would be a bloodbath, with Sterling’s followers doing most of the bleeding. They could not hope to stand against Tutresiel and Xaphan, even with a powerful witch like Sterling helping them. Stir in Giselle, Gregory, Kyle, and the Shadowblades, and those people did not have a chance. They did not deserve such a death. They were stupid and gullible but not evil. He could not allow it to happen. Max would not want him to.

  Gregory was at the top of the steps. All of the Horngate prisoners were locked inside columns of power. Although their eyes were open, they seemed unconscious and unaware of their surroundings. Gregory was working on releasing Giselle.

  Alexander grappled with his emotions. The pain was raw, as if every nerve he had was being scraped by rusty razors. He was suffocating. Drowning in molten lead. His head pounded, his body throbbing as his hurt grew and grew. His Prime was growing more agitated, and despite his outward demeanor, the boundary between reason and going feral was as thin as gauze. The wildness filled him and overflowed. He gripped a spur of exposed granite, trying to hold himself down to sanity.

  A hand fell on his shoulder. He looked up. Tyler’s face was carved ice. His eyes had begun to show a ring of feralness. His fingers dug into Alexander’s shoulder, pinching bone. The other hand gripped a knife, his knuckles white.

  “I can’t—” He gritted through clenched teeth.

  Alexander did not think. Instinct guided him. He pulled Tyler against him, wrapping his arms around him and letting his Prime loose. Tyler did not need reassurance. There was none to give. What he needed was his sense of place. He needed a leader, a Prime, to help him pull himself back together. Or push him back together.

  The power of Alexander’s Prime washed out, wrapping around the other Blades. He felt their relief as they leaned into his strength. Tyler made a harsh sound and tried to shove himself away. Alexander did not let him go.

  His aura surrounded Tyler and smothered the feralness. He pushed the wildness back down inside the other Blade, feeling the moment when Tyler took control. Next, Alexander reached out to the others. Through sheer dominance, he settled them back down, helping them channel their panic, grief, and anger back into focus.

  The worst of it was that every bit of their emotions only mounded on top of his own, making it that much more difficult to keep himself reined in. At the same time, helping them reminded him of what he was and his responsibilities as Prime. In the end, that gave him the strength he needed.

  He let Tyler go.

  The other man shook himself, not meeting his gaze. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime,” Alexander said dryly.

  He turned, and the other Blades drifted toward him, like metal to a magnet. None knew quite what to do. They needed action.

  “Go check on Sterling,” Alexander told Tyler. “Take everyone with you. Watch out. The Last Standers are armed to the teeth, and even without Shoftiel helping him, Sterling is a powerful witch.”

  Tyler nodded and gestured for the others to follow him.

  Alexander trotted up the temple steps to check on Gregory. The witch was sweating and pale. He circled around the pillar holding Giselle, glancing up as Alexander joined him.

  “These bonds are like nothing I’ve ever seen,” Gregory said. “I haven’t been able to put even a dent in them. I need Judith, but to tell the truth, I’m not sure she and I are going to be able to do much better.”

  Alexander chewed his lips, thinking. Then he strode back down the stairs to where the angels stood talking together.

  “Gregory cannot get them out alone. He thinks Judith’s help will not be enough.” He turned and pointed to Liam and Bambi. “Those two are new friends of Max’s. They just volunteered to be guinea pigs. I want you two to see if you can crack the magic. You have got Tutresiel’s sword and Xaphan’s magic. Between the two of you, you ought to be able to break open the spells.”

  “They might not survive,” Xaphan pointed out.

  “They might not,” Alexander agreed. “Do it anyhow.”

  Both angels nodded and skimmed up the steps. Gregory drew back, watching. Tutresiel went first. He pulled his sword from the pocket universe he kept it stored in. It appeared flaming white in his upraised hands. He swung. The blade smashed against the golden column and bounced back. Magic exploded. The force shoved Alexander backward and widened the ring of melted snow surrounding the temple.

  Tutresiel bent and looked at his handiwork. He shook his head and drew back to try again. This time, the white witchlight surrounding the blade seemed to sharpen, like a diamond lit by the sun. He swung straight down. The sword stuck in the column. The two magics crackled, sending bolts of sizzling gold and white streaking through the air. All around, the night grew hot as a blast furnace.

  The muscles in Tutresiel’s arms, back, and legs bulged as he struggled to pull his sword free. Finally, it came loose. He spun with the force of the release. He was panting.

  He turned back to face the column. It no longer stood straight and round. Instead, it looked a little bit like melted taffy. It had bubbled and melted, and the top was blackened.

  Tutresiel stood back a moment, and then his sword vanished. Before Alexander could ask what he was up to, he rose into the air until he was a good two hundred feet up. Then he turned and dove. He held his wings close and, at the last moment, spread them with a loud metallic ringing sound. Then he crashed into the column with the leading edge of one wing. The force flipped him around and sent him rolling down the steps and into the mud.

  A moment later, the column simply shattered, the chunks of it dissolving as they fell. Liam slumped to the floor. Xaphan bent and checked him.

  “Alive,” he said. He slapped the man’s face. “Wake up.”

  Alexander bent and offered Tutresiel a hand. The angel eyed him disdainfully and stood on his own. His body was caked with mud.

  They went up the stairs, where Liam was starting to come to. He blinked, his eyes widening at Xaphan. His attention moved to Tutresiel and then Alexander.

  “Am I nuts?” he asked. “Or do the two guys standing next to you have wings?”

  “They are angels,” Alexander said.

  Liam’s gaze flicked back and forth between the two. “You have got to be shitting me. This is heaven? How come I hurt so fucking much? Where’s all the white light?”

  “You are not in heaven,” Alexander said, reaching down to pull him up. Liam leaned against him heavily. “This is still Montana, and these angels, well, I would not call them particularly angelic. Come on, you need to get out of the way.”

  He pulled Liam down the steps and onto an outcropping of rock, before returning to Tutresiel and Xaphan. “Can you do that again? For Giselle?”

  “I have to rest first,” Tutresiel said. “I am still weak from being in Ledrel.”

  “You try, then,” Alexander told Xaphan, not letting his frustration show. He pointed at Bambi. “See if you can get him out.”

  Xaphan gave a thin smile and extended his wings. Flames erupted along every single feather. The fire stretched high into the air. The flames were orange, blue, and yellow. Heat flashed through the air, drying the mud clinging to Tutresiel. Xaphan stepped up to the pillar and embraced it, folding his wings down around it.

  Nothing happened.

  Then the fire shifted into the white-blue of a welding torch. The stench of burning hair and ozone swelled in the air. The ground dried under the heat, and Alexander’s lips and eyes turned parched. He backed away until he stood beside Liam, who was staring, his eye
s wide.

  “Is Jack going to be okay?” he asked in his rough voice.

  “Hard to say.” Alexander’s mouth twitched with gallows humor. “If I recall the movie, Bambi survived the forest fire, if it makes you feel any better.”

  Liam snorted. “I feel like I’ve wandered into a horror flick,” he said. “Afghanistan seems almost normal compared to this.”

  “Welcome to the new world,” Alexander said. “Where your dreams and nightmares come true and everything you read in the fairy tales is real. Get used to it.”

  Just then, there was a sound of shattering glass, and Xaphan tumbled through the air, landing fifty feet from the temple. He sank through the snow, and the ground lit on fire, his wings igniting dirt and rock alike. He rolled to his feet and knelt down, setting his hand onto the burning earth. A moment later, the flames died, leaving a scorched spot a full twenty feet in diameter.

  Alexander approached the temple, with Liam hard on his heels. Tutresiel got to Bambi before them. He picked him up like a rag doll. The unconscious man’s head lolled, his hands and legs dangling lifelessly. Liam squeezed in and lifted his jaw. “Jack! C’mon, Jack! Wake up!” He gave Bambi a little shake.

  The other man coughed suddenly. Tutresiel let him go, and he dropped like a bag of onions. Liam swore and crouched beside his friend. Alexander turned to Xaphan. The angel was practically translucent. Dammit.

  “How long before you two might be able to release Giselle?” he asked.

  “A couple of hours. Maybe more,” Tutresiel said.

  Gunshots rang out down in Mansion Heights. Alexander spun around and ran to get a better view. The Last Standers had gathered inside their barns and houses and spread out into bunkers all along the crown of the hill. Below, a mob of people were flowing out of Missoula. They rode on snowmobiles, skis, and snowshoes. They carried torches, but as the shots rang out, they doused the fires.

  Kara had brought the cavalry, and a war was about to erupt. He had to stop it. Max would want him to stop it.

  He turned to look at Tutresiel and Xaphan. “Get Sterling. Whatever it takes. Take him out. I will handle the rest.”