Jennifer Estep Bundle

by Jennifer Estep

  “Kill the Frost girl,” Loki said. “With the dagger. Now, before it’s too late.”

  “Happily,” Preston said.

  Before I could blink, before I could even scream, Preston raised the Helheim Dagger high and stabbed me in the chest with it.

  Chapter 24

  For a second, I didn’t feel anything.

  Then, my brain caught up with the rest of my body. I screamed as Preston plunged the dagger into my chest, and I screamed again as he wrenched it free. The pain was—was—unbearable. Unending waves of agony roared through my body, each one a little larger and more awful than the last. I don’t remember putting my hands over the wound, but I must have, because suddenly, I could feel the blood spurting out from between my fingers—warm, wet, sticky, and stinking of copper.

  White stars exploded in front of my eyes, and the next thing I knew I was on the ground, staring up at Loki, Vivian, and the Black roc they were sitting on.

  The evil god stared down at me, and a smile split his grotesque features. On the smooth side of his face, his lips curved up, but on the melted side, they turned down. The sight reminded me of the two faces on Vivian’s ring—only much, much uglier.

  “Well,” Loki said, a harsh note of triumph ringing in his voice. “That’s one problem finally solved. Give my regards to Nike when you see her, little Gypsy. And tell her that it’s only a matter of time now before the Pantheon falls and Chaos reigns once more.”

  Vivian tightened her grip on the Black roc’s reins and looked down at Preston.

  “Make sure the Gypsy dies, Preston,” she ordered. “The rest of you, disappear into the woods. We’ll regroup at the second safe house. And see if you can take some members of the Pantheon out along the way.”

  The other Reapers nodded and slipped into the forest. Vivian slapped the leather reins against the roc’s back, and the enormous bird flapped its glossy black wings. The roc swooped up into the air just as easily as it had darted down from the trees. Despite the pain of my wound, I couldn’t stop staring at the creature and the people riding it.

  Vivian, the girl who’d murdered my mom, and Loki, the evil god I’d just freed against my will.

  I don’t know if Loki heard my agonized thoughts, but the god leaned over the side of the roc, his Reaper red eye burning into mine. Once again, I felt an emotion radiating off him—one of pure, swelling triumph. As if by ordering my murder, he’d achieved some long-secret dream, some great, final victory.

  The evil god’s half-melted face was the last thing I saw before the roc disappeared into the night sky.

  Preston watched Vivian and Loki vanish into the darkness, a sour expression on his handsome face.

  “It should have been me,” he muttered. “I should have been chosen to be Loki’s Champion. Not her.”

  Preston lashed out with his foot and kicked me in the side. The force of the blow rocked me over onto my stomach, and I moaned as a fresh wave of pain pulsed through my body.

  “Well,” he said. “At least I had the pleasure of killing you tonight. That’s something, I suppose.”

  Preston crouched down on his knees, a mocking smile on his face. “You’re not so tough now, are you, Gypsy? Not so brave and strong when you’re not digging through people’s memories while they’re all chained up. But your pitiful psychometry magic can’t help you now, can it?”

  But your pitiful psychometry magic can’t help you now, can it?

  Maybe it was the haze of pain that wrapped around me, but Preston’s words echoed through my mind again and again. Something about his words seemed ... wrong.

  I struggled to try and focus, to figure out what bothered me so much about the Reaper’s words now, while I was dying and should be thinking about things like my immortal soul.

  It took me a few seconds, but then, I remembered what Grandma Frost and Professor Metis had told me. About how there was more to my psychometry than just touching objects and getting vibes off them.

  Your psychometry lets you see people’s memories, lets you feel what they feel. Metis’s voice rang in my head. Who’s to say that you couldn’t reach even deeper inside them? Perhaps even tap into someone’s magic while you were fighting him and turn it against him?

  I thought about Daphne then, about how I’d been able to feel her healing power in the coliseum and then again in the gym, about how I’d been able to touch her power and feel it flow into my own body if only for a few seconds. Too bad the Valkyrie wasn’t here now. I could have reached for her healing magic—

  Then, the strangest idea occurred to me. Daphne wasn’t here, but Preston was.

  I thought about it, wondering if I could do the same thing to the Reaper that I’d done to Daphne ... if I could touch him and somehow use his magic, his energy, to heal myself. It sounded crazy, but I’d do anything to stop the terrible, unending pain I was feeling—even touch the Reaper one last time.

  Preston was right. I was dying. I could feel the life leaking out of me with every drop of blood that oozed over the broken black marble. Crazy or not, I had to try. It was all I could do.

  So I drew in a shallow breath, put one trembling hand out on the jagged stone, and pulled myself forward a few inches. Then, I did the same thing with my other hand. It was hard—so freaking hard—but I did it anyway. After a few seconds, Preston noticed what I was doing. He let out a dark, ugly laugh.

  “Still fighting, Gypsy? Still coming for me? It won’t do you any good. That wound I gave you is a mortal one. You’ll be dead in a few minutes. The only reason I don’t use my sword to take off your head is that I want you to suffer, just like my sister Jasmine suffered when you killed her. Of course, I can’t make your pain last nearly as long as it should, but this will do quite nicely.”

  I didn’t bother responding. I didn’t have the breath or the energy for it. All I was focused on was Preston. He was crouched down about two feet away from me. The bottoms of his pants had risen when he’d bent down, and I could just see the sliver of his pale ankle showing through the gap between his pant leg and his sock. Closer and closer I crept to the Reaper’s foot, leaving smears of blood on the broken stone underneath my body, my eyes fixed on that tiny batch of bare skin.

  Preston smiled at my pitiful struggles. Watching me worm my way toward him amused the Reaper. I seized onto that emotion and used it to fuel my own anger at everything that had happened tonight. Vivian’s tricking me, freeing Loki, killing Nott.

  I almost came undone at that last thought, at the idea that Nott was dead, but then I remembered the wolf’s whimper and the way she’d looked at me, like she’d let me down when I was the one who’d failed her instead. Nott had thrown herself into a ring of Reapers to try and save me. The least I could do to repay her sacrifice was try my crazy plan, even if it didn’t work. Besides, I had nothing left to lose.

  So I gave myself a final push forward, reached out, and wrapped my hand around Preston’s ankle—but all I felt was his sock.

  The fabric was soft, smooth, and slippery underneath my bloody, grasping fingers, but it wasn’t what I needed. I needed to touch his bare skin. I had to. That was the way my magic worked—and that was the only way my plan was going to work.

  If it worked.

  “Gypsy,” Preston muttered. “What are you doing? Don’t you know these are cashmere socks? And you’ve just ruined them. I should stab you again just for that.”

  Openly weeping now, I flailed at his ankle, my nails scratching, trying to pull down his sock so I could wrap my hand around his bare skin.

  Preston frowned, as if he realized for the first time that I wasn’t just berserk with pain and grief, that I was actually touching him for a reason. “What do you think you’re doing—”

  With the last spurt of energy I had, I surged forward another inch and shoved his sock down. My fingers closed around the Reaper’s ankle, and then I yanked.

  That was the only word I could think of to describe what I did. Preston’s memories and feelings immediately flood
ed my mind, the way they always did whenever I touched another person. But this time, I pushed those thoughts and feelings aside and went deeper, looking for his magic, looking for the spark that made Preston, well, Preston.

  And I found it.

  It was harder than it had been with Daphne, so much harder, probably because Preston didn’t have the Valkyrie’s healing magic. I didn’t know exactly what kind of magic the Reaper had, but I could feel it pulsing inside him, an ugly red spark that beat along with every steady pump of his heart. I imagined sticking my hand around his heart and closing my fingers around that energy, that feeling, that spark at the very center of his being. And then I yanked it toward me.

  I mentally tugged on his magic, on that strong, pulsing feeling, with everything I had, taking it away from Preston and pulling it into my own body.

  For a few seconds, Preston didn’t realize what was happening or maybe that’s how long it took for it to start working. But suddenly, he let out a ragged breath.

  “What are you—what are you doing?”

  I ignored the Reaper’s questions. Really, I didn’t know what I was doing either. All I was aware of was that the pain in my chest had started to ease, and I felt like I could breathe again.

  After a few more seconds, the Reaper finally realized that something was seriously wrong. He tried to get to his feet and move away from me, but by that time, I felt strong enough to reach out with my free hand, pull his sock out of the way, and wrap my fingers around his other ankle. Preston jerked up, but his arms windmilled, and he fell back down on his ass on the stone.

  The Reaper tried to kick me away, but I dug my nails into his ankles, drawing blood, and held on. I knew that if I let go, if he managed to wrestle away from me, my connection to him would be cut off. I wouldn’t be able to touch him—or his magic—anymore, and then I’d die. All the while, I kept tugging and yanking and pulling on his energy, pouring it into my own body, imagining that it was flooding into the stab wound in my heart and pulling all the skin there back together the way it should be, just like I’d seen Daphne heal Carson in the coliseum.

  Preston started to scream, but I blocked out the sound. My entire world had shrunk to holding on to the Reaper and using his magic to heal myself.

  I don’t know how many minutes passed before I noticed that Preston wasn’t moving, that the Reaper wasn’t fighting me, that he wasn’t screaming anymore.

  And that the wound in my chest wasn’t hurting anymore.

  I frowned, wondering what was wrong, wondering why I didn’t feel Preston struggling, wondering why I didn’t feel the Reaper’s energy pouring into me. It was difficult, but I peeled my bloody fingernails from around Preston’s ankles. Then, I turned over onto my back, unzipped my hoodie, and pulled up the T-shirt I had on underneath it. Blood coated my chest like I’d painted it for a football game, but the stab wound had healed. All that remained of it was a faint line slashed over my heart.

  Somehow I’d done it—I’d used my touch magic to heal myself.

  I shoved my shirt down, turned back over onto my stomach, and started crawling toward Preston. I might have healed the dagger wound, but I was still weak, and I had to stop and rest every other breath. But finally, I was able to see the Reaper’s face.

  Preston’s sightless blue eyes stared up at the sky, his mouth twisted in a silent scream.

  He was dead, and I finally realized exactly what had happened. I’d killed the Reaper. I’d killed Preston with my Gypsy gift, used my psychometry magic to suck all the life right out of him.

  I slumped to the stone and tried not to cry at the evil thing I’d done—I’d just committed murder.

  Chapter 25

  I don’t know how long I would have lain there if a low whimper hadn’t sounded, penetrating my hate, fear, and self-loathing. I looked up to find Nott staring at me, her eyes barely open.

  “Nott!”

  I crawled over to the Fenrir wolf as fast as I could. Somehow I forced myself to sit up and cradle her enormous head in my lap. The wolf weakly licked my fingers, and I felt her pain pulse through my body. It was even greater than my own had been, so great that I didn’t know how she found the strength to keep breathing, to keep fighting. Her rusty eyes were completely dark now and covered by a thin, gray film.

  “Don’t you worry,” I whispered. “I’m going to fix you.”

  I reached for my magic, but this time, I pushed it outward, trying to heal Nott the way I’d used Preston’s energy to heal myself.

  It didn’t work.

  She was too far gone, and I didn’t have enough magic. Every bit that I fed her got soaked up immediately, and I could tell it wasn’t making a difference. I was exhausted now. I’d barely had enough power to save myself, and Preston was already dead. In that moment, I wished the Reaper had still been alive. I would have dragged him over here and happily murdered him again with my magic if it meant saving Nott.

  The wolf licked my fingers again, as if trying to tell me that it was okay, that she knew I’d done my best to save her.

  “Nott?” I whispered. “Nott!”

  The wolf laid her head down, closed her eyes, and let out what sounded like a happy sigh. Then, she was still—forever.

  I put my head down on the wolf’s neck and wept.

  They found me at dawn, just as the last of the lavender twilight was fading away, and the world was preparing itself for a new day—the first day without Nott. I huddled there on the cold stone, stroking Nott’s silky ears with my frostbitten fingers.

  Clash-clash-clang!

  Screams and shouts echoed through the forest, followed by the ring of blade on blade. Branches snapped and leaves crackled as several Reapers raced into the clearing. They stopped short at the sight of me huddled in the middle of the broken circle, my head still pressed against Nott’s cold neck.

  “Is that the Gypsy?” one of them said. “The one that Ashton stabbed to death? How is she still alive?”

  “I don’t know,” another one muttered. “But she won’t be for much longer.”

  The Reaper walked over to me and raised his sword high, ready to bring it down on my head—

  He jerked, screamed, and arched his back a moment before falling to the ground beside me. A golden arrow quivered in his back. Daphne, I thought, and went back to petting Nott.

  The other Reapers whirled around, and a moment later, my friends charged into the clearing. Logan carrying a sword, a shield strapped to his arm. Daphne with her onyx bow and quiver. Oliver, Kenzie, Metis, Nickamedes, and Ajax, all carrying weapons. Even Carson was here, clutching a staff and an ivory horn that reminded me of a miniature tuba, the same horn he’d picked up at the coliseum, the one that Daphne had said kept appearing in his room no matter how many times he gave it back to Metis. The Horn of Roland, I thought. That’s what Loki had called it.

  “Gwen?” Logan shouted, swinging his sword at the Reaper closest to him. “Gwen!”

  I didn’t raise my head, and I didn’t respond to him. I just kept stroking Nott’s ears. Nothing else mattered but that.

  Clash-clash-clang!

  The battle raged in the circle all around me, but it seemed distant and far away. The curses, the shouts, the smash of steel against steel. It was like a dim dream. Eventually, though, as my friends fought their way closer to the center of the circle, I began to make out their voices through the noise and chaos.

  “Get out of the way, Spartan!” I heard Daphne snap. “Unless you want me to put an arrow in your back!”

  “No!” Logan shouted back at her. “I have to get to Gwen before it’s too late! I won’t let her die like I did my mom and sister!”

  I frowned. That wasn’t right, I thought. Logan hadn’t let his family die. He’d been a kid when the Reapers had murdered them. There was nothing he could have done to save them. If he’d tried, he would have been killed, too.

  The sound of Logan’s voice made me blink and raise my head. The Spartan froze when he realized that I was staring at hi
m.

  “Gwen?” he said in a shocked voice. “Gwen!”

  Logan was so surprised that he did something I’d never thought he’d do—he stopped fighting. The Reaper he’d been battling raised his sword, ready to press this unexpected advantage. Panic rose up in my chest, breaking through the cold fog that clouded my mind. Logan was going to die because of me—just like Nott had.

  I started to scream out a warning, but Nickamedes stepped forward, putting himself between Logan and the Reaper. The librarian parried the blow meant for his nephew, then drove his sword into the Reaper’s chest. Logan pulled his eyes away from me and started fighting again.

  A minute later, the battle was over, and all the Reapers were dead. My friends hurried over to me, stepping over the bodies that littered the cracked black stone.

  “Gwen?” Logan said. “Are you all right?”

  The Spartan stared at me, an anguished look on his face, but all I could see was the blood on him. It covered his sword, his shield, and his hands like a coat of fresh, glossy paint. Blood had even spattered onto his face, looking like crimson tears dripping from the corners of his blue, blue eyes.

  My gaze moved past him. Daphne, Carson, Oliver, Kenzie, Metis, Nickamedes, Ajax. All of them were covered with blood—so much blood. They’d fought their way through the Reapers to get to me, someone who didn’t deserve their friendship.

  Someone who didn’t deserve anything at all.

  “Gwen?” Logan asked again, his voice dropping to a whisper. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  “It was Vivian,” I said in a dull tone. “It was Vivian the whole time. She has telepathy magic, illusion, confusion, and chaos powers. She tricked me into finding the Helheim Dagger for her, then used it and my blood to open a portal to Loki’s prison. He’s free. Loki’s free, and Nott’s dead.”

  I kept stroking the wolf’s cold ears. “Poor Nott. She barely got a chance to live, you know? To be free. And now she’s gone, all because of me. It’s all my fault. My mom’s murder, Vivian’s freeing Loki, everything. You shouldn’t have come for me. You should have just let the Reapers kill me. I should have let Preston kill me.”