Spartan Frost

by Jennifer Estep

  Dad had been working on this case nonstop ever since we’d arrived in New York. A group of Reapers, all wearing black robes and rubber Loki masks, had been going around, breaking into museums, and swiping artifacts—weapons, armor, clothing, and more that had belonged to gods and goddesses and the warriors and creatures who had served them over the centuries.

  I rubbed my neck, which suddenly felt tight, stiff, and hot, as though that gold collar were still clamped around my throat. The Reapers had been stealing jewels too, some of them similar to the Apate gems that Agrona had used to help control me. So far, Dad hadn’t been able to figure out what the Reapers wanted with the artifacts, as some of them were pretty obscure and seemed to have little magic, but it didn’t really matter. At least not to me. All that mattered was stopping them—for good.

  “We’ve called for reinforcements, but due to the weather, they won’t be here for at least two hours,” Sergei said.

  Inari nodded, his dark hair gleaming under the kitchen lights. “And we don’t know how much longer the Reapers might stay at their current location.”

  Dad looked at me, regret and resignation flashing in his eyes, along with stubborn determination. His somber expression was all too familiar, since his work had always come first—especially before me.

  “I guess that trip to the academy will have to wait, huh?” I said.

  He put his fork down on top of his plate, pushed away from the table, and got to his feet. “I’m sorry, son, but I’ve got to go check this out. You know how important it is that we don’t let any more artifacts fall into the Reapers’ hands.”

  I did know—better than he did, since Agrona had used some of those stolen artifacts on me. This wasn’t the first time that Dad had ever been called away in the middle of a meal, and it wouldn’t be the last. In fact, I couldn’t remember a time when we’d actually managed to make it all the way through dinner without him taking a phone call, checking e-mail, or chatting with the Protectorate members who’d come to the house to speak to him about an urgent matter in person. It used to piss me off, that he couldn’t forget about work for one measly hour, but not anymore. Not since Loki had wormed his way into my mind. Not since I’d felt all of the evil god’s intense, burning hatred for the members of the Pantheon. Not since I knew exactly what horrors my dad and the other members of the Protectorate were up against.

  I stood up as well. “I’m coming too.”

  Dad was already shaking his head before I finished speaking. “No. Absolutely not.”

  I threw my hands out to my sides. “What else am I going to do here all day? Like you said, I’m not supposed to start classes at the academy until next week. Even I can only play so many video games in a day. Come on. Let me go with you—please. I want to do something, anything, to help. You know that. Why do you think I’ve been training so hard?”

  It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was close enough. I didn’t think Agrona would be at this building, not given how close it was to our mansion, but if she was there, then I wanted to be the one to deal with her—I wanted to be the one to kill her.

  And if she wasn’t there, well, I would settle for the Reapers that were.

  Sergei walked over and gave me a hearty, approving clap on the shoulder. “Well, I say it’s a fine idea. We can always use an extra pair of eyes and ears, not to mention another sword, right, Linus?”

  Inari moved to stand beside me as well, silently offering his support. Dad looked at his friends in turn, before his blue gaze focused on me again. I lifted my chin and stared right back at him.

  “All right,” Dad said, sighing a bit. “All right. You can come. But make sure you grab some weapons on the way out the door. If the Reapers are using that building as a hideout, we don’t know who or what we might find there.”

  Chapter 3

  Dad threw on his Protectorate robe, while I went back to my room and put a heavy black snowsuit on top of my winter clothes. On the way out the front door, I grabbed a sword from one of the walls. Sergei and Inari were already outside waiting in Sergei’s black Range Rover. Dad and I piled into the back of the vehicle, and the four of us took off.

  Sergei drove for about thirty minutes, twisting and winding through the mountains before slowing down on a remote section of road and stopping the car on the shoulder. Sergei reached into the glove box, pulled out a black toboggan, and tugged it down over his head, hiding his brown hair from sight. He grabbed another toboggan and handed it to me. I yanked the fabric down over my ears, grateful for the extra warmth it provided.

  “Now, we hike,” Sergei said with a big grin and a wink.

  I grinned back at him.

  We left the car and trooped through the snowy woods single file, with Sergei creating a path through the snow and the rest of us following along in his wake. The forest was completely silent, except for our harsh, frosty rasps of breath, and even the birds were still and quiet in their hidden roosts on the branches above our heads. Everything smelled crisp, sharp, cold, and clean, and I breathed in deeply, enjoying the icy burn of the winter air in my lungs.

  Finally, we crested the ridge we’d been climbing up for the last ten minutes and reached the back side of the property that was serving as the Reapers’ hideout. The four of us hunkered down in the deep snowdrifts at the edge of the trees and got our bearings.

  An enormous building lay in the clearing before us, one that was even larger than my family’s mansion. It too was made of wood, glass, and stone and had three wings that were joined together, each of which boasted its own A-line roof. Even though it was midmorning, lights still burned inside the structure, fighting a losing battle against the unrelenting grayness of the day, but I didn’t see anyone moving through the glass wall that was set into the back of the building.

  “What is this place?” I whispered.

  “Part of an abandoned ski resort,” Sergei whispered back.

  “The bank foreclosed on it before the season ever started, so it’s been sitting here empty all fall and winter.”

  “All of which made it a perfect place for the Reapers to take over and use,” Inari added, his dark eyes fixed on the structure.

  “Well, it looks like someone’s home, with all of those lights on,” Dad murmured.

  “So what are we waiting for?” I asked. “Let’s go say hello.”

  My voice was dark, harsh, and ugly—as dark, harsh, and ugly as I’d felt ever since that day at the auditorium. I didn’t want to talk to the Reapers—I just wanted to kill them. No, scratch that. I didn’t even want to kill them. Not really. I wanted to make them hurt, like I’d hurt Gwen. More than anything else, I wanted to make them suffer. Especially Agrona. And Vivian Holler too, if she was here.

  Dad must have picked up on my feelings because he frowned at me, and his gaze dropped to the sword in my hand. Despite the cold, I wasn’t wearing gloves, and my knuckles were white from where I had such a tight grip on the weapon. I lifted my chin and stared right back at him. I wasn’t a kid anymore. I hadn’t been for a long time now, and I wasn’t going to pretend to be anything other than what I was—a Spartan out for blood.

  He sighed again, but after a moment, he nodded. “Okay. Logan’s right. Let’s go see what the Reapers are up to.”

  Dad, Sergei, and I stayed where we were, hidden by the snow and the trees, but Inari slid out from behind the stand of pines and crept toward the ski resort. Even though I was looking right at him, I never really saw him move. One moment, he was hunkered down beside me in the snow. The next, he was at the back door of the building, reaching for the knob. Ninjas had cool stealth magic like that, an amazing ability to blend into the shadows and background so well that people just sort of looked past them without really seeing them—until it was too late.

  Inari tried the knob. It must have been unlocked because he cautiously opened the door. He stuck his head inside for a second before gesturing at us to approach. Sergei, Dad, and I left our hiding place in the woods, slogged through the snow an
d across the yard, and stepped through the open door into the house. Inari came in as well and quietly shut the door behind him. We stood there, swords raised, bodies tense, muscles clenched, looking and listening for any sign of Reapers.

  Nothing—we saw and heard nothing.

  Inari stepped forward once again and headed toward the right down the long hallway that we were standing in. Sergei followed along behind him, then me, with Dad bringing up the rear and watching our backs.

  The hallway seemed to run the entire length of all three wings of the building, with the entire right wall being made of glass and rooms branching off to our left. We stopped, paused, and peered into each room we passed, but we still didn’t see or hear anyone else moving through the structure. But someone had to be here. Not only were the lights on, but I could hear a furnace faintly humming, and the air was warm and toasty. I even thought I smelled bacon, but that was probably just my own disappointment at not having finished breakfast.

  I carefully studied each one of the rooms, but the furnishings were what I would expect to find at a ski resort. Lots of stone fireplaces, lots of overstuffed chairs and couches, lots of colorful rugs covering the gleaming hardwood floors. But there were other things here too—things that told me this was definitely a Reaper hideout.

  Like the Loki masks that decorated the wall.

  We found them near one of the side entrances. More than a dozen rubber Loki masks had been hooked over a series of coat hangers that jutted out from the wall, their eyes wide open and their mouths drooping, as though the hollow faces were about to start shouting and alert the Reapers that we were here. Long black robes were also draped next to the pieces of rubber, as though this was a regular coatrack—and not something far more sinister.

  I shivered and dropped my gaze from the masks. I didn’t get any vibes off objects, not like Gwen did, but staring at the twisted pieces of rubber made me sick to my stomach all the same. Loki had been inside my head, his one blue eye and one red eye burning into my brain. I didn’t need any reminders of what he looked like, of how one side of his face was so smooth and perfect and the other side so ruined and melted. I would never forget the awful image of his face looming up in my mind over and over again, or especially how the evil god had made me feel—like he was scooping out everything inside me and shoveling his own rotten self into its place.

  And laughing all the while.

  That had been one of the worst parts—having to listen to him laugh at me and knowing there was nothing I could do to stop him from taking control of me. Even now, I could hear the faint echo of his low, throaty chuckles in my head, chiming over and over again the same way the grandfather clock had this morning—

  Dad’s hand touched my shoulder, making me flinch in surprise, and his blue eyes met mine. “Are you okay, Logan?”

  I ground my teeth together to help swallow the hurt, angry snarl rising up in the back of my throat. I knew that he was concerned about me, that he was just trying to help, but I still shrugged away from his touch.

  “I’m fine,” I muttered.

  Inari and Sergei stared at me as well, their eyes dark, thoughtful, and just a bit wary. I could almost feel the three of them holding their breath, as if the sight of all the black robes and Loki masks would flip some switch deep inside me and make me go all Reaper on them. Anger spurted through me at the fact that they didn’t really trust me—not anymore—no matter how much they claimed otherwise. But part of me was also glad they were so wary and suspicious of me—because I was afraid of myself.

  Loki, Agrona, and the rest of the Reapers had made me attack and almost kill Gwen. Who knew what other magic they might have worked on me? Who knew what other evil things they might have implanted inside me? Who knew what other horrible things they might make me do at any moment? The others were right not to trust me—because I didn’t trust myself.

  More anger raged through me, burning away the last echoes of Loki’s laughter and everything else but my desire to hurt every Reaper in the entire ski resort.

  “Logan?” Dad asked again.

  “Come on,” I said, my voice even harsher than before. “Let’s keep moving.”

  I shouldered my way past him, Inari, and Sergei and started forward once more.

  “Logan, wait—” Dad called out in a soft voice.

  But it was too late.

  Because three Reapers stepped out of the room right in front of me.

  Chapter 4

  For a moment, we just stood there, all of us surprised to see each other. Maybe it was the anger still pulsing through my body, but I recovered quicker than anyone else did. I let out a loud battle cry, raised my sword high, and threw myself at the Reapers.

  Slash-slash-slash.

  The three men were warriors, just like I was, and instinct took over, causing them to leap back out of the way of my whistling blade.

  “The Protectorate!” one of the men screamed out. “The Protectorate has breached the perimeter!”

  The men kept backing away from me, even as they pulled their own swords out of the scabbards belted around their waists. By this point, Inari, Sergei, and Dad were right beside me. Together, the four of us advanced on the other men.

  “Lay down your weapons and surrender peacefully,” Dad said in a grim voice, “and we’ll take you into custody. No one has to get hurt, and no one has to die today.”

  One of the Reapers snorted, a tall guy with a beefy build and blond hair that had been shaved close to his head.

  “Forget it. We’d rather die than end up in one of your Protectorate prisons.” He grinned, his pale blue eyes taking on a sinister light. “Actually, we’d rather kill all of you instead.”

  I tensed, thinking that he might raise his sword and attack us, but instead, the Reaper put his finger to his lips and let out a fierce whistle. I tensed again, my head snapping left and right, half expecting a Black roc, Nemean prowler, or some other fierce mythological creature to come charging out of one of the rooms down the hallway or smash through the glass wall and try to rip us to shreds on the Reaper’s orders. But it must have just been a signal between the three of them because the men turned and ran away. We chased after them.

  The men raced down almost to the end of the hallway before veering left into a large room.

  “Logan! Wait!” Dad called out behind me.

  By this point, I was in the lead, and I ignored him and hurried after the Reapers. One good burst of speed, and I could catch them—I would catch them. I wasn’t about to let them get away. And not just because they were Reapers. If Agrona wasn’t here, then maybe one of the Reapers knew where she was hiding. Vivian Holler too. I couldn’t bear to face Gwen right now, but I could help her by killing them. I would do everything I could to keep her safe—from a distance.

  So I sucked in a breath and kicked into high speed, storming into the room right behind the three men. I was in the center of the enormous area before I realized it was a dining hall—one that was full of Reapers.

  A dozen Reapers were gathered around a table, eating a late breakfast of ham, eggs, pancakes, bacon, and orange juice, just like Dad and I had eaten earlier that morning. I hadn’t imagined that bacon smell after all.

  “Didn’t you hear my yell? Or my whistle?” the blond Reaper leader hissed. “Get them, you fools!”

  With one thought, the Reapers pushed their chairs back from the table, fumbled for the swords belted to their waists, and headed in my direction.

  I twirled my sword in my hand, familiarizing myself with the weight, length, and heft of the weapon. The hilt settled back into my palm, and I tightened my fingers around the smooth metal grip the way I had a thousand times before. Then, I grinned and charged at the incoming Reapers.

  Clash-clash-clang!

  Clash-clash-clang!

  Clash-clash-clang!

  I whirled this way and that, moving deeper and deeper into the fray, my sword slicing into every single Reaper I could reach. Screams and shouts tore through the air,
and blood spattered over the still-steaming food on the table.

  I kept grinning through the whole thing.

  The feel of the sword in my hand, the starry flash of silver as the weapon sliced through the air, the satisfaction when the blade went exactly where I wanted it to. This—this was what Spartans did. We fought. We battled. We raged. And I loved every single second of it.

  I’d been so weak, so useless, so damn helpless when Agrona had snapped that jeweled Apate collar around my neck. No matter how hard I’d tried, no matter how hard I’d fought, I hadn’t been able to stop Loki from taking control of me. Well, the evil god wasn’t here now, and I was going to make the most of it.

  One Reaper fell beneath my sword. Then another, then another. Inari, Sergei, and Dad had also waded into the fight, and I could hear them yelling back and forth, darting here and there, protecting each other’s backs as they battled their way over to my location in the middle of the dining hall. Sergei, in particular, twirled from one enemy to the next, his movements absolute grace, almost like he was dancing through the fight, his Bogatyr magic at work—

  Crack!

  A Reaper came up on my blind side and plowed his fist into the side of my face, making me stagger back against the table. I brought my sword up, but he slammed his weapon into mine, knocking my blade out of my hand and sending the weapon skittering across the floor. I shook my head, trying to banish the white stars winking on and off in my vision. Through the haze, I could see the Reaper grinning and raising his sword for the killing blow.

  My hand bumped against something on the table. Instinct took over. I grabbed a bowl full of scrambled eggs, stepped up, and smashed the whole thing into his face. The Reaper screamed in pain and surprise, but he followed through with his blow. I jerked to one side, and the sword sank into the top of the wooden table instead of cleaving through my skull. The Reaper grunted and tried to pull his weapon free, but I stepped up and slammed the dish into the side of his head.

  This time, the bowl broke apart in my hands, and I grabbed hold of a sharp, curved, pie-shaped piece before it clattered to the floor with the rest of the mess. The Reaper turned and lashed out with his fist, but I caught his hand in mine. We seesawed back and forth for a moment before I brought the broken bowl up and stabbed him in the throat with it. The Reaper died with a bloody gurgle.