Blood Winter (27 page)

“Wait!”

Tyler grappled her close, wrapping her tightly in his arms. His throat worked, but no words came out. The tears she’d been holding slid down her cheeks. She wanted to promise him that she’d be back, that she wouldn’t die. But she couldn’t lie to him. Instead, she settled for, “See you when I see you.”

With that, she plunged down through her inner fortress and out into the abyss.

THE AMULET WAS IN ALEXANDER’S APARTMENT. SHE
dropped just inside the door and stood. Everything within was neat. The bed was made, and there were no decorations anywhere. It looked like he’d never lived there at all. Maybe that was the way he liked it. Once he moved on, he moved on all the way.

Still, he’d left the amulet there instead of bringing it to her apartment. She’d never questioned that choice, assuming that he’d get around to it eventually. But maybe it was a sign that he’d been holding something back against the time when he’d be done with her. She couldn’t imagine ever being done with him.

Pain rolled through her like thunder across the great plains. It shook her, and she leaned back against the wall, her hands on her knees. She drew a harsh breath. How was she going to survive this pain?

Stupid,
she told herself. It wasn’t deadly. People didn’t really die of broken hearts.

She forced herself to straighten and went to the closet. A few clothes hung inside, but there was little else there. Alexander had brought nothing from his previous covenstead and had little time to accumulate more. What he did have was in Max’s apartment. She’d have to move it back. She’d do it now if she had the time, just to keep from having to watch him do it later.

Despite the fact that his room was warded so that it only opened to him, Alexander had made an effort to hide the amulet. Giselle had created the wards and could walk in anytime, and locks didn’t hold Max. On top of that, Magpie occasionally had the power to walk through locked doors, whenever a true prophecy was riding her. Plus there was always the possibility that someone could break into Horngate and find it, someone like Sterling.

The amulet was hidden in the wall in the back corner beneath a shoe shelf. The shelf was screwed in, and Max resisted the urge to yank it out with brute force. Instead, she lay on her stomach and reached under. There was nothing to indicate that anything was hidden there. The magic that hid the compartment was gypsy smoke magic, and it left little trace of itself to be noticed. The spell had been laid by Alexander’s sister Valery when she’d visited Horngate.

Max snorted to herself.
Visited.
As if it had been social and not a life-and-death fight against a rising Fury. The same fight that had ended with Niko’s death and the two angels lying in the vault in magical comas.

She gritted her teeth against the memories and shoved them down.

Her fingers prodded into the corner, meeting dry, roughly finished stone. She felt along the corner, looking for the right spot. It was small. A keyhole, really. It took Max nearly a minute to find it. She poked her finger through the magic guarding it, clamping her teeth against the sudden surge of pain. It was like sticking her finger into an electric pencil sharpener. She could feel it shredding her skin and nipping at her bone.

Undaunted, she shoved deeper until her finger was completely inserted. The lock was a test of endurance. Even Alexander had to endure this particular annoyance when he wanted the amulet.

That was the point, he’d told Max when Valery had set it up. Even though the amulet provided Shadowblades with the miracle of walking safely during the day and invisibility at night, it took as much as it gave, quickly sapping the wearer’s strength. It would be easy to wear it to death. Thus, it was necessary to make even him think twice before using it.

Several long minutes passed. Max held herself still, letting the locking spell have its way with her. Finally, the pain stopped, and there was a give. The stone around her finger melted away to reveal a hollow in the rock. She scooted forward, turning her hand up awkwardly beneath the shelf. The tips of her fingers brushed against soft cloth. She pinched it and twitched her hand, pulling it off the little shelf it rested on.

The bag fell into her hand, the amulet a heavy weight inside.

Max blew out a relieved breath and waited for the next part of the lock. It didn’t disappoint. Something clasped her wrist, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to wrestle free without destroying the amulet in the process.

Fire engulfed her hand. She could feel her skin bubbling and charring. Illusion. Maybe. Alexander had only pulled out the amulet once when Valery set the locks, and Max hadn’t been there to see it. But she could smell her flesh cooking. It
could
be illusion, her mind insisted. But the pain was all too real.

She rested her head on the cool stone of the floor, closing her eyes and enduring. Finally, the flames stopped, but the tightness banding her wrist remained. Valery wasn’t done.
Sadistic bitch.
Max smiled despite herself. The smoke witch was just following orders. Alexander had wanted something that was tough even for Max. He knew her ability to open locks and wanted to be sure that when she did, she really meant it.

Max steeled herself for whatever came next.

Nothing happened.

She frowned and jerked her arm. The bands holding her wrist compressed, and she felt her bones bending.

“Holy Mother of fuck,” she muttered. “Are you going to pull my hand entirely off?”

But she knew that the last test was to get her hand out. So she pulled, turning onto her side and bracing her feet against the wall. With every ounce of increased pressure, the banding on her hand tightened. Bones cracked, and her hand went numb. She couldn’t even tell anymore if she was still holding the amulet.

Max gritted her teeth and yanked with all her might. Her shoulder popped out of its socket, and the magic band tightened more.

She yelped and relaxed for a second, trying to think. Brute force wasn’t getting her out. Dropping the amulet might, but that wasn’t an option.

Still, she’d never met a lock she couldn’t break. Alexander wouldn’t have let her come to get this if he didn’t think she could figure it out.

So what should she do? And then it suddenly hit her. It was devious and perfect for protecting the amulet, and if Max was wrong, she was going to have to go through the whole process all over again.

One by one, she forced her fingers to uncurl from the amulet until it was lying flat on her palm. Then she slowly turned her hand over and pulled it out of the hole. It came easily. And so did the amulet. It remained in her palm, defying gravity.

Max stared at the soft gray felt bag, then collapsed back onto the floor, her eyes closing in relief.

A few seconds later, she sat up and examined her hand. None of it had been illusion. Her fingers were mangled, her wrist collapsed down to an inch diameter. And why not? Valery knew that she and Alexander healed quickly. And Alexander knew enough about the lock to minimize the damage to his bones getting the amulet out.

“Fucker could have warned me,” Max murmured out loud, startling herself.

She heaved to her feet, shoving the amulet back in her pocket. She carried her arm against her stomach and left his room, crossing the hall to her own. Inside, she found socks and boots. She pulled on the socks awkwardly, using only one hand, then stuffed her feet into the boots without lacing them.

Max glanced down at her wrist. It was pushing outward, regaining its shape. Her mangled hand was also repairing itself. But she needed a good calorie boost to optimize her healing and to prepare herself for wearing the amulet. Which meant bearding Magpie in her kitchen den. And the witch was probably going to give her an earful.

She sighed. Better get it over with. She didn’t have time to waste.

LUCKILY, THERE WEREN’T A LOT OF PEOPLE RUNNING
around in the middle of the night. The Sunspears had gone to Missoula with Giselle, and everyone else was asleep. Magpie never seemed to sleep, though.

Max walked into the dining commons and found it empty, but the scent of cooking food permeated out into the hallway and made her stomach growl.

She went first to the pitcher of milk sitting on the buffet. It was magicked to keep it cold. The milk came straight from the cows and was thick with cream. Max poured a glass and drank it down, following it with two more. She felt the coolness spread through her stomach and chest. After pouring another, she went to push open one of the swinging doors into the kitchen. She didn’t go in. Except in the case of emergencies, one needed an invitation to Magpie’s domain, or one paid the price in inedible food.

The witch stood at one of the stoves, her back to Max. Her hair fell down her back in a blue-black raven’s wing, except for two streaks of white at her temples, which gave her the nickname of Magpie.

She turned and looked over her shoulder at Max, her sharp gaze taking in her wounded arm, before traveling back up to linger on her face.

“You look like shit.”

“Feel like it. I need to calorie-load.”

The witch’s eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”

“If you don’t mind, I’m in a hurry. I’ll tell you, but I’d like to get started eating, and,” Max said, lifting her arm, “I’m having a little trouble getting things one-handed.”

Magpie pointed to a table with two chairs in the corner to the left of the door. “Sit there.”

Max stared and then slowly pushed inside and sat gingerly. Magpie went to the refrigerator—now powered by magic, as was everything else in Horngate—and brought Max an entire bread pudding loaded with bourbon sauce. She gave her silverware and some more milk, then headed back to the stove, where she started cracking eggs for an omelet and tossed on four T-bone steaks.

“All right, tell me.”

Max dug in and, between bites, told her everything that happened, even Alexander’s sudden change. It was hard to keep secrets from Magpie, and there was no one else to tell.

Magpie listened without offering any judgment or advice, bringing more food as it was ready. It wasn’t long before Max could use her hand again, albeit painfully. Her fingers were covered with new skin, and although they looked skeletal, the muscles were starting to bulk them up again. Her wrist was back to full size but weak. In another hour or so, it would be back to normal.

She forced herself to eat past the point of comfort. Her earlier healing had taken a lot out of her, even with Gregory’s help, and she not only had to replenish herself, she also had to prepare to wear the amulet. It ate energy like a giant tapeworm.

“As plans go, it’s not a good one,” Magpie said, coming to sit opposite Max, her arms crossed, her pale brow furrowed.

“No, but it’s the only one I’ve got. Unless you’ve got a suggestion?”

The witch shook her head. “Wish I did.” She hesitated, then shook her head again. “I tried calling Giselle. Phones aren’t working.”

“Whatever blasted us in that trench must have shorted hers out, too.” She shoved back from the table and stood up; her stomach bulged. “Thanks for the food. I’m going to check the angels before I go. Wish me luck.”

Max started to push through the doors and stopped when Magpie spoke.

“How long can you wear that amulet before you die?”

“Longer than I’ll need to,” she said, and pushed on out of the kitchen.

Seeing the angels wouldn’t take but a minute. It might be the last time she had the chance, and she had some last words to tell them, just in case. Even if they didn’t remember.

She stopped and turned back and swung the door open. Magpie was stacking dishes. She looked up. “Something else?”

“Just . . . thanks.”

Magpie’s brows rose. “For what?”

“For the food.” Today and yesterday and the last thirty years’ worth.

The witch frowned and put her hands on her hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t get your panties in a wad,” Max said, wishing she’d suppressed the urge to say anything. “It was a simple thank-you.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Magpie snapped. “I’m not a fool, and I’ll thank you not to treat me like one. Now, what exactly are you trying to say to me? Spit it out.”

Max gave a little shake of her head. She should have known better. Soft. She was going soft, that was the trouble. Too much teenage-girl angst over Alexander. She needed to get hold of herself. She straightened her spine and rolled her head to crack her neck. Coolly, she met Magpie’s exasperated gaze.

“You’re right. I meant thanks. And good-bye.”

With that, she spun about and jogged off to the angel vault.

W
HAT THE FUCK’S WRONG WITH YOU?” THOR
demanded, staring at Alexander. “Three hours ago you were all over Max like a sixteen-year-old boy with his first hooker. Now you let her go off and put herself in Sterling’s hands without batting an eyelash. Are you possessed?”

Alexander rubbed a finger over his lips. Then he shrugged, deciding the question deserved an honest answer. No, his
friend
deserved an honest answer. “I have considered the possibility.”