Blood Winter (34 page)

“That’s a lot of hoping,” Thor said sourly.

“Where will you be?” Tyler demanded. He had taken a knife out and was carving gouges into the wall. Better than in her flesh, she supposed.

“I hope to be alive, but I figure I’ll be useless about then.”

“Explain,” Alexander said. He had been listening silently. His expression was bland, almost indifferent.

“My plan is to take the fucker into the abyss and dump its ass there,” she said. “If I can get ahold of it, I can drag it through. Then I’ll come back out. But with the drain of this mark on my chest, the amulet, and actually going into the abyss, I figure I’ll pretty much be wasted once I get out.”

“What if the abyss doesn’t hold him?” asked Tyler, voicing the fear she hadn’t wanted to contemplate.

“I don’t know,” she said. If the demon could walk the abyss the way she could—which was a talent more than just rare—then there was no place that could hold it.

Or was there?

An idea sparked in her mind. There was one place she knew of designed to trap someone with just that talent. If it still existed. The only trouble was, if she took the demon there, she’d be caught, too. The last time she’d got stuck in that prison, Spike had rescued her. But Spike was gone, and she didn’t know if the Calopus was ever coming back. And if she did, it might not be before Max died of thirst and hunger.

She looked at her Blades, one by one. Should she tell them? Her gaze settled on Alexander.

“There is one place,” she said slowly. “It was designed to capture a demigod with the ability to walk through the abyss. I could take the bastard there.”

Silence descended, smothering sound. Five seconds. Ten.

“Correct me if I am wrong,” Alexander said, “but is that not where you were trapped? Where you could not move, even to blink? Spike had to save you, or you would still be there.”

“That’s the place.” She nodded. It didn’t escape her that he didn’t sound particularly upset by the notion. Her gaze flicked to Tyler. He turned away so she couldn’t see his face. His muscles roped beneath his skin as he spun the knife in his fingers. He hadn’t found a shirt to replace the one he’d given her. She looked back at Alexander. He was staring at the wall. She had no idea what he was thinking.

“I don’t see a choice,” she said finally. “If I don’t go after the demon, we’re all dead. If I have to pull it into that trap to stop him—if the trap even still exists—then I’m stranded. Spike can find me, if she comes back. If not . . .” She shrugged.

“Everybody else still lives. It’s a price I’m willing to pay. It’s a price I
have
to pay, and you know it. This is not me being impulsive and stupid. I just don’t see any other way.” She was talking mostly to Tyler, but the others shifted uneasily, their Blades rumbling with helplessness and anger.

She was their Prime. She didn’t need their agreement or permission. And yet she wanted it. If they didn’t give it, she’d still have to go. Unless someone came up with a better plan. But if Giselle hadn’t been able to stop the creature, then Gregory wasn’t going to have a snowball’s chance in hell. The creature would slaughter her Blades with magic, long before they ever got close enough to even try to touch it. She couldn’t let that happen. It wanted her. It wanted to torture her. Which meant she could get close enough to pull it into the abyss. There really was no other choice.

“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 years 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?”