Midnight Frost (5 page)

Wait a second. I knew him. Jason Anderson. A Viking and a second-year student like me. He sat two desks over from me in English-lit. I’d never paid much attention to Jason before, except to say hello or ask him to pass me a book or a copy of the latest pop quiz we were taking. But something about him made me keep watching him now.

Jason tentatively put one hand on the counter, then another one—and then he reached out and grabbed my water bottle.

I frowned. What was he doing messing with my drink? As I watched, Jason slid a small white pouch out of his jeans pocket. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching him, then dropped the bottle down by his side and held the pouch up over it. Some sort of white powder dropped into the water. Jason quickly swirled around the liquid inside so the powder dissolved in it.

I sucked in a breath. Was he—could he be—was he
poisoning
my water?

Jason put the bottle back on the counter where it had been. He started to turn around, but then he spotted the second bottle—the one that belonged to Nickamedes. Jason must not have been sure which water was mine because he glanced around again, then did the same thing to that bottle. White powder, shake the water around until the poison dissolved, then set it down like he’d never even picked it up to start with.

“Reaper,” I muttered.

Jason glanced around a final time, making sure no one had seen what he’d done. Then, he turned, went over to the study table where he’d been sitting, and gathered up his things. Now that his mission was complete, he was leaving the library, leaving the scene of the crime.

My eyes narrowed. Not if I could help it.

I scrambled to my feet and started to run.

I ran into the stairwell and raced down the steps as fast as I could. I was in such a rush that I jumped down the last five steps, almost falling on my face before I managed to right myself at the last second. I drew in a breath and hurried along the back wall of the library. More than a few couples stood in the shadowy stacks, eagerly macking on each other, but I didn’t have time to be disgusted by the PDAs. My focus was on stopping the Reaper boy—nothing else mattered right now.

I broke free of the stacks and skidded to a halt in the middle of the main aisle. Jason had been walking toward the open double doors that led out of the library. He’d been texting on his phone, and his head snapped up at the
squeak-squeak-squeak
of my sneakers on the floor.

“You!” I screamed, pointing my finger at him. “Jason Anderson! Stop right there!”

The Reaper froze. He was in the middle of the study tables, and all the kids stared at him, then me, wondering what was going on.

I slowly walked toward him, not sure what other tricks he might be plotting. Jason blinked and stuffed his phone into his jacket pocket. His hand also dropped down, and he fumbled with a zipper on his backpack. I picked up my pace and charged at him, not wanting to give him the chance to draw a weapon on me, especially since Vic was still in his spot behind the checkout counter.

I put my shoulder down and barreled into the Reaper, laying him out like a linebacker would a quarterback, and we both went down in a heap, slip-slip-sliding across the slick floor. All sorts of things slid out of his open backpack—books, pens, his laptop, a sword encased in a red leather scabbard.

“Gwen!” Oliver’s voice rang out above the confused shouts of the other kids.

“Reaper!” I yelled back, surging to my feet. “He’s a Reaper!”

Jason reached out, snatched up his sword, pulled the weapon free of the scabbard, and got back on his feet.

“Die, Gypsy!” Jason hissed at me.

He raised his sword high, and I ducked to one side. The blade sliced by my shoulder and sank into the top of one of the study tables, right in front of where Helena Paxton, a mean-girl Amazon, had been sitting. Helena shrieked, pushed her chair back, and stumbled away.

Jason cursed and struggled to pull his weapon free of the wood. I snatched up one of Helena’s books off the table, darted forward, and slammed it into the side of his head. He cursed again and lashed out at me with his fist. I turned, so that the blow only dug into my shoulder, but I still yelped as pain exploded in the joint and shot down into my arm, making me lose my grip on the book, which clattered to the floor. He definitely packed a punch with his great Viking strength. I started to throw myself forward again, but Jason managed to pull his weapon free. I stopped short. He grinned, realizing that I didn’t have a sword, and he crept even closer to me.

“Now what you are going to do, Gypsy?” he taunted.

Jason raised his blade for another strike, and I lurched to the side—

A pencil zipped through the air and embedded itself in Jason’s shoulder, causing him to arch back and scream with pain. It was quickly followed by two more pencils, a roll of tape, and a metal stapler that beaned him in the side of the head with a loud, satisfying
thwack
.

I looked past the Reaper. Oliver stood behind the checkout counter, his green eyes narrowed, already reaching for one of the computer keyboards. Spartans had the freaky ability to pick up any weapon—or any object—and automatically know how to kill someone with it. In Oliver’s hands, that keyboard could be as deadly as a battle-ax.

But the Spartan wasn’t the only one on my side now.

My fight with Jason had stunned the other students, but their surprise had quickly worn off. Chairs scraped back, shouts rose up, and the other kids started digging into their bags, drawing out the swords, staffs, and spears that were their weapons of choice. Oliver yanked the keyboard off the counter and headed toward the Reaper. Jason’s eyes flicked from one kid to another, and he realized he was going to be seriously outnumbered in another minute.

“This isn’t over, Gypsy!” Jason hissed again.

Then, he turned and ran toward the back of the library.

 

For a second, I froze, surprised that he wasn’t going to stand and fight, but then I bolted into action, running after him. Jason had headed toward the right side of the library, away from Oliver, who was rushing toward him from the left, the keyboard still clutched in his hand.

“I’ve got him!” I yelled. “You circle around! We have to cut him off before he reaches one of the side doors and gets outside!”

Oliver nodded, turned, and raced in that direction.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Nickamedes standing behind the checkout counter holding his bottle of water—the water that had been poisoned along with mine. I immediately veered in that direction.

“Stop!” I yelled. “Don’t drink that!”

“Gwendolyn?” Nickamedes said, his brow furrowing as he stared at the chaos in and around the study tables. “What’s going on? What are you doing? Why are all the students drawing their weapons instead of studying?”

I slapped the water bottle out of the librarian’s hand. “Don’t drink that!”

Nickamedes looked at me like I’d lost my mind, but I was already moving past him, reaching down, grabbing Vic, and pulling the weapon free from his scabbard. The sword’s eye snapped open, and he fixed his purplish gaze on me.

“Reaper?” he asked in a hopeful voice.

“Uh-huh.”

I felt the sword’s mouth curve into a smile against the palm of my hand.

“Fuzzball!” Vic barked. “Time to fight!”

Nyx scrambled up out of her basket and let out a fierce growl, like a soldier obeying her general’s orders.

“Gwendolyn?” Nickamedes asked again, his blue eyes going back and forth between the three of us.

“Reaper! Poison! Chase!” That was all I managed to get out before I rounded the counter, headed toward the back of the library, and started to run again.

 

Those moments at the checkout counter had cost me, and I didn’t see Oliver or Jason as I darted into the back half of the building. The lights were turned down low on this side of the library, making the shadows seem that much darker and even more sinister than usual. But instead of charging blindly down the aisles, I slowed, eased up beside a bookcase, and peered around it.

Nothing—I saw and heard nothing.

Rows of books stretched out as far as I could see before the shadows swallowed them up at the far end of the aisle. A few glass artifact cases squatted here and there in front of the shelves, the metal and jewels inside gleaming like dull stars. I drew in several long, slow breaths, trying to calm my racing heart, and straining to hear any footsteps, any rustles of clothing, or any other whispers of movement that would tell me where Jason was.

Nothing—once again, I saw and heard nothing.

Well, if Jason wasn’t going to come to me, I’d have to find him instead. So I tightened my grip on Vic and eased down the aisle, looking in front of and behind me, and peering left and right through the rows of books on either side. Nyx trotted along behind me like a pup-sized sentry. The Fenrir wolf was quiet, although her toenails softly scraped against the floor. I thought about calling out to Oliver, but I didn’t want to give away my position to Jason—

I started to move over to the study tables on this side of the library when Nyx let out a fierce growl and a sword zoomed out of the darkness. I jumped to my left, and the blade bounced off the side of one of the bookcases, throwing red sparks everywhere.

I whirled around. Jason was behind me. Jeans, sweater, nice features. He looked the same as before with one notable difference—his eyes were glowing red. A bright, fiery, intense red that told me exactly how much he hated me—and just how much he wanted to kill me.

He let out a wild battle cry and raised his weapon for another strike.

Back and forth, we fought through the study tables. Nyx danced all around us, trying to get into the battle, but Jason and I were moving too fast for that. He cursed every time I blocked one of his attacks, but I didn’t bother responding to him.

All I wanted to do right now was kill him.

“Gwen!” Oliver’s voice drifted out of the stacks to me.

“Over here!” I yelled back.

Jason lashed out with his sword, causing me to jump back. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the same thing I did—Oliver running out of the stacks, still clutching that keyboard.

Jason lunged forward. The attack caught me by surprise, and I stumbled back a few more steps. My hip hit the side of one of the study tables, and I growled with pain. I raised Vic, expecting Jason to try to end me while my defenses were down, but, instead, he turned and ran again. I started after him, but my legs got tangled up in a chair, and it took me a few precious seconds to free myself, even though I knew any delay on my part would let him escape.

But I’d forgotten I wasn’t the only one fighting the Reaper—Nyx was too.

I don’t know how she did it, since she was actually behind me, but the Fenrir wolf pup sank down on her haunches and sprang through the air, leaping farther than I’d ever seen her go before—and landing on the back of one of Jason’s legs.

Nyx let out another growl and sank her needle-sharp baby teeth into his calf. Jason yelped in pain and staggered forward, his leg almost buckling beneath him. Nyx drew back and bit him again. Jason managed to shake her off, sending the wolf pup sliding across the floor, but he was limping as he headed toward one of the side doors, shoved it open, and staggered out.

Oliver finally reached me. “Gwen! Are you okay!”

“I’m fine. We have to get him!”

He nodded, and we pushed through the door after our enemy. Nyx scrambled to her feet and chased after us, as well.

The wolf pup must have done more damage to Jason than I’d realized, because he hadn’t made it very far, having only hobbled down a set of steps and then a few feet out onto the quad, leaving a trail of blood drops behind him. Oliver threw away his keyboard, leaped onto the balcony wall, then launched himself through the air and onto Jason’s back. The two guys hit the snowy ground with an audible
thud
.

Jason tried to attack Oliver, but the Spartan slapped his sword away. The Reaper managed to throw Oliver off of him, and both guys sprang back up onto their feet.

I raced down the steps, Vic still clutched in my hands, and Oliver and I both slowly advanced on Jason. Nyx was there too, her violet eyes fixed on him, teeth bared, and growls rumbling out of her tiny throat like a car engine steadily churning. Jason turned to run, but once again, his leg almost went out from under him. He yelped with pain and pulled up short.

“It’s over,” I said. “You’re hurt, and we’re not. Give it up.”

He turned to face us. His eyes, which were still that horrible Reaper red, zoomed from me to Oliver and back again. Instead of answering me, Jason reached into his jeans pocket. I tensed, expecting him to come up with a dagger or maybe a throwing star, but all he pulled out was a red paper pouch. He wasted no time in ripping it open with his teeth.

Oliver started forward, but I held up my hand, stopping him. That pouch probably had the same kind of white powder in it that I’d seen Jason dump into the water bottles. Maybe you had to eat the poison for it to work, or maybe it just had to touch your skin or get in your nose or eyes. Either way, he could easily douse us with it, and I didn’t want to take that risk.

Jason realized we weren’t going to be dumb enough to charge him, and his mouth twisted down into an angry, sullen pout. Behind us, more lights turned on inside the library, and more shouts and yells cut through the night air.

“It’s over,” I repeated. “The Protectorate guards will be here any second. You’re done. Give it up.”

Jason stared at me, considering my words. He looked at Oliver again, then his red gaze dropped to the pouch in his hand. He hesitated a second longer, then raised it up, and I realized what he was going to do—poison himself, sacrifice himself, to the evil god.

“Don’t do it,” I warned. “Loki isn’t worth it. Trust me. You’ve already ruined your life by serving him. Don’t let him take away what’s left of it too.”

“As if I could go back to the other Reapers after failing my mission. And of course Loki is worth it,” Jason sneered. His voice, which I remembered being so soft and kind, was now harsh with hate. “You’ll realize that soon enough—when you and all of your stupid friends are cowering at his feet. That day is coming, Gypsy—sooner than you think.”

Even as I started forward to try to stop him, I knew it was already too late. Jason drew in a breath, tipped the contents of the pouch into his mouth, and swallowed them. He grimaced, as though the powder left a bad taste behind. After a moment, his eyes bulged, and he reached up and started clawing at his throat.

“Burns . . .” he rasped. “It . . . burns . . .”

His legs went out from under him, and he collapsed on the cold, snow-dusted grass. I went over to him, but it was no use. Jason started convulsing, and a strange smell filled the air—almost like the sharp tang of a pine tree. As quickly as he started convulsing, the Reaper stopped. His head lolled to the side, and a bit of white foam trickled out the side of his mouth.

I watched as the fierce red light burning in Jason’s eyes dimmed, dulled, and finally died—and so did he.