Dark Frost
Page 27

"If you were just trying to get at me the whole time, then why kill those other kids?" I whispered. "Why did they have to die?"
Vivian shrugged. "I had to make it look like a real attack or you never would have bought the idea that I'd accidentally dropped the map. Besides, I never liked Samson Sorensen. He always thought he was so much cooler than the other guys at school-much too cool to date someone like me. I asked him out once, back before Jasmine got her hooks into him, but he just laughed and asked why I ever thought he'd want to go out with a mousy little girl like me. Well, he didn't laugh so much when I ran my sword through his chest, did he?"
Rage twisted her face, and her fingers tightened around the dagger, like she wanted to kill Samson all over again.
"And then in the library?" I asked, trying to keep her talking. "What was with the whole creepy voice thing?"
Vivian's face smoothed out a bit, and she shrugged again. "I needed Metis's door codes and magic passwords to get down to the prison to free Preston. I knew she'd been taking you to the prison to pry into his mind, and given your psychometry and the fact that you never forget anything you see or hear, I knew you had the passwords locked away in your brain. All I had to do was slip into your mind and make you think about Preston so I could find the information I needed. We know all about you and your touch magic. I must say it's come in quite handy so far. Helping me free Preston, then finding the dagger. Good job, Gwen. Good job."
I thought about all the headaches I'd had these past few days and all the times it had seemed there were a pair of fingers digging into my skull. That had been Vivian, using her telepathy on me. On some level, I'd sensed what she was doing and had even tried to fight back, although it hadn't worked. Then, another thought popped into my head.
"You know about my touch magic-and what I'm supposed to do with it," I said, echoing something Preston had once said to me.
Vivian snorted. "Please. As if you could ever kill Loki with your pitiful psychometry."
Once again, all the air left my lungs, and white stars exploded before my eyes. I thought I'd been stunned before, but that was nothing compared to the utter shock I was feeling right now. "You think-the Reapers actually think-that I'm going to kill Loki with my magic?"
My voice was barely a whisper. I could hardly even find the breath to ask the question. Kill a god? Me? How could I do that with my touch magic? How could anyone do that?
Vivian noticed the shocked look on my face and burst out laughing. "You mean you didn't know? The great goddess Nike didn't tell you? Oh, how wonderful."
Vivian kept right on laughing. Meanwhile, Preston had finally quit shaking and crying and pushed himself up to a sitting position. He gave Vivian a hate-filled glare and wiped away the tears on his flushed cheeks.
"But what about the ring?" I asked, my mind spinning in a thousand different directions. "Why even bother to hire me to find it?"
Vivian held out her hand, admiring the ring glinting on her finger. I stared at the two faces in the gold band. Now, instead of one laughing and one crying, both faces seemed to be twisted and grinning at me with evil, malevolent glee.
"I should have known," I muttered. "The ring has two faces just like you do. It doesn't just represent theater masks, does it? Although you should buy something nice for Mr. Ovid, the drama teacher. He's made you into quite the little actress."
"True," Vivian agreed. "I'm much more talented than that stupid Amazon, Helena Paxton, will ever be, but Mr. Ovid always gives her the lead roles in our plays. You really need to brush up on your myth-history, Gwen. I told you before it was a Janus ring, as in the Roman god of beginnings and endings. He has two faces, one looking into the future and one looking into the past. The ring's been in my family for years as a symbol of our hidden loyalty to Loki. It was my mom's-until some members of the Pantheon killed her."
Her face scrunched up, and I remembered the image I'd seen of Vivian's mom handing her the ring and all the pain the girl had felt at her mom dying. I would have felt sorry for her-if she hadn't caused me the same pain by murdering my mom.
Then, another thought popped into my head. "That's why you had brand-new furniture in your dorm room, wasn't it? And why you rushed to open the door for me when I left the day I came over to look for your ring. You couldn't take a chance that I'd flash on something in your room, like your vanity table, and realize who you really were. But why hire me to find the ring when it was never lost?"
"You're right about the furniture. As for the ring, I needed to hang around and see what you were doing, and I didn't want you to get suspicious of me before you found the dagger. So I made up the story about Savannah's stealing my ring and hid it in her room for you to find. Besides, I knew it would be easy to make you think that she was a Reaper. It's no secret the two of you are still fighting over Logan."
"So it was just a distraction. But you had to know I would touch the ring and flash on it, if only to make sure that Savannah had really stolen it," I said. "How did you twist the memories around to make it look like she was the Reaper instead of you?"
Vivian shrugged. "Chaos magic, remember? Confusion and illusions. In some ways, my magic is the exact opposite of yours, Gwen. You touch objects and see things. If I focus hard and long enough, I can actually imprint emotions and memories on certain objects. So it was easy for me to take an image of myself wearing the ring and make it look like Savannah."
"But-"
A series of low chimes sounded, cutting me off. My eyes flicked to the source of the sound-an ebony grandfather clock shaped like a roc that stood against one wall.
"At last, midnight," Vivian murmured. "Do you know what that means, Gwen?"
"What?"
Vivian smiled. "It means it's finally time for you to do what I brought you here for."
I had to force myself to ask the question. "And what would that be?"
Her smile widened. "Die."
Chapter 22
Another Reaper came into the living room-the man I'd seen when I'd first touched the fake map. He cut through the ropes that tied me to the chair, then he and Preston hauled me through the balcony doors and outside.
I started to fight back, but Preston held a sword against my ribs and told me that he would shove it through my heart if I so much as breathed wrong. So I decided not to breathe wrong.
Vivian led the way, while Preston and the man forced me down a set of stone steps and then out into the forest that lay beyond the mansion. I couldn't see much of the landscape in the darkness, but I got the sense that we were still in the mountains, still in North Carolina, still close to the academy. I don't know why that comforted me, but it did. If I was going to die, well, at least it would be close to home. Maybe the members of the Pantheon would at least find my body and bury it.
We trudged deeper and deeper into the woods, the frosted leaves crunching like brittle bones under our feet. The lights from the mansion behind us slowly disappeared, but they were replaced with new ones up ahead. The lights flickered and danced in the darkness, and I realized they were torches burning in the night.
We stepped through the trees and into a large clearing. An enormous circle made out of black marble had been set into the middle of the forest, with the trees rising up on all sides like the pillars of a great coliseum. Tall, skinny torches had been placed into small holes cut into the stone, and their crackling red flames leaped up into the air, like they were straining to set fire to the trees around them.
We hadn't passed anyone in the forest, but thirteen people had already gathered inside the stone circle, one standing by each torch-and every single one of them wore a Reaper mask and a black robe.
I stared out into the circle of people, my eyes going from one twisted Loki face to the next. I couldn't see who was behind the masks, but I thought I probably knew some of them, that they were kids or professors at Mythos. A sense of familiarity radiated off them, along with hate-so much hate. Every single Reaper in the circle would have been more than happy to step forward and kill me. I bit my lip and tried not to show just how terrified I was of them and what they were about to do to me.
"What is this place?" I asked.
"This," Vivian said in a satisfied voice, "is a Garm gate, one of hundreds located all over the world. It serves as a portal to other gates and even other realms-including Helheim."
"Helheim?" I whispered.
From researching the dagger, I knew that the weapon was named for Helheim, which was the Norse world of the dead-and the prison realm where Loki was trapped. Supposedly, it was a place that no one-god or mortal alike-could ever escape, but I had a sick, sick feeling that wasn't going to be true tonight.
Vivian looked at me, a mocking expression on her face. "Just putting it together now, are you, Gwen? Although I have to say I love that dawning look of horror on your face."
I wanted to ask her more questions, but I didn't get the chance as Preston and the man dragged me to the center of the stone circle. Something had been carved into the marble under my feet, and it took me a few seconds to realize what it was-a hand holding a set of balanced scales. The exact same hand and the exact same scales that adorned the roof of the academy prison.
Vivian strode into the middle of the circle as well. She stopped and looked out at the other Reapers who had gathered around.
"We've all waited a very, very long time for this moment," she said. "For centuries, our ancestors have served Loki faithfully, preparing for the day when we could finally free our god from the prison he's been trapped in for so long. Well, that time has finally come."
Yeah, I knew I was about to die, but I still couldn't help rolling my eyes at her formal, grandiose words. Practice in front of the mirror much, Viv?
"You all know what to do," Vivian said. "So let's get started."
Softly at first, very, very softly, the Reapers began to chant. I didn't know what magic mumbo jumbo they were spouting, but the sound of their low, guttural words sent chills up my spine. Slowly, their words grew sharper and sharper, until the air felt like it was full of cold knives that were pressing against my skin, ready to cut me open if I dared do more than breathe.
Vivian turned her attention back to me, twirling the Helheim Dagger in her hand like it was a cheerleader's baton instead of the powerful, dangerous artifact it was.
"I know you're wondering why I didn't just kill you in the academy prison when I had the chance or even when you first came to Mythos back in the fall," Vivian said. "The answer is simple-we needed you to find the dagger for us, and we needed your blood. Fresh blood and not what had already been spilt. Of course, Jasmine almost ruined that and so did her big brother Preston."
Beside me, Preston stiffened at her words, but he didn't say anything. I'd thought he couldn't despise anyone more than he did me, but even standing here among all the other Reapers, I could feel the special, jealous hate Preston had for Vivian.
Preston and the man held me still while Vivian approached me, the dagger glinting in her hand. My stomach twisted, and suddenly, I realized what she was going to do-Vivian was going to sacrifice me to free Loki from his prison.
Grandma Frost had said being a Champion made you a target for the Reapers. Nike had said the same thing, except she'd added that a Champion's blood had power-enormous power-since that person had been chosen by a god. It made sense, I supposed. Nike had helped imprison Loki in the first place, and now, Vivian was going to use my bloody death to free the evil god.
And there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it.
If I tried to get away, Preston would stab me with his sword. If I held still, Vivian would gut me with the dagger. Either way, I was dead, dead, dead.
Vivian stopped in front of me, a cold, satisfied look on her face. How had I ever thought her sweet and shy? As I watched her, that red spark already flickering in the depths of her gaze began to burn brighter and brighter until her eyes gleamed with the same crimson fire as the torches.
"Hold out her hand," Vivian said.
My hand? What did she want with my hand? Why wasn't she going for my heart?
Preston forced my hand open and shoved it in front of me. Vivian slashed down with the dagger, opening up a deep cut on my right palm. I hissed with pain, but Vivian sawed the dagger deeper and deeper into my skin, until I thought she was going to cut my hand in half. I bit back a scream and tried not to vomit.
Blood poured out of my palm, coating the dagger in a sticky glaze. For a few seconds, nothing happened, but then, a red spark flared to life in the eye-shaped ruby set into the dagger's hilt-a hot, eerie, crimson light that I knew all too well.
"No," I whispered. "No, no, no."
Vivian shoved the dagger back into the cut, turning it over and over until it was completely covered in my blood. She pulled back, and I realized that instead of blood dripping off the end, the dagger was actually absorbing my blood, sucking it up like a vacuum cleaner. The last drop of blood vanished into the stone, and the eerie crimson light spread out from the ruby. In seconds, the whole weapon was burning the same blistering red as Vivian's eyes.
Vivian carefully placed the dagger in a slot in the middle of the stone circle, right in the center of the hand holding the balanced scales, piercing it in the same place where she'd cut my palm. She stepped back to the edge of the circle, and Preston and the other man hauled me over there as well, Preston's sword still pressing into my side.
As I watched, the Helheim Dagger started to burn even brighter, giving off wisps of acrid black smoke, before it just ... melted into the stone. One second the dagger was whole and solid; the next it was gone. The instant the hilt of the dagger disappeared, the ground started trembling, as if we were standing at the epicenter of the most violent earthquake ever. One by one, the torches went out before abruptly flaming to life again. The black stone under our feet began to buck and heave, like someone was pounding at it from below with a giant fist.