arcane gauntlets for day-to-day survival.
“ No headaches,” he said with a friendly shake of his head. “I’m fine. Snow is good, too.”
“ Yeah, I just saw her.”
“ What?” Cross asked after he thought about that for a moment. “Wait, when? Why?”
The opposite door opened, and several Southern Claw officers stepped out. Cross saw Winter, Pike, Moone, Argus, Jericho, Zelestine and King. The meeting chamber was filled with maps and charts, empty mugs and plates and sweet cigarillo smoke. Morg and Winter remained inside, along with Snow.
Oh, no. No.
“ Cross,” Morgan said. Snow looked up, caught his eye, and then nervously looked away.
“ Sir…”
“ Now hold on. Before you jump to conclusions…”
“ She’s joined Viper Squad, hasn’t she?” Cross said. “Sir, she’s my sister. There are protocols about siblings serving in the same unit…”
“ I said hold on,” Morgan said, quiet but stern. The other officers looked back as they filed down the hall. “This is a matter to be discussed behind closed doors.” Morgan’s voice was a near growl, especially when he was angry. He never raised his voice: it just got deeper. “So move it.”
Winter nodded as Cross walked briskly into the meeting chamber. Cross glowered. He was shaking, racked with anger so hard it made his gums ache and his eyes burn. His spirit was caught up in his emotions with him, and she focused the rage into the effort of stabilizing her own cyclonic form. Arcane safe-guards spread throughout the hospital would prevent her from manifesting in any harmful way, and doing so would also cause both she and Cross a great deal of pain. Managing both of their emotional states was exhausting. Cross was short of breath, and it was difficult for him to raise his eyes and look at Snow, who sat in a plain black dress and black tights and the tall black leather boots he’d bought her for Christmas.
“ Take it easy,” Winter advised. “I’d have preferred that she’d told you, but she had her reasons…”
“ Telling me would have been great,” Cross said as he looked at his sister.
Morgan closed the door behind them, harder than he normally would have. Morg rarely lost his temper, and when he did it was downright frightening.
“ All right,” he said. All Morgan needed was a breath to regain his composure, and he was once again the cool, intimidating leader of Viper Squad, the one whose very name was a legend. “It’s time for some family drama. Let’s get this over with.” He looked at Snow for a moment, and then at Cross. “Southern Claw protocol is being overruled in the case of Cynthia Cross joining Viper Squad even though her brother, Eric, is already a member. My squad has been in need of a tracker ever since we lost Cala. If not for the recent uncovering of Red’s destination, finding Cala’s replacement could have waited. As it stands, we’re one of the few available teams left who are qualified to chase Red down, especially taking into account how close we are to the Wormwood. Finding Cala’s replacement has become a matter of great import. Winter?”
The old man nodded.
“ Cynthia…” Winter began.
“ Snow,” she interrupted. “I haven’t been called ‘Cynthia’ since I was five.”
“ Snow,” Winter said, “is, bar none, the best candidate for the position. In fact…and this seems to run in the Cross family…she’s the most naturally talented witch I’ve seen in a long, long time…”
“ She’s my sister,” Cross said coldly. “She’s not a soldier.”
“ I’m right here, Eric,” Snow said quietly. “And it’s not like I’m coming straight out of the library. I’ve been training for months, while you’ve been away.”
Of course you have, Cross realized. You’d never walk into something like this unprepared: we both got that from Mom. You’ve been training, probably learning to focus your skills and control your spirit, and I wouldn’t know a thing about it because I haven’t been here. Even when I am here…I’m not here.
“ The fact of the matter is,” Morg said after the silence drew long, “what’s done is done. A protocol override has been voted on and approved by the senior officers in Thornn, as has your sister’s inclusion as a member of Viper Squad. You two need to sort this out.”
Cross stared at his sister, she stared at the floor, and both of them were near tears.
Morg waited. Cross wondered, just for a moment, if his threatening to quit would help, but the idea passed quickly. He knew he couldn’t quit, especially not now. His anger was gone. His spirit clung to him, embraced him. She was desperate to keep the cold of his sadness at bay. It didn’t work.
Morg and Winter left the room, though they indicated they’d return for the briefing in just a few minutes. Cross and Snow were left alone.
He looked at her, and he saw her at eight years old, dressed in a frumpy shirt than dangled down to her ankles, always refusing to wear pants; he saw her at twelve years old, building snow forts with him after dark, as unafraid as he of the terrors in the night; he saw her at fifteen, looking at boys, but he never saw her much because she read so many books and always hid in her room, and all he ever did when she emerged was tell her to go away and leave him alone. He’d never understood what his mother meant when she’d said they were growing up too fast, until now.
“ Eric…” Snow began, but she fumbled her words, and her mouth moved with an empty rhythm. “I’m sorry…I want to help…and I knew you…”
Cross shook his head, and reached out his hand. She gave him hers in return, and he pulled her into his trembling arms.
I can’t stop you, he wanted to say. I want to, but I can’t. All I can do now is everything in my power to keep you safe. I’ll be a shield for you, little sister. I’ll protect you.
“ I can’t wait,” he said quietly, “to come over for dinner tonight.”
He felt Snow smile. Inside, his heart cracked. Their spirits danced a lonely dance, soft and slow, not quite touching, circling their human anchors like it was a child’s game. Cross held Snow for a time before the rest of Viper Squad arrived, and the briefing began.
PART TWO
He sees the mountain. It is a grim edifice of black rock embalmed in hoarfrost, so immense that it penetrates the pale sky like a blade. Ice winter clouds float over its onyx face, and iron mist hovers inches above the sluggish crystal waters of the silver marsh at the mountain’s base.
Women sit on the brittle grass and dip their bare feet into the ice-laden stream. They are fair and pale, their skin the color of milk or moon. They live in this prison of sleeping trees, whose branches lay across the ground like spent lovers. The scents of dying lilacs and corroding hyacinths drift up to heaven on a chill and cracked wind. The jet mountain looms over them, a silhouette that eclipses the glade. The wind blows through the clearing and ripples their dresses and hair; they are caressed by it, as if by a lover’s hands. When they speak, he can’t hear them, but he can see their words, like platinum ghosts. Leaves float over the ground, and the wind causes the trees to stir like skeletons.
The women share memories of their home. They recall dark buildings slick with black rainfall and streets thick with armor and smoke. Statues of tall men eclipse the city with their shadows, and the air is heavy with fear.
But this, this glade, is a better place for them. They sit near the waters and quietly laugh, knowing their presence here is ever in flux. They dream of the present, and though he knows they must be freezing they look like they are comfortable and at ease. Gossamer branches sway behind them, and beyond the lavender trees hangs a cold and empty moon, a portal through the clouds.
A sound like thunder approaches. It is the unicorns, whose hooves splash in the water and whose whinnies echo through the mists in an inhuman dirge.
The women run. Their thick wool dresses have been made heavy with moisture, and the marshy forest conspires against them with sodden earth and thick tendrils of silver smoke.
He tries to help them, but he can only watch. He isn’t really there.
