Cold Spell

blinks hard, groans.

“What’s happening?” I ask.

“I just… I feel like two people. I just…” He looks up at me. “Come on.”

I find Flannery’s knife in the snow and let Kai lead—though he can’t walk well. It’s almost as if he’s walking on broken feet, each step rocky and numb. It’s still snowing, but I’m grateful for it—it hides our tracks a little.

“How many were there? Like you, I mean. How many boys?” I whisper as we walk.

“Six,” he says. “Six altogether, I think.” Kai stops suddenly, and I almost crash into him. I glare at him accusingly only to see him lifting a finger, pointing. I look in that direction and through the trees. Mora’s cottage. We’ve come up along the back side, and for the first time I notice there’s no snow on the roof, as if the flakes avoid the shingles.

“She’s in there right now?” I ask Kai. It’s small, smaller than it looked earlier, and it doesn’t seem like the sort of place someone like Mora would live.

“I don’t know,” he answers. “It’s not really her house.”

“I don’t understand what that means,” I say, growing frustrated.

“I can’t explain it,” he says. “You have to see.”

I exhale, look at the house, hold Kai’s hand tight. “All right, then. Don’t let go.”

“I won’t,” Kai says, turning to look at me. The gold in his eyes both soothes and terrifies me—I don’t want it to leave again.

Together, we slink through the snow along the edge of the cottage, ducking under windowsills. We reach the front door, and suddenly the knife in my hand feels stupid and small against whatever Mora is.

Kai is the one who reaches forward first, letting his hand run across the doorknob. I hold my breath as he turns it and pushes the door open. The house sighs, as if it needed the air from the outside to blow in. I brace myself for Mora’s eyes, for a wolf, for the cold.

But there is nothing. The house is dark and perfect, not like it’s abandoned, but like no one has ever lived here. It reminds me of those staged homes, where they bring in furniture that’s flawless and stiff. The door opens to a foyer that splits into two rooms, one with a dining room table with eight place settings, the forks and knives lined up on either side of white plates. The other, a living room with a camelback couch and bookcases with one or two items on each shelf—odd things, like unlit candles, empty jars, and an elaborate ship in a bottle. Ahead, I can see a bedroom. The bed is crisply made with silk linens and fancy pillows, and there’s a notepad sitting beside it, the pen laid carefully across the top.

I twist around and pull the flashlight out of my hoodie pocket, flick it on, then step inside, balancing the knife and the light in one hand so I don’t have to release Kai. The floorboards creak in protest under my feet, and I cringe, waiting for something to happen…. silence. Another step, another. We pass a table with picture frames on it, and I notice there’s no dust—anywhere. Everything is perfectly polished and glossy. I pause, shine the light on each of the photos, and realize they’re all of Mora.

But not the Mora I know. They’re of Mora in a wedding dress. Of Mora on a boat in a bikini. Of Mora in front of a backdrop that looks like it belongs at a movie premiere.

They’re not really of Mora. There’s something wrong about them, and when I lean over to see what, I realize that it’s Mora’s head, but not her body. They’re fakes, all of them—Mora’s face cut out and pasted on top of other girls’ bodies. Pictures of the life Mora thought she would have, not the life she’s living.

“Look at these,” I say to Kai, forgetting to whisper.

“That’s what I meant,” Kai answers. “It’s not really her house.”

I angle the flashlight on one of the largest photos—a black-and-white shot of Mora wearing a long, silver dress with a fancy headpiece, something reminds me of the 1920s. I narrow my eyes—it’s real. It’s her, Mora the way she really is. I inhale, shake my head, and turn back to Kai—

“She came to kill you,” he says.

“What—” I begin, but then I realize he isn’t talking to me.

Kai’s eyes are dark again. Skin a strange bluish gray. And his hand is now heavy in mine, like an ice carving instead of an appendage. A flutter of movement, and Mora steps out from behind him, her slender hand carved around Kai’s other arm.

“I know,” she says, and smiles at me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Kai pulls his hand from mine; the air that swoops to my skin is warmer than his fingers were. I lower the flashlight’s beam to the floor and stare at Mora.

“Come to kill me?” Mora asks simply.

“I want him back,” I answer, because as much as I want to stop her, to end what she does to boys and the girls who love them, what I really want is Kai.

“I know the feeling,” she answers, almost sympathetically, and steps between Kai and me, dangerously close. She emanates cold, so much that I take a step back to escape it. Mora leans against Kai, who swoops one arm around her and kisses the top of her head tenderly. She takes his hand and walks into the sitting room, as if I’m merely a houseguest to whom she’s giving the grand tour.

I inhale, turn, and follow. Mora sits down on the couch, Kai beside her; he hardly ever looks away, as if he adores her too much to warrant looking at anything else. Lucas warned me. He warned me Kai would trick me, I think, feeling sick. Mora smiles again and motions toward a swan-arm rocker opposite her, indicating I should sit.

“I’ll stand,” I say stiffly.

“You’ll sit,” Mora answers. “My home. My rules. Drop the knife, by the way.”

I pause and let the knife clatter to the floor, but I keep my grip on the flashlight. This seems to satisfy her; she motions to the chair, and I reluctantly sit down on its edge—not because I’m playing by her rules, but because I haven’t worked out a plan yet and any time is borrowed time. She looks pleased and runs her fingers up and down Kai’s pant leg. I shiver, fiddling with the flashlight switch when my body can’t handle the nerves.

“I liked you, Ginny. You’re the kind of girl I would have been friends with, once.”

“I can’t say the same,” I answer curtly. I notice magazines on the coffee table—fashion ones, though they’re strangely dated. Some from the sixties, some from the eighties, some more recent. She catches me looking at them and sharpens her tone, as if she’s embarrassed.

“Why are you really here?” She takes Kai’s hand again; I look away, though I wish I could meet his eyes for a moment.

“I’m taking Kai back. You can’t just take people because you want them, Mora.”

“That’s what happened to me—”

“I don’t care,” I snap—it’s so quiet in here, like a vacuum except for our voices. “I get it. The Fenris stole you; they stole your life. But that doesn’t mean you can do the same thing to others.”

“So you know about them,” Mora says quickly, and something akin to fear flashes in her eyes. “Did they follow you?”

“I don’t know,” I admit.

She frowns and then leans her head against Kai’s shoulder; he puts an arm around her. “They stole me from my life—took everything from me. But I gained so much more in return. Power you could never understand —power that means I can, in fact, do what I want.” Mora grins.

“He remembered when I touched him. He’ll never really be yours. None of them are,” I say, whispering. I can see my breath now—it’s getting colder in here, though Kai and Mora don’t seem to notice. I shiver without meaning to and squeeze the flashlight in my left hand, causing the beam to flick on and off.

“No one is ever really ours,” Mora says, tilting her head as if considering her words. “But he’s more mine than he ever was yours. You’re a silly little girl, Ginny. I admit I underestimated you—I didn’t think you’d keep coming for him. But that doesn’t change the fact that you don’t deserve him—you don’t appreciate what he is.” It’s getting colder, colder, colder. Mora stands up, pushes her shoulders back, and walks toward me slowly. My hands