Chapter Thirty-seven
Roman D’Angelo and Thanatos nodded in greeting to Kristopher the Winter King when the tall Viking appeared through the swirling, cold mists of a transportation portal. “Step inside,” he told them. “I’ll hold it open for you.”
Few could transport alone into the Winter Kingdom, and Roman wasn’t one of them. The two Kings stepped into the portal with Kristopher and allowed him to guide them through the shifting ice-blue to their destination.
He didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him until now. Wait, yes I do. He knew. Evie’s disappearance was fucking with him. Everyone was off their game right now, even Lalura Chantelle. Katrielle, rather. She had come back in her original form when her daughter had saved her life at the theater weeks earlier. It seemed to be the most stable of her forms, too. There was just something about it that was more solid, more real. Roman knew the Nomads aged while in their human forms, but he had a very strong feeling that for some strange reason, this one wouldn’t. Maybe it was that it was Kat’s second time around. It was just set in stone now.
Regardless of her name, the old witch had forgotten about the Ice of Time too. So Roman decided to go a little easier on himself for the slip up and concentrate on the task ahead.
The Winter Kingdom was built upon the Ice of Time, so called because it was formed of the first ice in the multiverse. Space was cold. Very, very cold.
If there were ever a place that had more of a connection with the Time King than any other, this was it. William Solan frequented the Winter Kingdom because of this tie; he was one of the few capable of transporting into it, in fact. There was a dire polar bear by the name of Meridian who often met him at the border and accompanied him during his stay.
Roman mentally shook his head. This was where they should have been performing their locating spell all along. And now they were down their most powerful witch, to boot.
Fortunately, he happened to know quite a few powerful magic users, and every single one of them had come forward to help the Kings in their time of need. They’d created a spell for him to perform, lending their magic to its words and ink and the paper it was written on. Not many could enter the Winter Kingdom. So he, as a warlock himself, would perform the spell, and when he did it would release their magic along with his. Evie would have been so very much better at it than him. But she was one of the lost the spell was meant to find.
Thanatos accompanied him because he’d somehow managed contact with his wife. Roman believed it was because his realm was also ancient. Not much was older than death, which had existed for as long as there was life around to die. And Purgatory bordered the Astral Plane, another “in” to time and its mysteries.
It was agreed that his presence might lend any extra magic they needed to see this through.
Roman and his companions exited the portal and stepped into the massive antechamber of the Winter Palace. Roman looked around and tried not to make too big a deal out of its beauty. It was beautiful, though. If he had to describe it, he would liken it to a combination of Elsa’s palace in Disney’s ridiculously famous film, and the home of an ancient Viking god. Probably Thor. That seemed most like Kristopher. He even looked like Thor.
“What do we need to set up?” asked Kris. His tone was tight. He was as pissed about his missing queen as the rest of them, and probably couldn’t get this done quickly enough. But he also wanted it done right.
“I have everything we need. All that remains is the Ice,” Roman responded.
“You’re standing on it,” said Kris with a nod at Roman’s feet.
Roman looked down. The ground literally was ice, carved gorgeously into the intricate symbols and designs of ancient Norse.
“Very well,” he said. “Have a seat.”
Thane laughed and shook his head. “It’s shrivel time.”
Roman smiled, grateful for the joviality despite the situation. The same thought had occurred to him anyway. He and Thane weren’t of this plane, so the ice was going to be cold for them. But he sat down anyway. The spell required close contact.
And others had sacrificed so much more.
Not an hour earlier, an undead fire elemental, now what many termed a “dark flame” appeared in the hearth of the Shadow King, Keeran Pitch. The dark flame had once gone by the name Pi, and had been friend to many of the Thirteen Kings.
The dark flame delivered a message, and an ultimatum. The destruction had already begun, and the promise was that it would rapidly escalate. Proof of this promise was announced in a dead voice, not at all like Pi’s had once been, and when the flame vanished again, Wolf at once transported to the location given to him.
The destruction was real. People were dying. Accidents were rampant, a serious flu epidemic was on the rise, and natural weather disasters were heavier than they’d been in decades. Roman knew some of it was the Triad. But he also knew some of it was the First Born, the one Katrielle had told him about, the original son of Amunet and Ahriman.
Apparently he was missing. And his parents were pissed about it.
Worse yet, it didn’t seem to matter that he was missing. The destruction he’d set into motion before he’d disappeared was still being carried out. The dark dominoes he’d tipped over were still colliding with one another. The flu was still spreading. Hurricanes were still hitting.
Worst of all, the Triad promised to begin slaughtering en masse unless their son was returned to this world. And of course, the Kings had no idea where he was. It was their private consensus that the bastard had disappeared right along with William Solan. And probably with Helena too, since none of their locating spells had managed to find her either.
What were they supposed to do? They were damned if they didn’t find Solan. They were probably damned if they did. But if they did find him – and he was with Helena and he could bring back the Queens – then they would have a very powerful weapon on their side: All Thirteen Queens on the chessboard. It was prophesied that this was the only thing that could stop the Nomads’ war on all that was good.
So when Pi’s dark flame appeared, the most powerful witches remaining in the world had drawn together at once on behalf of the Kings and their realms. In less than an hour, they’d created a spell.
Now Roman held the last ditch spell in his hands, and all their fates remained in someone else’s.
The others joined Roman on the cold, hard floor, and Roman placed the scrolled spell in the center of their triangle. He unrolled it, and the other two took corners, holding it down. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and allowed his power to flow through him at its fullest.
Fangs instantly shot out of his gums, his vision turned red behind his lids, and he felt the miasma of dark power swirling around him like a magical dust devil. Anyone with the right kind of vision might have seen shadow-like wings, not really there, but perhaps they were? Huge and unfurling behind his back, they stretched into the far reaches of the antechamber, symbols of the dark magic might he now and for the first time unleashed at full strength. The vampire in him called out. The warlock in him called out. The King in him called out.
While beside him, the two other ancient and powerful Kings released the full force of their will along with him.
The ground beneath the three Kings trembled, but they ignored it. They were focused, determined, unwavering. In the distance, over vast plains of snow, animals in white lifted their heads. Above, the aurora colors intensified and combined, all colors but one disappearing. Lightning flashed from a cloudless sky, but it was not white, nor was it blue.
The walls of Kristopher’s ice palace, primordial though it was, cracked under the pressure of this terrible and beautiful new magic. Voices whispered and echoed, and the air became un-breathable – but fortunately, none of the three gathered men needed to breathe. Not now, as the spell unfolded and Roman’s lips moved, his voice rang out, and the piece of paper his words were scrolled upon burst into green flame. The color of the aurora, the color of the lightning – the color of William Solan’s eyes….