Page 4 of Frost
I nod, my throat too tight to truly answer as I fumble with the lid of the bottle. I just need one, maybe two. Anything to help take the edge off enough to survive this flight without a full-blown panic attack. I tip the bottle down, depositing two small white pills into my palm.
“Hey,” the woman next to me whispers, pulling my attention back to her. “My kid never sleeps on the plane so I bought these homeopathic melatonin things. Take a couple if you want, so you can sleep. If they’re able to get a jacked-up eight-year-old to rest, they should help you get some sleep too.”
She offers me a sweet smile and holds out a bottle in her hand across the aisle. I can’t read the label with the way she’s holdingit, but it looks like something you could buy at a store. I know you don’t take pills from strangers. The rational part of my brain is very, very aware of that.
But she’s a mom with a kid. And we’re in a crowded plane, full of people. What’s the worst that could happen?
When the plane jerks backward, my stomach plummets and my mind is made up.
“Sure. Thanks,” I say, reaching out my hand and accepting two blue pills.
She smiles and resumes talking to her kid. I stare down at the four pills in my hand for just a moment before throwing them all in my mouth and swallowing them down dry. That’s the last I remember before everything goes black.
THREE
JACK
The forest is empty, silent. Dark and devoid of all life this late at night in the dead of winter. The sole sound is that of my boots crunching through the snow below. Crystallized drops glimmer along the barren branches in the moonlight. A smile pulls at my lips as I soak it all in.
Then the smell hits me again, ruining the moment. The stench of human wickedness cuts through the cold air. I’ve been following this trail for hours, the scent of the naughty deeds getting stronger and stronger. Someone has been up to something truly vile out in these woods.
Behind me, a twig snaps. It’s faint. Almost faint enough not to hear. But I hear all, see all. A solitary crow swoops down, landing on the branch in front of me. The inky darkness of its wings is a stark contrast to the white washed winter world around me. Its dark eyes focus in on me, assessing me. I immediately recognizethe bird.
“Völva,” I greet the old woman approaching me from behind.
Her silent steps falter slightly. Clearly, she believes she caught me off guard. She should know better by now.
“Faðir,” she greets me in return.
The familiar takes off from the branch above, his dark wings flapping lazily across the night sky. I follow his path, turning to watch as he lands on the shoulder of the hag. The witch is old, not nearly as old as I, but old enough for one of her kind. We’ve crossed paths many times over the past few centuries as she roamed my woods.
“What brings you out here in the cold tonight,Völva?” I inquire as I take her in. The spark in her eye tells me that she’s up to something.
Fucking witches.
“You sense it, don’t you,Faðir?” The crow’s eyes narrow on me as she asks. I have no idea how much the bird understands but it’s clearly enough.
“Naughty, wicked deeds out in the woods.” I nod in agreement. The witch and I may not always see eye to eye, but when it comes to human wickedness that threatens the safety of our sacred woods, we find our common ground. “I’ve been following the scent for hours.”
She looks at me quizzically for just a moment, chewing on her words. Her lack of response causes unease to grow inside me.
“They took something which is not theirs to claim.” She pauses for a moment, a sly smile creeping across her face. “Something which belongs to you.”
An unholy feeling twists in my gut at her words. All I have is the winter, the cold, bloodlust… There are very few things that are truly mine in this world. A creature as old as I am has very little need for things. Her words make no sense, and yet, I can’t seem to shake the feeling growing inside me—possessive, obsessiverage pulsing through my veins. The monster simmering beneath the surface of my skin roars to life.
“You may see all in these woods,Faðir Vetr. But the gift of foresight was reserved for usVölva,” she coos as the crow begins to beat its wings anxiously.
Her cryptic words rattle around in my head. I am Father Winter, ruler of the snow and ice. I am Jack Frost, the harbinger of righteousness at the end of the year. Her powers do not exceed my own… at least, I don’t think they do. I can’t help the growing eagerness to figure out what she means. Curiosity gnaws at my insides.
“Just a little further,Faðir, and you’ll find the cabin,” she cackles before disappearing into the darkness and shadows of the night.
Something about the intricate structure of the frost has always been so fascinating to me. No two patterns are ever the same. The way the water freezes, fractures, and then restructures itself upon the frozen surface is a completely new combination every single time. It’s the complex beauty of nature.
You don’t see the sun pulling that kind of shit.
I stare through the frost on the window into the house beyond. The witch hadn’t lied; my destination was merely a few miles further ahead. Tucked deep into the trees, surrounded by the unmistakable scent of evil, I found this tiny little log cabin. It’s basic but set out deep enough into the forest that no one can hear the screams. Dipshit dead boy wasn’t wrong when he said there were others participating in this string of attacks on foreign exchange students.
“You can just drop her in here,” a blonde male states, pointing to a small bed inside.