Page 65 of Jack Frost
Auxesia gives me a confused glare. "You're very strange. You should be finishing me off right now. I'd welcome the relief."
"A death wish?" I raise my eyebrows. "I thought you wanted a new world."
"I don't know what I want," she says in a vicious whisper. "I have existed for so long, I don't know who I am anymore. I thought perhaps birthing a different world would be something—new. Something worth existing for."
I scramble to my feet, incensed. "You can't destroy all the life on a planet just because you're bored and purposeless!"
"Well, when you put it like that." Her face contorts in a snarl, which quickly melts into a look of pure anguish and exhaustion. "Please stop torturing me with your inanities. Either kill me or release me."
"I'm actually going to leave you right here." I brace my hands on my hips. "When I spiral, the ice holding you will dissipate. And then you can slink back to your volcano and think about your life choices. I tend to believe that people can't change—that once they go bad, it's game over. I've known too many permanently shitty people to think otherwise. But if you'd like to surprise me, and redeem yourself, have at it. Just be warned—if you come after us again, we'll have to give you a longer time-out."
"Insufferable creature," she snarls. "Do you think an altered body and a white dress gives you the right to speak to me like an equal?"
I lean in, propping my elbow on my knee. "I'm not speaking to you like an equal, honey. I'm your damn superior."
And with a swirl of ice and wind, I vanish.
For the next five weeks, I am alone.
I pop back and forth between Antarctica and my apartment, tied to the world only through email. Occasionally I have to pop into stores at night to steal food and other necessities. I'm invisible, so if the security cameras catch anything, it'll be hella mystifying to whoever sees the groceries disappearing off the shelves. I quickly discover that I have the power to decide whether or not the items I'm carrying remain visible once they're in my hands. It's a nice perk, being able to extend the magic to whatever I'm carrying.
My apartment is too new to really feel like home anyway, so I spend most of my time in the ice palace—partly because the cold refreshes me, and partly because I want to be near Jack. And also because the palace is filled with incredible treasures tucked away in closets and corners. There must have been dozens of frost beings living here at one time, and all of their things have simply been left behind, perfectly preserved. I "adopt" a number of the most delightful items and set myself up in the room next to Jack's. It's easy enough to tell which space is his—there's a long, low bookshelf stocked with novels and art journals beside the bed, and there's an adjoining room filled with blocks of stone and ice, with carving tools scattered around. A few of the blocks have been partially shaped, but Jack was too busy finish them. It's immensely flattering that he made the time to finish the statue of me.
My room is sleek and spacious, with a ceiling of frosty white detailed with a network of deep azure vines. There's a plush sofa, huge white floor cushions trimmed with twinkling crystals, and side tables with mosaic tops of glossy colored tiles. And there's a gleaming bathroom as well, although there's no tub, and the shower water is permanently frigid. That suits me well enough, because the thought of steaming in a bath is completely abhorrent to me now. In fact, the only reason I need to shower is if I get really dirty—say, covered in ashes and grass from a battle with a fire goddess.
Parts of the palace have been magically hewn from the depths of the unmeltable ice and the continental bedrock, but other parts are crafted of stone, marble, brick, or wood. The beings who lived here have added onto the palace and repaired it over the centuries, until it is a labyrinth of rooms and a mishmash of interior design styles. Only the front section, where the great hall and the regeneration chamber are located, has a classic, synchronous beauty befitting the domain of an ice god. The rest is very much a medley, and the range of decor helps me feel more at home. The ice wraiths are certainly trying to welcome me in their own way; they tend to follow me around while I explore, and if I want privacy I have to firmly tell them to go elsewhere.
I'm very frustrated that I can't figure out the lighting here. It appears to be magical, sometimes reacting to my touch or to my entrance into a room. Maybe ancient frost spirits merged with the palace fixtures, andtheypower the lights. It's as likely as any other theory I've concocted. There's no electricity anywhere, so if I want to watch any TV shows or play any games or work on my laptop, I have to charge all my devices at my apartment and then spiral them along with me to the palace.
I haven't spiraled anywhere besides the palace, a grocery store, and my apartment since I defeated Auxesia. I can go anywhere I please, but I know Jack will want to join me when I explore the world; and besides, I want the freedom to interact with everything in human aspect instead of slinking around as an invisible ice being. And for that, I need his help.
Between my two homes and the surface of the Antarctic world, I have plenty to keep me occupied. Editing the footage and photos from the Antarctic trip takes up some of my time, and when that's all turned in, I photograph some of the ancient objects in the palace and sell them as stock images. I'm out of a job now—might as well make a little money where I can. I still haven't found an actual treasury in this place, and until Jack wakes up, I have to be able to buy food.
Until Jack wakes up.
If he ever does.
Each day I slip into the regeneration chamber to look at him, but the layers of ice over his body are too thick and frosty for me to see anything clearly.
All I know is that he isn't dead, because the blue heartbeat glow of the room is as strong and steady as ever.
For now, it's enough to know he's alive.
One evening I'm in Jack's room, which I frequent almost as often as mine—tucked into a nest of fleecy blankets, skimming through one of his art books, when there's a scuffing sound in the hall.
I startle so hard the book falls out of my hands, landing upside down on the bed.
Jack stands in his bedroom doorway, stark naked and perfectly whole. Not a scar on any part of his perfect body. The curves of his shoulders and the swells of his pecs have an icy sheen to them, like a snowbank in the sun.
All of his fingers and toes and other bits are back. His hair falls in snowy, sparkly waves around his temples and cheeks. As I watch, a few flakes of broken ice shake loose and tumble to the cold tiles of the floor.
He's so beautiful—just like I've imagined him a hundred times since I sealed him away.
Clinging to the doorframe, he stares at me.
"Emery," he whispers. "You died. I—I died."
"No," I reply softly. "The frost wraiths saved us."
