Page 39 of Jack Frost
There's a soft crunch behind me, a whispering crackle, and a wisp of wood smoke.
I whirl, scrambling for some way to explain to the approaching forest ranger or firefighter why I'm up here.
But the person emerging from the trees is not human.
The being advancing toward me is woman-shaped, her lovely features highlighted in the glow of the distant fire. Her feet are bare, and wherever her soles press, the earth smolders. Her fingernails flicker with iridescent light, and her eyes shine ruby-red. She's naked, except for the flames that encircle her limbs, licking across her skin and lacing through her smoky hair.
Auxesia. It must be.
"Splendid, isn't it?" Her voice has the sinuous charm of flame, but there's a smoky rasp to it, too. She sweeps a hand outward, indicating the flames—an artist, proudly showing her work. "There is an incomparable purity to flame. I've not found anything so honest on this entire planet. The fire does not dissimilate, or flatter, or feign. It does not even desire. It simply consumes. That is its nature. And in its dark wake, life begins anew."
My body is frozen at the edge of the cliff, my every nerve tight with terror.Run, run. But there's nowhere to run.
Through my fear-cracked throat, I speak. "What about the life that is destroyed?"
"Unworthy life. Twisted and tainted by greed. Think about your race for a moment—reallythink. What are they but a squirming mess of parasites, consuming all that is good and soiling themselves where they sit? They are constantly seeking out conflict—wars at home, wars with words, blood and bombs and guns. Even the ones who claim to promote peace and tolerance are blinded by self-interest, salivating for newly imagined enemies so they can debate endlessly while the Earth is drained to the dregs. And you think I should pity this flabby, drowsy, dimwitted populace? That I should mourn as I expunge them from the surface of the planet? No."
"You want to wipe the slate clean, and see what results."
"Precisely." She smiles at me, and her teeth are like hot coals. "You have a flicker of understanding, at least. I can see why he likes you. I knew there must be someone—he has not battled me with so much energy and purpose for decades. Little Jack Frost, always so sad, so lonely, so determined. There was a fight, weeks ago, when I thought I had finished him. He cried, actually sobbed, begged me for a reprieve. Tried to advocate for his precious lost world. Sweet, foolish boy. He is a babe of two hundred years, while I have been watching this disease of humanity spread for millennia. Children cannot understand the choices that parents must make. They may seem cruel at the time, but there is always a good reason behind them."
"What of Jack?" My voice shakes. "If you burn the whole world, won't he die?"
She arches an ashy brow. "Of course."
"But without him, how can you hope to maintain the balance of your new world? Once the fires die, you will need someone to be your counterpart, to stir the weather and bring the seasons. You can't do everything with fire."
Her features shift oddly, like the ever-changing shape of flame. "The new world will have no need of seasons. There will be heat and warmth, always. The beings that rise from the ashes will be shaped to sustain life in the new reality."
"You want a world made in your image."
"And why not? I have waited, while all my brothers and sisters left the planet or remained at their posts only to fade away. I have consumed those who were too weak to take decisive action. And now, I am the only one left. The one true Goddess of this world."
My fists curl tight at my sides. My stomach is trembling and my lungs are spasming on the verge of true panic, but I lift my chin when I retort. "You're not the only one left. There's Jack."
"Yes, andyou, it would seem." Her gaze turns malevolent. She's still a dozen feet away, but as she prowls a few steps nearer, the heat of her washes over me like a blistering tide. "If I take away his new toy, how long will the frost-boy last, I wonder?"
She cups her hands, crafting a ball of golden flame, hued amber at the edges. It's meant to kill me, but I can't help admiring it.
"It's beautiful," I murmur.
Auxesia looks up, startled. "Yes, it is."
I look straight into her eyes. "A shame that something so lovely should cause so much destruction."
The flames around her body lick higher for an instant. "Flattery, my love? You think I will spare you for the sake of pretty words?"
So she is susceptible. Lonely, and probably aching for companionship and admiration. Fine, I can play along.
"Jack has a human form," I reply. "I would love to see yours before I die, if you'll allow me."
Auxesia glances past me, out at the fires. "The boy is occupied—I suppose it couldn't hurt."
Her fire recedes, absorbed into her body, and suddenly she's a beautiful, curvy woman, perfectly proportioned, with full breasts, creamy thighs, and the face of a Greek goddess. Her dark hair flows rich and glossy down to her waist.
She's beautiful, yes. But there's a raging light in her eyes, the aching fury of a thousand years, and it sours the sight. She doesn't realize that she is as damaged as the humans she despises—more so, because she uses her incredible power to act on her hate.
"You could do so much good," I tell her softly. "Not all humans are worthless warmongers—some of us truly want change."
