Midnight Frost

wasn’t the first time I’d escaped death, but the knowledge that it could have just as easily been me lying outside on the quad made me shiver all the same.
    Vic’s eye snapped open at the shuddering motion that swept through my body. I was still clutching the sword, and he looked at me, then at the water bottle.
    “You fought well tonight, Gwen,” he said, picking up on my dark thoughts. “You did what you had to in order to survive—that’s all. And there was nothing you could have done to change that boy’s mind.”
    “Vic’s right,” Oliver chimed in. “The Reaper made his choice—not you.”
    Nyx let out a low, serious yip, agreeing with them. The wolf pup was still secure in the Spartan’s arms.
    I shrugged. Maybe that was true, but it didn’t feel that way. Yes, I’d wanted to kill Jason, but now that he was gone, I just felt hollow and empty inside. A boy was dead because of me—but not in the way I’d expected.
    Oh, I’d killed Reapers before in battle, and I’d even used my psychometry to pull all of the magic, all of the life, out of Preston Ashton so I could heal the mortal wound he’d given me. I’d done those things in the heat of the moment, because it had been them or me, and I’d just wanted to survive, like Vic had said. But this—this was different. Jason had free will, the same free will we all had, the same free will that Nike and Metis were always going on and on and on about. But I’d forced him to make a choice between surrendering or death—and he’d chosen death. I didn’t know if that made things better or worse, but right now, it felt like worse.
    “Gwendolyn,” Nickamedes said, waving his hand at me. “Come here, please.”
    I sighed and looked at Vic, then Oliver, then Nyx. “Great. Not only is that boy dead, but now I’m probably going to get another lecture from Nickamedes about ruining the peace and quiet of his precious library.”
    Oliver grinned at me. “That does sort of seem to be your thing, Gypsy.”
    I punched him in the shoulder as I passed. “Shut up, Spartan.”
    I walked over to Nickamedes. He murmured something into his phone, then snapped it shut and put it down on the counter. He reached up and wiped a bit of sweat off his forehead, as though he were hot.
    “I just got off the phone with Aurora,” he said, referring to Professor Metis. His voice took on a harsh, raspy note. “She’s on her way over here. What happened? What tipped you off that boy was a Reaper? And did you really have to chase him through the middle of the library?”
    I sighed. There it was. The beginning of the lecture I knew was coming. There was nothing to do now but listen to him, so I went around the counter, slid Vic back into his scabbard, and propped the sword up next to Nyx’s basket.
    Nickamedes drew in a breath. “Because I have to say that not only did you upset your fellow students, but you also . . .”
    And it went on from there. How I’d disturbed the peaceful, studious atmosphere of the library. How I’d frightened the other students. How I’d put my classmates in jeopardy by chasing after the Reaper instead of quietly alerting someone that I suspected there was a bad guy in the library.
    “And most important, you didn’t wait for me,” Nickamedes said. “I would have come and helped you if only you’d waited—”
    The librarian stopped in mid-sentence. I kept staring down at the checkout counter, rubbing my thumb over a rough spot in the wood. I’d learned it was better to keep my mouth shut until Nickamedes got done lecturing me. To let him get it all out of his system at once. Like Daphne, his bark was almost always worse than his bite.
    But instead of picking up his train of thought and telling me how reckless I’d been once again, Nickamedes stood there, still and silent. I tapped my finger on the counter, wanting him to get on with things. Because in addition to his lecture, I’d probably have to listen to several more, including one from Alexei. The Bogatyr would be upset that he hadn’t been around to protect me from Jason and his poisonous plot—
    Nickamedes sucked in another breath. I thought he was finally going to start up his rant again, but once more, he didn’t say anything.
    “Gwendolyn . . .” he finally said, his voice even harsher and raspier than before. “You’ll have to excuse me. I don’t feel . . . very well . . .”
    My gaze flicked up to his face. I noticed more beads of sweat on his forehead, the