Midnight Frost

black hair drooped out of its usual bun, her bronze skin seemed unnaturally pale, and she looked almost as sick as Nickamedes had when he’d first collapsed. I frowned. I’d never seen Metis look so worn out from healing someone. Oliver must have put Nyx down sometime while Metis had been working on the librarian, because the pup tiptoed forward and gave the professor’s hand a tentative lick. Metis smiled and scratched Nyx’s head, but if anything, she looked even more weary than before.
    “Professor?” I asked.
    Metis stared down at Nickamedes, a troubled look on her face. “He’s stable—for now.”
    That sick feeling ballooned up in my stomach again, choking the hope I’d felt a moment ago. “For now? What does that mean?”
    She looked up at me, pain, weariness, and sorrow glinting in her green eyes. “It means that if we can’t figure out what kind of poison the Reapers used, then Nickamedes will die.”

Chapter 7
    Nickamedes? Die?
    It didn’t seem possible. It didn’t seem real . He couldn’t die. Not like this. Not when the Reaper had been trying to kill me .
    For a moment, I swayed from side to side, just like the librarian had done. Then, all of my seesawing emotions, all of the pain and fear and worry I’d felt these past few weeks, disappeared into the burning ball of anger that roared to life in my chest. The Reapers had already taken my mom away from me. Nyx’s mom, Nott. Logan. They weren’t getting anyone else—not if I could help it.
    I shrugged off Daphne’s arm, got down on my hands and knees, and peered under the counter.
    “Gwen?” Daphne asked. “What are you doing?”
    I didn’t answer her. There was only one thing I was focused on right now—Nickamedes’s water bottle.
    I used the edge of my hoodie sleeve to fish the bottle out of the shadows, careful not to touch any of the water that had leaked out of it. The plastic rolled to a stop right beside the stool I always sat on whenever I was working in the library. Before anyone could ask me what I was doing, I grabbed the water bottle, closed my eyes, and reached for my magic.
    I was dimly aware of someone, maybe Carson, gasping in surprise, but I ignored my friends’ shock and focused on the bottle. But I only saw the same things I had from the balcony—Jason Anderson dropping the poison into the water. I concentrated, and, a moment later, Nickamedes’s face filled my mind, along with the memory of him reaching for the bottle and taking a swig. He’d just started to put the bottle to his lips a second time when something caught his attention—me screaming at the Reaper. After that, all I felt was his surprise and confusion at why I was fighting a boy in the middle of the library. The final image was of me smacking the bottle out of his hand, not realizing it was already too late . . .
    That was all there was. Just a chain of events. Nothing useful, like why Jason had tried to kill me or what poison he’d used.
    I opened my eyes and got to my feet, the empty bottle clutched in my hand. I looked at it a moment, then turned and threw it against the glass wall as hard as I could. But, of course, the plastic only bounced off and clattered across the floor, adding to my anger and frustration.
    I stood there, fuming for a moment, before I snapped around, marched past the counter, and headed toward the back of the library.
    “Gwen? Gwen!” Daphne shouted. “Where are you going?”
    “You’ll see.”
    I drew in a breath and started to run. I knew what I had to do now, and I didn’t want my friends trying to stop me. I raced through the stacks, rammed my shoulder into one of the side doors to open it, and hurried outside. Then, I pounded down the nearest set of steps and ran across the quad.
    The dead Reaper boy lay in the same position as before, although now two Protectorate guards wearing gray robes were standing over him. The guards both stopped talking at the sight of me sprinting toward them. I ignored them and fell to my knees beside Jason, the dusty snow melting into my jeans.
    “Gwen!” Oliver shouted behind me. “No! It’s too dangerous! Don’t do it!”
    But he was too late, and I didn’t care how dangerous it was. I reached for Jason’s hand and let the memories come.
     
    Jason Anderson had been dead for the better part of twenty minutes, and much of the warmth had already fled from his body, along with his memories. But I gripped his hand that much tighter and let myself fall into the few