Frozen: Heart of Dread, Book One Read online

  PRAISE FOR MELISSA DE LA CRUZ

  for BLUE BLOODS:

  “De la Cruz’s Blue Bloods introduces a conception of vampires far different from traditional stake-fleeing demons, coupling sly humor . . . with the gauzier trappings of being fanged and fabulous . . . teens will savor the thrilling sense of being initiated into an exclusive secret society.”

  —Booklist (starred review)

  “De la Cruz combines American history, vampires and a crew of rich New York City kids, delivering a page-turning debut in Blue Bloods.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Schuyler Van Alen is #9 on the Top 25 Vampires of all time.”

  —Entertainment Weekly

  for WITCHES OF EAST END:

  “Centuries after the practice of magic was forbidden, Freya, Ingrid, and their mom struggle to restrain their witchy ways as chaos builds in their Long Island town. A bubbling cauldron of mystery and romance, the novel shares the fanciful plotting of Blue Bloods, the author’s teen vampire series . . . [B]reezy fun.”

  —People

  “A magical and romantic page-turner . . . Witches of East End is certain to attract new adult readers . . . The pacing is masterful, and while the witchcraft is entertaining, it’s ultimately a love triangle that makes the story compelling. De la Cruz has created a family of empathetic women who are both magically gifted and humanly flawed.”

  —Washington Post

  “For anyone who was frustrated watching Samantha suppress her magic on Bewitched, Ms. de la Cruz brings some satisfaction. In her first novel for adults, the author . . . lets her repressed sorceresses rip.”

  —New York Times

  “What happens when a family of Long Island witches is forbidden to practice magic? This tale of powerful women, from the author of the addictive Blue Bloods series, mixes mystery, a battle of good versus evil and a dash of Norse mythology into a page-turning parable of inner strength.”

  —Self

  “Witches of East End has all the ingredients you’d expect from one of Melissa’s bestselling YA novels—intrigue, mystery and plenty of romance. But with the novel falling under the ‘adult’ categorization, Melissa’s able to make her love scenes even more . . . magical.”

  —MTV.com

  “De la Cruz has, with Witches, once again managed to enliven and embellish upon history and mythology with a clever interweaving of past and present, both real and imagined . . . [It] casts a spell.”

  —Los Angeles Times

  “De la Cruz is a formidable storyteller with a narrative voice strong enough to handle the fruits of her imagination. Even readers who generally avoid witches and whatnot stand to be won over by the time the cliffhanger-with-a-twist-ending hits.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Fantasy for well-read adults.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “A sexy, magical romp, sure to bring de la Cruz a legion of new fans.”

  —Kelley Armstrong,

  New York Times bestselling author of the Otherworld series

  G. P. Putnam’s Sons

  An imprint of Penguin Young Readers Group

  Published by The Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014, USA

  USA | Canada | UK | Ireland | Australia | New Zealand | India | South Africa | China

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  For more information about the Penguin Group, visit penguin.com

  Copyright © 2013 by Melissa de la Cruz and Michael Johnston.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission in writing from the publisher. G. P. Putnam’s Sons, Reg. U.S. Pat. & Tm. Off. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  De la Cruz, Melissa, 1971–

  Frozen / by Melissa de la Cruz and Michael Johnston. p. cm.

  Summary: More than a century after a catastrophic disaster wiped out most of humanity and covered much of the earth with ice, sixteen-year-old Nat yields to the voice in her head urging her to embark on a dangerous journey across a poisoned sea to the mythical land, Blue. [1. Voyages and travels—Fiction. 2. Environmental degradation—Fiction. 3. Magic—Fiction. 4. Immortality—Fiction. 5. Science fiction.] I. Johnston, Michael (Michael Anthony), 1973– II. Title.

  PZ7.D36967Fs 2013 [Fic]—dc23 2012034138

  Published simultaneously in Canada. Printed in the United States of America.

  ISBN 978-1-101-60787-9

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  For Mattie

  Contents

  Praise for Melissa De La Cruz

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  THE VOICE OF THE MONSTER

  Part the First

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  Part the Second

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  Part the Third

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  Part the Fourth

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  Part the Fifth

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  Acknowledgments

  Some say the world will end in fire,

  Some say in ice.

  From what I’ve tasted of desire

  I hold with those who favor fire.

  But if it had to perish twice,

  I think I know enough of hate

  To say that for destruction ice

  Is also great

  And would suffice.

  —ROBERT FROST, “FIRE AND ICE”

  It’s time to begin.

  —IMAGINE DRAGONS, “IT’S TIME”

  THE VOICE OF THE MONSTER

  THEY WERE COMING FOR HER. SHE COULD hear their heavy footsteps echoing in the concrete hallway. In a way, the sound was a relief. For days upon days she had been left in the room, alone, in total silence, with little food and water, the weight of solitude becoming ever more oppressive, the silence a heaviness that she could not shake, punishment for refusing to do as she was told, punishment for being what she was.

  She had forgotten how many days, how many months, she had been left here, alone with only her thoughts for company.

  But not quite alone.

  I warned you about waiting, rumbled the voice in her head. The voice that she heard in her dreams, whose words echoed like thund
er, thunder and ash, smoke and flame. When it spoke, she saw a beast through the inferno, carrying her aloft on black wings through dark skies as it rained fire upon its enemies. The fire that raged within her. The fire that destroyed and consumed. The fire that would destroy and consume her if she let it.

  Her destiny. A destiny of rage and ruin.

  Fire and pain.

  The voice in her head was the reason her eyes were not brown or gray. Her clear tiger eyes—hazel-green with golden pupils—told the world she carried a mark on her skin, one that she kept hidden, one that was shaped like a flame and hurt like a burn, right above her heart. The reason she was imprisoned, the reason they wanted her to do as she was told.

  The girl did not want to be different. She did not want to be marked. She did not want to be what the voice said she was. What the commander and the doctors believed she was. A freak. A monster.

  Let me go—she had implored the first time she had been brought to this place—I’m not what you think I am. She had insisted they were wrong about her from the beginning of her captivity.

  What is your talent? they had demanded. Show us.

  I have none, she had told them. I have no ability. I can do nothing. Let me go. You’re wrong. Let me go.

  She never told them about the voice in her head.

  But they found ways to use her anyway.

  • • •

  Now they were coming, their heavy footsteps plodding against the stone. They would make her do what they wanted, and she would not be able to refuse. It was always this way. She resisted at first, they punished her for it, and finally she gave in.

  Unless . . .

  Unless she listened to the voice.

  When it spoke to her, it always said the same thing: I have been searching for you, but now it is you who must find me. The time has come for us to be one. The map has been found. Leave this place. Journey to the Blue.

  Like others she had heard the legends of a secret doorway in the middle of the ruined Pacific that led to a place where the air was warm and the water was turquoise. But the way was impossible—the dark oceans treacherous, and many had perished attempting to find it.

  But perhaps there was hope. Perhaps she would find a way to do what it sought.

  Out there.

  In New Vegas.

  Outside her window, far away, she could see the glittering lights of the city shining through the gray. Before the ice, night skies were supposedly black and infinite, dotted with stars that shone as sharp as diamonds against velvet. Looking up into that dark expanse you could imagine traveling to distant lands, experiencing the vastness of the universe, and understanding your own small part in it. But now the sky was glassy and opaque at night, a reflection of the bright white snow that covered the ground and swirled in the atmosphere. Even the brightest of stars appeared only as faint, distant glimmers in the blurry firmament.

  There were no more stars. There was only New Vegas, glowing, a beacon in the darkness.

  The city lights stopped abruptly at a long arcing line just a few miles out. Beyond the line, beyond the border, everything was black, Garbage Country, a place where light had disappeared—a no-man’s-land of terrors—and past that, the toxic sea. And somewhere, hidden in that ocean, if she believed what the voice said, she would find a way to another world.

  • • •

  They were closer and closer. She could hear their voices outside, arguing.

  The guards were opening the door.

  She didn’t have much time . . .

  Panic rose in her throat.

  What would they ask her to do now . . . what did they want . . . the children most likely . . . always the children . . .

  They were here.

  The window! the voice bellowed. Now!

  Glass smashed, broken, sharp icicles falling to the floor. The door burst open, but the girl was already on the ledge, the cold air whipping against her cheeks. She shivered in her thin pajamas, the arctic winds blowing sharp as daggers as she dangled on the knife-edge, two hundred stories in the air.

  Fly!

  I will hold you.

  Her mark was burning like a hot ember against her skin. It had awakened, as a rush of power, electric as the sparks that lit up the sky, snaked through her limbs, and she was warm, so warm, as if she was bathed in fire. She was burning, burning, the mark above her heart pressing on her like a brand, scorching her with its heat.

  Let us be one.

  You are mine.

  No, never! She shook her head, but they were inside now, the commander and his men, raising their guns, training their sights on her.

  “STOP!” The commander stared her down. “REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE!”

  GO!

  She was dead either way. Fire and pain. Rage and ruin.

  She turned from the room and toward the city lights, toward New Vegas, frozen city of impossible delights, a world where everything and anything could be bought and sold, the pulsing, decadent, greedy heart of the new republic. New Vegas: a place where she could hide, a place where she could find passage, out to the water, into the Blue.

  The commander was screaming. He aimed and pressed the trigger.

  She held her breath. There was only one way to go.

  Out and down.

  Up and away.

  Fly! roared the monster in her head.

  The girl jumped from the ledge and into the void.

  Part the First

  LEAVING NEW VEGAS

  Am I just in Heaven or Las Vegas?

  —COCTEAU TWINS, “HEAVEN OR LAS VEGAS”

  1

  IT WAS THE START OF THE WEEKEND, amateur night; her table was crowded with conventioneers, rich kids flashing platinum chips, a pair of soldiers on leave—honeymooners nuzzling between drinks, nervous first-timers laying down their bets with trembling fingers. Nat shuffled the cards and dealt the next hand. The name she used had come to her in a fragment from a dream she could not place, and could not remember, but it seemed to fit. She was Nat now. Familiar with numbers and cards, she had easily landed a job as a blackjack dealer at the Loss—what everyone called the Wynn since the Big Freeze. Some days she could pretend that was all she was, just another Vegas dreamer, trying to make ends meet, hoping to get lucky on a bet.

  She could pretend that she had never run, that she had never stepped out of that window, although “fall” wasn’t the right word; she had glided, flying through the air as if she had wings. Nat had landed hard in a snowbank, disarming the perimeter guards who had surrounded her, stealing a heat vest to keep herself warm. She followed the lights of the Strip and once she arrived in the city it was easy enough to trade in the vest for lenses to hide her eyes, allowing her to find work in the nearest casino.

  New Vegas had lived up to her hopes. While the rest of the country chafed under martial law, the western frontier town was the same as it ever was—the place where the rules were often bent, and where the world came to play. Nothing kept the crowds away. Not the constant threat of violence, not the fear of the marked, not even the rumors of dark sorcery at work in the city’s shadows.

  Since her freedom, the voice in her head was exultant, and her dreams were growing darker. Almost every day she woke to the smell of smoke and the sound of screams. Some days, the dreams were so vivid she did not know if she was sleeping or awake. Dreams of fire and ruin, the smoldering wreckage, the air thick with smoke, the blood on the walls . . .

  The sound of screams . . .

  “Hit me.”

  Nat blinked. She had seen it so clearly. The explosion, the flashing bright-white light, the black hole in the ceiling, the bodies slumped on the floor.

  But all around her, it was business as usual. The casino hummed with noise, from the blaring pop song over the stereo, the craps dealers barking numbers as they raked in die, video poker screen
s beeping, slot machines ringing, players impatient for their cards. The fifteen-year-old bride was the one who had asked for another. “Hit me,” she said again.

  “You’ve got sixteen, you should hold,” Nat advised. “Let the house bust, dealer hits on sixteen, which I’m showing.”

  “You think?” she asked with a hopeful smile. The child bride and her equally young husband, both soldiers, wouldn’t see anything like the main floor of a luxury casino for a long time. Tomorrow they would ship back out to their distant patrol assignments, controlling the drones that policed the country’s far-flung borders, or the seekers that roamed the forbidden wastelands.

  Nat nodded, flipped up the next card and showed the newlyweds . . . an eight, dealer busted, and she paid out their winnings. “Let it ride!” The bride whooped. They would keep their chips in play to see if they could double their holdings.

  It was a terrible idea, but Nat couldn’t dissuade them. She dealt the next round. “Good luck,” she said, giving them the usual Vegas blessing before she showed them her cards. She was sighing—Twenty-one, the house always wins, there goes their wedding bonus—when the first bomb exploded.

  One moment she was collecting chips, and the next she was thrown against the wall.

  Nat blinked. Her head buzzed and her ears rang, but at least she was still in one piece. She knew to take it slow, gingerly wiggling fingers and toes to see if everything still worked, the tears in her eyes washing away the soot. Her lenses hurt, they felt stuck, heavy and itchy, but she kept them on just to be safe.

  So her dream had been real after all.

  “Drau bomb,” she heard people mutter, people who had never seen a drau—let alone a sylph—in their lives. Ice trash. Monsters.

  Nat picked herself up, trying to orient herself in the chaos of the broken casino. The explosion had blown a hole in the ceiling and pulverized the big plate-glass windows, sending incandescent shards tumbling down fifty stories to the sidewalks below.

  Everyone at her blackjack table was dead. Some had died still clutching their cards, while the newlyweds were slumped together on the floor, blood pooling around their bodies. She felt sick to her stomach, remembering their happy faces.