“Great.”
My mind raced, driven by the hard edge of desperation. These things may have been carnivores, but they were still shaped like men—maybe there was enough of a human psyche for me to use. Hardly daring to hope, I gave my power an experimental flex. But I couldn’t feel a single mind or consciousness, and there were no flavors on my tongue. Hope shriveled as quickly as it had grown.
Just like the ceti, these creatures were immune to my abilities.
I had enough time to swear before one of the smaller minotaurs was on me, swinging its enormous head. I leaped back to avoid both the ax and its horns, aiming my gun at its face, but I didn’t see the creature’s gigantic fist coming around until an instant before it hit me. The strength of it was staggering. I flew backward, air rushing from my lungs in a painful wheeze. Oliver’s gun sounded as I slammed into the ice, landing on my hip and shoulder. Pain shot through me, but I was only aware of it for an instant. Then the adrenaline took over and I rolled to my feet, snow clinging to half of my face. Burning like white fire.
Oliver had already caught up with me, carrying all of our weapons. The two smaller minotaurs both lay dead where they’d first caught up with us. I couldn’t help but be impressed. Go, Ollie. As I took my knife and gun back, I darted an automatic glance toward him, assuming he’d be fine—we trained together often, and I had taught Oliver everything I knew from Adam and my father. But the other small minotaur must’ve nicked him, because there was blood covering the back of his hand. Running out of his coat sleeve from a wound I couldn’t see. His coat was too dark, too thick.
“How bad is it?” I asked.
“We need to retreat,” Oliver said through his teeth, walking backward to keep his sights on the army of minotaurs still coming. “We might have a chance if we can get the river at our backs.”
My eyes dropped to his hands, which were plastered against his side and covered in blood. “Can you run?”
As an answer, Oliver launched in the direction of the river.
The minotaurs bellowed, and thunder shook the air as I bolted after him, my lungs prickling with every frantic inhale. I scanned the river and tried not to focus on the futility of Oliver’s plan. But we both knew that getting to a stretch of water wouldn’t save us. Swimming across it wasn’t an option, either—there could be lethal currents, or one of us might succumb to hypothermia, depending on how cold it was.
Wait a minute, I thought, frowning against the torrent of snow. Why were we running for our lives? Why were we in any danger at all?
This was my fucking dream.
Power and resolve blazed through me. I skidded to a halt and spun back around, facing the oncoming swarm. As I turned, I pocketed the knife and the gun—I wouldn’t be needing them. My hands formed into fists. I had one of those moments, again, when time slowed down and every sense heightened. Oliver’s voice sounded far away as he demanded, “Fortuna, what are you doing?”
I ignored him. Just as I’d done when I was fighting Oliver’s shadow, I squeezed my eyes shut and channeled everything I felt into a chant. Open. Open. Open. I imagined the ground beneath the minotaurs exploding with a world-shaking sound, snow and dirt flying in every direction. I pictured the creatures falling into a shuddering crevice of darkness and lava. Open. Open. Open. I envisioned the place where the army had once stood as a smoldering hole of snow and silence.
Nothing happened.
My eyes snapped open, refocusing on the dark line of approaching minotaurs. I wanted to release a scream of frustration.
At that moment, I knew. I knew we couldn’t win this. They were too strong, and we were outnumbered. That didn’t mean I was about to go down without a fight, though. We’d stick with Oliver’s feeble plan. I glanced over my shoulder to gauge our distance from the river, but there was something else behind us now. I frowned, struggling to make out details through the storm. An instant later, my eyes widened.
Was that… a ship?
It was. There was a ship, or more accurately, a ferry floating along the river.
I didn’t question it. That could come later. A new plan formed, swift and sloppy. My head swiveled from the ferry to the creatures surrounding us on every other side. Could minotaurs swim?
We were about to find out. This was the only option left, save for letting them eat us.
Uttering a silent scrap of a prayer, I snatched Oliver’s hand and ran again, ignoring it when he almost lost his footing. He recovered and matched my speed. I knew when Oliver spotted the ferry, because he made a sound of surprise. We sprinted, full-out, toward the night-blackened water. Our backpacks slammed against our spines.
Then we were flying, our arms swinging. The river was too wide—we didn’t even come close to the ferry. For that split second we were mid-air, I braced myself for the shock of agonizing cold. But when the water closed over my head, surrounding me on all sides, I felt my eyes widen again at the unexpected warmth.
Nothing about this place made sense.
What if the ceti are here, too? I thought with mounting panic. What if this is the Styx?
I broke through the surface with a gasp, kicking instantly for the ferry. Oliver was right beside me. As we swam, my mind buzzed with fear and voices. One of them was my mother’s, her passion-filled words rising and falling with the cadence of a story. In Greek mythology, the Styx River separated the living from the dead. Maybe this water wasn’t full of murderous seal hybrids, but some delightful souls instead, trapped in limbo and doomed to float these dark currents for eternity.
Just as I finished that fun thought, Oliver and I reached the boat. It was easy enough to haul ourselves on board, since the sides were strangely shallow, scooped like a cardboard box gone soft. I looked for any sign of the ferryman, Charon, but we were alone. There was nothing else within the space, not even a coil of rope.
In the time it had taken to jump into the river and climb aboard, the blizzard had slowed. Snowflakes flitted past and the wind plucked at strands of my hair like a curious child. Oliver and I got to our feet, wanting to keep the minotaurs within sight. Water dripped from the hems of our coats and off our sleeves, some of it pink from Oliver’s blood. I darted a glance at his torso again, already thinking of what I could use to wrap it and staunch the bleeding. Movement on shore drew my gaze back outward—one of the thick-chested beasts stood closer to the water than the others. It watched us float away, its head cocked, as though it were considering something.
Then it took a running leap.
I recoiled instinctively, and the minotaur’s momentum got it all the way to the ferry’s edge. Before I could recover or dart forward, Oliver was there, hacking at its hands. His knife left deep gouges in the creature’s flesh. It bellowed and released the boat without thinking. Not very intelligent, apparently, I thought faintly. When the minotaur began to sink, it realized its mistake and desperately scrabbled at a shelf of ice that extended partway over the rushing water. But the ice broke, and the bawling creature sank beneath the dark surface within seconds. The current wiped away any ripples in an instant.
I supposed that answered the question of whether or not minotaurs could swim.
None of the beasts on shore moved to save their comrade, and something told me there wouldn’t be any more attempts to reach us. I heaved a sigh and lowered myself to the deck, resting my back against the shallow wall. My entire body ached. The ferry creaked and moaned onward.