Chapter 11 Whitney
Whitney
Xolotl’s blood sprays all over the water as I stare, dumbly.
I shot him eight times and it did nothing. I stabbed him before with a freaking hunting knife, and it made just a few drops of blood that dripped down and disappeared. But just now, I threw a tiny stick at him, and it actually pierced his arm, causing him to bleed all over.
I blink. I blink again, but I’m sure I saw it.
Only now do I notice something even more strange. Below the water, tiny creatures are churning. Grody, strange, bizarre-looking little bodies, bobbing and churning all around him. Are they lake piranhas or something? Were they drawn to the blood, possibly because it’s magical?
Ew.
I should apologize. I should beg him to forgive my irrational lash-out before he takes out his frustration on me by killing lots of humans. But I’m too distracted by all the disgusting little churning water things.
“What on earth are those?” I hop out of the water and onto the shore, hoping whatever they are can’t follow.
Xolotl turns his attention from his arm to the water beyond the jet ski, and instead of reacting with alarm at the churning creatures in the water, he smiles.
I can’t help notice how beautiful his face is when he smiles.
It’s like the sun rising over the flaming gorge in the fall.
The colors around us are brighter when he’s smiling, especially the blasted cobalt blue of his eyes.
“Why hello, little guys.” He crouches and reaches into the water.
The nasty little wrigglers bob and shake even more frantically.
“What are they?” I lean a little closer, careful not to get too close.
“They’re my little babies.” Xolotl straightens, holding a few of them in his hands.
They stop churning once he’s holding them, instead rubbing their heads against his big hands.
They have little frilly things around their heads, and they’re brown and green.
Except one is actually pink. “I’ve only seen them once before. ”
“Your babies?” I ask.
He nods. “When my blood falls into water. . .” He lowers them back into the water, and the others go crazy again. “I think the humans called them after me.”
That’s when it hits me what they are. “Axolotls!”
His smile widens. “Yes, that was it.”
“And you like them?”
He shrugs. “I made them.”
Oh my word. His blood mixed with water makes tiny aquatic weirdos. “That is the strangest thing I’ve ever seen, and I’m traveling with Death.” Wait. He can create? “What about when your blood mixes with dirt?” I frown. “Are you even the god of death if you also make new little creatures?”
Xolotl’s expression reminds me of a storm cloud. “Whitney, come back to the jet ski. It’s time for us to focus on your abilities.”
“If I do something to the water, won’t it hurt your little babies?”
He gestures. “Stop asking questions and come here.”
I drop my hands on my hips. “Tell me what happens if your blood hits dirt, first.”
“Nothing,” he says. “At least, I don’t recall it ever happening.”
“Never?” I can’t help my eyebrows from shooting up. “As in, your blood hasn’t made a tiny army of anteaters where it splattered, or you’ve never bled on dirt before?”
He shrugs. “Either? I don’t recall bleeding on the ground. The one time someone penetrated my defenses was many years ago in the Aztec city, Tenochtitlan, and I was standing in water when it happened. But even if I had bled onto dirt, I doubt anything would happen.”
“But you can bleed.”
Now he looks upset again. “Why would you want to know that? You’re bound to me—my bleeding would be bad. Just like striking me with a stick is bad.”
“But you want to kill my people,” I say. “If I wanted to kill your people, your family, would you just let me?”
He sighs. “You promised me you would train to serve.”
I did, and anything I do here distracts him from killing more people while Leonid and the witches come up with a plan. Mom said Baba Yaga’s actually trying to help. I wish I’d been able to tell them that burning sticks can make him bleed. Maybe I’ll find a way to call them back.
“You’re right.” I point at the widening frenzy of axolotls. “But those give me the ick.”
He rolls his eyes, and then he whistles, and they slow, and then they begin to move away, shifting outward from him. They don’t disappear. I can see them bobbing and floating slowly up and then sinking back down, but they’re not quite as close.
It’s freaking creepy.
But I have to focus on what matters, which is distracting him to buy humanity more time. My focus has to stay on finding a way to destroy this strange warlord who wants to kill half of mankind or whatever. That’s the goal. That’s my purpose. Mom confirmed that Leonid says he’s bad.
I’m struggling to believe it, entirely, but that’s just because I’m a soft, stupid human.
And he makes axolotls when he bleeds.
Then he cradles them in his hands, and he talks about the quality of life.
I shake my head, and I wade into the water. The axolotls that are close drift toward me, and I shiver a bit. I’ve always been a little scared of dark water and creatures moving in it.
“There’s no need to fear when I’m close.” His smile’s kind.
Kind.
Death god and kindness do not go together. I must be delusional. But then I think about his face when he ate that first burger. I think about his half-smile as he ate the others. I shake my head to clear it.
“Okay, so you said I can use the power of water, fire, air, earth, and lightning. Yes?”
He nods.
“What about death?” I point at an innocent bush, covered in some kind of green spiky leaves. “This looks like it’s alive, even though winter has started. Could I just kill it?”
“You could freeze it, burn it, or electrocute it,” he says.
“But you could just wither it.” I stare at him boldly, genuinely wondering.
He nods.
“Could I?”
He opens his mouth, but then he frowns and closes it.
“You don’t know?”
“All my past generals could pull on my power in that way, yes.” His brow furrows. “But death itself is a dark energy, requiring the ability to end something. I didn’t think I could bond a general who was not entirely dark, but. . .”
“But?”
He swallows. “You—I’m not sure whether you can use that power. Your energy is not purely dark.”
I crouch beside the poor little bush, and I imagine it’s accosting me in the street. It shredded my dad’s last gift to me, a small purse, and it scattered the remains.
And then I sense it.
Its life force is a pulsing bundle of light at the base of the bush where the roots meet the stems. All I have to do is. . .compress it. And I do. The light winks out, and the bush withers.
Xolotl exhales, clearly relieved. “So you can.”
I straighten, unable to keep from smiling. “I am dark after all.”
“You are.” He beckons to me again. “Come join me, and let’s practice using water and air.”
I just have to distract him.
But when I splash through the water to reach the jet ski, I can’t help feeling a little guilty for extinguishing that bush’s life. And I’m also a little sad that I could.
Everyone wants to be light, right?
Maybe I’m dark because my dad died. Maybe it was the attack when I was in Columbia.
Or maybe I’ve always been dark. Maybe that’s why I never felt like I quite fit in with my bright and perfect family.
Maybe I’ve always been something different.
It’s a little too easy after that, moving little bits of water around, causing wind gusts to buffet our sides and toss our hair.
“The thing is, I’m just not sure how this helps us.” I frown.
He starts flinging detritus at me then, chunks of a shattered tree, sticks, twigs, and he shows me how I must use air to prevent injuries from external forces. It’s tiring. It’s exhilarating. I have to remind myself this is just part of my disguise to distract him.
Because it’s actually kind of fun.
“Your aptitude for that is encouraging.” He nods. “Next, we’ll work on using fire to destroy attackers.”
If bushes were attackers, I would be pretty decent at that, too. And what’s more, I manage to learn to extinguish fire. Much more helpful, in my opinion. I have zero plans to go around torching things indiscriminately.
“But is all this what you really want me to do? I mean, as your general, what do you need?”
“Remember how you called your mother earlier?”
I nod.
“I was hoping you were reporting me to someone. I need the powers in charge to find me.”
I slug him hard on the shoulder. “No way.”
He scowls. “Why not?”
“Because you just bled in the lake. Why would I want to send the entire military after you?”
“You wanted me dead before.” He shrugs. “What’s different now?”
I open my mouth, but no words emerge. I’m not sure why, but I don’t want him dead anymore.
“What do you want?”
I realize, in that moment, that I want the impossible. “I want to change your mind.”
“Change my—” He snorts. “Are you really hoping to make me into something other than what I was created to be?”
I shrug. It’s presumptuous, but I can’t help what I want.
“Whitney, I am death. I’ve been restoring the balance of the world by causing death among humans for thousands of years. You can’t change me.”
“You just made a thousand little wrigglers.”
He rolls his eyes. “That wasn’t me. They sprang from my blood.”
“Life,” I say. “You created life.”
“Whitney, I gave you time to train, and I took some time to get my bonded champion who is inexplicably not entirely dark in line, but now I need you to help me locate those in control so that I can prepare them to destroy the others who are in power.” I point. “That’s always how this works.”
“Why war?”
“Would you prefer famine?” He points at the area on the bank I burned. “You seemed upset about killing those plants, but we can kill people the slow way if you like.”
“I don’t want any of this.” I throw my hands in the air.
“Or plague. That’s my least favorite.” He crinkles his nose. “Too smelly and messy.”
“Xolotl,” I say. “Please, just delay a little longer. Let me—”
“What?” His nostrils flare. His hands clench on the handles of the jet ski. “What’s your goal, Whitney? What do you think you can do by feeding me burgers and making me like you?”
“Making you like me?” I blink. “Do you like me?”
He exhales. “No, the point is that delaying won’t change a thing.”
A jet screams overhead.
Another right behind it.
And then there’s an explosion just behind Xolotl. He looks up into the sky, and he beams. When he looks back down at me, his eyes are bright. “They’re here. You didn’t even have to call them, and they came anyway.”
Ah, shoot.
Mom must’ve told Leonid, and he decided to go ahead and let the American military have their go. I guess we’ll find out if Xolotl really is as bulletproof as he thinks, and whether he can protect me.
Because I know I’m not bulletproof, and now it’s come to it, I’d rather not die yet.