“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.
