Free Cold Hearted: A Yancy Lazarus Novel (Episode Two) by James Hunter Page A

kick that took me in the shins, sweeping my legs out from under me. I crashed down onto my side, and immediately barrel-rolled right, avoiding a crushing, though cumbersome, stomp from my frosty foe.
    Oh shit —
    I rolled back left, passing right beneath Frosty’s upraised foot as a set of vicious ice spikes sprouted from the ground I’d occupied a split second before. Old Man Winter, tossing around a little power. He must’ve nearly recovered from my dirty face-full-of-iron ploy. Damn, like taking out Frosty all by my lonesome wasn’t tough enough.
    I pushed myself into a crouch before launching myself back toward the snowman. Another massive kick. This one I avoided, stepping inside the strike, pumping my fists as fast as I could throw ‘em, working Frosty’s torso and kidneys—not that this thing had organs, mind you—like Rocky Balboa going to town on a side of beef.
    The creature fell back from the onslaught, pieces of his conjured body falling away with each blow. An elbow the size of a dinner plate zipped past my face. I ducked low and grabbed hold of the passing limb like a little kid hitching a ride on Papa’s oversized arm. The creature tried to shake me loose, but I held fast, scampering up hand-over-hand until I could wrap an arm around its neck in a sleeper hold.
    I wasn’t gonna try to choke him out, more like I was taking a little piggyback ride. Frosty twirled and shook before backpedaling toward a wall. I’d seen exactly how well this particular maneuver had worked for the gnomes who’d tried the same trick on the spriggans: smashed flat, guts and gore decorating the cavern wall like some grisly art deco piece. So I needed to be quick before I met the same fate.
    I conjured a flow of fire around my gloved hands—my fists suddenly surrounded with an uncomfortably warm pocket of air—and began to pummel the creature’s exposed neck and skull with my free hand. Snow and ice gave way like butter in a hot skillet, sizzling and melting. A fist-shaped trough formed in the creature’s neck.
    Still, Frosty streaked toward the cavern wall, speed accelerating with every step. A final blow punctured all the way through its neck—I’d punched its head off, kind of a cool trick, actually—and the body went limp, falling into a pile of snow and ice chunks. I tumbled down, landing with a poof in the powdery corpse of my former enemy. I’ve been around the block a few times, and this was still a new one to check off the bucket list.
    I slogged free of the snow pile, readying myself to repeat my stunt again with Frosty Number Two— Revenge of the Snowman— but Ben had things well in hand. In fact, he was doing a helluva job handling both the abominable and Old Man Winter. And here I’d been worried about him, thinking I’d have to baby-sit. Sure, he was using the borrowed power of some ancient fae beings of Spring to get the job done, but still. Go Ben.
    What had once been a flickering wall of flame was now a pair of fire serpents, each with a long body, covered in flashing emerald scales of flame, and monstrous snapping jaws. The tails of both creatures led back to the orb floating above Ben’s outstretched hand. One of the serpents twined around Frosty Two, encircling its legs, torso, and arms, melting thick, coiled grooves into the creature while simultaneously sinking fangs into Frosty’s thick neck. Nice.
    The second serpent-of-awesomeness harassed Old Man Winter, striking from one side and then the other, always moving, always harrying. Grandpa’s crook flashed out with a surprising amount of vigor and strength, turning each blow before the serpent could land a strike. Maybe the snake hadn’t closed the deal yet, but he was sure keeping Old Man Winter on his toes, leaving absolutely no time to think about little ol’ me.
    I called up more Vis, pulling power into my body as I constructed a quick illusion to mask my movements. This little number made me into an amorphous white blob that kinda