DEAD WINTER: A CRYPTIC Anthology

Scream and Cheer • Claudia Witter

"I'm glad I'm winter," said Niko, striking a haughty pose. "My

chill could freeze summer, my ice could kill spring flowers, and my snow could bury autumn's fallen leaves."

Kayla made a face. "You're such a weirdo, Niko."

"Nothing scarier than a woman scorned, hm? I think it should be 'there's nothing scarier than a scornful woman.'"

Marlo laughed. "He's got you there, Kay."

Before the Korean woman could respond, piano and violin music drifted out of the speakers, filling the stadium. Niko recognized the song instantly—the Sam Tsui cover of Applause. As the beginning of the song was gentle, the skaters' dancing reflected that, all grace and flowing movements. Once the song lost the gentleness at Give me that thing that I love, though, Niko Grimm's dancing lost it as well.

His footwork was clean as he glided across the ice, gesturing to himself with flamboyance and seductiveness, hands brushing across his undulating body. The applause roared in his ears, a tsunami of sound. Sound for him. Crashing. Consuming. Drowning. When the song said Put your hands up, make 'em touch, touch, Niko raised his hands above his head and clapped.

Marlo spun around the ice, moving in a way that brought to mind waves and underwater currents. When she moved to dance beside Niko, he caught her around the waist and then lifted her into the air, one hand on her thigh. The redhead placed a hand on his shoulder and used the other to wave to the crowd—

And Niko Grimm tossed his skating partner face-first into the ice. Marlo cried out as she fell, throwing out her hands in panic, but she was unable to stop her descent. There came a very audible snap when she hit the hard surface, and her cries abruptly broke off. She lay there, unmoving, her neck bent at an awkward angle.

The stadium seemed to hold its breath. The music didn't stop, but Koda and Kayla did, and the cheers turned into screams.

"Marlo!" Kayla's long legs pumped her across the ice. Her ponytail billowed out behind her like a flag, her speed sending it backward. When she reached Marlo, she kneeled and put her fingers to the younger woman's neck, likely checking for a pulse. "Oh my God. Oh my God. She's—she's dead." Kayla's dark gaze went to Nicko's smirking face. Her own pretty face twisted with anger and sorrow and suspicion. "Niko, what the hell did you do? That looked fucking deliberate."

"That's because it was. I deliberately killed her." Niko pulled a gun from his tailcoat, pressed the barrel against Kayla's forehead, and discharged a bullet into her brain at point-blank range.

The .50 calibre bullet tore through her skull as if it were made of paper. Blood, bone, teeth, and brain exploded, spattering across the ice and Koda's skates. Giggling like a child, Niko used his free hand to wipe at the freckling of blood on his face, smearing red across his cheek and the backs of his fingers.

The screams increased in volume.

"Kay . . . la . . ." Koda raised his hands to cover his mouth, his eyes trembling as much as his voice. He was staring down at his dead sister, but there were no tears—he was flushed, fascinated. His pupils were enormous, and he was breathing hard.

"You like seeing dead bodies, don't you Koda?" Niko caught the other man's wrists, gently lowering his hands. This revealed something quite interesting.

Koda Kyoun was full-on smiling. "I, um—I—," he began, his words tripping over themselves. They got back up, continued onward. "I think I do."

"Wonderful, Koda." Niko drew him closer. They stood face-to-face, chest-to-chest. Niko could feel the rapid beating of the other man's heart, and was delighted to have at last found someone that shared his passion for applause and gore. He had performed with so many people, and none had ever reacted as Koda had—and thanks to Niko's strange ability, no one ever told the tale of the murderous figure skater.

When he was a child, Niko had learned that he could get away with anything. There was something about his voice that was not quite ordinary, a tumor in his throat that didn't hinder but helped. Though his voice sounded ordinary—Czech accented, pleasant to listen to—that strange tumor did something to it that made it extraordinary. He could tell people that had just watched him murder his entire family that he hadn't done it, and they believed him.

He brushed aside the ink-colored hair on Koda's neck and placed a kiss to the place where Koda's pulse throbbed. The Korean's arms came up and wrapped around him, grasping him in a hug that was a little too tight.

"Let's bask in the wonderful, panicked screaming, shall we?" Niko drew away and patted Koda on the back, then took his right hand in one of his own and lifted it into the air. The seating that surrounded the rink was in a glorious state of chaos. People were rushing toward the stadium exits—trampling each other, dragging crying children along by the arm, screaming bloody murder. The music washed over Niko Grimm.

"I live for the applause, applause, applause." Niko and Koda danced around the rink, intertwining fingers, touching faces and chests and waists and thighs. "I live for the applause-plause, live for the applause-plause. Live for the way that you cheer and scream for me. The applause, applause, applause." They embraced each other spun around in a sort of waltz, gazing at each other with smiles turning their mouths upward, while all around them people screamed.

The screaming always came after the cheers.

Alwaysalwaysalways.

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