SAFE . . . reyna ramirez-arellano

10 - ice hotel

WHEN BRIAR SPOTTED the castle-like structure, she woke Leo up.

"Wake up, loser," she said. "We're here."

Below them, a city sat on a cliff overlooking a river. The plains around it were dusted with snow, but the city itself glowed warmly in the winter sunset. Buildings crowded together inside high walls like a medieval town, way older than any place Briar had seen before. In the center was giant hotel with massive red brick walls and a square tower with a peaked, green gabled roof.

"Tell me that's Quebec and not Santa's workshop," Leo said.

"Yeah, Quebec City," Briar confirmed. "One of the oldest cities in North America. Founded around sixteen hundred or so?"

Leo raised an eyebrow. "How do you know that?"

"I don't know," she said. "I'm just a genius. I know shit."

"Smartass." Leo teased. "So you know so much, what's that castle?"

"A hotel, I think."

Leo laughed. "No way."

But as they got closer, Briar knew she was right. Duh. The grand entrance was bustling with doormen, valets, and porters taking bags. Sleek black luxury cars idled in the drive. People in elegant suits and winter cloaks hurried to get out of the cold.

"The North Wind is staying in a hotel?" Leo said. "That can't be—"

"Heads up, guys," Jason interrupted. "We got company!"

Briar looked below and saw what Jason meant. Rising from the top of the tower were two winged figures — angry angels, with nasty-looking swords.

The dragon didn't like the angel guys. He swooped to a halt in midair, wings beating and talons bared, and made a rumbling sound in his throat.

"Steady, boy," Leo muttered.

"I don't like this," Jason said. "They look like storm spirits."

At first Briar thought he was right, but as the angels got closer, she could see they were much more solid than venti. They looked like regular teenagers except for their icy white hair and feathery purple wings. Their bronze swords were jagged, like icicles. Their faces looked similar enough that they might've been brothers, but they definitely weren't twins.

One was the size of an ox, with a bright red hockey jersey, baggy sweatpants, and black leather cleats. The guy clearly had been in too many fights, because both his eyes were black, and when he bared his teeth, several of them were missing.

The other guy looked like he'd just stepped off a 1980s rock album covers — Journey, maybe, or Hall & Oates, or something even lamer. His ice-white hair was long and feathered into a mullet. He wore pointy-toed leather shoes, designer pants that were way too tight, and a god-awful silk shirt with the top three buttons open. Maybe he thought he looked like a groovy love god, but the guy couldn't have weighed more than ninety pounds, and he had a bad case of acne.

The angels pulled up in front of the dragon and hovered there, swords at the ready.

The hockey ox grunted. "No clearance."

"'Scuse me?" Leo raised his eyebrows.

"You have no flight plan on file," explained the groovy love god. On top of his other problems, he had a French accent so bad Briar was very sure it was fake. "This is restricted airspace."

"Destroy them?" The ox showed off his gap-toothed grin.

The dragon began to hiss steam, ready to defend them. Jason summoned his golden sword, but Leo cried, "Hold on! Let's have some manners here, boys. Can I at least find out who has the honor of destroying me?"