JACK’S MIND WAS SO focused on what his foe was thinking that he was now unaware of anything else around him. There was such a churning clot of hate in Pitch’s brain that it was difficult to discern any single thought, much less the one Jack sought. There’s something he doesn’t want me to see, was all he could surmise. Something that could somehow be a trap.
Jack was, however, purposely letting Pitch read his thoughts. It was the only way to keep the Nightmare King distracted from what Katherine and the others were up to.
Then he glimpsed a flash of something familiar lurking in Pitch’s mind. Something from Jack’s past. Something he loved very much. The old farm cabin, the one from his Moondream. Where Ana and Jacklovich lived! And the pain surging through his old wound grew so intense, he nearly plunged from the balcony.
The hardest part about being Jack Frost was outliving any mortal, no matter how loved they may have been. He had never dared to visit the Ardelean family again. The Nightmare King had sworn to kill all those Jack loved, so to keep them safe, he had stayed distant. But he knew they’d had good lives; the werewolves had watched over them and had reported on their history. Jacklovich had married and stayed on the farm. He’d raised many children, the eldest named Jack. And that boy had grown up and done likewise. By now there had been three generations of Ardelean children named Jack. Ana, too, had married and lived nearby. She, too, had children. And every year the family celebrated Jack Frost’s birthday. They used the day that he’d first said the “good-night words.” Jack felt a flush of warmth at the memory.
The image transformed, and Jack began reeling once more. The Ardelean cabin was being surrounded by Lampwick Iddock’s monkey army. Jack knew this was not a memory, but something that was actually happening.
As Jack thought frantically of what to do, Pitch’s voice was suddenly in his mind.
“You thought I had forgotten about your beloved adopted family.” The voice could almost be described as a tender whisper. It went on. “I was merely waiting for the right time to use them against you.”
The image changed again. Now Jack could see inside the cabin. He could see a father, mother, and three children. Two girls and a boy of perhaps eleven who bore a striking resemblance to the original Jacklovich. All five were being held roughly by the largest of Lampwick’s monkey soldiers.
The Monkey King and Blandim were there as well. Blandim was no longer a tiny maggot. He had grown into something closer in size to a baby squirrel. He wore a little cloak and a childish sort of beanie. He was stumpy and slimy and still very much a worm, and now he was worming his way over to the children. With the same sinister twig that Jack had seen before, he began tracing through the air. Once again the silken shapes of flowers and unicorns appeared. Jack wanted to shout “Don’t touch!” They were made of acid! But the children wouldn’t be able to hear him. So with all his concentration, he sent out his call to Toothiana.
It was time to strike.