“Killing one won’t stop them all. There is no stopping a group like that by taking out a single person, even if that person comes from a founding family.”
“Your father is attempting to turn himself into a god who will head up a new pantheon, build a new myth, and rule over a new hell. He failed in Salem with Macaria. He nearly succeeded in Cairo with Ra. He tries again in New York City with Zeus. Ethan is too prideful to ever share that glory with someone else.”
Deep down, Patrick knew she was right. Ethan had always been ambitious during his years rising in the ranks of the SOA until his true allegiance was brought to light. That ambition had proven useful to the Dominion Sect.
It took a mix of blood magic, necromancy, and soultakers to carve a godhead from an immortal’s body and soul. The essence of a god was too powerful for mortals to carry alone, but Ethan had been determined to try. Both Patrick and Hannah were supposed to die for their father’s ambitions the same way their mother had.
Except he hadn’t died because Persephone had found him and stolen him away to the Underworld. Her interference had broken the spell his father had sought to complete, taking Patrick’s soul and blood out of the sacrificial circle. In the end, Macaria’s godhead had been transferred into Hannah’s soul instead of Ethan’s, and his twin was now forever bound to their father. The feedback loop between their souls and the siphoning off of her power to Dominion Sect acolytes kept Hannah’s body from dying. As for Macaria, she wasn’t dead and gone, but she might as well be in the eyes of the Greek pantheon.
When it came down to it, Patrick had never truly escaped that basement. Part of him was still standing in a grave.
“Then maybe you gods should get rid of the problem yourselves,” Patrick finally said, shoving old memories aside.
“Your father has immortal allies the same way you do.”
“Ethan is not my father, and you are no ally.”
Persephone gave him a derisive look, her gold-brown eyes burning straight through him. “That is what you take away from this conversation? Half his blood runs through your veins.”
Patrick took a step back, putting distance between them. Pebbles shifted around his feet, and the wind snaked its way beneath his jacket, icy and sharp. “A father is more than blood. You immortals never seem to understand that.”
“We understand family and the trials that come with them far more than you mortals do.”
Persephone reached for him again, her fingers brushing against his cold cheek before he turned his face away. Looking out over the River Styx, Patrick could just make out a hazy, bobbing light coming closer out of the gloom.
“You wanted the arms of your mother when you were a child bleeding at my feet. You wanted kindness,” Persephone said with all the gentleness of an iron brand searing skin. “Nothing in war is ever kind, Patrick.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, taking in a steadying breath. She spoke a truth he’d lived through but which never got any easier to accept. Patrick knew what death looked like on the battlefield, delivered by his own hands or others. He knew how this fight he’d been sacrificed to as a child had colored his life and bled into his nightmares over the years. Patrick had begged Persephone to save him from the mortal wounds Ethan had inflicted on him. He hadn’t known what he was giving up back then.
He knew now.
A debt was owed and owned. Patrick would not pay that price again.
“Look at me.”
The powerful command in her voice snaked its way through his mind, and Patrick could only obey. He opened his eyes, turning to face Persephone once again. She didn’t speak, not at first, the expression on her beautiful face unreadable.
“Your shields are damaged. The wards I set in your bones need resetting,” she finally said.
“Blame the coins Hermes gave me. They wrecked my magic.”
Her magic had kept him hidden so he could stay alive through the years. The anchor points she’d carved into bone helped confine the taint in his magic and his aura to his body, leaving no trace as he traveled through the world. Her foundation for his shields had never been easy to carry.
Persephone placed her hand over his scarred heart, her touch warm in this cold place. “Remember to breathe.”
Magic burned through Patrick’s body like a flash-fire, and he choked on a scream. His knees went out from under him as molten heat twisted through every last bone in his body. He could feel Persephone’s magic branding him deep inside, the pain of the casting something Patrick had forgotten.
He could’ve done without the reminder.
Persephone rebuilt the foundation she’d laid into his body once before, and Patrick could only breathe through the agony. When it was over, he felt light-headed and hollowed out, every movement of his body a painful reminder of the debt he carried. The throbbing in every inch of his body and brain was worse than the hit from Cerberus.
She pulled Patrick to his feet with strong hands, holding him steady with a care that would be more meaningful if it was directed at his own well-being.
He knew it wasn’t.
“What will you ask of me this time to leave these shores, I wonder?” Persephone mused as she brushed back his dark red hair.
Patrick licked his lips, mouth dry and tasting of coppery blood. “I ask nothing. I’ll pay my own way.”
