“I’ll notify you when I reach the spellwork so you can drop your shield.” Patrick hefted up his dagger, the dark blade shining with magic. “I don’t want you caught in any backwash.”
“Understood.”
The shield rippled, providing just enough give in one spot for Patrick to pass through it without jeopardizing the structure of it. Nadine shored it up once he was clear, and Patrick started running. Around him spells were being flung with reckless abandon by both sides, magic crackling through the air. Soultakers were having a feast, even with vampires and werewolves acting as shock troops against that hellish assault.
Patrick kept his eyes on the spellwork and the handful of people standing within its circles. He had to dodge and weave his way through what had become a war zone in the middle of Central Park. Rather than take a direct approach, Patrick peeled off at an angle to get out of range of his side’s firepower.
Magic was all well and good in a fight, but when paired with military weapons, the upgrade was deadlier. Another one of Lucien’s grenades exploded off to his left, hitting against the shield that encased the spellwork. For a second, the shield became visible as Zachary’s magic reacted to the hit. Patrick noted its position and kept running.
He was halfway to the outermost circle of the spellwork when the rapidly pulsating magic reached another peak. Patrick dove for the muddy ground, his rifle sliding through the muck. His head and body throbbed from the impact—Persephone’s wards still hurt—but he ignored the pain. Nadine’s shields followed him down, settling close as the air became static-charged.
Like before, in Times Square, the magic erupted outward in a rolling wave of power, intent on crashing over Manhattan. This close to the epicenter, the explosion burned Patrick’s eyes even through his eyelids. His ears popped, body gone near-weightless in the wake of the explosion, even behind Nadine’s shields.
That’s a lot of power, Patrick thought bleakly.
But it took a lot of power to kill a god.
The world went silent for a long, painful moment before sound rushed back like a sonic boom. Patrick coughed against the internal pressure, scrambling back to his feet with jerky motions. His body ached, and the fight right now wasn’t helping the pain any.
The insidious glow of Ethan’s magic filled his eyes. What powered this spell was blood and souls, the stolen lives of decent, innocent people who had died terrible deaths. As in Salem and Cairo, those souls would act as a bridge for the godhead to travel—if Ethan succeeded in prying it out of Zeus’ soul.
Something Patrick had learned in the ensuing years, and which Ethan must have realized at some point as well, was that it took a god to kill a god.
Marek had the Norns.
Jono had his own patron, whoever that might be.
And Ethan had Jono imprisoned at the center of the sacrificial circle.
He’d failed all the times before this because Ethan carried no godhead in his soul, was no more a modern god than the myths who walked Earth in all their faded glory. His only success, if one could call it that—and Patrick never would—was he’d stolen Macaria’s godhead through sheer gods-be-damned luck. It only cost him the lives of his wife and daughter. Clara was dead, but Hannah was his power source these days, held in check by the prayers of the Dominion Sect. Ethan wasn’t a god, but he could almost wield power like one when needed.
All Patrick had was a gods-gifted dagger and a stubbornness that had been a thorn in everyone’s side since he was a child.
Weapons firing on either side of his position drew attention away from his location. Soultakers could sense magic in any form though, and a couple of the demons peeled away from protecting the shield, heading straight for Patrick.
Patrick got eyes on them right as a grenade exploded in their midst, knocking the demons to the ground. The ground shook from the impact, a spray of mud and chunks of grass rising into the air. Unfortunately, the demons seemed to be in one piece when the smoke cleared.
“Shit,” Patrick muttered under his breath.
Nadine’s stealth spell hadn’t been stripped by the magical buildup. Patrick was still unseen, but that was about to change. With a burst of speed, Patrick covered the distance between himself and the pillar of light in front of him. Magic spilled in sparks from the dagger he held, guiding him past magical landmines Dominion Sect magic users had set in the meadow. The traps were intricate and dense, becoming nearly unsurpassable in front of Zachary’s shield.
Patrick rocked to a halt, his muddy boots mere centimeters from the defensive magic in the ground protecting Ethan’s shot at godhood. He tapped his radio, accessing Channel One.
“Mulroney, drop your shield.”
Nadine’s magic disintegrated around him. Wind and rain instantly buffeted his body now that her shield was no longer protecting him. Patrick could feel the heat of Ethan’s magic even through the storm, hell a rancid taste in his mouth.
The shadow of a hand pressed against the inside of the pillar that stood on a radial line. The afterimage of a face came into view, mouth open in a soundless scream. The pretty face of a college student who would never fulfill her dreams stared out at him with horror in the remnants of her soul, most of her essence gone into the structure of the sacrificial spellwork.
Mud sucked at his feet, boots sinking into the earth. The storm raging above the City was like a monster. Here, at ground zero, there was no calm to be found. Only the roaring protest of Mother Nature as she railed against the upending of a balance at risk all over again. The fight was familiar, except for how it wasn’t.
This time, Patrick wasn’t standing in the ruins of a war-torn city. He wasn’t grieving the teacher who had taught him how to survive what the immortals demanded of him. Unlike before, Patrick knew what waited for him at the center.
Patrick stared hard at the soul trapped inside that prison as he flipped the dagger in his hand, getting a better grip. It wasn’t made to be thrown, but Patrick was out of options right now. He drew back his arm and snapped it forward, putting all his strength behind the throw, the blade disappearing beneath a fiery white light.
The dagger spun through the air and sliced through Zachary’s shield with a piercing sound that made Patrick want to cover his ears. Glittering cracks fractured the air in front of him, the damage from the hit cascading through the defensive wards and offensive spells layered on the ground around it.
Past the shield was the pillar, and the dagger didn’t stop.
