“Shit!” Patrick yelled as he went to his knees and wrapped an arm over his head.
The dagger crashed through the pillar, and the column of magic dimmed, as did the radial line it stood on. Between one heartbeat and the next, itshattered.
White-hot light exploded outward, the raging wind catching most of the burning magical sparks and flinging them into the sky. The pushback from the explosion knocked Patrick over, hands sliding through the mud as he searched for purchase. He blinked rain out of his eyes, watching as the imprisoned soul found freedom. It twisted free of the anchoring magic, ghostly arms reaching skyward, the shape of who she once was dissipating into the storm.
The ground underneath him heaved as the magic powering the spellwork jolted from losing an anchor point, spinning unevenly through the pattern of the pentagram and circles. The radial line went black, dead, no more magic running through it.
A hand thrust itself past Patrick’s face, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. “On your feet.”
Carmen hauled Patrick up with preternatural strength, the succubus covered in mud, holding her machete etched with runes in the other hand. She raised the machete, the sharp edge of the blade facing a nearby witch who’d turned their way. With a shout, the witch released an attack that spiraled through the air. Like a rock that waves crashed over, the magic set into the machete’s blade forced the attack aside. Flailing tendrils of magic stung Carmen’s arm, but the succubus didn’t seem bothered by the burning welts that showed up on her skin. They’d heal soon enough.
“Mulroney’s wards?” Patrick asked, spitting out mud.
“She’s still useful,” Carmen said with a sniff. Then she shoved him toward the sacrificial spellwork. “Get moving.”
Patrick nearly fell on his knees again but managed to stay upright. He could see his dagger shining in the mud between the outermost circle and the next. Breaking a complicated spell like this without his dagger in hand would be impossible. With Carmen watching his six, Patrick made a run for the gods-given weapon, feet sliding in the mud.
A wall of fire exploded out of thin air right as his fingers wrapped around the hilt. Patrick brought the dagger up in a wide arc, heavenly fire following in its wake. The gods-backed magic crashed against the spell aimed his way, breaking it apart. As the magic-driven flames died to nothing beneath the rain, Patrick got eyes on his attacker.
Rachel planted herself in the space between two concentric circles, one hand raised and carrying an athame. The silver blade glowed a sickly green from her magic. The former SOA Special Agent in Charge looked thinned out in the ghastly light surrounding them. Shadows stood out starkly under her eyes, anger twisting her face into an ugly expression. Patrick knew a thing or two about rage and how sometimes it was the only thing that could fuel a body.
He grabbed for his rifle hanging from his tactical vest, bracing the butt of it against his shoulder. The weapon was difficult to wield one-handed but not impossible to use. He pulled the trigger and held it down, hoping Rachel’s shields were shit.
They weren’t.
The spelled bullets ricocheted off her defenses, and Patrick groaned. “Betrayal isn’t how you do your civic duty!”
“You can’t stop us,” Rachel yelled, taking a step forward. Her athame trailed bright lines of magic in its wake as she drew a pentagram in the air before her. It wasn’t a mageglobe, but her magic’s focus was still obvious.
“Are you going tomonologueat me?” Patrick asked incredulously. “I don’t got time for that bullshit.”
In answer, Rachel threw a bolt of raw magic that careened away from her pentagram focus. The attack was nothing like what a mage could produce, but without his magic, it was more than enough to wound him. While Patrick didn’t have his old team watching his six, he had a decent replacement.
“On your six,” Nadine snarled over his comms. “Duck!”
Patrick fell to his knees, keeping his dagger pointed at Rachel even as Nadine raised a shield around him. The attack exploded against the shield, violet light rippling around him. Patrick sucked in a deep breath, wincing at the sharp spike of pain in his ribs. It didn’t stop him from getting his feet back underneath him. He took a couple of steps back to the darkened radial line in the spellwork, Nadine’s shield following him.
Ethan’s magic pulsated wildly all around them. Patrick had damaged the spellwork just enough that the outermost circle was no longer stable. Even as he watched, the pillars slid down their radial lines to the next circle. The spellwork shifted, compensating for the damage. Patrick’s attention drifted toward the center where Dominion Sect acolytes surrounded Jono’s kneeling form.
He needed to bethere, not dealing with Rachel.
An arm brushed against his, and Patrick wrenched his gaze away from his target. Nadine nodded at him, weapon braced against her shoulder as she sighted down the barrel at Rachel. Her mageglobe cast a washed-out violet glow across her face, expression calm despite the crazed fighting happening around them.
“Dead or alive?” Nadine asked calmly.
“Alive,” Patrick ground out. Movement out of the corner of his eye tugged at his attention, at his soul, but he didn’t look. Not yet. “We’ll need answers.”
“Acknowledged.” Brown eyes slid his way for a single instance, Nadine’s head tilting in the direction of the spellwork and the threat coming their way. “Your sister is the enemy now. Remember that, Collins.”
“I know.”
She nodded and advanced toward Rachel, who didn’t seem all that thrilled with facing off against a mage of Nadine’s caliber. Nadine dropped her shield from around Patrick as she sought to take down the witch. The rain returned, soaking him once again. Patrick slowly turned, the fight a distant noise all around him as he faced his past.
Walking down the blackened radial line, long red hair whipped away from her face by the wind, came his twin sister.
Hannah’s arms were held out to her side, hands moving through the air in undulating motions, as if she were skimming them over objects no one else could see. Her aura was broken wide open and shone like a dying star, washing out her skin with power her mortal body could barely contain. A body that was too thin, too broken, toohuman.
She might carry Macaria’s godhead in her soul, chained by prayers, but she was no god.
