“I tried to convince Persephone to go back and save Hannah, but I was bleeding out in the Underworld and she asked me if I wanted her to save me. I said yes. I was eight and didn’t know any better, so I saidyes. Yes to her healing me. Yes to me owing her my life and soul. To owing her and her kind a debt.”
“Because of what Ethan did to Macaria?”
Patrick nodded tiredly. “The Greek pantheon wants Macaria back. When Ethan is dead and she is returned to them, they’ll let me go. My soul debt will be paid in full.”
It was an impossible task that got harder and harder to complete with every year Patrick put behind him.
“Ethan isn’t a god, even with her under his control.”
“No, he’s not, because the spell went wrong and she got trapped in my sister. Back then, Macaria wasn’t worshipped and was mostly forgotten. She didn’t have the worship recognition most of the other gods did at the time. Ethan was able to bind them together and…” Patrick’s voice trailed off, and he tried to pull free of Jono’s grip. Jono wouldn’t let him, instead sliding their hands together and holding on tight.
“And?” Jono coaxed.
“He’s still searching for a godhead. He went after Ra during the Thirty-Day War.”
“Reports on that war only focused on all the hells.”
“Yeah, well, hell makes a great distraction. People aren’t looking for the creation of a new god when they have literal hell on earth to worry about.” Patrick chewed on his bottom lip and shrugged. “I had a chance during that war to kill him. We were in Cairo, and I had Ethan in my sights and in my magic, but Hannah got in the way.”
Patrick lost himself in that memory, the scene in his mind vivid and surreal, almost like a waking dream. A wounded Ethan on his knees as the spellwork broke apart around them, the dagger in one hand and his rifle in the other, when Hannah came between them. The shock of seeing her alive had robbed Patrick of his focus and the upper hand.
He should have killed her that day. He could have.
He didn’t.
“I thought she’d died in that basement all those years ago. When I saw her, I thought maybe there was something left of her for me to save. I couldn’t kill her to get to Ethan. I begged her to get out of the way, but she wouldn’t move. Looking back, I know there wasn’t anything left of my twin, but it was impossible to understand that at the time.”
“You can’t blame yourself for that,” Jono said.
“Easier said than done,” Patrick replied, trying not to sound so bitter. “Ethan destroyed what was left of the nexus below Cairo through Hannah’s soul before escaping. I took the brunt of that backlash to try to save my team. I’m Ethan’s son by blood, so I could access the spellwork, but it cost me.”
“Were you able to save them?”
“Not all of them, and I lost my ability to tap ley lines and nexuses because of my efforts.”
Patrick looked away, eyes dry, because he’d already had his breakdown over finding his twin sister alive and losing members of the Hellraisers three years ago. He’d done his damnedest to climb into the bottom of a bottle and drown his nightmares after that fight. He’d buried too many people, folded too many flags taken from caskets, watched as the brothers-in-arms he couldn’t save were lowered into the green hills of Arlington.
He still left quarters on their headstones every year around Memorial Day.
“Ethan tied Hannah to him so he could access Macaria’s godhead like a nexus. He siphons off the power in the godhead to his acolytes within the Dominion Sect to keep Hannah alive as its vessel. But he never intended for things to be like this. Ethan wants to be a god. He wants power. He wanted it to be him.”
Jono squeezed his hand. “You are nothing like Ethan.”
“Except for how I am, and I never wanted to be like him, Jono. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
“I bound yoursoulto mine,” Patrick said, his voice tight, panic making him bite out the words at a quick pace. “I bound you, Jono, and that’s a death sentence in this country. Inanycountry.”
Deep down, part of him reveled in being able to tap a nexus again, even if it was through Jono’s soul. Patrick felt whole again in a way he hadn’t in years.
It just came at the cost of Jono’s freedom and autonomy.
“Look at me, Patrick. Please.”
Patrick shook his head, trying to tug his hand free of Jono’s grip. Jono wouldn’t let him go. Strong fingers curled over his chin, forcing Patrick’s head around. He found himself staring into Jono’s eyes and seeing none of the hate he expected, none of the anger.
“Can you undo it?” Jono asked.
