“Maybe I can’t,” Jono conceded. “But my patron can.”
Patrick’s finger let up on his trigger for a fraction of a second at that confession. He clamped it back down again, getting close to needing to reload.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Patrick ground out as the soultakers kept coming, mouth suddenly gone dry. “You didn’t think that bit of information was important for me to knowbeforenow?”
No fucking wonder why the London god pack had exiled Jono and why Estelle and Youssef didn’t want him around. Not every god pack had a patron these days. If the New York City god pack didn’t have one and Jono did? Agreement be damned, but Jono would be well within his right to take over the New York City god pack.
Why Jono hadn’t was a question forafterthey survived this fight.
The soultakers ran up against Nadine’s shield and started to tear through her magic right as Patrick’s rifle clicked empty. Patrick unclipped the strap from his tactical vest and thrust the weapon at Jono.
“Hold this and stay here,” he ordered.
Patrick conjured up half a dozen mageglobes, pouring his magic into the barrage spell twisting through each one. Nadine couldn’t hold her shields up forever against soultakers—no one could—and Patrick wasn’t about to let her magic get drained to the breaking point.
He cast his mageglobes at the soultakers, his magic passing harmlessly through Nadine’s shield. The second they were on the other side, two were immediately swallowed whole by the demons, and the rest detonated on Patrick’s silent, willed command.
The resulting explosion sent a couple of soultakers and sand flying through the air. What magic didn’t catch them off guard they ate. Patrick felt the metaphysical tearing in his soul like a heavy burn in chest.
It wasn’t enough to stop him from walking through Nadine’s shield, Jono’s frantic yell whipped away by the wind that barreled into him from the Atlantic.
His magic had carved out a bit of space to stand in, and Patrick planted his feet in the wet sand, staring over the demons at Hades. He didn’t reach for his dagger and instead pulled from his pocket the handful of Greek coins he’d left the apartment with that morning.
Lightning flashed directly overhead, illuminating the world in electric light. Thunder rolled across the beach and the waves lashing against the shore, drowning out the ear-piercing shrieks of the soultakers.
Hades’ smile disappeared when Patrick raised his clenched fists, the coins already glowing.
“Where did you get those?” Hades demanded.
“You should quit pissing off your family,” Patrick shot back.
The coins burned hot in his hand, and Patrick tossed them into the air. They hung suspended there for a moment, burning like miniature suns the soultakers couldn’t seem to face. The feel of heavenly magic was a sharp juxtaposition against the ugly burn of hell currently suffocating the beach.
Patrick thrust one arm up and sent the coins skyward like shooting stars returning to space. They disappeared into the low-hanging clouds, bright flashes of sheet lightning turning the gray sky white in areas. Patrick blinked colored spots out of his eyes and thought about what Skuld had said in the filth of Ginnungagap.
Payment for the dead.
He wasn’t dead, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered in war except survival.
Patrick made a fist and yanked his arm down, as if he were pulling down the sky. His magic burned weakly through his soul as he focused on the command tostrike.
The borrowed magic from gods in the coins, guided by his own weakened magic, returned to Earth in the form of lightning.
Powerful bolts crashed down onto the beach with ground-shaking power. Patrick squeezed his eyes shut, but that wasn’t enough to block out the searing brightness of the attack. Foreign power cascaded through his soul, tearing through scarred-over metaphysical channels that could no longer handle the overload.
Ozone burned hot in Patrick’s nose when he screamed, every strand of hair standing on end as the lightning storm decimated the beach around him. The borrowed power of gods cut through him, and he had to let it because it was the only way any of them were getting out of this mess alive.
With an ear-poppingboom, thunder rolled over the beach, vibrating though his body. Patrick stumbled forward, the world coming back in stages, looking more like an old photograph negative than sharp reality. He looked down at where sand used to be and only saw twisted white glass formed out of a lightning strike.
Gone were the soultakers, either burned down to ash that rain washed away or dragged into a retreat by Hades and what was left of the Dominion Sect acolytes. The borrowed power of gods had been enough to drive them back and cauterize the rip in the veil. How long before Hades returned was anyone’s guess.
Patrick felt hollowed out, the world tilting badly. It took him a moment to realize it was him, not the horizon, as his legs gave out. He crashed to the ground, tasting blood, practically breathing it. His fingers skittered over hot glass, entire body shaking as he coughed.
Warm arms wrapped around his torso and hauled him upright. “Patrick!”
Jono’s voice sounded far away through the ringing in his ears. Patrick closed his eyes, the sound of thunder nearly drowning everything out as he slumped against Jono.
“Hades?” Patrick managed to say, tongue thick in his mouth and not working right.
