“We’ll contact you when we can,” Patrick said as they got out of the car.
The Hellraisers piled out of the cars behind them, some grabbing the duffel bags from the trunks. Once they were on the sidewalk, the cars drove away. Patrick cast a look-away ward around everyone so they could climb the low wall in peace.
Patrick wasn’t too out of practice and still managed to make it to the park level at the same time as most of the others. Jono, Sage, and Wade didn’t bother climbing, the three of them leaping up to the snowy ground with preternatural strength.
“That’s handy,” Keith grunted as he straightened up. “You guys going to shift now or later?”
“Depends on what Gerard thinks our welcome will be like with the Wild Hunt,” Jono said.
Gerard twisted his hand in the air, and the faint crack of displaced air made Patrick’s ears pop. Gerard’s spear appeared out of nowhere, the notched blade and bone pole glowing faintly. Looking at it now, Patrick wondered how he’d ever missed seeing the weapon for what it was—theGáe Bulg, Cú Chulainn’s legendary spear of death.
Fae glamour, he decided.And a lot of misdirection.
“Stay human for now. It’ll be easier for the Wild Hunt to carry us if you are,” Gerard said, nodding in the direction of the open expanse of the meadow before them. “We’ll call for them over there.”
Therebeing Sheep Meadow, the open space ringed by trees, with the city rising up beyond the edges of the park. Patrick couldn’t see anyone else in the park other than the few cars on the road they left behind them, and the emptiness was eerie.
“We aren’t close to the hawthorn path,” Sage said as they trekked to the middle of the meadow.
“That doesn’t matter.”
Patrick gripped his mageglobe with its look-away ward in one gloved hand and didn’t draw down his magic until Gerard signaled him to. He let the mageglobe fade away as they all formed a loose circle in the snow.
The wind picked up, cold and sharp in Patrick’s nose when he breathed it in. He blinked snow out of his eyes, gaze drawn to the golden bits of flame that sparked at the tip of Gerard’s spear. Gerard raised theGáe Bulgtoward the sky, eyes on the churning clouds above that moved in a way Patrick didn’t trust.
“Hear me, Wild Hunt,” Gerard said, his voice ringing with a depth to it Patrick only ever heard when gods spoke, the smell of ozone warming the air. “You who carry the dead for eternity. I ask for safe passage for myself and my brethren to Annwn. I ask for an audience with your lord.”
He slammed the butt of the spear to the ground, and Patrick was forced back a couple of steps by the magic that rolled away from the impact. Snow puffed up from the ground before being caught in the wind and spun into the sky. Patrick held on to his beanie, keeping it anchored to his head even as he dug his heels into the snowy ground. Jono snagged him by the elbow, holding him steady against the rising wind.
The clouds above them spun like a vortex, the roar of the wind turning into howls that made the hair on the back of Patrick’s neck stand on end. In the depths of the clouds, a bright glow started to burn, like sheet lightning that never faded.
A sudden downdraft hit like a hammer driven by gods, throwing everyone but Gerard to the ground. Patrick spat out a mouthful of snow, trying to push back against the pressure that kept him pinned to the freezing ground.
“Don’t fight them!” Gerard shouted.
“Easy for you to say!” Keith yelled.
Patrick turned his head, blinking up at the sky and the storm of lightning that exploded in the air as the Wild Hunt descended to earth.
The baying of hounds never faded as the dead drew near, riding spectral horses and stags through the air. Patrick tried to still the pounding of his heart even as he wrapped his right hand around the hilt of his dagger, the metal warm through his glove.
He didn’t trust gods, and he sure as hell had never trusted the dead.
But some small part of him still trusted Gerard and maybe always would. Despite the hurt and betrayal, the lies and the bitter truth, Gerard was still the same captain who’d made sure Patrick had walked off the field of war when so many others never left it.
Patrick sucked in a steadying breath and let go of his dagger, steeling himself for whatever came next. The Wild Hunt filled his vision until nothing but the dead existed around them. Patrick didn’t fight the heavy jaws of a hound that grabbed him by the back of his leather jacket and carried him into the air at a dizzying speed, the ground and New York City falling away from him.
The world spun sickeningly as the Wild Hunt gathered up Patrick’s pack and the Hellraisers to ferry them across the veil, surrounded by the dead and stolen souls.
17
Jono fellthrough mist and landed on snow, the hard ground beneath him jarring every bone in his body. The pain rapidly receded, healed before he could even really notice it. He shoved himself to his hands and knees, blinking the world into view again.
“Status?” Gerard called out.
A chorus of voices responded back in the affirmative—not deadbeing a popular answer—but all Jono cared about was his pack. “Patrick?”
“And that little flight wasexactlywhy I didn’t become a motherfucking pilot,” Patrick groaned.
