Patrick shifted on his chair, absently rubbing at his chest. The scars there stemmed from childhood, but the deeper ones—the ones in his soul—a good chunk of those came from the end of the Thirty-Day War. His tainted soul had been broken by that sacrificial spell, the channels that allowed him to reach external magic burned out.
Being soulbound to Jono gave him a workaround provided by the gods, even if he hated the pain it caused Jono, and the lack of choice they’d both had in its making. Despite all that, it was a change Patrick was learning to accept, mostly because Jono was far more forgiving than he was.
“I can’t hold back in a fight like this, Nadine. You’re going to need my combat spells.”
“One of the Skellig Islands is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Please don’t blow it up,” Sage said.
“Both of them are rocky islands in the middle of an ocean. Not much flat ground to fight on,” Jono said.
“We also don’t know what backup the Dominion Sect has brought,” Nadine said.
“We know Ferdiad will be there, and I will deal with him,” Gerard said.
“Your Hellraisers have limited ammunition.”
“Yes, but we know how to fight on land with limited coverage, and we have two mages, a sorcerer, werecreatures, and a dragon as our backup.”
Patrick nodded. “Been years since I fought with you, but I haven’t forgotten my training.”
Gerard leaned forward, gesturing for the rest of his team to join them in the corner. Chairs scraped back as everyone stood and immediately came over. Patrick dragged his hand over the sigil he’d drawn on the underside of the table, wiping it away. The muffled sound of the wind beyond the walls and the soft conversation of the waitresses by the bar finally filtered through now that the bubble of white noise disappeared.
Gerard laid his phone on the table, the picture on its screen that of a rocky island with hints of green, the sea calm around it. Patrick knew that wasn’t the sort of welcome they’d be getting.
“This is Skellig Michael, the island with the old monastery on it. It’s the most logical place they’re keeping Órlaith,” he said.
“What’s the plan?” Keith asked, crossing his arms over his chest, no hint of anger or distrust in his eyes or voice.
They all had a job to do, and while this fight was personal, their grievances had no place at the table.
Patrick settled his hand on Jono’s thigh and leaned forward to listen.
* * *
Patrick feltthe winter cold even through Nadine’s shields.
The Wild Hunt flew through the clouds, the wind screaming around them while the sound of the ocean waves churning below was a promise of certain death if they fell. Patrick ducked his head behind Nerys’ back, the dead fae rider immune to the elements. Nadine’s personal shields were malleable protection that moved with them as they flew, blocking the wind, sleeting rain, and lightning that carried the Wild Hunt forward.
Patrick squinted through the space around them, the dark clouds speeding past but not completely capable of blocking out fellow riders. The Wild Hunt glowed faintly with an electric light, giving him enough illumination to see Gerard to his left. His old captain rode a stag, his spear bright like a bolt of lightning in his hand.
The rest of the Hellraisers were scattered passengers on horses, stags, or hounds of the Wild Hunt, as were Jono and Sage. Wade was the only one of their group flying to Skellig Island on his own merits. The teen had shifted mass in the hills outside Portmagee, hidden by a look-away ward.
Patrick had given Wade strict orders to stay high in the clouds until signaled to join the fight. They didn’t know what long-range spells would be used, and Patrick didn’t want Wade to get knocked out of the sky. He’d shifted to his dragon form half a dozen times since August, when they’d take him over to Marek’s home in the Hamptons, but Wade didn’t exactly know how to fight as a dragon. He might be mostly immune to magic, but Patrick wasn’t willing to take any chances with Wade’s life.
A heavy, crackingboombroke through the roar of the wind. Nerys’ steed kicked into a dive that made Patrick’s stomach crawl up his throat. Something huge and bright cut through the clouds where they’d been, the heat from the fireball hot enough Patrick could feel it on his face.
“They know we’re here!” Gerard yelled with a battlefield loudness that was still difficult to hear over the wind. “Let’s get to ground!”
The only ground within miles was Skellig Island, and the rocky islands were ground zero for the combat spells targeting them. Patrick held on to Nerys as tight as he could as she guided her horse into quicker flight, the dead beast more than willing to obey.
A glimmer of violet magic sparked at his peripheral vision. Patrick sensed Nadine’s shields getting stronger, the amount of magic surrounding them powerful enough to make the damp hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
The next spell, when it hit, exploded like a supernova at the front of the Wild Hunt, cascading over Nadine’s defenses without so much as a dent. The Wild Hunt reformed up, riding forward through the storm with a single destination in mind.
Between them and their destination came the Sluagh.
Patrick craned his head around, staring over his shoulder to search out Jono. Two riders over and flying lower in the crush of spirits, Jono locked eyes with him and nodded. If he said anything, Patrick couldn’t hear it, but Jono had given permission to use the soulbond back when their feet were still on the ground.
Patrick sucked in a steadying breath and reached deep inside his soul for his magic and the bond that tied him to Jono. It was wide open between them, Jono’s soul burning bright in his awareness. Patrick focused on the channels the dagger had carved into Jono’s soul in June, tied to the soulbond, and only accessible to Patrick.
