Patrick grabbed him by the arm and hauled him toward the stairs. “I’m going to fight. You in or not?”
“What kind of dumbass question is that?”
“It’s a question, because I’m not going to force you to fight.”
Wade gave him a stubborn look before beating Patrick down the stairs. “I’m not letting you fight alone. Pack doesn’t do that.”
Wade used his strength to shove people aside without apology, making them a path to the exit. Patrick saw jewelry, money clips, and a couple of wallets find their way into Wade’s jacket pockets. He didn’t have the time to argue with Wade about stealing when they were heading into a fight. It wasn’t like he could pickpocket everyone at the fundraiser.
The door they’d come in was a bottleneck. Patrick grabbed Wade by the collar of his jacket and hauled him toward the broken windows. The shades had been shredded, and people were lying on the floor or slumped over tables with shards of glass protruding from their bodies.
They couldn’t stop to help and kept running. Patrick and Wade vaulted the bottom of the window frame, and Patrick nearly lost his footing when he landed on the other side. His boots skidded over icy, snow-covered cement, but he managed to stay upright.
The deep revving of a motorcycle cut through the howling wind as a lone headlight shone through the dark. The motorcycle drove down the sidewalk on its own, back wheel skidding to the side so it faced Millennium Park rather than Au Hall.
“That’s Töfrandi,” Wade said.
Before Patrick could open his mouth and forbid Wade from going on a joyride, Eir landed beside them on the sidewalk, having thrown herself out the second-story window. Snow blew away from her landing, and she straightened up, spear still in hand. Patrick half ducked when Muninn and Huginn flew out of Au Hall over their heads and disappeared into the swirling snow.
Patrick hadn’t seen any of the police who’d been monitoring the street barrier. He knew other SOA agents would be arriving soon because the Westberg mess wasn’t one he could hide. Dabrowski had been there in the morgue, and the last call Patrick had taken before he’d opted to ignore his phone was from the SAIC announcing he was sending out a Rapid Response Team to deal with whatever had taken Westberg’s place. Patrick hadn’t been able to pull rank, and Setsuna couldn’t tell a SAIC to stand down, not when this shit had happened.
“We must get to the others,” Eir said.
Patrick eyed the motorcycle, decided it wasn’t big enough for three people, and said, “Wade? Head for the park and shift.”
“I’m gonna freeze my nuts off,” Wade protested.
“You’re a fire dragon. You’ll be fine. Now get out there and shift, then find us.”
Eir had already slung herself over the Harley Davidson, helmet nowhere to be seen. She gestured to the seat behind her. “Get on, Patrick.”
“How come you get to ride Töfrandi and I don’t?” Wade demanded.
“Because I’m not a dragon who can fly,” Patrick retorted.
Wade muttered something under his breath Patrick couldn’t hear through the wind before he ran across the street, red scales pushing up through the skin on the back of his neck.
Patrick hoped he’d catch up soon. He had a feeling they’d need some dragon flame for the fight ahead. He straddled the motorcycle, and the second he was settled behind Eir, Patrick found himself seeing the world through a complex glamour.
For all that the valkyries rode motorcycles, the machines were winged horses beneath the projection of metal frames. Töfrandi was dove gray, mane and tail braided for war, and the stallion had large feathered wings that protruded outward from his body. His leather-and-metal body armor was etched with runes that helped keep the glamour in place and others Patrick thought might be for protection.
The pegasus tossed his head, and Eir gathered up the reins with one hand. Töfrandi had no bit in his mouth, so Patrick assumed the reins were for the rider more than the pegasus.
“Let’s ride,” Eir said.
Patrick held on tight to Eir as Töfrandi took off, racing across the street and heading for Millennium Park. The pegasus didn’t bother with park paths and barreled forward over the snow. He didn’t try to fly, the wind too strong at the moment to make an aerial assault a safe form of attack.
Wade had no problem with the wind.
His fledgling fire dragon form was a little bigger every month he put behind him these days. He still had years of growing ahead of him from what General Reed had hinted at, but Wade was doing fine so far now that he had consistent care. Wade’s burnished red scales reflected the light coming from Yggdrasil deeper in the park when he joined up with them. The fire he breathed at the ground ahead of them revealed a pack of hellhounds racing their way.
“Keep going,” Patrick yelled as he freed one hand to conjure up a mageglobe.
He filled it and the three others he formed with attack spells, leaning hard into the soulbond that tied him to Jono. Patrick reached for the ley lines running beneath Chicago, his magic anchored by Jono’s soul. Metaphysical power poured into him through the soulbond, powering his spells with a strength he couldn’t achieve on his own.
Patrick sent the mageglobes spinning away from them in a defensive spiral. The magical grenades crashed into the hellhounds seeking to surround them. The ones Wade didn’t incinerate were blown apart or blown backward by Patrick’s attack, depending on how close they were to the impact site.
The winter landscape of the park was barren, almost impossible to see anything through the snow and wind. Patrick’s heat charms in his leather jacket and clothes weren’t enough against a cold driven by a hell.
