Dabrowski waved off his words. “I’m sending you and other agents to Lincoln Park. Special Agent Alara Bowen will locate the epicenter of the spell. Near as we can tell, the hit came from a ley line beneath that neighborhood. My guess is it’s the same bastards who came after you last night. I want to know what the hell they’re doing and why.”
Hopefully not sacrificing a god, but Patrick didn’t put the odds in their favor. “Understood, sir.”
Patrick didn’t know what they’d find in Lincoln Park, but he knew it wouldn’t be good.
* * *
Wade stuckhis arm between the two front seats, a frosted pink donut with sprinkles resting on a napkin. “Donut?”
Patrick didn’t look away from the street he was driving down that had been recently cleared of snow, despite more falling. The snow plows and salt trucks were out in full force right now, and they apparently did not mess around. “Not now, Wade.”
The donut disappeared. “Fine, then. More for me.”
The sound of rustling paper bags came from the back seat of the SUV. “Don’t make a mess.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Jono asked from the front passenger seat.
Patrick tightened his fingers on the steering wheel, wishing the SUV had sirens. He’d picked up Jono and Wade from the Dunkin’ Donuts where they’d found shelter, which put him behind the other agents in getting to the scene. The snowstorm was still terrible, but it wasn’t whiteout level yet. Weather witches were fighting to break it up. The reactionary storm had stalled over Lake Michigan, still aiming at Chicago, and Patrick didn’t know if that was due to magic or interference from any of the immortals running around Chicago looking for Odin.
“Aksel Sigfodr turned out to be Odin. General Reed’s people were wrong about him knowing anything about the staff, but the government was right about him being a criminal.”
“How so?”
“You know how I told you he’s big in Chicago politics? Odin runs a pay-to-play scheme for politicians, but money isn’t enough. Seems he wants souls instead of prayers for his pantheon. The Dean Westberg case I got assigned focuses on rent payment done through pawnshops, but they aren’t giving up antiques as collateral, just pieces of their souls. I’m pretty sure Westberg buys them up, then gives them to Odin as tithes,” Patrick said.
“Sounds bloody awful.”
“Odin didn’t think he was in danger. The Dominion Sect did a snatch and grab at the same time they hit Thor’s bar.” Patrick pushed at the windshield wiper controls, scowling when he realized they were already on their highest setting. “I don’t know what they used to contain him, or who.”
“What happened at the bar?”
“Zachary was there. He brought Hel along. Thor went after her, and I drew Zachary and his people into the cemetery. Hannah showed up in the cemetery. I felt her,” Patrick said slowly as he flexed his fingers against the steering wheel, chewing on his bottom lip. “In my soul.”
Jono’s hand settled on his thigh, giving a gentle squeeze. Patrick was still pissed at him, but not enough to pull away. “How is that possible?”
“She’s my twin. We had a connection when we were younger, but Ethan broke it with soultakers. At least, I thought he had.”
“You’ve never felt her before, have you?”
Patrick shook his head. “Not since we were kids. When that connection cut, I thought she was dead. I kept thinking that until I saw her in Cairo.”
“What about today?”
“Backlash hit the ley lines from a surge.”
Jono frowned, turning his head to look at him. “You weren’t tapped into a ley line through me though. How did you feel it? BecauseIfelt it through the soulbond.”
“I know. I think it was Hannah.” Patrick laughed hollowly. “I don’t know what Ethandidwhen he tried to kill us. I didn’t think I had a connection, but maybe something stuck.”
Some small, selfish part of Patrick hoped it hadn’t. The idea that he might have had a connection to his sister all this time while she was at Ethan’s mercy made him want to throw up. Because the thought that maybe he could have found her before now was something he didn’t want to contemplate. He swallowed against the urge and instead focused on where his magic was leading him.
He hadn’t been given an address when leaving the SOA field office, just a general direction to Lincoln Park. Fine-tuning the location was up to Bowen. He’d given her his cell phone number, but she hadn’t called to give him an update yet. She was a mage who could follow the ley lines, and despite getting knocked on her ass from the backlash, she was back in the field doing her job.
What Patrick could pick up the closer they got to the urban park that carried the Lincoln namesake were traces of black magic. Whatever spell had been cast, the remnants of it were drifting on storm-driven winds, settling on snow-covered rooftops of people unaware their souls were in danger.
“Trying to track down everyone who might need their soul stripped of black magic in this weather is going to be a mess,” Patrick muttered.
