The covering of the tomb exploded upward. Stone, metal, and dirt flew through the air, giving way. A skeleton dressed in a ragged uniform frayed from over a century of entombment clawed its way out of the grave, magic burning in its eye sockets.
The police yelled a warning Jono couldn’t understand before they fired at the skeletal zombie exiting its grave. The bullets didn’t stop it, and the zombie lurched forward on old, time-worn leather boots.
“We need to go,” Jono said, still staring at the zombie. “That won’t be the only sodding zombie we’ll have to deal with.”
Sage turned on her feet. “No need to tell me twice.”
Rather than head for the tunnel entrance where everyone else was pushing and shoving their way down the stairs, Jono and Sage ran for the edge of the concrete island. They threw themselves with preternatural speed into the stopped traffic surrounding the roundabout, racing to the other side.
23
“This is bullshit,”Patrick growled as he yanked the car door shut.
Nadine shoved her key into the ignition of her car and started the engine. “We aren’t in our country. We can’t force them to listen to us and then do what we want.”
“Just because they haven’t been able to locate Ilya doesn’t mean he’sgone.”
“The ministry is aware of that.”
“And I thought our government was a fucking headache.”
Nadine pulled into the street, merging into the traffic that surrounded the Quai d'Orsay. They’d been stuck in emergency meetings at the Ministry of Magical Affairs since early morning after Patrick escaped the Catacombs. Maybe it was the lack of sleep from being awake for over twenty-four hours that was making him short-tempered, but dealing with politics today was more annoying than usual.
They weren’t on US soil, and Patrick was acutely aware that he didn’t have the political backing or approval to operate how he normally would. If he got in a fight over here it would turn into a huge diplomatic mess he couldn’t afford to be in the middle of. Neither would he have Setsuna to cover for him and explain away his actions.
This wasn’t like the Thirty-Day War, when countries banded together to fight back against the hells. Patrick wasn’t able to act under military orders, and he knew the French government would be incensed if he ruined any of their monuments.
They drove east, heading toward the 8th arrondissement, where the Embassy of the United States was located. The PIA was currently running the Paris portion of the mission behind diplomatic walls, and they had another lunch meeting to attend despite the fact that Patrick wanted to be out hunting. Red tape and the restrictions it came with had never before seemed so terrible.
“With the INTERPOL hit on Zachary, at least we have proof the Dominion Sect is in Paris,” Nadine said.
“I don’t know if that makes this situation better or worse. It’s summer solstice, there’s a god of the underworld who guides souls waiting for his priest to deliver him a weapon that doesn’t belong to him, and we’re considering Ethan’s right-hand bastard a good thing?” Patrick rubbed at his eyes with one hand, breathing sharply through his clenched teeth. “I need a drink.”
“There’s a flask in my glove compartment.”
Patrick made a desperate sound in the back of his throat as he yanked open the glove compartment, ignoring the Browning there in favor of the small metal flask that would fit in almost any of Nadine’s designer purses.
“Thanks,” Patrick muttered right before taking a swallow of good whiskey.
“There are mints in my purse. Chew some before we get to the meeting.”
“Work been that stressful for you lately?”
“It’s been mostly you.”
“That would hurt me if I cared.”
Nadine smacked him in the chest, a smile tugging at her lips. “Asshole.”
She turned left onto Pont Alexandre III, the low bridge spanning the Seine filled with cars. The golden statues on the pillars bracing each side of the bridge glittered in the sunlight. They were halfway across the span when a deep, sonorous hum ripped through the air, sounding out of place in the buzz of Paris streets.
“What the fuck?” Patrick leaned forward to peer through the windshield, scanning their position on the bridge. “Are you hearing that?”
“Yes. I don’t like it,” Nadine said, speeding up as much as she could as traffic continued to move across the bridge.
Patrick’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, answering immediately after seeing Jono’s name flash across the screen. “Tell me you’re back at Nadine’s apartment.”
Jono’s voice came across the line, deep and familiar, annoyance coloring his tone. “Finished that chat with the Paris god pack. Went to the Arc de Triomphe to speak to a policewoman married to one of their members. Got interrupted by that bloody noise. You should know the Eiffel Tower is covered in magic.”
