“Yeah, we all know Lucien has a weapons stash in every country.”
Jono eyed the mages, how they were kitted out in similar dark clothing and Kevlar vests. Knee and elbow guards and hard helmets were in a crate at the end of the bed, and they all strapped them on, pulling on fingerless gloves. As far as body armor went, it was makeshift, but it would have to do on short notice.
At least Patrick finally had a rifle. While it wasn’t his pistol, maybe he’d stop whinging now.
Nadine hooked the strap connected to her rifle to her vest. “Ready.”
“Ready,” the other two echoed.
They left the bedroom for the living room where Sage and Wade patiently waited. Sage noted their weapons before her gaze skipped to Jono. “Shall we leave our clothes here and shift outside?”
Jono nodded, and they both set about stripping off their clothes. No one cared that they were nude, and neither he nor Sage were body shy.
They left the flat as a group, with Nadine locking the door behind them and sending a pulse of magic through the threshold with a flick of her fingers. They took the stairs down to the ground floor and emerged onto the street in bright, early afternoon sunlight. Nadine set a shield over the door, sealing it shut.
Jono didn’t waste any time shifting forms, and neither did Sage. His body twisted, bones breaking while skin split as he shifted from human to wolf. The agony of the shift lasted only for a second before his pain receptors turned off. Colors bled into different shades, the world tilting on its axis as everything human about his body became wolf.
Everything but his mind and soul, and the patron god that resided deep inside him.
Fenrir rose up through the depths of his soul, a powerful presence that pressed against the back of Jono’s mind. He shook his massive wolf head to settle his vision, Fenrir clawing at his awareness.
Patrick looked at Jono, jaw tight, smelling of grim determination and a hint of fear for the fight ahead. “Ready?”
Jono growled deep in his throat, the sound echoed by Sage’s low snarl. Beneath the sound was the ghost of Fenrir’s voice in the back of his mind, sharp like teeth.
Let’s hunt.
They started down the street, the scent of death growing in the air as high above, the cries of ravens and crows drifted on the summer wind.
25
Patrick formed a mageglobe,filled it with a shock-wave spell, and lobbed it at the horde of zombies about to overrun a group of police and more than a dozen civilians standing their ground at the obelisk in the Place de la Concorde. Whatever witch they had with them was barely holding up a shield, her magic flickering from lack of strength.
When the mageglobe exploded, the shock wave that followed slammed through the zombies, pushing them through the air and over the street, away from the boxed in police and civilians. Some got severed on abandoned cars, leaving limbs crawling about. With clear line of sight achieved, Nadine was able to raise a shield around the group to give them some breathing room.
Jono and Sage veered right, racing toward where a police unit had set up a barrier near the building to their right. Rather than weave through cars, the pair played hopscotch with the vehicles, their weight crushing the roofs. It still got them close to the fresher-looking zombies coming out of the Jardins des Champs-Élysées.
Violet magic followed Jono and Sage in their push forward—Nadine keeping them covered in case of any friendly fire incident from the police. Patrick hefted his rifle up higher, digging the butt against his shoulder.
“You’re up, Dead Boy,” Patrick said.
“I don’t know how many times I’ve had to tell you Hellraisers I’m not dead, Razzle Dazzle,” Spencer said.
“Stop arguing and clear us some space,” Nadine said, attention split between the two groups she was protecting.
Spencer jumped onto a car, climbing onto the roof. Fatima joined him, twining between his legs to sit between his feet. Her tail lashed against his ankles as Spencer conjured up two mageglobes, the summer heat fading around him.
Patrick shifted on his feet, moving so he could watch their six. Nadine’s shield around them was a protection no zombie could get through, but they still needed to know what threats were coming at them.
Spencer thrust one arm toward the small group near the obelisk and the other toward the park. His dark green mageglobes streaked through the air like heat-seeking missiles, exploding amidst the zombies. Bones and bodies went rigid, the malevolent magic sustaining them fading away as Spencer ripped the wandering souls out of the physical bodies. They hovered above the motionless dead like sticky fog, moving like nothing else in nature.
Fatima launched herself off the car, fog drifting around her small body. She opened her mouth wide, and the cold got a little worse. Patrick watched as the souls were drawn to her across the square, getting sucked in like a whirlpool, pulled by Spencer’s magic. His magic guided them home to rest, Fatima the transition point between the living world and the place beyond the veil where the souls should’ve never been disturbed.
The psychopomp’s form flickered, like a computer glitch, jaws snapping shut on the final bit of soul slipping past her teeth. Fatima stretched before giving herself a shake and looking back at Spencer. She made a small questioning sound Patrick couldn’t parse.
“Who’s a good girl?” Wade cooed, walking up to the car and holding out his arms to her.
Fatima chirped proudly before jumping into his arms. Wade cuddled her happily while Spencer only shook his head.
