“You’re spoiling her. She has four feet and can walk on her own,” Spencer said as he jumped off the car.
“But I like carrying her.” Wade scratched behind Fatima’s ears, not bothered in the least by the fact she’d eaten at least a hundred souls just now. “She deserves to be spoiled.”
Spencer shook his head, finally giving up on the argument he’d been having with Wade since they left Nadine’s apartment.
“Let’s pull those people back while we have the chance,” Nadine said, lowering the shield around them.
Jono and Sage were standing guard some distance away from the police by the building, facing the park to give a warning at the first sight of the next wave of zombies. Patrick was under no illusions this horde was the only one in the area.
It had taken them five hours to make it from Nadine’s apartment to the square, each street put behind them a hard-fought battle. It hadn’t been a direct push, not with the amount of dead in the streets, people needing rescuing, and themselves needing to conserve their energy. The path had been winding and brutal. They’d lost Wade inside a boulangerie for half a block a couple of hours ago before anyone realized he wasn’t with them. He’d come away from that excursion with half a dozen premade sandwiches and a declaration of “I’m not dying hungry.”
“You’re not dying, period,” Patrick had retorted.
Lunch had been eaten on the run—fuel for their magic and to stop Wade from complaining—as they followed the makeshift lines of defense popping up on the Paris streets. From police to the army, locals and tourists alike, those with magic were standing their ground alongside some from the preternatural world. Pockets of safety were being defended against the walking dead, but Patrick didn’t know how long they would last. People needed to sleep, and communication was still down.
Summer solstice was the longest day of the year. They still had four hours of daylight left, and they weren’t anywhere close to the Eiffel Tower. The spell Ilya had cast wasn’t close to peaking yet, which made Patrick wonder if Peklabog had been given the Morrígan’s staff, or if the necromancer had kept it for himself.
Neither option was a good one.
Patrick weaved his way through the abandoned cars, keeping watch on their six as Nadine led the way across the square to the obelisk. She made a hole in her shield covering the small monument for them to step through before talking in rapid French with the nearest police officer.
Patrick made his way to the group of civilians, several of whom were standing over a teenaged girl who sat on the ground. She was holding on to her knees, head hanging down, breathing raggedly.
“Wade, give me one of your cookies,” Patrick said as he lowered his rifle.
“But they’remycookies!” Wade protested, still holding Fatima.
“Wade.”
The teen grumbled as he put Fatima down and stuck his hand into his pocket, coming up with a folded napkin. Inside was a broken palmier, but the sweet was still edible. He grudgingly passed it to Patrick, who took it and knelt in front of the teenaged witch.
“Here.” He offered her the palmier, and the sugary scent got her to lift her head. “Eat this.”
“Danke,” she muttered.
She took a piece and popped it into her mouth. The second it touched her tongue, she yanked the napkin out of Patrick’s hand, stuffing the rest of the cookie into her mouth and chewing fast. The sugary pick-me-up would give her a quick burst of strength, enough to get her feet back under her.
Patrick looked over his shoulder. “Nadine?”
She turned away from the handful of police officers and approached him. “Let’s get them across the square. Some of the police are hunkering down in the buildings there. They have a sorceress who is warding all entrances and windows. They’re using it to house civilians who can’t make it home behind thresholds.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Patrick extended his hand to the teenaged witch and helped her to her feet. “Come on, let’s get you guys to safety.”
The second the words were out of his mouth, Jono howled a warning. Patrick snapped his head around, getting eyes on the zombies breaking free of the tree line across the way. They moved faster than the skeletons they’d just cleared, bloodied and newly dead, raised by magic. Between them cut a couple of darker, more demonic looking drekavacs.
“Oh, this feels like Cairo all over again,” Spencer mused, already raising both hands and conjuring up another set of mageglobes. “Could’ve done without reliving that time.”
“There aren’t any soultakers,” Patrick pointed out.
“Fuck, man. Don’t tempt fate.”
Considering the Fates had been the ones to keep prodding Patrick down this road, he thought it was a little late for that.
Jono and Sage surged across the square, blurred figures that twisted between cars as they charged the drekavacs. Movement out of the corner of his eye had Patrick looking left, squinting against the sunlight at the zombies coming from the direction of the bridge.
Patrick raised his rifle, conjuring up half a dozen mageglobes as he tapped a ley line through the soulbond. “We got incoming.”
Spencer nudged Fatima with his foot and pointed at the park. “Go.”
