Her shield split above them, opening up to the sky. It shrank to half height, and Wade wasted no time in flinging himself into the sky, wings flapping hard enough that Patrick was pushed to his knees by the downdraft.
Zombies spilled over the sides of Nadine’s shield, but every single body that fell quit moving before they hit the ground, Spencer’s magic breaking the souls free and putting them to rest. As soon as Wade was clear, Nadine snapped her shield back together again and layered it as thick as she could, knowing what was coming next.
Magic cut through the air, aiming for Wade, but Patrick sent a volley of strike spells through Nadine’s shield to intercept them. His magic wasn’t the only one defending Wade, as the French magic users hit back as well.
Wade gained altitude with a fierce roar, spitting a fireball at a spell that managed to slip past. The magic was broken and incinerated, never getting close to do any harm. He soared toward the Eiffel Tower, banking wide around the monument to dodge a flurry of attack spells, half of which exploded harmlessly in the air thanks to Patrick and the others.
Patrick watched Wade turn on a wingtip, bringing him closer to the Eiffel Tower. The ochre-colored magic covering every last inch of iron didn’t seem to affect Wade when he landed on the monument. Wings flapping for balance, Wade curled his talons around the metal beams, one wing stretched all the way up toward the top of the tower, the other half folded against his back.
He thrust his head forward toward the park below and roared loud enough to be heard across Paris. The dragon fire that exploded from his mouth could probably be seen from Sacré-Cœur.
Nadine’s shields went opaque in defense of the ferocious heat of Wade’s dragon fire that rained down on the massed walking dead that stood between them and the Eiffel Tower. Patrick sweated from the heat even through Nadine’s defensive magic. He could see layers shear off from her shield, only to be replaced by more as she held steady.
The smell of fire and sulfur burned away the stench of the dead. It took maybe just over a minute for Wade to clear the way, and Nadine didn’t waste any time once he finished and banked his fire. She split her shield down the middle and reshaped it into a defensive U-shaped wall. It left the charred park that had become a battlefield clear for them to fight in.
The fencing that separated the grass from the pathway had melted beneath Wade’s dragon fire, giving them a clear shot forward. Squinting through the eerie light emanating from the Eiffel Tower, Patrick could sense a riot of black magic forming.
“Move!” Patrick yelled.
Patrick ran forward, Spencer keeping pace with him as Fenrir raced ahead in Jono’s body. Fatima was a tawny streak against the ground as she scouted ahead, the cold trailing in her wake a brief respite from the lingering heat.
Wade kept spitting fire outside Nadine’s shields at zombies when he wasn’t trying to fry the magic users at the base of the Eiffel Tower. He scuttled over the monument to remain a moving target, shaking off the handful of spells directed his way. Most spells were now being aimed at Patrick’s group, and he got busy neutralizing as many as he could.
Running toward oncoming fire was always a risk, and some spells got through, exploding on the ruined ground between them. Patrick ripped his personal shields out of his skin, strengthened them, and kept running, dagger burning bright in his right hand while Srecha’s blessing burned in his left.
Spells crashed to the ground around him, three out of two dozen he hadn’t been quick enough to neutralize. The explosions sent him crashing to the ground, sliding through ash, tasting the dead on his tongue.
Patrick shoved himself to his feet and kept going.
Another burst of dragon flame aimed at the base of the Eiffel Tower bought them time, a handful of seconds to cover ground without being bombarded by magic. It got them closer, but not close enough.
Then the dead started clawing their way out of the earth.
A bony hand burst through ash to grab his ankle, yanking so hard Patrick felt somethingsnap. Pain shot through his leg, and Patrick kept his mouth shut on a yell when he slammed to the ground. More hands burst through the earth, clawing at him, seeking to hold him down. He sank his dagger into the earth, and white heavenly fire burned a circle around him. The zombies around him turned to ash.
He got one elbow beneath him before Spencer was there, helping him to his feet. “No lying down on the job, Razzle Dazzle.”
“Shut up, Dead Boy,” Patrick grunted.
He put weight on his foot because he had to, pain throbbing through the joint. It didn’t feel like a full break, but it definitely wasn’t comfortable. He forced himself into a run, clenching his teeth against the pain.
Up ahead, through the flash of fire and magic and the dead clawing free of the ground, Patrick could see Ilya standing beneath the Eiffel Tower on the pavilion there. The high fencing that surrounded the Eiffel Tower had been melted beneath Wade’s attack, but the Orthodox Church of the Dead refused to be snuffed out.
“I’ll clear you a way through,” Spencer said.
Dark green magic burned over the ground like wildfire. The zombies pushing their way through shuddered as the souls animating the corpses were ripped free and put to rest. The bony hands, skulls, and rib cages stuck out like creepy garden decorations. Fatima guided the spirits home, a cold transition point between the living and the dead.
Patrick hurled himself over red-hot, half-melted metal, landing on the other side with a pained grunt. The spell careening toward him would’ve been strong enough to pitch him back against the metal if not for Fenrir catching the mageglobe in Jono’s powerful jaws. The spell was crushed between his teeth, magic sputtering to nothing beneath the god’s power.
Patrick shoved himself to his feet, sweat sliding down the back of his neck and forehead, staring at the circle of worshippers that surrounded Ilya up ahead. Some still stood, others had collapsed on the ground, but whatever shield they’d held up against Wade’s attack had finally broken.
He didn’t see Zachary or any other magic users who might’ve been affiliated with the Dominion Sect. Either they’d cut and run, or would strike soon when Patrick’s side least expected it.
Hellish power seeped out of the concentric circles that expanded away from where Ilya stood at the center, holding the Morrígan’s staff. The pulse of magic touched each leg of the Eiffel Tower, and the hum of the staff’s power made Patrick want to run.
Beneath the sound of Wade’s roars, the heavy tread of the dead, and the hissing explosion of magic all around them came the furious shrieks of ravens and crows and the thunder of thousands of beating wings.
Fenrir looked at him through Jono’s eyes, white fire burning where blue once existed. “Break it.”
