Patrick’s head throbbed with the change in position, but he felt less like his brain was being liquified than the last time the angel sang in Sage’s apartment. The Throne still burned like the sun above them, spinning rapidly as demons fled their hosts.
“Where’s Jono?” Patrick asked.
“He went after Estelle. Andras left you and went into her.”
Of course the fucking demon did.
A flash of magic slammed through a handful of hunters, sending them flying into the teeth of wolves whose allegiance was to Jono and Patrick. He didn’t watch them get torn apart, attention caught on the brutal way Gerard and Órlaith were carving a path toward where he and Wade stood.
“Patrick!” Gerard called out, spearing a wolf that got in his way through the throat. The notched spearpoint severed its spine, and he kicked the body free with a grunt.
Patrick straightened up but then had to duck his head and close his eyes as the Throne exploded in holy light above them. He heard the loud, thunder-like sounds of even more demons fleeing their hosts, leaving the werecreatures behind to face judgment of a different sort.
Estelle’s god pack would never be part of theirs. If the werecreatures didn’t die today, they’d be exiled if they weren’t arrested. He and Jono had given enough warnings to god packs across the country and in Europe that anyone who’d been part of Estelle’s would never be welcomed in established territory.
Gerard and Órlaith reached their position and promptly put Patrick and Wade at their backs to guard them. Gerard spared a glance over his shoulder, catching Patrick’s eye. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m holding him up,” Wade said.
“I’m me again,” Patrick said, giving Gerard a salute with his dagger. It was a painful win, but he’d take it. “Cernunnos is working freely with the Dominion Sect.”
Gerard swore in half a dozen different languages. Patrick was mildly impressed.
Órlaith gestured sharply with one hand, and a glittering dome of magic formed around them, shielding Patrick and Wade. Sage took up position on the opposite side of the fae, having not gone far after tearing out some throats.
Emma and Leon vaulted over a pair of werejackals who were on their side to join the circle. Patrick was surrounded by his pack and friends, and beyond them, alphas loyal to their god pack started to form a line between them and the enemy—which were still more numerous than their side.
Amidst the bloody melee, Patrick couldn’t see Jono at all.
But the soulbond was a weight in his chest again, slowly stitching up the holes Andras had left behind. It gave him comfort and the will to face the fight with his pack. Patrick leaned into the soulbond to tap a ley line—and abruptly pulled back, staggering against Wade.
“What happened?” Wade asked, holding them both up as he snorted smoke out of his nose.
“The ley lines are too unstable to tap,” Patrick said.
“Like last year? With the nexus?”
“No, it’s—”
The ground jerked. For a second, Patrick didn’t know what was happening. Then the shaking intensified, and the only reason he kept his footing was because of Wade.
“Are we having an earthquake? If my shot glass collection gets broken, I’m stealing more,” Wade said.
“You’re not old enough to drink.”
“They have funny designs.”
As the earth shook, the Throne disappeared in an explosion of light reminiscent of a supernova. Patrick doubted the angel was dead. Angels didn’tdie, not the way mortals did. In the wake of the angel’s disappearance, a different light filled the sky, brighter than the sun tipping toward the horizon in the west.
A building at the southern end of the park, barely seen over the tops of scraggly trees, flashed like a lighthouse. The magic rippled through the air, rolling across the city and through the broken barrier once held up by Greek coins and cliff roses in a flash that had Patrick ducking his face.
The magic left in its wake a scent on the air that made Patrick want to sneeze, like all the summer life that had been sucked out of every park in New York City was drifting down amidst the iron jungle. He remembered what Cernunnos had said, about needing his blood to finish whatever spell was keeping Hannah and her unborn baby alive.
His stomach sank at the realization the god must have completed it. That maybe this whole fight with Estelle had been escalated on purpose. Whatever the reason, the fight in question wasn’t over, but neither was it going in their favor.
For all that he felt undone and unmade because of Andras, Patrick was still an alpha of their god pack. He was supposed to fight for the packs they protected, not the other way around. So Patrick reached for his magic rather than a ley line, prepared to join the fight no matter how much it hurt, when a conch shell blew a long, steady note into the sky, like a call to arms.
He hadn’t seen the Night Marchers when they saved Jono in Brooklyn, but he saw the ghostly warriors now, charging through the bare trees for the Great Lawn, weapons held high, Ginnungagap providing a shadowy place to fight beneath the fading sun. Some of the hunters and werecreatures broke and ran, not wanting to face the new threat.
