“Who said anything about assassinating you?” Zachary shot back.
And oh, wasn’tthata terrifying thought?
“Your hunter back there aimed for my face.”
Zachary smiled. “He aimed for your shields.”
Patrick stepped closer to the cathedral’s shields, the heavenly white fire twisted around his dagger’s matte-black blade growing brighter. The gargoyles crouched on the steps flung themselves through the shield, the magic not impeding them at all. They charged the werecreatures, their stone bodies capable of withstanding the claws and teeth of werecreatures better than human flesh.
Patrick raised his dagger, ready to press the edge of it against the shield to carve himself a hole to fight through, when a vicious howl ripped through the air. Zachary wasn’t the only one who looked back the way they’d come on Fifth Avenue. Patrick didn’t have the best view of the street, but the group of werecreatures racing toward them had him breathing a quick sigh of relief as the soulbond pulled taut with Jono’s close proximity.
Jono and Sage led the charge, with what had to be most of the Tempest pack right behind them. The god pack facing off against Patrick and the gargoyles were forced to reorient themselves to deal with the oncoming werecreatures.
Patrick pushed his dagger through the shield, the prayers in it opening up a way through for him without bringing down the shield or breaking the protective wards. He slipped through the opening in time to see Zachary spin up a mageglobe and throw it at Jono and the others. Patrick didn’t hesitate to throw his own at the other mage’s attack, knocking it off its trajectory.
The resulting explosion ripped a hole in the asphalt closer to the other side of the street, but not through bodies. Zachary turned to face Patrick rather than the god pack that slammed into the demon-infested group he stood in the center of. His red-black shield flickered in the sunlight like bloody flames as Patrick readied another mageglobe, calculating the risks of another strike spell.
Then a furious, deep voice rang through the air, leaving the demons howling in protest.
“Satanam aliosque spiritus malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo, divina virtute, in infernum detrude.”
The commanding Latin that was the start of a Catholic exorcism prayer came from the cathedral’s steps. Patrick looked over his shoulder at where the cardinal in his ordinary black dress with red piping stood in the doorway, hand raised in a commanding gesture. The power in his exorcism prayer was as much a weapon as any spell Patrick had in his repertoire.
The melee of werecreatures, hunters, and gargoyles abruptly broke apart as the demons collectively pooled their power to drag their hosts and Zachary through the veil. Jono snapped his teeth on empty air, an aggravated growl leaving his throat as his massive head swung toward Patrick.
“I’m fine,” Patrick said, ignoring how hard his heart was beating. He flexed his fingers around the hilt of his dagger before slipping it back into the sheath against his lower back beneath his suit jacket.
Jono twisted through agitated gargoyles, the sound of grating stone making Patrick’s ears hurt. When he was within reach, Jono headbutted Patrick in the chest hard enough he was forced to take a step back.
Patrick buried one hand into Jono’s thick fur, tugging on it. “You got here fast.”
Jono huffed out a snort, licking blood off his fangs. His bright blue eyes lacked the shine of Fenrir being in control, which Patrick was grateful for. He was even more grateful that Jono had gotten to him in time.
“I had thought all the news stories of hunters and demons were exaggerations,” the cardinal said as he came down the steps.
Patrick swallowed against the fading taste of hell in the back of his throat. “They weren’t.”
“I see that now, my child.”
The rote paternalism made Patrick scowl, but he bit back his retort in favor of getting eyes on the surrounding area. He no longer sensed any threat through his magic, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t return. If Ethan was willing to attack him in broad daylight, uncaring of the civilian casualties, there was the risk he’d do it again. Zachary’s pointed threat about not wanting Patrick dead wasn’t something he could easily shake off and ignore.
The distant sounds of sirens wailed through the air, growing closer. Patrick let his hand fall away from Jono to gesture at the cathedral.
“Let’s get inside.”
Even as he spoke, the protective wards started to disappear on the cathedral walls, the shimmer of gold fading to nothing as the shield came down now that the threat was gone. Patrick turned to face where the cardinal stood on the steps, the older man staring at the sea of gargoyles and werecreatures milling about on Fifth Avenue.
The cardinal shifted his attention from the gargoyles to Patrick and Jono. He studied them with a bland expression on his face, judging them how men of faith always judged the world. Patrick thought the cardinal would find them wanting. Most people of the larger organized religious denominations felt that way toward magic users and the preternatural community. If those groups weren’t trying to save them, they were trying to eradicate them. Religion of all sorts was the underlying bedrock of most wars, along with control of resources and the need to get rich.
“Come inside and rest,” the cardinal offered after a moment.
Whether the generosity was due to being filmed by bystanders or out of the cardinal’s own sense of care, Patrick wasn’t about to say no. He needed to check on Danai and his pack, and he’d rather do that out of view of the public eye if at all possible.
“Hope this mess doesn’t impact my release,” Patrick muttered under his breath as he started up the steps, Jono right by his side in wolf form.
16
St.Patrick’s Cathedral was a hushed place of worship, its stained glass windows throwing colorful light across worshippers kneeling in prayer in the pews. No one sat at the massive organ situated above the front entrance, but the quiet hum of voices whispering for guidance was like a muted song.
