“I think it’s working.”
Sage’s words came out grim, but Patrick could only spare so much for her worry when a soultaker was draining his magic. He poured more magic into the shield, knowing that it was only going to be eaten. But he needed to buy them time, enough so they could regroup and hopefully go on the offensive.
Gerard dove out of reach of the soultaker harassing him, rolling close to where Ares lay on the street. He grabbed the bone pole of his spear, pressed one foot against the other god’s chest, and yanked it free with inhuman strength.
Ares screamed, the sound almost animalistic in its agony. It looked like Gerard yanked out some of Ares’ intestines when he removed theGáe Bulg, but they got shaken off. He spun the spear, magic forming a glowing arc around him that distracted the soultaker long enough for Gerard to retreat to their position.
“Is Ares dead?” Patrick called out.
“No,” Gerard replied, sounding grimly annoyed about that.
“Is he dying at least? Please tell me he’s dying.”
The magic flickering over the notched blade of the spearpoint was enough light for Patrick to make out Gerard’s face. It also made him a target.
The strike spell was familiar to Patrick’s senses—the way it burned through the air from close proximity, Zachary’s magic laced through with hints of hell. With a soultaker feasting on his own magic, Patrick wasn’t sure his shield would hold against the hit.
The god stepping in between them bolstered his weakness with a ferocity that reminded Patrick of Ares’ initial rage.
Gods of war were always a vicious sort.
Montu was no different.
The Egyptian god of war dropped down from above to land in front of them on the street rather than the sidewalk. Patrick didn’t know whose side Montu was on, not until the god thrust one arm toward Zachary’s spell to counter it with enough power to melt asphalt.
The strike spell exploded harmlessly against the shield Montu had raised in front of him, human magic no match against a god’s power. Patrick hoped whatever amount of prayers that sustained Montu these days was enough to turn the tide.
Montu looked over his shoulder at them, eyes a searing gold in his dark face. “Get him out of here, Hermes.”
Patrick opened his mouth in protest. “No, wait—”
“Too late, Pattycakes,” Hermes said into his ear as a strong hand landed on his shoulder. “We can’t let them have you.”
His magic was ripped apart as Hermes dragged him through the veil. The pain whited out his vision, but he still felt Sage’s free hand curl tight around the lapel of his suit jacket, refusing to let go. Gray fog exploded around them, and he let go of the bits of magic the soultakers were eating, feeling it drain out of him like a broken pipe before it was welded shut.
The tearing separation left Patrick lightheaded, or it could’ve been getting dragged through the veil at a disorienting speed. Either way, when his feet finally touched solid ground, it was inside the apartment he shared with Jono, the soft glow of dawn creeping through the windows.
They’d been dragged out of DC well before midnight on a Thursday night, and here it was Friday morning now. Patrick’s head throbbed with a headache from being magically drained and the anger bubbling up at being taken against his will someplace he didn’t want to be.
“Why thefuckdid you do that?” Patrick snarled as he rounded on Hermes, forcing Sage to let him go. “You left Gerard behind!”
The Greek messenger god appeared unconcerned in the face of Patrick’s fury. “You’re a target.”
Patrick got in Hermes’ face, shaking off Sage as she tried to pull him back. “I’ve been a target my whole fucking life. You don’t fucking leave a man behind, Hermes!”
“Cú Chulainn will be fine. You wouldn’t be if they had taken you.”
Patrick snarled wordlessly in Hermes’ face, ready to argue, when a heavy knock on the front door derailed his focus. Sage stepped out of his way, still clutching the spell book. Patrick approached the front door, trying not to tense up. The last time they had unexpected guests, it hadn’t ended well for him.
“Yeah?” he called out.
“Collins? It’s Detective Ramirez,” Allison called out. “There’s been an incident concerning Jonothon.”
The twisting in his chest wasn’t his magic, but the soulbond, pulling painfully tight as Patrick reached for it and held on with everything he had, searching for proof of life. It wasn’t broken, and when he tugged on it, he felt an answering pull coming from the other side.
Patrick looked back at Hermes as he settled his hand on the dead bolt. “You better get our things from the hotel in DC and bring them back here.”
He’d have to get Setsuna to handle their checkout, but right now, Patrick was being torn in two different directions—how the rest of the fight had ended in DC and what had happened to Jono in his absence. If he had to deal with the cops again, he’d give his phone to Sage and have her call Gerard.
