Patrick closed his eyes for a brief second. “Fuck. Okay, grab who you need to help you keep the zombies off our six.”
“And the soultakers?”
“I’ll get Wade.”
Patrick turned away and ran down the line of fighters. Not having radios or cell phones to communicate made coordinating their attack difficult but not impossible. Wade was easy enough to find if only because the teen hadn’t gone far. He was crouched on the nearby pavilion’s roof, breathing fire at the Sluagh who kept targeting their allies on the ground. Nadine’s shield had retracted low enough that Wade was outside its safety radius now, and he hadn’t seemed to notice.
“Wade! Get down here,” Patrick yelled.
Wade snapped his mouth shut, smoke streaming out of his nose and from between his lips. He threw himself off the roof and landed on the ground behind a group of soldiers keeping hunters pinned down near the barricades by the fountain. Red scales lined his jaw and throat, creeping outward from his hairline. His eyes were a molten gold, pupils slitted like a reptile’s.
“What?” Wade asked.
“We have zombies and soultakers coming from the direction of Uptown. I need you to shift mass and get ready to burn or eat them.”
“I thought you didn’t want me to shift mass?”
“There’s enough space in this area that you won’t risk damaging any buildings.”
Union Square was wide open in terms of space, the intersection ringed by buildings, but Wade’s wingspan couldn’t touch them. In dragon form, he’d do a lot of damage against the enemy.
If their group could break through here and stay on course, they could take Broadway down to the tip of Manhattan where the Battery was. Just thinking about how far they still had to go made Patrick’s head throb.
Wade stripped out of his shirt and tossed it to Patrick. “Give my clothes to Marek. I’m not running around naked like everyone else.”
Patrick peeled the shirt off his head. “No one cares.”
“Icare.”
“Just shift.”
“Yeah, yeah. Shift mass, don’t shift mass. Eat demons, don’t eat demons. You’re carrying my mouthwash next time we fight like this.”
Wade got rid of the rest of his clothes, and Patrick backed up, yelling for everyone nearby to give Wade space. The pockets of fighters shifted position where they could, a few looking back curiously at them to get a sense of what was going on.
Red scales pushed through the rest of Wade’s skin, the illusion of a human body disintegrating in the outward shift of mass. It wasn’t like how a werecreature changed shape, with a twisted body becoming something else. Wade’s dragon form expanded into the space around them in the blink of an eye, towering over their side of the fight.
Wade stretched out his long neck and roared, spitting fire at the Dominion Sect magic users and hunters blocking their way down Broadway.
“I said zombies and soultakers!” Patrick yelled up at him, pointing in the direction of Park Avenue.
Wade blew smoke at him before flapping his wings hard to get airborne. The wind stole most of the smoke, but some of it filtered down to where Patrick stood. He coughed, ducking his head against the downdraft, and headed back to the front line that had apparently gained ground with Thor’s help.
Thor was using Mjölnir to throw lightning at hunters while the Night Marchers wreaked havoc through the enemy ranks. It was a two-pronged attack, because the Night Marchers weren’t bothered by the lightning bolts and were hell-bent on going after the demons riding souls.
“Where did you send the fledgling?” Thor asked when Patrick made it to the god’s side.
“We got zombies and soultakers coming up on our six. He’s got orders to go to town on them,” Patrick said.
“Where is Peklabog? He and Baba Yaga would be the best to handle the dead and those particular demons.”
“Last time anyone saw them was at Grand Central Station.”
“I’ll find them,” Hermes said.
Patrick wheeled around to find the Greek messenger god slipping out of the veil, startling more than one nearby federal agent. Luckily, no friendly fire occurred.
“Is Salem still standing?” Patrick asked.
