Hermes shrugged. “Mostly.”
“Great. We need Peklabog and Baba Yaga to help us with our walking dead problem. I don’t care what they’re doing, just bring them here.”
Hermes’ gaze flicked past Patrick, focusing on something behind him. “You need more help than that.”
Patrick really didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t afford not to. Facing south again, he caught sight of what was causing almost everyone around him to look afraid.
Marching up Broadway and University Place came ranks of fae belonging to the Unseelie Court. Goblins and trolls, spiderlike beings, winged and not, the vast array of fae were hideous in appearance, well armored and well armed.
Riding astride a Ceffyl Dwr at the front of the group on the left was Medb. The Queen of Air and Darkness was dressed for war, as was the fae riding to her right. Cairbre Nia Fer raised his sword aloft and made a slashing gesture with it, causing the fae to split ranks and spread out in a maneuver that Patrick recognized.
“They’re going to box us in,” Patrick said.
Hermes let out a derisive snort. “They’re going to bury you.”
“Had enough of that lately, thanks.”
The Sluagh broke away from their aerial battle with the valkyries and flew through the air to gather in the sky above their queen. Hinon and the valkyries regrouped above Patrick’s side of the fight as the ground shook from the marching of the new arrivals.
Weaving through the ranks of the fae on the right-hand side of the square were packs of black jaguars that Patrick was pretty sure outnumbered the werecreatures on their side. Leading them was Tezcatlipoca, the Aztec god’s feathered headdress unencumbered by the rain. He was joined by Santa Muerte, the goddess’ shroud creeping outward like a river of darkness ready to swallow them all whole.
“I,” Patrick announced to anyone who might be listening, “seriously don’t get paid enough for this shit.”
“To me, mydaoine sídhe!” Órlaith shouted from further down the line, her voice ringing like a bell over the panicked shouts from their side.
Thor smacked the side of Mjölnir against his palm, expression grim. “Where is the Dagda?”
“Oh, you know politicians. They talk a good game but are shit at the actual grind,” Patrick said.
“I will handle Medb,” the Cailleach Bheur said, seemingly arriving out of nowhere. The blue-skinned goddess wrapped both hands around her staff, the tip where it rested on the ground spreading ice beneath her feet. “Who else comes, Hermes?”
Patrick turned around in time to see the lazy salute Hermes gave her, unperturbed by the icy glare sent his way.
“Everyone has been called, but few can be spared. Shiva is helping Osiris hold back Náströnd along the shoreline. Hart Island has been emptied of its dead, and Hel has command of the bodies. Montu stands guard at the Brooklyn Bridge against Seth. Those of his pantheon on the side of the heavens have taken up watch at all the crossings over the Hudson River and the East River,” Hermes said.
“Does anyone have an army they can spare? One that isn’t dead?” Patrick asked.
“You have gods. We will be enough.”
Hermes stepped back through the veil, leaving coldness in his wake. Jono took his place, eyes burning white with the presence of Fenrir. More than one nearby soldier took a few steps away from him.
“We must break their line,” Fenrir said.
“Easier said than done,” Patrick replied.
They were outnumbered in terms of bodies and firepower. The dead just kept coming, aided by immortals and gods who’d chosen Ethan’s side of the war. At some point, the creeping exhaustion Patrick and others were doing their best to ignore would overwhelm their side. Their people needed rest, but it was out of reach right now.
“Yield and your deaths will be quick,” Medb called out, her voice carrying through the air to be heard by everyone.
“Fuck no!” Gerard angrily shouted back.
His defiance was echoed by dozens of voices and howls. The only thing louder was Wade’s roar as he spat dragon fire at the zombies coming up behind them. Spencer’s magic danced over the horde Wade was fighting, and Patrick hoped the other mage could keep them at bay.
Medb didn’t bother with a response to Gerard’s answer. She gestured with her sword, and the fae of her Unseelie Court surged forward with preternatural speed. Tezcatlipoca’s jaguars slid between the fae like liquid shadows, wrapped up in Santa Muerte’s shroud.
Patrick’s heart rate ratcheted up as he yanked free his dagger from its sheath and conjured up some mageglobes. He tapped the soulbond, glancing over at Jono and the god who’d taken over his wolf form.
“Stay close,” he said.
