Gunfire erupted from behind them, aiming around Nadine’s shield for their targets. People cried out in pain up ahead—whether from bullet wounds or getting ripped apart by zombies, Jono couldn’t tell.
“Patrick!” Nadine shouted.
Jono saw Nadine and Spencer before he smelled them, the wind worse now than it was hours ago. Nadine nearly tripped over a pile of bones as she and Spencer closed the distance between them. Lucien ran beside them with Carmen a half step behind. Jono had lost sight of the master vampire at the start of the fight at the Battery, but he should’ve known even a battle like this wouldn’t off the bloke.
Sage let out a roar as she ran toward them, zombies paying her no attention. Jono howled a warning when he caught sight of a hunter taking aim at her, but the man went up in flames courtesy of a blast of dragon fire. Wade’s roar was louder than Sage’s as he picked off anyone who might be a problem behind them, no longer pinned down by demons. The ravens and crows, backed by the Morrígan’s power, were doing an incredible amount of damage alongside the valkyries and Hinon.
“What now?” Spencer asked, panting for breath as the others reached their position.
Patrick’s hand settled between Jono’s ears, dagger held in his other one. “We go through whoever is left to get to Ethan.”
Jono glanced over at Patrick, huffing out a soft growl of agreement. The soulbond was pulled tight between them, heavy with magic drawn from the ley lines below.
“Don’t fuck it up,” Lucien said.
Jono thought about biting the arsehole, but Fenrir wouldn’t let him.
Patrick stepped forward, and Jono stayed right by his side, as did Sage. Jono shared a look with his dire, the pair of them coming to a silent agreement to stay with Patrick from here on out.
Zombies filled the park, but the dead no longer accosted them. They had other targets now, and there was plenty of the enemy for the dead to kill. Dominion Sect magic users had to split their attention between Jono’s group and the horde of zombies that never stopped attacking, courtesy of the Morrígan. It made getting past them easier, but noteasy.
So Wade cleared them a path.
He launched himself into the air, flapping his wings hard to hover overhead. His long neck snaked down, mouth opening wide for the fire that came roaring out. Wade burned everything standing in the way between where they stood and Castle Clinton National Monument. The old sandstone fort was covered in spellwork lines whose magic was breaking through Ginnungagap’s hold.
The fort itself was cradled between a tangle of roots at the base of Yggdrasil, the world tree blocking out the sky this deep into the Battery. Jono couldn’t see the shoreline behind it, but the dead who had followed Hel were hopefully no longer a problem.
They ran over charred grass and bone, heading for the sandstone and pillared entrance of Castle Clinton. Nadine’s shield kept off stray bullets and spells, but no one came after them. The magic saturating the air tasted poisonous to Jono, burning his nose.
Beneath it, he could smell ozone.
They didn’t make it to the entrance before the spellwork lines came back to life, glowing malevolently against the walls of the old fort. Ginnungagap had been a pressure between Jono’s teeth since Fenrir had released the yawning void, and now that pressure disappeared.
They all skidded to a stop, staring at the magic burning back to life. Then Patrick yanked up the left sleeve of his leather jacket, his intentions clear. Jono immediately clamped his teeth over Patrick’s bare wrist, bite gentle, staring at him.
Don’t, he wanted to say.
Patrick seemed to hear him anyway.
“Blood always calls to blood. I’ll walk us through it,” Patrick said.
He gently pushed at Jono’s nose with the knuckles of his right hand, the shine of the dagger he held growing brighter. Jono reluctantly let him go, licking at his fingers. He watched Patrick drag the blade over his skin, cutting through the scabs of Ashanti’s touch given in the Morgan Library. Fresh blood welled up, sliding down his arm, the coppery tang of it filling Jono’s nose.
Patrick dragged two fingers across the cut and brushed his bloody fingers over Jono’s snout, then Sage’s. He gathered more blood, then turned to smear some across Nadine’s and Spencer’s foreheads like a macabre benediction.
“Will that be enough?” Nadine asked worriedly.
“Iwill be enough,” Patrick promised her.
Lucien and Carmen were last, both of them already carrying blood on their faces from the battle. Patrick merely added to it.
Jono had never understood the ins and outs of magic until Patrick came into his life, but he knew what blood ties meant these days. He had faith in Patrick to get them through to the other side. So when Patrick stepped forward, straight-backed and clear-eyed, Jono didn’t hesitate to follow him.
The spellwork flared up with the first step Patrick took between the lines. Magic flashed, but Patrick squared his shoulders and kept walking, blood dripping from his fingers to the ground below. It hissed and bubbled when it hit, causing the magic there to grow dimmer. Patrick veered to the right a little, extending his arm so he could drag his dagger across the wall, and Jono followed.
The spellwork cracked and burst where the blade touched, peeling off the sandstone. It wasn’t enough to unravel it completely, but between Patrick’s blood and dagger, he opened up a path for them. Jono stepped where Patrick did, and the farther they walked over the spellwork, the hotter Patrick’s blood smeared over his snout became.
Steady, Fenrir said.
