The depth of the old fort’s walls was suffocating, the glow at the end of the short tunnel ugly and dangerous. Nadine raised a shield in front of them, keeping it moving at their pace as they marched forward. When they finally cleared the tunnel and made it to the courtyard, Jono expected a fight. What they got was an eerie stillness that made his hackles rise.
Witchlights burned like tiny Vesuvius flames along the curved walls of the fort. Hundreds of Dominion Sect magic users stood shoulder to shoulder along the concentric circles of the spellwork, packed together like the Underground during rush hour, all of them blank-eyed and pale-faced, tied to magic that would never give them up. No one moved to attack them, all of the acolytes seemingly frozen in place. When Patrick carefully poked someone in the back with his dagger, they didn’t react.
Wade landed on the fort’s ramparts above the entrance, shaking the entire historical building with his arrival. His wings were half-folded for balance as he spat fire in the direction of the park, guarding the way in so that no other enemy could follow them inside. They had enough to deal with as it was.
“How many graves must I put you in before you lie down and die?” a voice Jono sometimes heard in his nightmares asked from up ahead, past the rows of silent, complicit witnesses.
Patrick swallowed loudly, but when he spoke, his voice didn’t shake at all. “I’ll crawl out of every last one you dig.”
Steeling himself, Jono and the others made their way toward the inner circle and a nightmare that was years in the making.
29
Patrick sensedEthan before he saw him. Even through his shields, blood called to blood, and he knew where his father stood amidst the heart of the spellwork.
He knew where Hannah was as well.
Ashanti’s blood magic had worn off once he’d reached the Battery. What had faded without him realizing it was the tie connecting him to his twin that he’d first felt in Chicago after years of walling it off. Nothing but a frayed end existed now, peeling out of his soul, and the reason was laid out before him as they pushed past the final circle of frozen-in-place acolytes.
Patrick couldn’t unsee what Ethan had done.
In the center circle of the spellwork was a pentagram drawn with blood. Mages with magic burning at their fingertips and demon-backed hunters holding weapons in their hands surrounded the pentagram in a half circle.
Lying on the ground within the star’s hexagon, arms outstretched toward two points, was Hannah. Patrick blinked, the sight coming to him in flashes, pieces of a nightmare that would haunt him the same way that basement in Salem had.
Hannah wasn’t looking at him this time, her face turned toward the branches of Yggdrasil that obscured the sky. The only thing covering her body was blood, all of it hers, originating from the horrific wound carved into her stomach. What had been taken from her other than her agency and sanity—both long since lost—was the baby cradled in Ethan’s arms.
The newborn didn’t make a sound, legs and arms drawn tight to their tiny body which was slick with blood and other fluid. They were surrounded by a shining aura that only a godhead could produce. The glow of it flowed from Hannah to the infant and tangled around Ethan, the three of them intrinsically linked.
Patrick clenched his teeth against the bile wanting to crawl up his throat. Maybe it was madness, wanting something no mortal should ever have, but it was calculated cruelty that had driven Ethan to this, and Patrick would never forgive him for that.
Ethan’s eyes, once the same shade of green as Patrick’s, held no color now, the shape of them bleached to an icy white by magic. Patrick couldn’t tell if his niece or nephew was alive or not, but he was determined to get them away from Ethan.
“The gods of heaven wasted their efforts with you,” Ethan said, his voice holding echoes of a power that didn’t belong to him.
Patrick gripped his dagger tight, trying to ignore how the smell of ozone was only growing stronger. “If that were the case, I wouldn’t be here.”
“You won’t live to see the hell I’ll rule over.”
“You won’t live to see it at all.”
While the magic users surrounding them on the concentric circles didn’t move, the ones standing guard around the center of the pentagram let loose their spells with lethal intent. Nadine’s shield held up against the attack, but the barrier was thinner than Patrick would’ve liked. Fighting against gods had taken its toll on her magic, and it showed.
“What’s the plan?” Spencer shouted, hands raised and holding a mageglobe between them. Fatima crouched low by his feet, ready to charge.
“Carmen and I will handle the hunters,” Lucien said, eyeing his prey. “The rest of you deal with Ethan and the mages.”
“In case it’s slipped your notice, he’s a god now,” Nadine said.
“Not yet,” Patrick said, thinking about the aura shared between the three members of his blood family as the spark of a desperate idea took root. “Spencer, I’ll need you with me.”
Sage growled before moving to position herself by Nadine in a clear signal of protection. Patrick glanced at Jono, finding Fenrir looking out of his lover’s eyes.
“We shall face Ethan,” Fenrir said.
“Don’t harm the child.”
“Casualties are inevitable in war.”
