“I don’t know how much good I’ll be if we’re still fighting,” Nadine admitted.
Jono watched Wade nick a trench coat off some bloke lying on the spellwork and wrap it around his body. “Let’s go find out who’s left.”
With Ethan dead and his followers been made to forcibly forget why they had believed in the man, Jono hoped those who’d fought with Ethan and were still alive had left the battlefield.
Jono and what was left of his pack and allies left Castle Clinton behind, heading back to the charred area that had once been a park. Dragon fire had done a lot of damage, but Jono wouldn’t hold it against Wade.
They trudged across burned grass, cognizant of the zombies still shambling about, but none of the dead bothered them. Jono’s bare feet became muddy in seconds, the rain still coming down but with less intensity than he remembered. Glancing up at the sky past Yggdrasil’s branches, Jono thought the storm clouds weren’t as low as they had been.
A pair of wolves broke through a line of zombies, racing their way. Jono was desperately glad to see that Emma and Leon had survived and went to his knees so he could wrap his arms around their necks when they arrived, fingers digging into cold, wet fur.
“Real chuffed to see you made it through,” Jono said. Emma was the first to pull away, wolf head tilted to the side as she stared at them, and Jono knew when she came up one person short. The mournful sound she made absolutely gutted him. “Pat’s alive. He’s just…not here, and I couldn’t follow where he went.”
He’d wanted to, oh, how he’d wanted to. Jono would give anything to be by Patrick’s side right now, but a part of him knew his pack and all the ones they were responsible for needed him just as much. Jono needed to make sure everyone was okay, that New York City was still standing, that when Patrick came back, he’d have a home to return to.
Steeling himself to face the aftermath, Jono stood and warily scanned the battlefield arrayed before them on the damaged Manhattan streets and in the sky. He was prepared to keep fighting but realized after a few seconds that maybe, just maybe, it was truly over.
Hinon and the valkyries laid claim to a sky that was slowly losing its cloud coverage, the reactionary storm receding in the horizon where the veil gave up ground. The demons from before had all disappeared, while ravens and crows filled the air they’d flown through. The dead outnumbered the living on the ground, but Jono didn’t see any signs of hunters.
The surviving gods, fae, vampires, and werecreatures who’d come this far with them held their ground, expecting the fight to continue. Jono saw the way the other gods relaxed when they got eyes on Odin, the Allfather impossible to miss, what with the way his godhead shone about him.
The horde of zombies parted, allowing the Morrígan room to approach with the Dagda at her side. Jono’s lips curled at the sight of the mayor-in-disguise having finally appeared for battle when the fight was practically over.
“Bloody typical of a politician,” he said to no one in particular.
Wade snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. The stolen coat he wore hit midthigh. Marek was still in possession of Wade’s rucksack. They needed to get back to Union Square to make sure Marek had survived the fight. They’d left him under Reed’s care, and the dragon better have kept him alive.
“Have the memories been erased?” the Dagda asked.
Muninn and Huginncawedraucously before launching themselves off Odin’s shoulders. The Dagda’s gaze followed their flight path before returning to settle on their group with a power to his stare that made Jono’s shoulders twitch.
“They have,” Odin promised.
“Iremember,” Wade muttered.
So did Jono, for that matter. Fenrir’s laughter was harsh in his mind, trailing after his tired thoughts before settling into words.
You remember because you will never try to do what Ethan did. That is why we gods chose you.
The rest of the world would never know the underlying reason for this fight, only the damage done. Jono wasn’t sure it was a fair trade.
“What of Macaria?” the Dagda asked.
“She lives,” Odin said
“Then it is done.” The Dagda’s attention settled on Jono, and the god gave a regal nod in his direction. “Your teeth once again rendered an end. You have our thanks, cousin.”
Fenrir slipped through Jono’s thoughts, guiding his tongue. “Next time, do not let the telling be written this far.”
“What do you meannext time?” Wade protested.
“That is not a promise any of us can give. We gods live to be remembered, and there will be stories of this battle to last us centuries,” the Morrígan said.
“The veil is still torn,” Jono said, pushing Fenrir aside to speak on his own.
The Morrígan glanced up at the sky where the clouds were slowly pulling back. Jono thought he could see a few stars as the storm swirled around Yggdrasil’s branches, the leaves fainter than they had been. Less solid.
Less real.
