Sage turned and gave him a pointed look. “Considering the detours she probably had to take from LaGuardia, are you surprised? Half the streets in Manhattan still need to be cleared of the dead.”
“The city stinks,” Wade agreed before shoving a handful of crisps into his mouth.
“That’s not changing anytime soon,” Emma muttered from her spot sprawled on the sofa, her head in Leon’s lap and her feet in Marek’s.
Two weeks since the veil had lifted the day after Samhain and New York City was still struggling to return to normal. The fight inside the veil had damaged the city in ways that would take weeks, if not months or longer, to recover from, to say nothing of the citizens themselves.
When the Morrígan had stolen the souls of the dead, she’d left the bones and bodies behind. As in Paris, the logistics of recovering the dead and figuring out where to bury them was an almost overwhelming task. Jono was just glad it wasn’t summer, when the stench of rotting bodies would’ve made the city near uninhabitable.
That was the most pressing need at the moment, if only for health reasons and to clear the streets for travel. Abandoned vehicles and debris from the battle couldn’t be removed until the bodies were gone. Local crews bolstered by the National Guard were working night and day on the task, but crematoriums could only burn so many of the dead at a time.
That hadn’t stopped New Yorkers from going about living their lives. Downtown and Midtown had seen the brunt of the battle, but other parts of Manhattan had been attacked as well. Their underlying plan to defend by blocks had meant fewer casualties, but people had still died. Jono didn’t know the final number of victims yet because the government was still trying to pin that down. But he’d walked by numerous flyers of the missing, seen mention of many more on PreterWorld and other social media sites.
The only missing person Jono truly cared about was Patrick.
He still hadn’t returned from beyond the veil, and there’d been no updates from any of the gods, not even Fenrir. Jono woke up every morning thinkingtoday, and every night he went to bed alone he hoped fortomorrow. Every day that passed was one more day of loneliness that no amount of working himself to the bone could fix. Jono knew time moved differently past the veil, but waiting was the hardest part.
So he’d thrown himself into rebuilding the werecreature community and making himself available to the government when they came knocking on his door. There was no escaping the fact he and his god pack had been at the center of the battle. Electronics might not have been up and running during that stretch of time when the veil hung over Manhattan, but people talked.
And people prayed.
Hundreds of thousands of people had born witness to gods in battle. Those stories were spreading like wildfire through social media, news interviews, conversations, and written communications for all the world to see. Jono couldn’t help but think that’s what the gods had wanted in the end—recognition and remembrance. Their names falling from someone’s lips once again, their guidance asked for in new prayers.
Jono wondered who Eloise prayed to these days, if it was still Persephone, but he wasn’t rude enough to ask. When Sage opened the door to usher Eloise, Madelyn, and Grant inside, Jono merely asked what they’d like to drink.
“Tea is fine, if that’s what you’re having,” Eloise said with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her tired eyes.
“I’ll make it,” Wade said, heaving himself off the armchair.
“Use the kettle, not the microwave,” Jono reminded him.
Wade rolled his eyes. “I did thatonce.”
“You’ve done it at least a dozen times, mate.”
“You’re lying when you say it tastes different.”
“Kettle. Tea.”
Wade flapped his hand in Jono’s direction. “I could just blow fire on it. That would boil the water faster.”
Jono sighed, deciding not to argue further. Wade knew how he preferred tea and would make it correctly, or Jono would know. He turned his attention back to the Pattersons, seeing the sofa had been vacated so the new arrivals could have a place to sit.
Emma walked past Jono to grab her coat where it hung off a chair tucked against the dining room table. “We’ll head out. Call us if you need anything.”
Jono nodded, going through the motions of scenting Emma and Leon before the pair left. They had pack meetings to oversee, acting as Jono’s proxy alongside Sage since he kept getting pulled out of the city for meetings before congressional subcommittees and more private ones at the Pentagon with only Reed to advocate for him. People wanted answers, and Jono could only give them so many.
Everyone wantedPatrick, and he wasn’t here.
Eloise seemed to realize that, judging by the way her shoulders slumped. Grant patted his mother’s hand in a comforting manner.
“He isn’t back yet, I take it?” Eloise asked.
Jono shook his head. “I said I’d ring you whenever Pat returned.”
“I know. I just…” Her voice trailed off, and she shrugged tiredly. “We buried Hannah last weekend. It would be nice to know we won’t be burying him as well.”
“Pat promised he would come back. That isn’t a promise he’ll break.”
