“You kept your end of the bargain. The terms were met. Your soul debt has been paid,” Persephone said.
She stepped closer, reaching not for her daughter like he thought she would but for Patrick. Her hands were warm when they framed his face, tilting his head so she could look him in the eye. Between one blink and the next, her godhead bled through, mixing with Macaria’s, until Patrick had to squint to meet her gaze. When he sucked in a breath, all he could smell was spring.
Warmth coursed through his body, the taste of magic on his tongue. The stinging ache in his left arm disappeared, the wound there healed by her touch. All the cuts and scrapes and bruises he’d accumulated in the battle washed away as if they had never been.
“I will remember what your family took from me, and I will remember how you returned it,” Persephone said. “I will remember you.”
“Please don’t,” Patrick told her.
She lifted a hand to smooth back his hair, and the touch sent fire lancing through his body. He tried to jerk away but couldn’t, standing rigid before her. When Persephone’s magic finally fled his body, he felt hollowed out and paper-thin, standing there before the goddess who had dictated the steps of his life for so long.
Persephone pulled his head down so she could brush a kiss over his forehead, the touch soft and almost forgiving in a way, when he didn’t think he deserved it. “Be free.”
A sound rang in his head, the echo of it making his chest hurt. The scars there from the wound she’d closed up when he was a child ached in a way they hadn’t in years, as if all the broken nerve endings were linking to his brain one last time. The heat of the pain made him bite his tongue until it almost bled.
Then it was gone, and Patrick would be lying if he said he felt different, because he didn’t. Nothing had changed except his perception, and maybe, finally, that could be enough.
“I’ll take my daughter back,” Persephone said.
Her arms slid around his, curving around the infant and pulling her out of the leather jacket she was swaddled in. Macaria looked at her with wide, disbelieving eyes, one tiny hand reaching for her mother. Persephone smiled down at her, all the love she was capable of giving there in her face for everyone to see. She let Macaria snag her finger, leaning down to press a kiss to that tiny fist.
“I’ve missed you so,κ?ρη.”
Persephone turned away from him, lifting her head to stare at her husband, who hadn’t taken his eyes off them. Hades didn’t approach, allowing Persephone to come to him, and Patrick wondered how many years it would take for the goddess to forgive her husband. He wondered if spring would be a year-round season in some other world, some other place, with Hades having to abide in the chill of winter and always be on the outside looking in.
Some part of Patrick wished for that, but he knew winter wouldn’t last forever.
Macaria made a soft sound that had Persephone pressing a kiss to her forehead, humming softly. Patrick stared at them, knowing he’d never see his niece again after this. But she’d been gone before her mother died, and what was left was just flesh and bone housing a goddess who’d finally come home.
“What now?” Patrick asked.
Persephone lifted her head and looked at him, every inch a queen and mother in that moment. “Hermes will guide you to where you need to be.”
That didn’t sound like he was being returned to his pack. Patrick glanced over at the messenger god, seeing Hermes smiling at Macaria. “Back to New York City?”
Hermes shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because your twin’s passage isn’t complete.”
Patrick looked at where Hannah’s soul hovered between them, glitteringly softly, her brightness almost obscured by the hellfire burning in the background. “I thought she was staying here? I paid her way.”
“This isn’t where she rests.” Hermes headed back to Charon’s boat, waving at Patrick to follow him. “Come along, Pattycakes. A heaven of sorts awaits.”
Patrick hesitated, wanting to argue, but this wasn’t a fight he could win. So he took his prize of a hard-won freedom and followed Hermes to the waiting boat, Hannah’s soul beside him. He let all of his family’s mistakes be washed away into obscurity by the infant-turned-goddess cradled in Persephone’s arms.
33
New Year’sEve came and went, and January started with a snowstorm that didn’t quite make it into blizzard territory. The snow hadn’t really let up since it started, results of the reactionary storm that had churned over New York City for days on end at the end of October. Jono had heard from the news and magic users with an affinity for weather magic that the weather was going to take months to return to some semblance of normal.
Wade hadn’t stopped complaining about the weather, mostly because Jono insisted he dress appropriately for it.
“I don’t need a coat if we’re just driving Uptown,” Wade groused.
Jono pulled one off the hanger in the spare bedroom’s closet and tossed it at his head. Wade had basically moved into the room back in November, and the place was a right mess. Jono made an absent mental note to remind Wade to clean it up later.
“You need to at least pretend to feel the cold.”
