“Mulroney!” he called back.
Another violet-tinged shield wrapped around the hellfire burning in the street, and Patrick gratefully withdrew his own battered shield. Concentration no longer split, he rose to his feet to square off against Zachary. The other mage had come to a stop at Nadine’s arrival, mageglobes in hand but spells not yet cast. The frustrated snarl on his face told Patrick that Zachary hadn’t anticipated the surprise backup.
Nadine skidded to a stop next to Patrick, wearing leggings and a loose T-shirt beneath a stylish trench coat. She had sneakers on her feet rather than heels. It wasn’t the sort of outfit one wore to a fight but to travel.
“Glad to see you, but what the hell are you doing here?” Patrick asked.
“My director is recalling field agents. I was getting off a flight in DC earlier when I got picked up by those two,” Nadine said, jerking her thumb at Shiva and Áltsé Hashké.
The pair of immortals had bypassed Zachary altogether in favor of backing up Fenrir against Santa Muerte. It had been a stalemate before their arrival, and now it was three against one, odds which didn’t favor the goddess or the Dominion Sect supporters she’d dragged through the veil.
Patrick knew when that realization hit Zachary. He saw the moment the other mage tried to retreat, but his avenues of escape were supremely limited. Patrick raised his dagger and stepped forward.
“Let me through. I’m going to kill that fucker,” he said.
Nadine grabbed him by the elbow, fingers digging in. “We need to get you out of here.”
“Fuck that. He—”
Patrick broke off as inky black shadows erupted from the street to curl around Zachary. Santa Muerte’s shroud was like a living thing that pulled the mage into her skeletal arms and through the veil.
Patrick slammed the hilt of his dagger against Nadine’s shield in frustration. “Gods fucking damn it!”
The hunters and other Dominion Sect magic users had been left behind, much to the demons’ fury. They no longer only faced Patrick, Nadine, and a couple of immortals. Rounding the corners at both ends of the street came numerous werecreatures, followed by a couple of NYPD squad cars and the first FDNY fire engine to make it to the scene.
Amidst the new arrivals, movement from above caught Patrick’s eyes. Muninn and Huginn dived down to perch on a stoop railing. Their targets were the reporters from before who’d snuck out of the apartment building to record the fight. Odin’s ravens wasted no time at pecking at the reporters’ skulls, their beaks passing through flesh and bone to steal their thoughts and memories, their targets none the wiser.
The immortals had done the same thing in Chicago before Yggdrasil burst through the veil, leaving the guests at the fundraiser dinner remembering nothing of that night. The memory loss left holes in people’s lives, moments lost forever they would never get back. Patrick was reminded of what Maat had mentioned back in August when they’d strolled the National Mall. His stomach twisted as he realized the Egyptian goddess had been right after all.
“Killing Ethan won’t be enough,” Patrick said.
Nadine pressed her hand against her shield, glancing back at him. “What do you mean?”
Patrick watched Muninn and Huginn launch themselves back into the air. “It’s like the Hydra. Cut off one head, two more take its place.”
Ethan’s death would be meaningless if what supported his efforts wasn’t cut down with him. Killing the memory of what Ethan had built was the only way to win, but Patrick didn’t have the power to do that.
Only the gods did.
“We’ll figure out a game plan later. I’m not the only one the joint task force is sending out here.” Nadine pointed at the hunters and Dominion Sect magic users currently contained under one of her shields and surrounded by snarling werecreatures. “I’ll handle those bastards. Go check on Jono.”
Nadine lowered the shield surrounding them and started down the street. Mageglobes flickered into existence around her before streaking away toward the handful of conscious Dominion Sect magic users who needed to be contained.
Patrick left her to handle that problem. He kept his dagger and a mageglobe at the ready as he returned to the sidewalk, letting out a quick, heavy sigh of relief when he got eyes on Jono. Santa Muerte had thankfully not doubled back, though Shiva hadn’t disappeared how Patrick thought the god would in the face of mortal attention.
“This was not the only incursion,” Shiva said as Patrick approached.
“I know. Lucien said Ashanti was holding off jaguar constructs over at Ginnungagap. I’m guessing Tezcatlipoca hit that location while Santa Muerte came here for a two-pronged attack,” Patrick replied.
The god stroked the snake coiled about his shoulders, third eye barely open as he looked at Patrick. “I will check on our cousin.”
Shiva stepped backward through the veil and disappeared as only a god could. Jono shifted back to human in a churning motion of breaking bone and blood-spattered skin. His clothes were a lost cause, having been ripped to bits during the initial shift. At least they were close to their apartment and he’d be able to easily replace them.
“Are you all right?” Jono asked, stepping close to settle his hands on Patrick’s shoulders.
Patrick swallowed, shields down, not knowing what Jono was getting off his scent but not really caring either. “Zachary used Ethan’s blood to get through my magic. I think that means they still want me alive.”
Jono’s mouth twisted with worry. “They can’t have you.”
