“It’s reactionary,” Grant said from behind them on the stairs.
Patrick didn’t bother looking over his shoulder, gaze locked on the Sluagh, who had halved the distance between them. “No shit.”
“I can try to move the lightning away. I can’t do much about the rest of the storm though, not on my own.”
That did make Patrick finally look over his shoulder, surprised to see his uncle wasn’t the only one outside. Nearly everyone from inside was now lined up on the porch and stairs, magic at their fingertips. As much as Patrick appreciated their willingness to fight, none of them had combat training, and he couldn’t risk a multitude of spells going off all at once.
“Collins,” Nadine snapped.
Patrick pointed at Grant. “Weather magiconly. If you can’t push the lightning away, then don’t drain yourself trying. The rest of you? Keep your shields up, anddon’tcast a single fucking spell.”
“But—” Brittany protested.
Patrick cut her off. “None of you are trained for this, so stand the fuck down and don’t get in the way.”
Nadine never took her eyes off the threats in front of them. “Collins.”
Patrick faced forward again, command triggers tumbling through his mind as he cast his multitude of mageglobes toward the water. “Make me a hole, Mulroney.”
They’d done this many times before when they’d been on the same front lines, the same base, or when she was requisitioned for a mission with the Hellraisers. Twelve mageglobes streaked through her shields, followed by twelve more, filled with strike spells and shockwave spells.
The shrieking mass of the unforgiven dead that filled the ranks of the Sluagh scattered around his attack, but mageglobes weren’t bullets bound by a single trajectory. Patrick changed their course, chasing after clusters within the Sluagh before exploding in close proximity.
His magic erupted like fireworks, tearing through the air. Patrick couldn’t kill the dead; he could only hold them back. Right now, holding the line was all they could do while Fenrir and Jono kept Loki occupied so the trickster god didn’t damage Nadine’s shields.
Patrick and Nadine worked in concert, striving to keep the Sluagh at bay while the storm churned above them. No more lightning rained down on them, the lack attributed to his uncle’s magic. The change in air pressure and buzz of elemental magic scraped against his personal shields, but not in a bad way.
They could’ve maybe held the line against the Sluagh if Loki hadn’t landed a lucky strike along Jono’s right flank. The snarling howl that Fenrir let loose was drowned out by the explosion of magic that erupted from Gungnir’s spear tip. Loki spun the spear in a vicious arc that sent ancient magic crashing into Nadine’s shield.
Nadine could hold her shields against most human-made weapons—magical or otherwise—but a god’s weapon was something else entirely. Nadine crashed to her knees with a ragged scream, mageglobe splitting down the center and fading to nothing, the same way her shield did around them. The howling wind grew louder, bringing with it stinging cold rain that crashed against Patrick’s personal shield that he raised over himself and Nadine.
“Mulroney!” Patrick shouted, leveling a multitude of shockwave spells at the Sluagh to buy them some time.
She didn’t respond in words but in actions. Another mageglobe flared to life in front of her face—jagged and misshapen, but whole enough to do the job. Nadine was a combat mage like he’d been, and she knew she couldn’t quit unless she was buried six feet under.
Her shield started to piece itself back together, but some of the Sluagh got past her defenses. Patrick threw bursts of raw magic at them, drawing from the ley line to sustain the attack.
On the ground, Fenrir threw himself at Loki, who dodged easily enough, holding Gungnir between them in a threatening manner. The god pushed Fenrir back with another complicated spin of the spear before shifting his attention.
“You want your grandmother back?” Loki called out, voice nearly drowned out by the rumble of thunder and the shrieks of the Sluagh vying for prey. “Bring us the missing piece of the Morrígan’s staff. That is our price.”
It was a bitter payment because one life couldn’t be worth the world, but Patrick knew he had no choice but to make it. That was a truth Patrick had run from for years, mistakenly believing he could save his twin sister when there was no saving someone who was already dead in most people’s memory and where it mattered most—her soul.
Patrick conjured up a fusillade spell, ready to deploy it, when the ear-piercing war cries of a thousand voices rang through the air. Patrick held his spell while Nadine retracted her shield to shrink around them in a closer radius, leaving Fenrir in Jono’s body outside the defensive perimeter.
“Jono!” Patrick shouted.
The Sluagh were regrouping in the lull of no magical bombs going off, but instead of diving after Jono, they flewup.
Up to meet the Wild Hunt, led by Gwyn ap Nudd.
They came through the veil, an unearthly force that would not be denied their prey. The Sluagh screamed a challenge, one the Wild Hunt refused to let pass as the new arrivals approached with weapons held aloft and a war cry on their ghostly lips. When they crashed together in the sky, the air itself vibrated, lighting up the clouds with fae magic.
Patrick held on to his fusillade spell, command trigger at the ready, but didn’t let it loose now that the Sluagh were targeting someone else. Loki seemed to think the odds of two gods against one weren’t in his favor, and the trickster slipped through the veil before Fenrir could sink his teeth in the bastard.
Patrick spared Nadine a glance, who gave him a grim nod, blood trickling out of her nose, a sure physical sign of magical backlash.
“I’ll keep them safe. Go to Jono,” she said.
