Gerard headed for the flat’s front door and the set of emergency stairs in the small foyer beyond that led to the ground floor. Jono stayed on his heels and wasn’t at all surprised to find that Emma and Nadine had beaten them to the building’s entrance on the street level.
“Smells like vampires and ozone,” Emma said, not taking her eyes off the door but not moving to open it either.
There was only one person who smelled like that, and Jono stepped past Gerard to open the front door. Standing on the porch, drenched from the rain and barred from entering by the home’s threshold, was Ashanti. The mother of all vampires smiled, baring her iron fangs, and held up a familiar sheath and dagger.
“I come bearing news. Going to let me in?” Ashanti said.
Jono’s attention remained riveted on Patrick’s dagger. “What did you do with him?”
“I did nothing. Patrick took it upon himself to leave this behind.”
“When?”
“Yesterday afternoon. You’ve already let my child past your doors, wolf. Show some respect and grant me the same courtesy.”
Emma ducked under Jono’s arm to glare at Ashanti. “Be welcome, but the second you go for anyone’s throat, the threshold will toss you out on your ass.”
She lived here too and was capable of inviting Ashanti inside. Jono, for all his status as their god pack alpha, didn’t call this building home. The threshold here knew that, and it recognized Emma’s words in a way it would never recognize his. They had no bread or water to offer in terms of hospitality, but Jono wasn’t sure mortal magic would stand against a goddess anyway.
Jono and Emma moved out of the doorway, allowing Ashanti to step inside, her ironshod bone hooks clicking against the floor. Nadine shut the door behind her and locked it, her wards flaring up around the doorframe once again. She’d erected a barrier ward around the building last night, and the weight of it had settled into the foundation itself.
Ashanti offered up the sheath and dagger, holding them out to Jono. He snatched them out of her hand, nostrils flaring as a hint of Patrick’s scent reached his nose. “Where is he?”
“Patrick asked to be taken to Hades to trade a weapon for his grandmother’s life. His request was granted,” Ashanti said.
Jono clenched his fingers around the sheath, fingernails biting into the leather, before shoving it into the waistband of his trousers. “By you?”
“By Hermes. Traveling through the veil is easier now, as you can see from outside, but beyond it was never a place I called home. It has broken through to the mortal plane. Everything else will soon follow.”
“We need to know where Ethan is before it’s too late,” Gerard said.
“I could find him with Patrick, but he’s busy cutting off Ethan’s power source. We will make do until you retrieve him.”
“We don’t know where he is.”
“I do,” an annoyingly familiar voice drawled from the stairwell.
Jono jerked around, staring at where Hermes lounged against the wall, smiling down at them all in an unkind way. Jono didn’t process moving until he had his other hand wrapped around Hermes’ throat, pinning the god to the wall.
“Is this any way to greet an old friend?” Hermes wheezed, not fighting his grip.
“You aren’t a friend to anyone here,” Jono growled.
Hermes grabbed Jono’s wrist with bruising force and wrenched himself free. His heels hit the step below, and he caught himself against the wall. The smile never left his face. “Eloise is upstairs. You’ll want to hear what she has to say.”
Jono took the steps two at a time back up to Sage’s and Marek’s flat, the others scrambling after him. When he came back inside, he saw Eloise sitting on the sofa, so pale it was as if she had no blood running through her veins. But her blue eyes were clear enough when she looked at him, though the lingering scent of terror spoke of a horror Jono knew well when one was held hostage by Ethan.
“Eloise,” he said, closing the distance between them.
“Jonothon,” she said in a voice empty of the vibrancy it had carried during their first and only meeting.
Jono sat down on the sofa beside her, careful not to crowd her. When she reached for him with a shaking hand, he took it. “It’s all right to call me Jono. How are you?”
As badly as he wanted to ask about Patrick, Jono knew steamrolling an old woman who’d gone through a trauma wasn’t the way to get answers.
She blinked rapidly at him, heart beating faster than was probably healthy for someone of her age. “I don’t want to talk about me. I want to talk about Patrick.”
Jono could barely hide his wince at the way she glossed over the probable torture she’d been put through. “Then talk. I’m listening.”
