A Veiled & Hallowed Eve

by Hailey Turner

  “What makes you think he’d parley with you instead of outright kill you?”

  “Because Persephone is coming with us.”

  Hermes threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, is she now?”

  Patrick smiled, teeth cutting into his lips. “Hades owes his wife too much to piss her off more than he already has. This is how I pay my debt, so yeah, she’ll come. All of you will in the end.”

  It was a wild request Patrick wasn’t sure would be granted, but he had to try. The veil was tearing, and they were out of time to stop the end of this whole fucking mess from happening, but they could hold the line on two fronts for long enough to get their people in place. They had to.

  “What say you, Ashanti?” Hermes asked, never taking his eyes off Patrick.

  “What better weapon to use for the kill than the one you never see sliding between your ribs?” Ashanti asked as she stepped up beside Patrick. “You and yours gave him this task. Let Patrick pay his soul debt how he sees fit.”

  “As all heroes ought, yes?” Hermes lifted a hand and dragged his fingers through the air, peeling it apart, wisps of the veil falling away from his touch. He did it with an ease Patrick knew wasn’t normal, because crossing the veil was always difficult, even for gods. It just proved how thin it had been reduced to. “Shall we, Pattycakes?”

  Patrick tucked the iron box under one arm before bending over to undo the straps of the dagger and sheath strapped to his thigh and hooked to his belt. Once it was free, he held it up for Ashanti to take.

  “Bring this to Jono for me,” he said.

  She looked at him with those black eyes of hers, rain falling around her diminutive figure. They were miles and miles away from the desert they’d been in last time when they stood like this, holding a gods-given weapon between them, but some echoes of his past would always find him.

  This time, Ashanti wasn’t carrying the naked blade in her hands, passing it to him as she crumbled to dust amidst a sacrificial spell. No heat, no fire, no ash floating on the wind and ground down beneath his fingernails. Only a raging reactionary storm and the end of everything unfolding along the Manhattan skyline bore witness this time to the exchange.

  Ashanti wrapped her fingers around the leather sheath, protected from the prayers that could burn even one such as herself. “Good hunting.”

  Patrick nodded at Hermes and followed the god through the ripped-open veil and into cold gray fog that washed the world away.

  19

  The wind followed them from Earth to the shores of the River Styx, the gray wasteland of the Underworld cast in shadows. Patrick blinked rapidly to try to get his vision to settle, cold even with the heat charms running hot in his leather jacket. He wondered if it was a reflection of the reactionary storm on Earth, but he rather thought this version of a hell was always as cold as a grave.

  “Patrick.”

  Persephone’s voice came from behind him, a warmth blooming around where he and Hermes stood. He turned to face the queen of the Underworld, steeling himself to meet the goddess’ gold-brown gaze. “Persephone.”

  She was dressed for winter despite being a goddess of springtime. The fitted wool coat she wore fell to her knees, and her flat-heeled knee-high boots were covered in the muck of the riverbank, though she seemed not to care. Her golden-brown skin and curly, dark brown hair stood out against the grayness of the world around them.

  Persephone had the same-colored eyes as Hermes, and they never looked away from Patrick’s face, her aura burning like a halo around her. “What brings you across the veil when the fight is in the mortal world?”

  “I’ve come about a bargain.”

  Persephone’s eyes narrowed. “Your soul debt is not up for negotiation.”

  “I know. I’m not talking about what I owe you. I’m talking about what Ethan wants. He has Eloise.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard her prayers.”

  Patrick had to stuff his rage down deep, but some anger still came out in his voice. “Nice of you not to answer her.”

  Persephone arched an eyebrow. “You’re here, are you not?”

  Patrick scowled. “If this is some fucked-up game the Fates are playing—”

  “The future is unknown to them all right now.”

  “There will be a new future after Samhain,” Hermes said, sounding almost cheerful as he tucked his hands into his back pockets. “Even odds on which side wins.”

  “Hermes.”

  “Come now, dearest. We both know that to walk upon the earth and be seen again is to be remembered.”

  Hermes smiled at her, but Persephone didn’t return one of her own.

  Patrick cleared his throat, tapping a finger against the iron box. “I have an idea, but I need your help, Persephone.”

  “It is not my place to aid you,” she said.

  “Maybe not, but the whole reason you indebted me was to get Macaria back. In order to do that, we need to halve Ethan’s power. I’m betting Eloise is being held in Salem somewhere, and Hades would know where. He’ll talk to you if you ask him to. Hermes can pass on the message for us.”

  Persephone’s formidable attention shifted from Patrick to Hermes. The messenger god removed his hands from his pockets and shrugged expansively. “Pattycakes has never had the best ideas.”

  “Indeed,” Persephone said, glancing back at Patrick. “I have nothing to say to my husband.”

  “Pretty sure he’s got plenty to say to you,” Patrick replied.

  “That is irrelevant.”

  “War says otherwise.” Patrick lifted the iron box for her to see. “Loki said they’d swap Eloise for this, but we all know they’d soon as kill her than hand her over alive.”

  “My high priestess is not worth the Morrígan’s staff.”

  “Yeah, well, the Morrígan likes war, and we’re going to give her one. Look, just come with me to talk to Hades. Think of this trade like your own personal Trojan horse.”

  “Dying won’t pay your soul debt.”

  Patrick gritted his teeth in an ugly smile. “I don’t plan on dying.”

  His plan wouldn’t work without her though. Hades would murder him on sight if he went alone and handed his body over to Ethan. In a situation like this, Patrick wasn’t above playing dirty. Hades and Persephone had spent over twenty years on opposite sides of this fight, trying to save their daughter in their own way—Hades by never leaving Macaria while she was effectively held hostage and Persephone aiming at the heart of Ethan’s power through Patrick.

  Divorce wasn’t an option for them, but he’d settle for an argument because at least the two immortals would maybe be on speaking terms that way.

  “You told me to win this war, and this is how I’m doing it,” Patrick said. “Don’t you want your daughter back?”

  Hope wasn’t just a mortal thing; he could see the spark of it in Persephone’s gold-brown eyes. “You would not be here if I didn’t.”

  “Then let me pay my soul debt. You want Ethan dead? This is how I kill him. All you have to do is have a conversation with Hades.”

  None of them spoke, the only sound between them that of the wind blowing across the Underworld and the waves lapping at the shore of the River Styx. What felt like an age passed before Persephone stepped closer, lifting her hands to frame Patrick’s face. Her touch was warm, bringing with it the scent of spring, but her words reminded him of winter ice.

  “Play your part to the end and bring my daughter back to me. I’ll allow no flowers to bloom on your grave if you fail,” Persephone said.

  Patrick didn’t blink. “No daisies. Got it. Now let’s go have a talk with your husband.”

  She withdrew her hands and gestured imperiously at Hermes. “We will speak to Hades alone. Tell him to bring my high priestess. Carry my request with great speed.”

  Hermes placed a hand over his heart and bowed. “I shall be but a moment.”

  He turned and walked away, disappearing into the veil. Patrick hoped that moment didn’t last long
. Time ran quicker in the mortal realm than past the veil. Every second he remained in the Underworld was hours back on Earth. Patrick couldn’t afford to lose that much time, not this close to Samhain.

  Hurry up and wait was never so nerve-racking as it was right then. Patrick didn’t let out a sigh of relief when Hermes finally returned, but it was close. The god stepped through the veil some minutes later, the fog of its edges clinging to him.

  “He awaits your arrival,” Hermes said to Persephone.

  Persephone said nothing as she led them to the shoreline. Patrick was unsurprised to see a faint, hazy glow bobbing closer on the horizon. When Charon finally made it close to shore, the ferryman bowed his cowled head in deference to his queen.

  Persephone led the way to his boat, brackish water splashing against the bones that made up the hull. The skulls that acted as lanterns at the prow of the boat and on top of Charon’s ancient wooden pole provided just enough light to see by. Patrick clambered into the boat, the vessel rocking ominously. When they were all three sitting on the cold wooden benches, Charon used the pole to shove the boat away from the shore.

  No coin was needed for passage this time, not with Persephone and Hermes seated with him in the boat. Patrick settled the iron box on his lap and held it with both hands, staring into the fog around them and trying not to think about what existed below in the waters of the River Styx.

  When the fog finally parted and the boat came to ground on another shore, Persephone rose smoothly to her feet. “Thank you, Charon.”

  The ferryman waited until they all made it to shore before pushing away again, drifting back into the currents, ready to ferry whatever souls came his way to the Underworld. Hermes led them away from the River Styx and through the fog of the veil back to the mortal realm.

  Patrick’s feet sank into wet grass as the veil finally faded away, replaced with Salem Common. The reactionary storm here wasn’t as bad as the one in New York, but it was still proof of an excessive amount of magic at play. He didn’t know what day it was, only that it was night, and he doubted it was the Monday he’d left behind on the Brooklyn Bridge. If he was lucky, it was very early Tuesday morning.

  The gazebo that took up prominence in Salem Common was guarded by Cerberus, but Patrick barely paid the three-headed hellhound any attention. All of his focus was on the god standing inside the gazebo with his grandmother. Despite all the times they’d faced each other before, Patrick appeared to be an afterthought to the god compared to Persephone.

  Lightning flashed above, illuminating the park. Persephone walked forward without worry, holding out both hands to Cerberus. The immortal bent all three heads to her hands, shoving against each other to get the first pet.

  “Oh, my darlings, I’ve missed you so,” she crooned.

  Cerberus wagged his tail, looking for all the world like an overgrown puppy.

  “Seph,” Hades said after a moment, the diminutive endearment of her name practically ground out between his teeth.

  She stared up at her husband, the rain pouring down around her but missing her entirely by way of magic. “I must admit, I did not expect you to come.”

  “You haven’t reached out to me in over twenty years.”

  “You know why.” Something like grief passed over Hades’ face before it was replaced with a hardness that made Persephone firm her jaw. “You’ve enabled our demise.”

  “I’ve worked to keep our daughter safe,” Hades countered.

  “You’ve let that bastard prey on her godhead for over two decades. How is that keeping her safe?”

  “He hasn’t laid claim to it since he ensnared her. All his attempts have failed.”

  “You’ve stood by his side and watched him try. That doesn’t absolve you.”

  Hades walked down the steps of the gazebo, dragging Eloise with him. Hellfire preceded every step, burning outward to surround where they stood.

  Eloise was gray-faced in the lingering flash of lightning and the glow of hellfire that rose up to encircle where they stood. Her gaze was vacant, as if she weren’t present in her body. Patrick tightened his grip on the iron box, wanting desperately to get her out of Hades’ reach.

  “I came because Hermes said you wished to talk. So talk,” Hades ground out.

  “I am not who you need to talk to.” Persephone turned her head to look at Patrick. “He is.”

  Patrick held up the iron box. “Loki said something about a trade. So here I am.”

  Hades’ eyes narrowed, but he didn’t let go of Eloise. “It was unwise of you to come, even with my wife.”

  “It seemed an acceptable risk.”

  “You think highly of your survival.”

  “I’m here to ensure Eloise’s.”

  Hades’ lips curled upward in cold amusement. “You would’ve done better not to come at all.”

  “But I came, and you’re going to listen to my bargain.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then you’re never getting Macaria back, and I’d bet good money dead or alive Persephone will divorce your ass.”

  The hellfire surrounding them flared up higher, chasing away the cold. Sweat trickled down the back of Patrick’s neck from the heat.

  “You know nothing of what I have done to protect my daughter,” Hades hissed.

  “I don’t care,” Patrick shot back. “You let her languish in my sister’s body and soul. You let Hannah essentially die beneath the weight of carrying a godhead she shouldn’t have because you didn’t have the fucking balls to confront Ethan.”

  “He tied himself to your sister. Killing him would have killed them both.”

  “So instead you let them suffer all these years while Ethan worked to become a god and did nothing to stop him. That’s a negative number on the parenting scale. But you’re in luck—I’m here to save your marriage. You get this—” Patrick held up the iron box. “—and me, and Eloise goes free.”

  “And if I keep you both?”

  Patrick jerked his thumb in Persephone’s direction. “She won’t let you because I’m in her debt. This exchange is the only way you get the piece of the Morrígan’s staff. This is the only way you get me. Take it or leave it.”

  There was still a chance Hades wouldn’t give up Eloise, that he’d stick to whatever plan Ethan had drawn up. But he’d pulled Eloise from wherever she had been and come alone. Ethan’s control of Hades began and ended with Macaria. Patrick was banking on Hades’ desire to see his daughter alive winning out over seeing Patrick dead.

  When Hades’ gaze flicked briefly to Persephone, longing in his eyes not even a war could kill, Patrick knew he’d get his way.

  And it just might kill him in the end.

  “Your presence and the Morrígan’s staff made whole for a woman who you barely know. Some bargain,” Hades said before he flung Eloise forward.

  Patrick dived for her, feet slipping in the wet grass, but he managed to get his arms around Eloise’s frail body and keep her upright. She didn’t seem coherent, magic thick around her, and he only hoped whatever lingering spellwork she was tied to would be severed when she went through the veil.

  “I’ll take her,” Hermes said, suddenly there and drawing Eloise out of his arms.

  “Take her to Jono,” Patrick said. “Tell him—”

  A hand came down on his shoulder—heavy and cold, freezing him down to his bones. He flinched with his entire body, remembering the feel of Hades’ magic when the god had burned out the anchor wards on his bones back in August.

  “You’d throw away your last chance to win this fight with him, Seph?” Hades asked as he tightened his hold on Patrick.

  Persephone looked at her husband with as much hate in her eyes as love, the rawness of both in her voice. “I’m doing it to save us, my love. If you can’t see that, then perhaps we were never meant to be in this world, the same way we would never be in the one you’re helping Ethan build.”

  Hades’ fingers bit into Patrick’s shoulder hard enough to bru
ise. “What would you have me do?”

  She closed the distance between them, bringing with her the scent of spring that replaced the acrid stench of hellfire in Patrick’s nose. He held his breath as Persephone set her hands on Hades’ chest and rose up on her tiptoes to brush her lips over his in an anguished kiss that made the god shake so hard even Patrick could feel it.

  “Let Patrick pay his soul debt,” Persephone murmured before pulling away. “Prove your love and do this one thing for me.”

  Persephone turned her back on them, following Hermes and Eloise through the veil, leaving Patrick behind. And even though that had been the plan, Patrick couldn’t help the fear that curled up and made a home in the center of his chest.

  A suicidal idea indeed.

  Hades pried the iron box out of Patrick’s hand and thumbed it open. The carved raven nestled inside seemed to glimmer beneath the lightning that flashed above them.

  “You made a mistake coming here, no matter what my wife believes,” Hades said after a moment.

  Patrick thought of Jono and his pack, of everyone he’d left behind in New York to face the horror clawing its way through the veil. “I’d sell my soul over and over again for the people I care about, but you wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  “I did everything for my daughter.”

  Patrick turned to look at the god, lips pulled back in a mocking smile. “You never fought for her.”

  Truth was a blessing or a curse, and no one ever truly liked to hear it, least of all a god. Hades let go of Patrick’s shoulder to backhand him across the face so hard the world went slippery and sideways, the burn of foreign magic chasing him into blackness.

  20

  No one saw the sun rise over New York City on what might have been Tuesday morning.