A Veiled & Hallowed Eve

by Hailey Turner

  “Why not just do that from the start?”

  “Because Macaria would not have survived, and Persephone’s grief would have broken the Underworld. We could not risk a cascade into oblivion.”

  “So you lot used Patrick to do your dirty work for you, is that it? Couldn’t get your own hands messy, yeah?”

  Odin turned to look at him, a smile playing about his lips that Jono wanted to punch clean off. “What is a story without its hero?”

  Jono shook his head, knowing just how much Patrick had never wanted any of this. “Is it over? Does this mean we won?”

  Odin tapped the butt of Gungnir against the ground, the motion sending the ravens and crows darting into the air. Huginn and Muninn flew toward the Allfather, their forms seemingly shrinking until they were small enough to perch on Odon’s shoulders. The pair stuck their beaks, filled with all the memories of the past, into Odin’s skull, offering up stolen knowledge.

  “For now,” the Allfather said.

  Lucien and Carmen approached, the master vampire’s arm slung across her shoulders. Most of Carmen’s attention was on her lover, and Jono couldn’t hide his wince as he took in the burned half of Lucien’s face. The wound snaked down his neck and over his skull, the skin blistered and shockingly red against his normal paleness.

  “You need a healer,” Jono said.

  Lucien bared his fangs, half-burned lips splitting at one corner. “The government can pay for one.”

  “We’re leaving,” Carmen said pointedly. “We need to get our people below to the subway.”

  Lucien didn’t dig in his heels and let her lead him to the entrance, back the way they’d come who knew how long ago. Time was fucked all around them, as far as Jono could tell. Sage padded over with Nadine on her back, exhaustion in every line of the mage’s body.

  “I don’t know how much good I’ll be if we’re still fighting,” Nadine admitted.

  Jono watched Wade nick a trench coat off some bloke lying on the spellwork and wrap it around his body. “Let’s go find out who’s left.”

  With Ethan dead and his followers been made to forcibly forget why they had believed in the man, Jono hoped those who’d fought with Ethan and were still alive had left the battlefield.

  Jono and what was left of his pack and allies left Castle Clinton behind, heading back to the charred area that had once been a park. Dragon fire had done a lot of damage, but Jono wouldn’t hold it against Wade.

  They trudged across burned grass, cognizant of the zombies still shambling about, but none of the dead bothered them. Jono’s bare feet became muddy in seconds, the rain still coming down but with less intensity than he remembered. Glancing up at the sky past Yggdrasil’s branches, Jono thought the storm clouds weren’t as low as they had been.

  A pair of wolves broke through a line of zombies, racing their way. Jono was desperately glad to see that Emma and Leon had survived and went to his knees so he could wrap his arms around their necks when they arrived, fingers digging into cold, wet fur.

  “Real chuffed to see you made it through,” Jono said. Emma was the first to pull away, wolf head tilted to the side as she stared at them, and Jono knew when she came up one person short. The mournful sound she made absolutely gutted him. “Pat’s alive. He’s just…not here, and I couldn’t follow where he went.”

  He’d wanted to, oh, how he’d wanted to. Jono would give anything to be by Patrick’s side right now, but a part of him knew his pack and all the ones they were responsible for needed him just as much. Jono needed to make sure everyone was okay, that New York City was still standing, that when Patrick came back, he’d have a home to return to.

  Steeling himself to face the aftermath, Jono stood and warily scanned the battlefield arrayed before them on the damaged Manhattan streets and in the sky. He was prepared to keep fighting but realized after a few seconds that maybe, just maybe, it was truly over.

  Hinon and the valkyries laid claim to a sky that was slowly losing its cloud coverage, the reactionary storm receding in the horizon where the veil gave up ground. The demons from before had all disappeared, while ravens and crows filled the air they’d flown through. The dead outnumbered the living on the ground, but Jono didn’t see any signs of hunters.

  The surviving gods, fae, vampires, and werecreatures who’d come this far with them held their ground, expecting the fight to continue. Jono saw the way the other gods relaxed when they got eyes on Odin, the Allfather impossible to miss, what with the way his godhead shone about him.

  The horde of zombies parted, allowing the Morrígan room to approach with the Dagda at her side. Jono’s lips curled at the sight of the mayor-in-disguise having finally appeared for battle when the fight was practically over.

  “Bloody typical of a politician,” he said to no one in particular.

  Wade snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. The stolen coat he wore hit midthigh. Marek was still in possession of Wade’s rucksack. They needed to get back to Union Square to make sure Marek had survived the fight. They’d left him under Reed’s care, and the dragon better have kept him alive.

  “Have the memories been erased?” the Dagda asked.

  Muninn and Huginn cawed raucously before launching themselves off Odin’s shoulders. The Dagda’s gaze followed their flight path before returning to settle on their group with a power to his stare that made Jono’s shoulders twitch.

  “They have,” Odin promised.

  “I remember,” Wade muttered.

  So did Jono, for that matter. Fenrir’s laughter was harsh in his mind, trailing after his tired thoughts before settling into words.

  You remember because you will never try to do what Ethan did. That is why we gods chose you.

  The rest of the world would never know the underlying reason for this fight, only the damage done. Jono wasn’t sure it was a fair trade.

  “What of Macaria?” the Dagda asked.

  “She lives,” Odin said

  “Then it is done.” The Dagda’s attention settled on Jono, and the god gave a regal nod in his direction. “Your teeth once again rendered an end. You have our thanks, cousin.”

  Fenrir slipped through Jono’s thoughts, guiding his tongue. “Next time, do not let the telling be written this far.”

  “What do you mean next time?” Wade protested.

  “That is not a promise any of us can give. We gods live to be remembered, and there will be stories of this battle to last us centuries,” the Morrígan said.

  “The veil is still torn,” Jono said, pushing Fenrir aside to speak on his own.

  The Morrígan glanced up at the sky where the clouds were slowly pulling back. Jono thought he could see a few stars as the storm swirled around Yggdrasil’s branches, the leaves fainter than they had been. Less solid.

  Less real.

  “Samhain is over. A balance is returning, and we must let it settle,” the Morrígan said.

  She raised her staff toward the sky. The quartz crystal flashed like a lighthouse beacon, half blinding Jono for a second. When his vision cleared, he could only stare in disbelief at the battlefield around them.

  Like a wave, the zombies fell, every soul powering the dead lifting free of their bone and rotting flesh prisons. Souls collided and twisted together in the air, becoming multiple rivers of light that flowed toward the Morrígan’s staff.

  The sky beyond the buildings surrounding them grew brighter, a false dawn against the fading twilight. Streams of light flowed into the air as millions of souls throughout a veiled Manhattan answered the Morrígan’s summons. The shapeless manifestations of life lost streaked like shooting stars through the sky, with only one destination in mind—the staff.

  The Morrígan stood as a silent witness to the dead she stole from the battlefield. Her staff absorbed every single soul that had given false life to the dead, the weapon growing brighter in her hand. Jono didn’t know how long it took for the Morrígan to lay the dead to rest, but it was far quicker than their efforts eve
r would have been.

  When the last soul disappeared, the glow of the quartz crystal faded as well. The Morrígan lowered her staff, the dead cast aside, hopefully never to rise again on the streets of Manhattan.

  “Now what?” Sage asked, having shifted back to human at some point as the Morrígan wielded her staff. Sage had an arm around Nadine’s waist, holding the mage up with easy strength.

  The Morrígan smiled, an eerie, ancient weight to her gaze as she looked at them. “You live.”

  The gods all faded from sight, letting the veil steal them away, but the fog of it didn’t linger. It recoiled away from where they stood, sliding past the buildings in front of them, wrapping around Yggdrasil and the roots of the world tree, prying it out of the here and now to some other time, some other place.

  This wasn’t its world, not anymore.

  The rain let up, dropping to a hazy sprinkle, as the clouds thinned out above. Sunlight touched the horizon in the east, driving back the dark, washing away the ghosts of the nightmare they’d survived.

  Gerard’s voice rang through the dawn air like a clarion call. “Jono!”

  He followed the sound, seeing Gerard jogging their way, Órlaith keeping pace with him on her steed.

  “Communications are back up. Reed is coordinating with our forces in the other boroughs to bring them across the bridges and tunnels. We shouldn’t have any problems with the zombies, but I don’t know who else is left in the field from the other side,” Gerard said.

  “Have you heard from Marek?” Sage asked sharply.

  “Reed said to tell you he’s alive.” Gerard’s gaze swept the group, a frown settling on his face. “Where’s Patrick?”

  “He went with Hermes,” Jono said.

  The understanding in Gerard’s eyes was too close to pity for Jono to accept. He looked away, cognizant of the fact he was standing starkers in the street, but wasn’t about to go nick clothes off the dead how Wade had done.

  “I want to find Marek,” Sage said.

  Jono understood the quiet desperation in her voice only too well and nodded at her.

  “Then we’ll do that,” Jono promised. “It’s over now.”

  “No,” Gerard said quietly with a sureness that came from the long-lived. “It’s only the beginning.”

  Jono tipped his head in Gerard’s direction, all his senses tuned to the absence where Patrick should be, and said nothing. The hollow ache in his chest was as much from loss as it was from the emptiness on the other side of the soulbond. He closed his eyes against it, trying to rally himself for the task ahead, choosing to believe in the promise Patrick had been telling him for months and months, as if he’d known how this would end.

  I’ll come back.

  Jono would hold Patrick to that vow, and he’d be waiting.

  He opened his eyes and stared up Broadway, the Bifröst long since gone. But curving across the sky as the sun rose, pressed up against the last of the rain, was a rainbow spanning the width of Manhattan. It hung in the sky, as if nature herself was apologizing for what magic had wrought.

  Jono let it guide him and what remained of his pack into the city they called home, stepping over bodies as they went, with the valkyries flying above to escort them Uptown.

  31

  “Eloise is here,” Sage said as she peered out the living room window at the street below the flat.

  Jono came out of the kitchen, tea in hand, and took a sip. “She’s late.”

  Sage turned and gave him a pointed look. “Considering the detours she probably had to take from LaGuardia, are you surprised? Half the streets in Manhattan still need to be cleared of the dead.”

  “The city stinks,” Wade agreed before shoving a handful of crisps into his mouth.

  “That’s not changing anytime soon,” Emma muttered from her spot sprawled on the sofa, her head in Leon’s lap and her feet in Marek’s.

  Two weeks since the veil had lifted the day after Samhain and New York City was still struggling to return to normal. The fight inside the veil had damaged the city in ways that would take weeks, if not months or longer, to recover from, to say nothing of the citizens themselves.

  When the Morrígan had stolen the souls of the dead, she’d left the bones and bodies behind. As in Paris, the logistics of recovering the dead and figuring out where to bury them was an almost overwhelming task. Jono was just glad it wasn’t summer, when the stench of rotting bodies would’ve made the city near uninhabitable.

  That was the most pressing need at the moment, if only for health reasons and to clear the streets for travel. Abandoned vehicles and debris from the battle couldn’t be removed until the bodies were gone. Local crews bolstered by the National Guard were working night and day on the task, but crematoriums could only burn so many of the dead at a time.

  That hadn’t stopped New Yorkers from going about living their lives. Downtown and Midtown had seen the brunt of the battle, but other parts of Manhattan had been attacked as well. Their underlying plan to defend by blocks had meant fewer casualties, but people had still died. Jono didn’t know the final number of victims yet because the government was still trying to pin that down. But he’d walked by numerous flyers of the missing, seen mention of many more on PreterWorld and other social media sites.

  The only missing person Jono truly cared about was Patrick.

  He still hadn’t returned from beyond the veil, and there’d been no updates from any of the gods, not even Fenrir. Jono woke up every morning thinking today, and every night he went to bed alone he hoped for tomorrow. Every day that passed was one more day of loneliness that no amount of working himself to the bone could fix. Jono knew time moved differently past the veil, but waiting was the hardest part.

  So he’d thrown himself into rebuilding the werecreature community and making himself available to the government when they came knocking on his door. There was no escaping the fact he and his god pack had been at the center of the battle. Electronics might not have been up and running during that stretch of time when the veil hung over Manhattan, but people talked.

  And people prayed.

  Hundreds of thousands of people had born witness to gods in battle. Those stories were spreading like wildfire through social media, news interviews, conversations, and written communications for all the world to see. Jono couldn’t help but think that’s what the gods had wanted in the end—recognition and remembrance. Their names falling from someone’s lips once again, their guidance asked for in new prayers.

  Jono wondered who Eloise prayed to these days, if it was still Persephone, but he wasn’t rude enough to ask. When Sage opened the door to usher Eloise, Madelyn, and Grant inside, Jono merely asked what they’d like to drink.

  “Tea is fine, if that’s what you’re having,” Eloise said with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her tired eyes.

  “I’ll make it,” Wade said, heaving himself off the armchair.

  “Use the kettle, not the microwave,” Jono reminded him.

  Wade rolled his eyes. “I did that once.”

  “You’ve done it at least a dozen times, mate.”

  “You’re lying when you say it tastes different.”

  “Kettle. Tea.”

  Wade flapped his hand in Jono’s direction. “I could just blow fire on it. That would boil the water faster.”

  Jono sighed, deciding not to argue further. Wade knew how he preferred tea and would make it correctly, or Jono would know. He turned his attention back to the Pattersons, seeing the sofa had been vacated so the new arrivals could have a place to sit.

  Emma walked past Jono to grab her coat where it hung off a chair tucked against the dining room table. “We’ll head out. Call us if you need anything.”

  Jono nodded, going through the motions of scenting Emma and Leon before the pair left. They had pack meetings to oversee, acting as Jono’s proxy alongside Sage since he kept getting pulled out of the city for meetings before congressional subcommittees and more private ones at th
e Pentagon with only Reed to advocate for him. People wanted answers, and Jono could only give them so many.

  Everyone wanted Patrick, and he wasn’t here.

  Eloise seemed to realize that, judging by the way her shoulders slumped. Grant patted his mother’s hand in a comforting manner.

  “He isn’t back yet, I take it?” Eloise asked.

  Jono shook his head. “I said I’d ring you whenever Pat returned.”

  “I know. I just…” Her voice trailed off, and she shrugged tiredly. “We buried Hannah last weekend. It would be nice to know we won’t be burying him as well.”

  “Pat promised he would come back. That isn’t a promise he’ll break.”

  Jono said it with a sureness that he’d never give up. He tried to impart that in his voice, knowing it came through his scent, even if Eloise and her family would never be able to smell it. Sage could, and she gave him a slow nod of agreement from her spot on the armchair. Marek had taken the floor in front of the chair, leaning against her legs so she could stroke her fingers through his hair.

  The pair hadn’t left each other’s sides since being reunited after the fight. True to Reed’s word, he’d kept Marek safe, not wanting to have to explain the death of the seer to the government and Sage. Marek had been overseeing PreterWorld from home, having ordered everyone in the company to work remote during the recovery process.

  “Did Finley stay in Salem?” Jono asked.

  “He’s in DC for some meetings on behalf of our coven. We’ll join him there tomorrow,” Eloise said.

  “Won’t Congress be mad you’ll be a day late?”

  “We’re meeting with the SOA, actually.”

  Jono was well aware of her anger toward Patrick’s agency, so he wasn’t surprised she was delaying that meeting and letting her son handle the initial contact in her stead. “What do they want?”

  “We’re confirming the timeline for everything that happened in Salem, starting with my abduction.” Eloise pressed her lips together before sighing softly. “I don’t like talking about it, but needs must.”