“Took you long enough,” Lucien said.
Jono shrugged, his attention lingering on the wounds Lucien had sustained last autumn. The left side of the master vampire’s face was heavily scarred, pulling at the corner of his mouth, the burn scars cascading down his neck. The damage disappeared beneath the collar of the motorcycle jacket he wore, painful-looking even after the months that had passed.
Jono was honestly surprised Lucien had survived Ethan’s attack. He’d expected the master vampire to be a casualty in the end, but Lucien had proven to be a survivor the same way Ashanti was.
Government-paid healers had done their best to render aid to Lucien. In the end, full healing would take time. Lucien might be a daywalker and the last vampire Ashanti had directly sired, but he wasn’t a god. He was something though, Jono could reluctantly admit these days, because Lucien would never have walked away from that fight with Ethan in one piece. Jono suspected Lucien’s degree of closeness to a goddess had aided his survival.
Jono hadn’t seen the mother of all vampires since she’d said her goodbyes at the start of the new year and gone to travel the world to reconnect with her children. Ashanti had done her duty by them and won the prize she was after. Her gamble of throwing her support behind Patrick all these years had given her an eternity of prayers, both for herself and her children.
Vampires would continue to thrive now that Ethan’s hell would never come to pass. Jono couldn’t say he was thrilled about that, but his pack would handle the threat they represented, like they always did.
“We aren’t late,” Jono said, coming to a stop out of reach of Lucien. He would never trust Lucien, and standing more than arms’ distance away from the arsehole was Jono’s preferred spot to have a conversation.
“Now that you’re here, we can get down to business.” Lucien’s black eyes narrowed some as he stared at Jono. “I hear you’re expanding your pack.”
“That’s not your business.”
Lucien smirked, the expression garish against the backdrop of scars. “My Night Court is leaving New York. I have business in South America I need to handle.”
“So you’re giving up your territory?”
“No. I’m never giving up the Manhattan Night Court.”
Jono blinked at him. “You won’t be here to claim it.”
“You seem to forget how many people are beholden to me. Manhattan is mine and always will be. Whatever we agree to today will hold until I return.”
“And if you don’t return for a couple of decades?” Wade asked.
Lucien stared unblinkingly at them. “Going to miss me?”
“Not on your undead life.”
Lucien shrugged, wrapping an arm around Carmen as she sidled up to him. “I won’t be leaving any of my Night Court behind. Where I go, they go, but the territory here belongs to me. Make sure your god pack remembers that over the years.”
Lucien’s assumption that Jono’s god pack would be ruling for a long time was flattering in a way, but they had no guarantee of continued rule.
“Are you leaving behind a proxy?” Jono asked.
“The Night Courts within the five boroughs are proxy enough.”
Jono knew from experience the remaining Night Courts weren’t to be trusted. It wasn’t trust that drove Lucien to appoint them as proxy but necessity. The vampires who called New York City home knew what Lucien had done to Tremaine last year. Jono had a feeling the Night Courts would toe the line for some years before they started testing the boundaries of Lucien’s absence.
“Fine. The territory borders and pass-through rights remain the same as previously negotiated.”
Jono would keep his word on that, if only because it would provide them leverage down the line whenever Lucien returned. The master vampire couldn’t cry foul and go on a killing spree if Jono could prove they’d kept to the terms of the bargain.
He didn’t think it would be too much of a problem, at least in the near future. When the werecreature community had fought side by side with the Night Courts, it had produced a wary sort of respect for each other’s spaces. He knew it wouldn’t last—nothing like that ever did—but it was one less thing to worry about as his god pack settled in for the long haul.
“Tell Patrick I owe him nothing,” Lucien said.
“If you go after him when he returns, I’ll eat you,” Wade shot back.
Lucien laughed, the sound low and raspy as he straightened up. “You can try.”
Jono held up a hand toward Wade, and for once, the teen listened to the silent command and kept his gob shut.
“Patrick never owed you anything to begin with, no matter what you both thought. Keep your side of this agreement, we’ll keep ours, and you’ll have a city to come back to when you’re done traipsing about the world,” Jono said to Lucien.
The master vampire held still for a long minute, not even bothering with the pretense of breathing. When he finally spoke, the anger Jono expected was missing.
“You know he might not come back,” Lucien said. “But I will.”
Jono tugged lightly on the soulbond, the ragged end drifting to nothing on the other side where Patrick should be. It’d been months, and the emptiness hadn’t changed, but neither had Jono’s belief in a promise made.
“Patrick will always come back. When he does, we’ll be waiting for whenever you return.”
“Not if you’re both dead.”
“Then I’ll be waiting,” Wade said, showing off his teeth, brown eyes flashing gold.
As goodbyes went, Jono wouldn’t lose any sleep over Lucien’s absence in New York City. In the end, his pack was staying, Lucien was leaving, and Jono would keep waiting as long as it took for Patrick to come back to him.
35
“Did you have to pick the route up a fucking mountain to get us to Asgard? Couldn’t you have picked the shortcut?” Patrick gasped out as he rounded the curve of yet another switchback in the steep road. “They have a rainbow bridge. We could’ve used that.”
Hermes looked over his shoulder, the messenger god not even close to being out of breath. “You should probably look into exercising more. I hear it’s good for your health.”
Patrick flipped Hermes off before taking a moment to lean against his knees and pant for breath. “Fuck you.”
“Your wolf wouldn’t approve.”
“Fuck you even more.”
“Hurry up, Pattycakes. We’re almost there.”
Straightening up, Patrick pressed his hands to the small of his back and arched his spine to get it to pop. His legs hurt, his feet were sore, and he wanted nothing more than to return past the veil to his pack. Except he’d spent what felt like days walking through the veil after Hermes, only pausing to rest for short periods. It hadn’t been enough to get rid of Patrick’s exhaustion or the knowledge that every day he spent past the veil, he lost weeks back on Earth.
The only reason he hadn’t given up was the faint flicker of Hannah’s soul that had never left his side. What he owed her kept Patrick pushing on, so he wiped sweat off his forehead and trudged after Hermes for the gates that led to Asgard.
The mountain they’d climbed towered over a fjord far below. Patrick couldn’t see the sapphire waters, hidden as they were by the fog that snaked through the otherworldly inlet. He could still make out the strange, twisted roots that stretched the height of the impossible mountain, ever present in their climb.
When they finally reached the top of the mountain, Patrick was greeted with a regal nod from Thor. Brynhildr, seated astride her pegasus and dressed in her traditional armor as opposed to the motorcycle leathers she was partial to when on the road, offered up a gentle smile.
“Well met, cousin,” Thor said.
“Your heaven would’ve been easier to find if the veil wasn’t such a mess. You should do something about that. Maybe have Yggdrasil set down some more roots,” Hermes replied.
“What makes you think the world tree hasn’t already done so?”
&n
bsp; Hermes chuckled, clearly amused by Thor’s announcement. Patrick ignored them, tired of the gods and the games they played, no longer obligated to worry about their words and intentions.
He drifted away from their conversation. The small terrace they stood on was covered in vibrant green grass that ran right up against the wall surrounding Asgard and to the cliff’s edge that offered up a view of an endless night sky. The jagged shape of mountains reaching for eternity was breathtaking, and Patrick knew he’d never forget the sight of them. Heaven, he supposed, was many things to many people, and here it was a world one step removed from the memories that had once shaped it.
“I hear tell you’ve paid your soul debt after all these years,” Thor said from behind him.
Patrick turned to look at the god, finding the trio had come to join him at the precipice. “I’m done fighting.”
Thor raised an eyebrow, then held up his hand, palm up. “If that is the case, then I will relieve you of your weapon.”
Patrick hesitated, thinking of Jono, but reached instead for the dagger strapped to his thigh rather than the soulbond. He unsheathed the blade, going through the motions one last time. He stared at the gods-given dagger, watching as silvery words in languages he couldn’t read floated across the matte-black blade. A hint of heavenly white fire flickered against the sharp edge before fading away, leaving nothing behind.
The weight of it in his hand came not from metal but from guilt, because a part of him would always remember what the prayers in the dagger had cost. Drawing in a harsh breath, Patrick spun the dagger around one final time before handing it to Thor, hilt first.
“Take it,” Patrick said.
Thor’s fingers were warm when they brushed against Patrick’s palm as he retrieved it. The absence of the dagger had him floundering for a second, panic gripping his chest hard before he shoved it aside. That weapon was no longer his to wield, and he refused to mourn its loss.
Thor turned the dagger this way and that, staring at it with an appraising eye. “I remember when I prayed for this.”
“Were your prayers answered?”
Thor tucked the dagger into a metal-lined leather loop on his belt, the cross guard helping to keep it secured in place. “Well enough.”
It wasn’t praise—it wasn’t even a thank-you—but Patrick let the acknowledgment wash over him anyway. He’d made his own road to this moment, and Patrick refused to apologize for the choices he’d made over the years when it came to fighting his family for the sake of all the gods’ remembrances.
Patrick cleared his throat and looked at Hermes. “You said Hannah’s way was paid.”
“I didn’t lie,” Hermes said.
“So what now?”
When Hermes smiled, it seemed to soften his gaze for once, eyes filled with a grace that brushed up against some kind of forgiveness. “Now you say goodbye.”
Patrick stared at where Hannah’s soul floated beside him. As he watched, the edges seemed to take the shape of a child for a moment, an afterimage of a life that never got to be lived. He reached for her on instinct, fingers shaking, so close but always so far. Standing there at the cliff’s edge, Patrick could only do what he’d always done with his twin sister.
He let her go.
Hannah’s soul seemed to contract before disintegrating into nothing but starlight. Patrick’s hand closed on emptiness in the space that had always existed between them since that fateful night so long ago.
“I'm sorry,” Patrick said through the unholy grief that filled his body in that moment. “I never stopped wanting to save you.”
“She knows,” Thor said kindly before nodding at what remained of his sister. “Come, child. It is time.”
The shimmer of Hannah’s soul darted through the air to Brynhildr, who cradled the remnants close to her chest with a careful hand. “I’ll guide her home.”
“Where are you taking her?” Patrick asked.
“Your twin was god-touched. She died in the battle over her soul.” Brynhildr smiled, the gentle curve of her mouth a bittersweet victory for the dead. “Valhalla awaits her.”
The pegasus’ wings flapped hard in the air, gaining altitude with long sweeps that sent the grass rippling like the sea. They rose into the air, higher and higher, until their passage was obscured by Yggdrasil’s branches stretched over the golden city, forever lost to sight.
Patrick opened his mouth, but nothing came out, and everything he’d ever wanted to say to Hannah would stay with him to be said over her grave. In the quiet, beneath an eternal sky, Patrick bore witness to a farewell at the edge of the world, death a companion to the bitter, haunting end.
“Just one more thing, Pattycakes,” Hermes said.
Patrick dragged his gaze away from the stars, blinking the blurriness at the edge of his vision to something stronger. “What?”
Hermes smirked, laughter in his voice. “Tell your wolf I said hello.”
Then Hermes shoved Patrick off the edge of the world, and gravity caught him tight in its grip, never letting go in the long descent to Earth through the veil. The howling wind stole Patrick’s voice as he fell from Asgard into an ocean of regrets found between the roots of the world tree, the water closing over his head and the surface nowhere to be found.
36
The air in early April was crisp from a fading winter, the smell of spring gaining ground. Slush was melting in the gutters and the sidewalks, on occasion revealing bits of bodies not recovered in the initial clean-up. Luckily the protective wards on Tempest blocked that smell, though they couldn’t block Wade when he sneaked inside.
Jono gave him a stern look across the bar counter as Wade scrambled onto a stool beside Sage. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”
“Yeah, I know, but it’s important.” Wade planted his elbows on the bar counter, held up his mobile, and pointed at the screen, eyes wide as he stared accusingly at Jono. “What is this?”
Jono glanced at the title of the email showing up and raised an eyebrow. “Your summer classes sign-up confirmation.”
“I can see that. Funny how I didn’t sign up for any but somehow got an email about it.”
“Funny how that works,” Sage replied calmly as she sipped at her sparkling water. “You’re going. You have classes to make up.”
“But what about summer break?”
“That’s what the weekends are for when you aren’t studying.”
Wade groaned and let his head fall to the bar counter. “That’s so unfair.”
“Education is important. We’re planning for yours the same way we’re planning for our daughter’s.”
Wade grumbled wordlessly into the wood, clearly not of the same opinion. Sage took education seriously though, and Jono was happy to let her steer Wade where he needed to go in that regard.
The trio of witches seated three spots down from Sage caught Jono’s attention, raising their empty drink glasses in a hopeful manner. Jono went to take their next order and bus the empties, going through the motions of working behind the counter on a busy Friday night.
Tempest had turned into the place to be over the last few months. It was no longer just a bar catering to the werecreature community. Coven members, fae, others of supernatural background, and even on occasion vampires could be found walking through the doors. Jono made it a point to welcome everyone. The bar was still considered neutral territory and the place where his god pack handled territory disputes.
Jono and Sage still mostly handled the decision-making in that area, though they’d started delegating more responsibilities to Camilo Rivera, Sahil Agarwal, and Linh Nguyen. The three new god pack members they’d accepted into their god pack after a rigorous interview process had settled in well over the past few weeks. They came with good recommendations from their former god packs, and Fenrir had approved of them, but Jono still worried about what Patrick would think.
The fleeting thought about Patrick came and went, less agonizing than it used to be. Jono didn’t
spend every moment of the day thinking about his lover, though it had taken time to get to that point. It was going on six months without seeing Patrick’s face in person and not in photos on his mobile. People had stopped asking him about Patrick, and he’d gotten used to the pitying looks sometimes thrown his way.
Jono knew Patrick wasn’t dead or missing, merely gone to do his duty. He didn’t care what the world thought, and neither did Sage or Wade. They’d keep vigil in his absence, but they couldn’t stop living their lives. Jono knew Patrick wouldn’t want that for them. And while it got lonely, especially at night, Jono got up every morning, ready to face the day.
“Can’t I have one summer off?” Wade whinged, finally sitting up.
“Sure,” Sage said. “Next year, if you pass all your classes during the normal semesters.”
Wade looked absolutely put out and shot Jono a pleading look he refused to succumb to. Jono shook his head. “You know what Sage says goes.”
Wade sighed loudly. “I know.”
His sulk lasted only about thirty more seconds, because that’s when Jono caught the smell of tacos. Leon traversed the crowd in front of the bar, arms held above his head, takeaway bags dangling from both hands.
“I brought dinner,” Leon announced.
“We both did,” Emma said, squeezing between Sage and Wade. She deposited the largest bag in front of Wade. “We got extra, so you can have this one.”
“You’re my favorite,” Wade said. Then he ripped open the plastic like it was the enemy and dug in.
“And then you need to leave.”
“I take it back. The tacos are my favorite.”
Emma leaned over the counter and offered Jono a carton, but he shook his head. “Let me finish up a few more drinks, then I’ll eat with you.”
A Veiled & Hallowed Eve Page 39