All Souls Near & Nigh (Soulbound Book 2)

by Hailey Turner

  Patrick retracted his shields and got to his feet, casing the area. For all that the threat might have vanished, he didn’t trust the absence left behind. Patrick conjured up a mageglobe and sent it toward the Santa Muerte idol. He wrapped his magic around the damned thing right as the doors to the SOA building burst open now that the protective wards had gone dormant. He could see through the disappearing brightness numerous agents filling the lobby. Leading the charge outside was Henry, a pissed-off expression on his face.

  “What the hell just happened?” Henry demanded as agents scattered to help the wounded and secure the one shooter who was still alive.

  Patrick straightened up with the Santa Muerte idol floating between his hands in a mageglobe. “Someone took offense to my lack of tithes at the altar.”

  “What is that?”

  Patrick didn’t recognize the woman who came to stand by Henry’s side. To be fair, he didn’t recognize or know many of the agents who worked out of the field office. But the dark-haired woman staring at the Santa Muerte idol with an expression of pure terror in her eyes stood out.

  “Evidence for the case I’m working on.”

  “That’s not all it is.”

  He sighed tiredly, the sound of distant sirens getting louder. “Yeah.”

  The thing about getting shot at in broad daylight was that it came with the added layer of Patrick being a federal agent. That brought attention. Throw in Patrick being the agent who handled the case in June meant even more attention he didn’t want to deal with.

  Luckily, Quetzalcoatl was more than happy to cover for him. Maybe at the expense of the case staying completely in SOA hands, but Patrick had other things to worry about.

  “What is with you always getting shot at?” Casale asked in the midst of the crime scene an hour later.

  Patrick wiped sweat off his forehead and shrugged. “I can explain.”

  “That is the worst way to start a conversation.” Casale crossed his arms over his chest, his suit jacket pulling at his shoulders. “Care to tell me what’s going on?”

  Patrick had already spent the better part of an hour giving his statement, arguing with Henry over the Santa Muerte idol still currently in Patrick’s possession inside a warded box, and making sure Quetzalcoatl didn’t try to take over the case completely. He’d managed one quick phone call with Jono to assure the other man he was all right before cutting the conversation short because of work.

  “Things got messy.”

  “What happened, Collins?”

  Patrick conjured up a tiny mageglobe, letting it spin against his palm. He cast a silence ward, his magic encasing them in a bubble of static. Patrick looked Casale in the eye when he said, “There’s shit going down between the god pack and the Night Courts. It has to do with independent werecreatures.”

  “We already know that.”

  “I pulled proof out of the Crimson Diamond two nights ago, but I had to take shine in order to save her. She’s currently under suicide watch at a hospital. I have a pack I trust keeping an eye on her.”

  “You took what? To save who? Why am I only now hearing about this?”

  Patrick waved off Casale’s questions. “The DEA and SOA are aware of what happened. Both agencies are working to ensure the new information gets added to the case.”

  “I take it you had no warrant. Again.”

  “There’s an angle that will hold up in court. It involves my criminal informant.”

  Casale’s gaze sharpened. “The same one from June?”

  “Yes.”

  “More vampires. This city doesn’t need more vampires, Collins.”

  “They have unfinished business with Tremaine, and their claim is one that can be legally acknowledged. But this problem isn’t just about shine and dead werecreatures.” Patrick bent down to flip up the lid of the box he’d been carting around, unwilling to hand it off to anyone else. Inside the wooden containment box was the black Santa Muerte idol. “This showed up before the fun started.”

  “Been seeing those a lot,” Casale said slowly. “Calling card?”

  “Of a sort.” Patrick flipped the lid closed and rested his hand on top of the box, the wards warm against his skin. “What are your thoughts on the old gods?”

  Patrick knew Casale’s wife, Angelina, was a priestess in the Crescent Coven, a group of witches and warlocks who had been brought together to worship Hera, the titular queen of the Greek gods. Someone of Angelina’s rank, who kept that sort of company, had to believe in the gods who fucked with his life. Patrick knew Casale loved his wife, and sometimes that meant believing in things even his church didn’t.

  Casale rubbed at his chin, staring at the containment box. “They are stories, but stories have a grain of truth in them sometimes.”

  “If I told you Tremaine has allied himself with death, would you believe me?”

  Casale was quiet for a long minute before finally speaking. “I’d like to say Santa Muerte isn’t real. That she’s just a false idol certain gangs worship and think will bring them luck when the bullets start flying.”

  “But?” Patrick pressed.

  “I’m Catholic. The Church says there is only one god. That’s what I believe, but I know that’s not enough for some people. Humanity has prayed to all kinds of gods over the centuries, Collins. I don’t believe we’ll ever stop.”

  Patrick nodded slowly as he straightened up. “What protects Tremaine will see us coming if we go through the front door. I’m hoping they’ll be so focused on the frontal assault they’ll miss us coming up from behind. I know of a different way in, but I can’t get there without a subway train.”

  Casale pinched the bridge of his nose. “You want me to somehow commandeer you a subway train so you can perform a preemptive attack? Christ, I must be out of my mind for even thinking about letting you do this.”

  “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it would work.”

  “Your idea of working always leaves the city a mess. If I don’t get you the train, you’ll find some other way down there, won’t you?”

  “Marek will,” Patrick said, hoping he wasn’t lying through his teeth.

  Casale sighed heavily. “It’s going to take time for me to wrangle a train out of the MTA. When do you need it by?”

  “Friday night. After sunset.”

  Casale turned his head and looked at the street where members of the PCB’s Crime Scene Unit were working alongside an SOA team. “No other possible way?”

  “No.”

  Casale clenched his jaw for a moment before nodding. “I’ll get you the train.”

  “Make sure it’s on the A line, and you’ll want to assign more cops to Grand Central on Friday night as well. The SOA will be deploying agents as well after what happened today.”

  At that request, Casale’s gaze snapped back to him. “Why?”

  “Rats like tunnels, and I wouldn’t put anything past Tremaine. Grand Central holds the anchor points for the protective wards that run through the entire subway. I don’t want to risk what would happen if those break.”

  It would be worse than a nightmare. The subway system transported over a million riders every single day. If the wards broke down and what monsters lived in the fringe of the veil found their way through, every single subway rider would be at risk, not to mention everyone else who called the five boroughs home.

  All told, the dead would be sacrificed to Santa Muerte by Tezcatlipoca, and Patrick would prefer that never came to pass.

  Casale’s gaze dropped down to the box and his expression hardened. “It’ll mean overtime, but I’ll make it happen. After June, I haven’t gotten as much pushback from the commissioner as I used to.”

  “Nothing like a terrorist organization and human sacrifice to get you what you need.” Patrick nudged the containment box over to Casale with his foot. “I’m leaving this with you. It should be added to the rest of the evidence back at the PCB.”

  Casale scowled down at it, as if the idol within was
the last thing he wanted to deal with. That was a mood Patrick could get behind; he just didn’t have the luxury of succumbing to it.

  Since he wasn’t overseeing the crime scene and his statement had been taken, Patrick left without saying goodbye. Digging out his phone on the walk to the adjacent parking garage, Patrick scrolled through his contacts—a list that had grown over the past couple of months—and highlighted Nadine Mulroney’s name for a call. He wasn’t sure if she was in the field or not, but it never hurt to try. She’d answer if she could.

  One ring in and she answered.

  “Special Agent Mulroney, line and location are not secure,” his best friend said in a crisp voice.

  “Makes two of us. Can you talk?” Patrick said.

  “Give me a minute.” Patrick waited two before she came back on the line. By that time, he was unlocking his car and getting behind the steering wheel. “Okay, I’m warded. What do you need?”

  Patrick slapped his hand against the roof of the Mustang and set a silence ward around the vehicle. It wouldn’t interfere with the phone call, but he was taking no chances with anything else. “I’m chasing after some gods I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting before now.”

  “No one finds pleasure in gods, least of all you.”

  “They’re Aztec, and another is a folk deity and goddess of death. Hermes showed up as well. I think he missed me.”

  “Did you shoot him?”

  “Thought about it.”

  Nadine hummed, the sound coming through the line like static. “My agency will want a formal request from yours if you need me this time.”

  “I can handle it. Half the problem is Lucien’s anyways, and I’m just helping him out. But the gods fucked with the wards in the subway system. I need to patch them or at least contain them before I can bring anyone else down there.”

  “You can’t shield something like that. You’ve never had that affinity.”

  “I know, which is why I requested an artifact with a barrier ward from the SOA. When shit goes FUBAR, think it’ll work?”

  “I can’t make that call, Collins.”

  “Ballpark it for me, Mulroney.”

  “Subway wards are old. They always are. If the gods have already broken some of them, you have a bigger problem because that’s damage which has already weakened the whole spellcasting.”

  “I know that. But I can’t fix it until the gods are taken care of and Lucien kills his rat problem.”

  “It’ll be a stopgap if you’re planning on using it how I think you are. It won’t last long,” she warned.

  “I’ll have SOA agents standing by to access the area once it’s safe.”

  “Then tie it to the broken edges of the spellcasting. I’ll email you sigils I would use. It should buy you some time, I just can’t tell you how much.”

  Patrick let out a breath and shoved the key into the ignition. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

  “Let me know how it goes.”

  “Probably badly, knowing my luck.”

  Nadine snorted. “Murphy’s Law has a hard-on for you.”

  “I’m taken.”

  Nadine’s laughter in his ear only stopped when Patrick ended the call.

  17

  “I don’t like this.”

  Jono looked up from tying his trainers—a pair he wouldn’t mind losing—to find Patrick staring at him from the short hallway that led to their bedroom and the still-damaged bathroom. Jono’s gaze slowly traveled up and down Patrick’s body, taking him in.

  I wouldn’t mind seeing him in an actual uniform.

  Patrick wore black tactical pants tucked into his combat boots, which were laced up tightly. A black, fitted long-sleeved shirt was tucked into his pants. His tactical pistol was holstered on a heavy-duty belt, dagger secured to his right thigh. He wore fingerless gloves and carried a fully assembled M4A1 carbine in his hands with a familiarity that wasn’t lost on Jono. A few extra magazines were secured to his belt, and he carried a duffel bag over one shoulder big enough to hide the assault rifle in. The shoulder strap of a tactical vest peeked out from it.

  “This was the plan, remember?” Jono said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Personally, he’d rather spend Friday night working or at home with Patrick, not fighting to the death.

  “I still don’t like it.”

  Patrick came closer and dumped the duffel bag on the coffee table with a loud thump. Jono watched as he placed the assault rifle inside and zipped the duffel bag closed.

  “I’m the distraction.”

  “You’re the bait.”

  “That, too.”

  Patrick crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at Jono, brows furrowed. “You don’t have any backup.”

  “Now you know how I feel when you go haring off on your own,” Jono pointed out dryly. “And that’s a load of bollocks. I have you.”

  “I don’t trust Tezcatlipoca. If it was just Tremaine I wouldn’t be as worried.”

  “Makes two of us.” Jono got to his feet and moved around the coffee table to where Patrick stood. Jono curled a finger through a belt loop and tugged him closer. “There’s Fenrir if things go pear-shaped.”

  Patrick tilted his head back so he could look Jono in the eye, hands coming up to rest on Jono’s shoulders. “You can’t let him out. Word might get back to Estelle and Youssef, and we don’t want them to know about him yet.”

  “Word already is out. Lucien knows.”

  “And if he tries to use that against us I’ll kick his ass.”

  “You’re still in debt to him.”

  A fact Jono absolutely loathed and which Patrick waved off. “We succeed with this coup and give him Manhattan, then I’ll have kept my promise to him. Debt erased.”

  Jono kissed Patrick on the mouth, biting gently at his bottom lip before pulling away. “No more making deals with a devil unless Sage is the one working out the details.”

  Patrick hooked his hand around the back of Jono’s neck and drew him back down for a deeper kiss. Jono obliged, drinking in the taste of him until Wade interrupted them when he walked out of the bedroom.

  “Gross,” Wade said. “Stop making out where I can see.”

  Jono broke the kiss and rolled his eyes. “You can sod off if you don’t like seeing two blokes kissing.”

  Wade made a face. “I don’t care that you’re two guys. I just don’t like seeing adults make out. It’s like watching my mom kiss her boyfriend when she was still alive. No one wants to watch their parents make out.”

  “We aren’t your parents but guess that makes you a kid if you’re complaining about adults,” Patrick said.

  Wade scowled before slinking into the kitchen to open the cupboard Jono had stocked with a new supply of snacks. “I’m not a kid.”

  “Good to know since you’re coming with me.”

  “You sure about bringing him along?” Jono asked quietly, well aware Wade could still hear him.

  “I can’t leave him here alone, and Hermes took back the coin he’d left in Marek’s apartment. There’s no safety topside here for him, and Wade knows the way through those tunnels.” Patrick ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “It’s not my first choice. Believe me, if I could spare him this trauma, I would, but he agreed to come.”

  “After you pressured him.”

  The talk at Ginnungagap the other night had continued back at the flat. Jono thought at the time, and still did, that it was a bit too much manipulation happening on Patrick’s part toward Wade, but he’d held his tongue.

  Patrick winced. “I’m not proud about that, okay?”

  “Patrick asked, and I said yes,” Wade said as he came out of the kitchen with a Pop-Tart in one hand and crumbs on his lips. “That’s more autonomy than Tloque Nahuaque ever gave me.”

  “You know, you don’t have to call him by that title,” Patrick said. “Asshole works just fine. Also bastard and fucker, depending on your mood.”

  Wade shrugged and took another bite
of his Pop-Tart. Jono figured it would take a few therapy sessions before the teen would be willing to call Tezcatlipoca by any other name.

  Jono’s mobile buzzed on the coffee table and he leaned over to retrieve it. The text message from Sage informed him she was outside.

  “Ride is here.” Jono handed his mobile to Patrick since he wasn’t taking it to the club. “I need to go.”

  “You know the plan.”

  “You know you can use me for your magic,” Jono reminded Patrick. “I want you to.”

  Patrick pressed his mouth into a hard line before shaking his head. “I can’t.”

  “Sometimes we don’t get a choice. I’m telling you it’s okay.” Jono reached out and cupped Patrick’s face, stroking his thumb gently over the freckles on his cheek. “Don’t hold back tonight.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You never could, love. See you on the other side.”

  They didn’t say goodbye, a superstition Patrick clung to from his time in the Mage Corps that Jono was fine with adhering to. He just pressed one more kiss to Patrick’s willing mouth before leaving the flat for where Sage waited in her BMW on the street. He was surprised to see Marek keeping her company.

  “Ready?” Sage said as Marek opened the car door, a blast of cold air pouring out to mix with the summer heat. Marek moved the seat forward and climbed into the back, ceding the front to Jono.

  “Yeah,” Jono replied.

  Like Patrick, Sage was dressed all in black. Like Jono, she wore old clothes she wouldn’t mind losing when she shifted. Her thick hair was braided back to keep it out of her face. As soon as he closed the door and buckled up, Sage stepped on the gas pedal.

  Jono craned his head around to look at Marek. “Thought you’d be at home?”

  The color of Marek’s hazel eyes seemed more washed-out than usual. “I’ll drop Sage off at Ginnungagap after we take you to the Crimson Diamond.”