All Souls Near & Nigh (Soulbound Book 2)

by Hailey Turner

  The fabric ripped as Tremaine blurred out of reach. Something wet trickled over Jono’s bottom lip, the taste of blood on his tongue. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, eyeing Tremaine as he mentally noted how fast the master vampire could move.

  Pretty fucking fast.

  But not fast enough to escape Jono’s claws.

  The thick black blood staining the edges of the torn dress shirt put them at a draw for first blood. Tremaine’s expression twisted into something monstrous, all vestiges of humanity leaving him as the master vampire crouched low to the dance floor.

  Jono widened his stance and braced himself for the next attack, anticipation thrumming through his veins. “Best get on with it. I don’t have all night.”

  In reply, Tremaine lunged forward, and Jono met him halfway with a snarl that was more wolf than human.

  18

  “I got you a train,” Casale said. “Special express, straight into crazy.”

  Patrick closed the car door and hiked the duffel bag higher onto his shoulder but didn’t head inside Ginnungagap. “I’m duly impressed with your bargaining skills.”

  “The MTA was a hard nut to crack, but they finally agreed. The train will stop at West Fourth Street-Washington Square Station twenty minutes after sunset. It’s a special, so look for that on the signs. Police will be on the platform to ensure only your group gets on. Detective Specialists Guthrie and Ramirez will be your contacts there. They will redeploy to Grand Central after you leave the station.”

  “The SOA has agents stationed at Grand Central as well. SAIC Ng is coordinating their defense. You should probably call him.”

  “We’ve been in touch. I’m providing a few officers, but the DEA is handling the majority of surveillance at the Crimson Diamond.”

  “I know,” Patrick said, thinking of the argument he and Quetzalcoatl had worked their way through over a conference call earlier in the day. “I already told Special Agent Delgado not to prematurely breach the club and to wait for my signal.”

  “If your signal is a destroyed building, you’re talking to the commissioner in my stead.”

  “I’ll give him my director’s direct number. Thanks for the train, Casale.”

  “I hope you’re wrong about this, but my gut says you aren’t. We’ll start closing stations as soon as we get word you’ve been dropped off in the restricted area.”

  “Understood. I need to go.”

  “Good luck.”

  Patrick ended the call, mind churning as he headed for the entrance to Ginnungagap in the alleyway. Wade was holding the door open for him, chewing on a granola bar and eyeing him worriedly.

  “I thought we weren’t bringing in the cops?” Wade asked.

  “Red tape is a bitch, and I want my ass covered.” Patrick shouldered past him and squinted through the bright light at everyone gathered in the center of the warehouse around construction tools. “Suck it up, Lucien, okay?”

  In response, Patrick found himself grabbed by the throat and slammed against the wall by the door, Wade’s frightened yelp ringing in his ears. Patrick’s head smacked hard against the wall, and he scowled through the pain.

  “Fuck, at least let me put on my hard helmet before you start knocking me around,” Patrick got out around Lucien’s heavy grip.

  Lucien was so close his face was a blur in Patrick’s eyesight. “I said no cops.”

  “We need the backup, and Quetzalcoatl agreed. You mind letting me breathe?”

  Lucien only tightened his grip until Patrick gagged.

  “Let him go.”

  The voice wasn’t familiar, but the electric recognition of a god burning through his magic was. Patrick looked askance at where Áłtsé Hashké stood so close he could reach out and touch the immortal if he wanted.

  Patrick kept his hands to himself. He wished Lucien would do the same.

  “This isn’t your business, Áłtsé Hashké,” Lucien warned.

  “It has been my business since Tezcatlipoca first started sacrificing werecreatures. Let Patrick go. The debt he owes us supersedes the one you brokered out of him.”

  Lucien loosened his grip by degrees but didn’t immediately let go. Patrick sucked in a breath around the fingers still wrapped around his throat.

  “The cops and the feds don’t know who you are, Lucien. I said I’d help you take over the Manhattan Night Court. You didn’t specify how,” Patrick said.

  “Details matter,” Sage said as she suddenly appeared by Patrick’s side, smiling grimly at Lucien right before she yanked the vampire’s hand off his throat. “Don’t touch him again.”

  Lucien didn’t seem put off by either Sage or Áłtsé Hashké. His attitude would be called careless in anyone else, but Patrick knew this was just the way Lucien was. The master vampire was capable of analyzing what happened around him, pick apart the weakness in everyone, and twist events to suit his exact purpose.

  Lucien wasn’t careless, he was calculating.

  Patrick rubbed gingerly at his throat as he bent down to retrieve his duffel bag from where it had fallen off his shoulder. “Admit it. The cops are a good idea.”

  “I won’t make a distinction of sides if they get in my way.” Lucien’s black eyes flickered between the three of them before he raised a hand and gestured sharply at the door. “We’re on a schedule. Get moving.”

  As much as Patrick would give anything to not be part of this coup, he had promises to keep, places to be, vampires to kill. His life could be called a lot of things but never dull.

  Sunset was five minutes in the past, but Lucien’s vampires were all fed and ready to fight. They gathered up the duffel bags containing their gear and filed out of Ginnungagap. Patrick raised an eyebrow at Áłtsé Hashké.

  “You coming?” he asked.

  The trickster god stroked a hand down the breastplate made out of white bone beads tied together by black leather strips. “I will see this to the end.”

  “Hate to break it to you, but the Fates can’t see that.”

  Áłtsé Hashké smiled, yellow eyes crinkling at the corners. “They are not my Fates.”

  Honestly, Patrick wished they weren’t his either.

  He corralled Sage and Wade, hustling them out of Ginnungagap after Lucien. Members of Lucien’s Anahuac Cartel, led by Sergio, were waiting for everyone out on the street in a line of SUVs two lanes deep that didn’t look suspicious at all.

  “It’s like they want to be noticed,” Patrick muttered under his breath.

  Sage huffed out a small laugh but kept her opinions to herself.

  Patrick hastily conjured up a mageglobe and cast a look-away ward over the area. Everyone was piling into the SUVs with their gear, all seats taken. Patrick found himself riding shotgun in an SUV with Sage, Wade, Irena, and a couple of cartel gang members. Their driver was a petite woman dressed like she was ready to rob a bank and take a selfie at the same time judging by her pristine makeup.

  He kicked absently at the duffel bag between his feet. Patrick didn’t know where Áłtsé Hashké wandered off to. The immortal didn’t join them in their chosen vehicle as the convoy of SUVs broke up to take different routes to the West Fourth Street-Washington Square Station. Patrick dropped his look-away ward as everyone drove off, drawing down his magic.

  Patrick tried not to think about Jono on the ride to their designated subway station, but it was a losing battle. Patrick resisted the urge to tug at the soulbond, not wanting to distract Jono in case he was in the middle of something important—like fighting for his life.

  He closed his eyes, unable to push aside the memory of what Jono had looked like walking out of the apartment without a backward glance. Jono had Fenrir’s support, but that wasn’t a forever guarantee, and Patrick knew how capricious the gods could be. Patrick had to believe Jono would survive whatever he would ultimately face at the Crimson Diamond.

  Maybe Jono is right. Next time we should stick together.

  Patrick didn’t know what he would do if Jon
o didn’t make it out alive tonight. His concern had nothing to do with the soulbond and everything to do with the fact that Jono was becoming important to him. Jono was a risk and a weakness in a way Patrick couldn’t bring himself to let go of.

  He opened his eyes, staring at the street. Patrick would deal with all the emotions Jono stirred up in him later, preferably when the other man was within reach to kiss.

  The convoy of SUVs reached the subway station in waves, with drivers stopping only long enough to discharge their passengers before continuing on. Patrick was leaving the SUV before it even rolled to a stop, hauling his duffel bag over his shoulder as he hustled to the sidewalk.

  A look-away ward could only hide so much, but Patrick cast one anyway. If word got back to Tremaine about their movements, it would hopefully be too late for the master vampire to react. Sage and Wade hurried after him, keeping pace. They made their way down into the subway, where a police officer from the SOA was posted at the fare gates.

  The officer took one look at them before rapping his knuckles against the bulletproof glass surrounding the booth agent. “Let them through.”

  Seconds later the faregates unlocked at the same time with loud ka-thunk sounds. Patrick and the others went through unimpeded while the officer kept a dozen general commuters back.

  “This isn’t staying undercover,” Sage mused on their walk down to the platform.

  “Biyu hacked the subway CCTV for this station and the train we’re taking. We aren’t being monitored,” Patrick said.

  Lucien’s hacker was holed up wherever his Night Court lay low during daylight hours. Patrick didn’t know where that place was and doubted he ever would. He just knew her job was to keep Lucien and his Night Court off the police’s radar as much as possible.

  “You are a lawyer’s worst nightmare, in case anyone hasn’t told you that lately.”

  “You’re not the first to say that.”

  As much as Patrick would have liked to abide by mortal laws, the gods and their expectations wouldn’t let him.

  True to Casale’s word, Allison and Dwayne waited for them on the subway platform, the two detectives eyeing the crowd.

  “Nice friends,” Allison said, arms crossed over her chest, badge prominently displayed on her belt.

  “We’re not friendly,” Patrick replied. “How long until the train arrives?”

  Dwayne looked at the watch on his wrist. “About five minutes.”

  “Great.”

  By the time the train in question was set to arrive, the platform was filled with everyone who had agreed to join the fight. Mixed in with the crowd were clusters of civilians who Allison and Dwayne made a point to speak to. Lucien and Carmen kept their distance from the detectives.

  The electronic signs overhead started to flash SPECIAL on their boards. The sounds of the subway train approaching filled the tunnel, the squeal of metal on metal echoing in his ears. A surprisingly short three-car train pulled into the station with a screech of brakes, rolling to the center of the platform.

  “This train is a Special for NYPD use only!” Dwayne called out loudly, cupping his hands around his mouth. “It will not be stopping at any station. Remain on the platform if you haven’t been cleared to board.”

  “Good luck,” Allison said as the train carriage doors opened up. “Don’t die.”

  “I don’t know if you’ve seen the odds but—” Patrick broke off with a grunt as Sage shoved him onto the first car of the subway train. “Rude. I was having a conversation.”

  “And now we are having a coup,” Sage responded calmly as she settled into a subway seat.

  The train lacked an operator, but the conductor opened his door and poked his head out, gaze landing unerringly on Patrick. “Hey. You. The redhead.”

  “Collins,” Patrick replied helpfully.

  “Whatever. I got orders to stop at a switch point and drop you off. This everyone?”

  “Yeah.”

  The man grunted. “Great. I’m closing the doors.”

  He ducked back into the control booth, and moments later all the doors slid closed. Patrick took a seat beside Sage and dropped his duffel bag between his feet. He unzipped it and started pulling out his field gear, strapping it on piece by piece. Armored joint pads for knees and elbows, a Kevlar-lined tactical vest streamlined for a breach procedure rather than patrol, a hard helmet, night-vision goggles, and his M4A1 carbine.

  He’d worn his dagger and tactical pistol out of the apartment, with the quartz crystal artifact tucked into his front pocket. The only other thing he carried was his phone and car keys secured in a pouch on his belt.

  Patrick took a moment to calibrate the ACOG scope on the rifle to his eyesight before clipping the strap to his tactical vest. The weight of the rifle was a comfort that steadied him in a way little else did these days except for Jono.

  The vampires in Lucien’s Night Court were donning their own gear, with several pulling on balaclavas, including Lucien. Considering the police force they might be dealing with at the end of the night, hiding their faces was a good decision.

  He leaned back and stared at the opposite window across the subway car. Hints of magic swirled at the peripheral of his vision as they passed through the tunnel. Wade sat on the other side of Sage, pale-faced and nervously tapping his fingers against his knees. The bulletproof Kevlar-lined vest he wore was almost too big for his skinny frame. Sage reached over and grabbed his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  “Hey. We won’t let anything happen to you,” Sage said.

  “They’ll know we’re coming,” Wade said quietly, sounding more like a child than a teenager.

  The fear in his voice, in his eyes, made Patrick feel guilty about dragging him down into this nightmare but not enough to leave him behind. Wade had wanted to come, but that didn’t make this situation easier.

  If he was a better person, maybe he would’ve put Wade’s trauma first. If they weren’t fighting against gods, then he could have. But weighed against a city of millions, one teenager’s shitty past wasn’t enough to make Patrick change his mind. In war, there was no such thing as the greater good, only good enough for now. Patrick couldn’t always be a good person.

  He hated that about himself sometimes, especially right now.

  “Probably,” Patrick said. “Doesn’t mean they’re prepared. And Sage is right. We’ll do our best to keep you safe.”

  Patrick could only hope Tremaine’s arrogance would leave them a couple desperately needed openings to take him down.

  The ride to the drop-off point was quick, with the train rolling to a stop before it entered the Spring Street Station. The doors opened, the darkness in the tunnel beckoning them forward. The conductor poked his head out of the booth again.

  “I’ll radio that you’re dropped off,” he said.

  Patrick flashed him a thumbs-up before tugging his NVGs over his eyes and leaving the train with everyone else. They walked forward down the track to where the headlights illuminated a set of rusted tracks curving off the main line. The tracks led into a separate tunnel walled off by an iron grate over the entrance, with a door built into it.

  When Patrick placed a gloved hand on the grate, magic flickered alive in the iron, protective wards that should have been whole but weren’t. He looked over his shoulder, the world tinged green through the goggles, but Lucien was easy enough to find.

  “The damage extends out here. I need to set the barrier ward at the source of the damage,” Patrick said.

  “Someone get us through,” Lucien ordered.

  Sage stepped forward and wrapped her fingers around the rusted lock and door handle. With a grunt, she broke it off, easily shattering the iron. The wards sputtered and sparked around the damage but didn’t lash out at her. It told Patrick in no uncertain terms the damage went deeper than was safe.

  With the way open, everyone continued on. Like Patrick, Sergio’s cartel members wore NVGs to help them navigate the darkness. The vampires, Sage, and
Wade didn’t need that kind of external help. The group walked nearly three-quarters of a mile down old rusted tracks through the dark, damaged magic scraping against Patrick’s shields with every step he took.

  When they reached the abandoned subway station, Patrick had to force his heart to remain steady, his mind flashing back to unwanted hands on his body and the way the world had tilted in the light of a thousand candles.

  Now, the candles were snuffed out, the altar where Santa Muerte had sat on her framed throne empty of the goddess. The flowers had all dried out to husks, the floral scent buried beneath the musty air that filled this area of the subway system.

  Patrick took it all in with clear eyes and mind. He reminded himself that he hadn’t died down here thanks to the god who sat in coyote form in front of the steel vault door that led to the heart of Tremaine’s Night Court.

  “Okay, someone needs to say it. This is too easy,” Patrick said.

  Lucien approached the vault door, assault rifle held in his hands. “Tremaine always had a blind spot when it came to his defenses.”

  “Like what? Not having enough?”

  “By thinking walls were enough on their own. I see no tripwires or bombs. He’s just barricaded his back door.” Lucien paused before shaking his head. “Ah. Stănileşti.”

  Einar looked at Lucien with a mildly disapproving expression on his face. “That was not one of your better plans.”

  Patrick dug out the quartz crystal from his pocket and gripped it tightly. “Care to explain to those of us who haven’t lived through history?”

  “The Ottomans won the battle with Russia, though not the war.”

  Carmen went to stand beside Lucien, studying the vault door. “Irena? Come take a look.”

  Irena came forward on silent feet, pacing back and forth in front of the vault. “Stainless steel and concrete make. Probably built into the surrounding support walls of the station. It can’t have a time lock on it if they use it on a regular basis or if it’s their bolt-hole.”