Odin didn’t immediately answer and took his time choosing which piece of prime rib he wanted, slathering it with horseradish once it was on his plate. A waiter came over from the bar with an open bottle of what Patrick thought was wine, but turned out instead to be mead. It looked like liquid gold when poured into the wineglasses. Patrick waved off a pour for himself and Wade.
“It’s rude to decline an offer from the gods,” Frigg said mildly.
“My track record isn’t great with your kind, and Wade is underage. We’ll stick with water.”
“My son brews it locally at Eiketre. It is offered at every bar in this city,” Odin said.
“I don’t drink while working a case.”
Which wasn’t exactly true, but no way was Patrick willing to deal with gods while impaired in some way. The last time he’d done that, he’d ended up with a soul debt.
“You might be better company if you did.”
Odin raised his glass at Patrick in a mocking manner before taking a sip. Patrick dug his fingers into his thighs, trying to ground himself. “The Morrígan’s staff. Where is it?”
“You expect me to know where something not of my own kind’s making is?”
Odin’s derision came through loud and clear, but Patrick pressed on anyway. “Medb left it in the mortal world. We’ve been trying to find it before the Dominion Sect does. Our intelligence says they’re in town, so there’s a good chance the staff is as well.”
“Your mistakes aren’t mine to care about.”
“They will be if Ethan gets his hands on that staff and turns himself into a god.”
Odin set the wineglass down, half the mead gone. “The Morrígan’s staff cannot turn someone into a god. You need prayers and sacrifices for that.”
Patrick bit down on the inside of his cheek before releasing it. “Ethan has the Dominion Sect to pray for him and control of Macaria’s godhead.”
“What is left of it,” Heimdallr replied.
Patrick turned his head to look at the other god. “You’ve seen her?”
“Years ago, when you were but a child still before Hades hid her from my sight, and again last summer.” Heimdallr looked thoughtfully at Patrick before shaking his head. “Macaria’s godhead has driven your sister mad. What’s left of your sister’s soul is not worth saving.”
Patrick’s lungs locked up, his ears ringing at those words. He’d known ever since the Thirty-Day War that Hannah was lost to him, but some tiny shred of him always thought there could be a chance to save her. That the sister he’d loved for eight years before Ethan did the unthinkable could be pried free of Macaria’s godhead.
But human souls were never meant to carry such power, no matter how weak a god was from lack of prayers and worshippers and being forgotten by the world at large. These days, Hannah was just a vessel for their father’s machinations, a battleground for a future no Fates of any pantheon could see.
Patrick forced himself to take a breath, air whistling past his lips and teeth. “You’re the head of your pantheon. Ethan has a known track record of coming after gods in your position.”
“Let him,” Odin said with a disdainful twist of his mouth. “I fear no mortal.”
“He stole a godhead and carries its power in a mortal body for his use. Few have been so bold in the millennia we have walked Midgard,” Frigg reminded her husband.
“And they will die because of it.”
“The Norns wouldn’t have sent me here to help you if they didn’t think there was a legitimate threat. If you know where the Morrígan’s staff is, that would be reason enough for Ethan to come after you,” Patrick said.
“If I knew where the Morrígan’s staff was, I would retrieve it and carry it home to my cousin.”
Patrick very much doubted Odin would be that generous. “If you don’t know its exact location, then do you know how to find it? General Reed seemed to think your human identity had information we could use.”
Odin smiled, his one gray eye reflecting the light shining down on them. “We are in Chicago. You must know a city such as this is built on favors and promises.”
“And money, I assume.”
Odin leaned back in his seat and gestured expansively with one hand at the empty restaurant around them. “A mayoral candidate is scheduled to hold a fundraiser dinner here this weekend. He will not be the only one to come into my abode and ask a favor. The name I am known by in this city is one that cannot be ignored if you wish to do politics here. The old way of tithing has been lost to history, but we’ve found other avenues to gain prayers.”
Patrick grimaced. “That’s blackmail.”
“It is only blackmail if you can prove it.” Odin pinned Patrick with a look that cut straight to his soul, making cold sweat slide down his back. “I do not fear the Dominion Sect. The Norns have not seen the future since Persephone offered you a choice, but the blindness runs both ways. The Moirai and those gods who ally themselves with Ethan will fight for a future that is not guaranteed, the same way we must. The only way to lay claim to it is to kill your past.”
Frigg pushed her chair back from the table and stood. “Let me show you to the door. I believe the rain has stopped.”
Patrick stood, tugging at Wade’s arm to get him up as well. “Let’s go.”
Odin’s searing gaze was one Patrick could not meet. “Remember what I said. You owe a duty to us.”
“I was dying as a child and didn’t know any better.” Patrick turned away from the table, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets to hide how they shook. “We all make mistakes.”
Frigg led the way to the doors of the restaurant, the front-of-house area now empty of workers. She came to a stop with one hand resting on the door handle, studying Patrick with kind blue eyes he didn’t trust.
“My husband believes nothing can touch him in this city that belongs to us,” Frigg said.
“I always wondered why Chicago politics and the general state at large were so corrupt. It makes sense now,” Patrick said. “Also the homicide count.”
Frigg’s mouth twitched downward at the corners ever so slightly. “War exists in all places.”
“Yeah, but a war god exacerbates it.”
“Do you truly believe Odin is a target?”
Patrick shrugged. “Ethan went after Ra and Zeus. What makes you think he’d stop at two when there are hundreds of myths in the world to steal a godhead from? You and Odin aren’t subtle with your whole pay-to-play scheme going on here.”
“It is our right to survive.”
“At the expense of everyone else?”
Frigg pushed open the door, letting in a cold breeze that didn’t seem to bother her at all. “I worry for my husband. He thinks his ravens can keep him safe forever.”
“Why?”
“Muninn and Huginn hear all thoughts and carry all memories to Odin’s ears. They can remove what knowledge Ethan has gained about godheads and bring it to Odin for safekeeping.”
Personally, Patrick wouldn’t trust a god with anything like that. “Then why the fuck do you need me if you have them?”
“Because the Dominion Sect and the gods of all the hells keep Macaria and Ethan hidden the same way we gods of the heavens endeavored to keep you safe as you grew to adulthood. With the way Ethan is bound to your twin and Macaria, erasing his memory risks erasing Macaria’s existence. Persephone will never allow it.”
“But she’ll allow his death.”
“Death severs all bindings. It is the way of things.” Frigg nodded at the exit and the cars passing on the street beyond it. “The storm has passed, but I feel another is brewing. Odin may be cavalier about his safety, but I never have been. You should visit his son at Eiketre.”
“You know, I actually do have a case I need to work on here. Making stops at bars while on the clock isn’t a good look.”
“Then go after your work is finished, but you will go.”
The firmness of her words told Patrick arguing would be a lost
cause. Patrick scowled as they left Au Hall behind, ducking his head against the fierce wind. Wade kept pace as they hurried down the block for the underground entrance that would lead back to the parking garage.
“What now? Are you going to the bar?” Wade asked.
Patrick sighed as they descended into the slightly warmer underground area, trying to ignore the headache growing behind his eyes. “Eventually. I need to set up a meeting with the SAIC out here about Westberg first.”
“Are you going to tell them his campaign manager is a god in disguise?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because most people don’t believe in gods, and I tend to not trust anyone in the SOA out of principle.”
“Is that why you brought me along?”
Patrick glanced over his shoulder at the dark-haired teen. “You’re pack, and I trust you.”
Wade seemed pleased about that. “Does that mean I’m going to the SOA with you?”
“No. You’re going back to the hotel where you’ll stay put this time and do some homework.”
Wade groaned. “That’s not fun.”
“Work never is. Welcome to adulthood.”
“Adulthood sucks. I want to return it.”
Patrick snorted out a tired laugh. “You and me both.”
8
“How are things in Chicago?” Jono asked, pressing the mobile tight to his ear. He peered out the front door of the ground-floor landing in their building, eyeing everyone milling about on the pavement.
“A mess, like usual. I’m going to be here at least through Sunday,” Patrick replied. He sounded annoyed and tired, but with no underlying hint of pain. Jono had gotten adept at parsing out the tone of Patrick’s voice when he was trying to hide a wound.
“Do you think you’ll come home next week?”
“Depends on what happens with the case.”
Jono didn’t ask, well aware of Patrick’s reticence to speak about anything work related over an unsecured line. “I’m about to head out to work. Ring me later?”
“Always.”
“Love you.”
“Stay safe.”
Patrick ended the call, and Jono shoved the mobile into his back pocket before opening the front door. He ducked his head against the cold wind and jogged to where everyone was gathered on the sidewalk. Slowing to a stop, he turned around and stared at the building.
“Is this really necessary?” Jono asked after a moment.
“Yes,” Sage replied flatly.
“Did you talk to our landlord?”
“Gargoyles are allowed to choose what building they want to live on and the owners have to let them. Most people consider their presence an asset to the property value,” Tiarnán said.
Jono eyed the trio of gargoyles sniffing about the front of the building, their stone bodies moving with a surprising smoothness as they searched for the best perches. “They eat pigeons and leave feathers everywhere.”
“They also eat vermin.”
“Does that include trespassing werecreatures?” Marek wanted to know.
Tiarnán’s violet-eyed gaze was steady when he turned to look at Jono. “They don’t care for the taste of your kind’s blood. They’ll tie themselves to the building’s thresholds and settle in tonight. As guards, there are none better for living in a city.”
“If you say so,” Jono said, though he wasn’t sure if their neighbors in the building would appreciate the new arrivals. He wasn’t sure how Patrick would like their presence either.
But as Sage had said, Patrick wasn’t here, so it was his decision to make, and he knew better than to stand in Sage’s way when it came to legally protecting their pack.
“Right, that’s sorted then.” Jono extended his hand toward Tiarnán. “We appreciate you letting the gargoyles know the building had room for them.”
They might have an alliance with the fae, but Jono still knew better than to outright thank them. Tiarnán grasped his hand in a strong grip. “I hope they serve you well.”
The fae lord returned to his town car after the handshake. The dwarf driver chauffeuring him about barely waited for the door to shut before pulling onto the street and driving away, taillights bright in the darkness.
“Shall we?” Sage asked, hiking her tote bag higher on her shoulder.
Jono nodded. “Let’s get this over with.”
“I still think I should go with you,” Marek said.
“If things go tits up, I’d rather not have to worry about your safety. We’ll ring you when the meeting is over.”
Marek made a face but didn’t argue. Sage had already laid out the reasons he was staying behind before handing him her engagement ring for safekeeping. In the event she had to shift tonight, she hadn’t wanted to lose it. She kissed Marek briefly on the mouth before following Jono to the Mustang.
“I’m driving,” Sage told him. “Did you take your potion?”
Jono refrained from rolling his eyes, but just barely. He was halfway finished with the medicine Victoria had given him, which she knew. “Yes, mum.”
“Hilarious. Get in the car.”
Jono got into the front passenger seat, clenching his teeth against the dull throb in his ribs. The potions were doing their job; he just wished they’d work faster. Jono felt better, but the wound was only halfway healed, though the flulike symptoms had mostly abated. He felt weaker than usual, a fact he knew Lucien would exploit if the master vampire found out.
His only recourse would be Fenrir, and while Lucien knew about his animal-god patron, Jono didn’t want to give over his body to the immortal in a fight with the vampire. Fenrir might opt to murder the arsehole, and that would make a mess of the Night Courts in New York City.
If Patrick came home to the vampires at war with them, Jono really would be sleeping on the sofa.
Emma and Leon followed them to Ginnungagap, refusing to let any car merge between them. They crossed through several known pack territories, none of them friendly, but didn’t stop. The borders that touched up against Lucien’s surrounding Ginnungagap were always fluctuating and continually growing in Lucien’s favor as his Night Court kept making bloody excursions into pack territory.
The warehouse-turned-club in the Meatpacking District was popular these days with a younger crowd who enjoyed taking a walk on the dark side. Finding street parking, even on a Thursday night, was a crapshoot. The alleyway between the warehouse and the next building doubled as parking in a pinch, and that’s where Sage steered them. The Mustang’s headlights flashed over a familiar motorcycle before they went out.
“Do you want my pendant again?” Sage asked, one finger hooked over the platinum chain.
Jono shook his head. “I can’t hide here.”
Sage only nodded and didn’t question his decision. They both got out of the car, the sound of the doors closing echoing in the cold air.
Emma tucked her hands into her puffer coat, her thick hair tied back in a loose fishtail braid. “This place always gives me the creeps.”
“Let’s get inside,” Jono said.
They walked toward the mouth of the alleyway and turned onto the block, passing the queue of people waiting to get into Ginnungagap. Despite the chilly night, most everyone was in club clothes. Jono remembered how that was, queuing up for the clubs back in London that would actually let him inside. With his eyes, it was impossible to hide what he was, and he’d had too many doors over the years slam shut in his face.
The ones to Ginnungagap opened for them, the human servant manning the entrance well aware of who they were and that they were expected.
“VIP section,” the man told them in a low voice. “Our master is waiting.”
Jono ignored the quiet grumblings from those in the queue who were pissed he and his friends were allowed entry without being dressed smart. Jono squared his shoulders and steeled himself to step into the club.
What lived inside the walls of Ginnungagap hadn’t changed since the first
time Jono had stepped foot in it. Whatever power resided here always made his skin crawl whenever he crossed the threshold. The noise of the club that had sounded muffled on the pavement was loud enough now to make his ears ring until he dialed down his hearing.
They came into the security foyer where human servants handled payment for the cover charge and the checking of any holy items behind a warded and bulletproof window. Jono shook his head, distracted by the unceasing, rumbling growl Fenrir was giving off in his mind. It didn’t feel like a warning, but a welcoming, and Jono didn’t like that at all.
“I should be at the office,” Sage said as they bypassed security and entered the club proper.
“You could’ve stayed and kept working on your motion,” Jono said easily enough.
“And let you argue your way through a bargain alone? Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m thrilled you trust me so deeply.”
Sage rolled her eyes, the only visual cue of her annoyance as the flashing lights from the club skimmed over her face. “I trust you. I don’t trust Lucien.”
“Makes all of us,” Leon agreed.
Jono nodded toward the stairs at the rear of the club that led to the VIP mezzanine level. “Let’s get this over with.”
Getting through the crowd of dancing, drinking clubgoers took a couple of minutes. Not everyone was human, and the multiple scents that assailed Jono’s nose made him grimace. Sage remained on his right, guarding his weak point, refusing to let anyone get close enough to touch.
The undead scent of vampires permeated the air and walls, leaving a disgusting taste in the back of his throat every time he breathed. Jono tracked half a dozen vampires in the crowd who only had eyes for his small group. He didn’t trust any of them, didn’t like being surrounded, but this wasn’t his territory. He had no power here but what he’d pry out of Lucien.
And Jono wasn’t leaving without a promise of an alliance.
Carmen met them at the bottom of the stairs leading to the VIP section, wearing a dress that was little more than a negligee. The red silk edged in black lace matched her pupils and hair, though she still kept most of her glamour intact. The bruise on the side of her throat was the perfect shape of Lucien’s messy, jagged fangs. Vampire fangs as a whole weren’t neat and orderly, and they used all of them to access the blood of their victims. Carmen and the human servants never seemed to mind the bruises and scars left behind.
A Vigil in the Mourning (Soulbound Book 4) Page 11