“Is it safe?” the man asked.
“Whatever happened here is over, but you’re not getting out of having your soul scoured clean.”
Someone pounding up the stairs made both Patrick and Bowden turn around. The panting agent who arrived on the landing waved at them. “Got a body in the wine cellar.”
“Westberg sure knows how to throw a party,” Patrick said. “Speaking of that guy, do we know where he’s at?”
“Not here,” Bowden said as they headed downstairs.
“His alibi is going to be interesting.”
Patrick was curious what sort of defense the guy would come up with to deny any involvement in whatever sort of ritual had happened in his hearth and home. Considering his platform, it wasn’t a good look politically.
They made it to the wine cellar by way of a door next to the pantry on the first floor. Wooden steps led down to a temperature-controlled cellar filled with racks of wine Patrick assumed were expensive. At the bottom of the stairs was a body burned beyond recognition, curled in the fetal position, and smelling like they’d been dead for at least a week.
Patrick made a face at the smell, motioning for everyone to get back upstairs. “We need to preserve the evidence and call in the Medical Examiner.”
“I can honestly say Westberg isn’t getting my vote,” Bowden said.
Patrick didn’t care about votes, just where the bastard was. “Call it in to the SAIC. I’m going to get an update on his whereabouts. We need to bring him in.”
He left the house and the lingering wrongness of the ritual on the third floor. He ducked his head against the wind and snow, jogging back to where Jono and Wade waited in the SUV. The engine had been turned off, but the heat charm he’d cast was doing its job when he opened the door.
“That was quick. Thought it’d be longer,” Jono said.
“Someone did a ritual of some sort, and there’s a dead burned body,” Patrick said as he yanked the door shut.
Jono handed him the car keys, and he shoved them into the ignition. “So they sacrificed someone?”
“Don’t know. The body was in the wine cellar, and the ritual happened upstairs.” Patrick took a deep breath before starting the engine. “I think they did something to Hannah.”
It was the only answer, because he couldn’t have felt the backlash in the ley lines unless he was tied to Hannah, who was the focal point of a spell.
Jono grimaced. “Can’t put that into the report.”
“Nope.”
“Any sign of Odin?”
Patrick ran the windshield wipers to clear off some of the snowfall before backing up. “Traces of a god, but I don’t know if it was Odin. Could’ve been Hel or Loki for all we know.”
“So are you done here if we’re leaving?” Wade asked.
“Weather is getting worse. I’m going to drop you guys off at the hotel while I figure out where the hell Westberg is. We need to bring him in for questioning.”
“You sure you don’t want us nearby?” Jono asked.
“You’re in Chicago. I can tap your soul from a couple miles.”
They’d worked on doing that in New York after Christmas. It was easiest when they were fighting together, but if Patrick was on the other side of Manhattan from Jono, he could still tap a ley line through Jono’s soul.
“If Westberg is a politician, will he ask for a lawyer?”
“Yeah.” Patrick frowned before digging out his cell phone and calling Setsuna. There weren’t that many people on the street in this area, not like downtown. “I might have a way around that.”
“Truth potion?” Wade asked.
“Those are illegal. And no, he’s already under investigation for a federal crime concerning souls. He can ask for a lawyer and keep his mouth shut all he wants, but I can get the dead to talk.”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“Not if the government is doing it.” The ringing in his ear cut off as the phone picked up. Patrick slowed a little as he turned right onto West Webster Avenue. “Line and location are secure.”
“As is mine,” Setsuna replied.
“Great. I need you to authorize a writ for habeus corpus et animum for me and push it through the courts.”
There was a pause before Setsuna sighed heavily. “You do understand how difficult it is to get a judge to sign off on something on a weekday much less on the weekend?”
“You sent me out to help investigate the Westberg case. He’s been dealing in souls; I’ve got a missing god we need to find and a dead body that might give us some answers. Will you authorize it?”
“Which god is missing?”
“Odin.”
Setsuna went quiet for a few seconds. Patrick kept his eyes on the snowy road while he waited her out. “You’re lucky Anika is back in DC. If Legal can convince a judge to sign off on the writ, she’ll be there tomorrow. I’ll need your affidavit for it.”
“I’ll get it to you within the next two hours. There’s a reactionary storm heading our way, and traveling isn’t easy.”
“Judges hate being woken up, especially on weekends. Try to get it to me soon.”
Setsuna ended the call as Patrick turned right onto North Clark Street. Wade leaned forward from the back seat, resting his forearms on both their headrests.
“Writ of what now?” he asked.
“We need to produce the body and soul of the dead guy we found in the house. Can’t do that without a necromancer,” Patrick said, eyes glancing at Wade in the rearview mirror. “Put your seat belt on.”
Wade stared at him with wide eyes. “A necromancer?”
“The federal government employs two and a soulbreaker. Put your seat belt on.”
Wade rolled his eyes and sprawled back on the seat, grabbing the shoulder strap of the seat belt. “It’s not like we’re going very fast. It’s snowing and you drive like an old—”
Patrick jerked the wheel to the left as hard as he could, the feeling of hell exploding through his magic and in the back of his throat as a blast of hellfire ripped through where they’d been driving. Wade tumbled into the back of his seat with a yell, one arm tangled in the seat belt he hadn’t been able to buckle as the SUV slid over snow and ice.
Patrick pumped the brakes, trying to regain control, when something heavy slammed into the SUV on the right side with a heavy crunch. The airbags deployed, keeping Patrick from breaking his nose on the steering wheel as powder floated through the air. The SUV was propelled across the center line and into oncoming traffic by the force of the hit—and kept going. The side wheels hit the curb, and the SUV tilted ominously before crashing onto its side. Patrick’s head knocked against the window hard enough to hurt, a twinge running through his neck as the SUV rolled onto its roof.
“Patrick!” Jono yelled.
“Ow!” Wade cried out. “Oh, shit!”
He blinked his eyes open, thighs slamming against the steering wheel and the seat belt holding him in place upside down. Patrick turned his head and watched as the four massive black, bloodstained paws of a hellhound landed on the snowy ground outside his cracked side window. A huge head swung down, fiery red eyes coming into view over a jaw that wouldn’t close properly over the fangs in its mouth.
“Fucking shit,” Patrick ground out right before he threw a bolt of raw magic at the hellhound through the window in an attempt to buy them all time to run.
15
Jono shifted claws out of his fingers and popped the airbags. The chalky taste of the deployment powder almost made him sneeze. He broke open the side passenger door with one strong shove of his hand, sending the door spinning into the street. He ripped his seat belt out of the vehicle’s framework, slamming one hand against the roof of the car as gravity pulled him downward. He used his other hand to rip apart Patrick’s seat belt, freeing the other man.
Fenrir howled through his mind as Jono hauled them both out of the SUV and into the cold snowstorm. The bitter scent of hell filled his nose, making him gag as t
hey staggered to their feet. Patrick’s magic pushed past him in a flash of pale blue light, surrounding them in a shield. The reprieve bought them time, but not much.
Jono punched a hand through the rear passenger door and ripped it off, tossing it away, then held his hand out to Wade. “Come on, mate. Let’s go.”
The teenager grabbed his hand in a bruising grip and scrambled out of the SUV, gold eyes wide in his face, red scales pushing through his skin. “What the fuck was that?”
Garmr, Fenrir snarled, the syllables buried so deep in growls that it took a couple of seconds for Jono to parse the name out and repeat it. “Garmr.”
“That’s not a name, that’s a sound,” Wade complained.
“He’s Hel’s hound,” Patrick said, two mageglobes spinning close to his elbow. He clutched his dagger in his right hand, skin reddened over his temple from the hit he’d taken during the crash.
“You all right?” Jono asked.
Patrick didn’t even look at him, eyes on the hellhound coming back their way. “Fucking peachy.”
The hellhound gape-grinned at them, black saliva dripping off its fangs to hiss and bubble on the snow beneath its mouth. Jono shrugged out of his jacket and grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanking it off.
“Tap a bloody ley line,” Jono growled right before he shifted forms.
Agony ripped through his nervous system before the pain receptors were turned off. The pressure of his body ripping itself apart over breaking bones to reset in a new form was a distant sensation. Thick fur sprouted through his skin as muscles reformed over new bones. His sight shifted from purely human to that of a wolf, the sharpness throwing the world into high relief.
When his nerves realigned, snapping on in his brain, Jono shook his wolf head to get rid of some of the blood from the shift and snarled a warning at the hellhounds closing in outside Patrick’s shield. The pull of the soulbond steadied before breaking open in a familiar way. The rush of magic was easier to ignore these days, the feel of it like fire in his chest.
“We need to lead them deeper into the park,” Patrick said. “We’re too close to civilians here.”
The snow coming down was enough of a deterrent to keep people inside, but it hindered a fast escape from the area. Cars had already skidded badly in the street to dodge theirs when it had crashed. Jono growled and stepped forward, putting himself in front of the other two.
“What do we do?” Wade asked.
“We run. You don’t shift.”
“But—”
“No, Wade. It’s too public here, and it’s the middle of the day. You can’t risk it.”
Wade didn’t argue, but Jono could smell his frustration. Jono never took his eyes off the hellhound that came to a stop outside the barrier of Patrick’s shield. Black lips pulled away from gray gums, revealing tarnished fangs.
“Be ready to run,” Patrick said.
Jono felt magic surge through his soul, spiraling down the soulbond into Patrick. A mageglobe streaked through the shield and slammed into Garmr again, sending the hellhound skidding backward, far enough to give them room to run.
Patrick took point and Jono took up the rear, keeping Wade between them. They left the wreck behind them for the snow-covered depths of Lincoln Park. Patrick’s magic cleared them a way through the circle of hellhounds, but that wouldn’t be enough to stop them.
My sister’s favored companion will not be evaded so easily, Fenrir said.
Then I’ll tear out his throat.
Garmr is not so easily killed.
Jono could feel the god seeping into his consciousness, clawing for control. He growled a warning, snapping in the direction of a hellhound that threw itself at Patrick’s shield as they ran. No. Let me have this fight.
Fenrir retreated in his mind, but not far, and Jono knew it was only a reprieve for however long the god granted him.
Lincoln Park was a sea of leafless trees and snowy ground. Patrick set off another mageglobe with a blast of magic that sent the hellhounds flying away from them. It gave them enough time to get over the first stretch of land before hitting asphalt again.
The street running through the park was empty. Up ahead were structures and a sign indicating the location of a Nature Boardwalk. No one was around, but continuing onward felt like a bottleneck.
“Is that a zoo?” Wade asked. “What if they eat the animals for snacks?”
“They won’t do that until after they eat us,” Patrick replied.
“I’m not gonna be dinner. What do we do?”
“You die,” a new voice said.
Patrick spun on his feet, raising his dagger in the direction of the newest threat. “Hades.”
Jono half turned, keeping himself between the other two and the god walking toward them. Hellhounds moved around his body in sinuous motion, the black animals with their fiery red eyes never looking away from their prey.
The Greek god of the Underworld wore a suit beneath a knee-length wool coat dusted with snow. His dark hair was stylishly trimmed, and his dark eyes stood out like holes in his corpse-pale face. Jono only vaguely recalled the god from his time as Ethan’s hostage on the sacrificial circle, but the threat was enough for Fenrir to take over.
Getting shoved to the side in his mind was never easy to accept. Losing control of his body always left Jono with a bit of hindbrain panic that Fenrir would never give it back. But the situation didn’t allow for dwelling on the unknown, just a threat.
“Cousin,” Fenrir said, the syllables coming out strangely in Jono’s wolf mouth, like the cracking of bones.
“You seem to be on the wrong side of the hunt, Fenrir,” Hades said.
“What did you do to Hannah?” Patrick demanded harshly.
Hades’ attention turned away from Jono and Fenrir to Patrick, the ugly hate in the god’s eyes making Jono want to raise his hackles. “I have done nothing to my daughter’s vessel, nor to her.”
“Bullshit. You only sold Macaria’s life to Ethan.”
Patrick held his dagger steady between them, his hair a mess. He’d lost the beanie in the crash, but not his nerve if his scent was anything to go by. The magic pouring through Jono’s soul and into the ring of mageglobes that flared to life around Patrick was a steady rush not commanded by fear.
Hades’ expression didn’t change, but the ozone scent spiked with a rage that tasted like how static felt when it hit Jono’s tongue. Fenrir moved his body to the edge of Patrick’s shield, eyeing the hellhounds that stalked around them in a circle for a moment. Jono wanted to track their movements, but Fenrir chose to focus on Garmr. Hel’s favored hound smelled electric, like the air after a storm.
Immortal, but no god, Fenrir told him.
Jono was never certain of the difference, but in a fight they were both dangerous. Fenrir pressed Jono’s snout against Patrick’s magic; the buzz of it echoed in his soul. With a snarl, they walked through the shield, the soulbond giving them a way through that wouldn’t tear down the shield and hurt Patrick. Being tied together made it easier, or maybe Fenrir did.
“You chose the wrong side,” Hades said, raising a hand to point in Jono and Fenrir’s direction. “And your vessel will pay for it.”
To that, Fenrir howled an unearthly challenge that drew the hellhounds to them in a pack of death Jono wasn’t afraid to face. Fenrir charged to meet them, though several were blown aside by the mageglobe Patrick threw at the pack. Fenrir kicked one in the throat with a hind leg before spinning to face Garmr’s advance.
Fenrir used Jono’s body like the weapon it was, sinking into a killing focus that left acidic blood strewn across the snow. It reminded Jono of the fight at the Gap of Dunloe in Ireland, when they faced off against Medb’s side. Less of the enemy, but the threat was the same.
Jono’s claws sank into burning flesh, the acid scoring his fur and skin before healing in seconds. Fenrir’s presence in him was enough to survive the sulfuric acid that gave the hellhounds life.
The attack aimed
at them by Hades was a different story entirely.
Jono and Fenrir saw the hellfire bomb flying toward them through the snow and had only a single second to twist out of the way. It scorched his fur as they retreated, the smell of burning fur reaching his nose. It exploded close by, sending dirt and snow and burning bits of flame into the air. The only reason they didn’t get a face full of hellfire was the shield Patrick erected between them and the bomb.
Fenrir launched them away from the epicenter and that wall of protection, dodging the fallout even as the hellhounds cut in close, surrounding them. Fenrir growled a furious warning—and the sound was echoed by the rumbling thunder of motorcycle engines.
The valkyries’ battle cries cut through the air with a shriek that would’ve made Jono’s ears twitch if he had control of his body. Fenrir snapped his teeth at the nearest hellhound, catching the edge of the beast’s jaw and tearing through muscle before he slipped out of reach.
Garmr howled a warning, head snapping from side to side as the hellhound tracked the valkyries driving toward them from both ends of the street. The other hellhounds joined the cry, and it was answered by the more familiar howls of wolves. The wind blowing strong over Lincoln Park carried with it the scent of pack and wolves. Dark streaks raced over the snowy ground from the north as werecreatures came to join the fight.
Best give me back control, Jono warned Fenrir.
There was a moment when he didn’t think the god would relinquish his body, but then control came back in a buzz of nerve connections that made Jono shake his great wolf head. He snapped his teeth together, shifting his position to be closer to Patrick and Wade where they still stood behind the shield.
Hades’ hands dripped hellfire, the snow around his feet having melted into a puddle that stained his Oxfords. The god stared at Patrick with so much hatred in his eyes that Jono wanted to shield Patrick with his body.
“You should have died,” Hades said.
“Talk to your wife,” Patrick shot back.
A blur of motion cut through the air. One of the hellhounds arched its back from the hit, a valkyrie’s spear protruding from its side. The valkyries were closing in, with Brynhildr leading one group and Eir the other. The motorcycles ate up the snowy ground easily, and before Fenrir relinquished his sight completely, Jono got a flash of winged horses overlaid on the vehicles the valkyries rode.
A Vigil in the Mourning (Soulbound Book 4) Page 21