A Vigil in the Mourning

by Hailey Turner

  More spears cut through the air, one aiming for Hades’ heart. It never found its home, as the god stepped backward through the veil, gray fog swallowing him before the weapon ever reached him. Garmr snarled viciously before racing away from the fight, heading east around Patrick’s shield, and several hellhounds followed. Patrick stayed his hand due to the werecreatures that finally made it to their location, snarling and snapping at the few hellhounds who remained.

  Several valkyries launched themselves off their motorcycles, the vehicles driving out of range on their own. They landed in the midst of the hellhounds, the small group a whirlwind of violence, their spears cutting open the beasts with well-placed thrusts. Brynhildr drove around Patrick’s shield to pull the spear she’d thrown at Hades out of the ground, spinning it around with a practiced hand. Some of the werecreatures who had arrived gave her a wide berth.

  Brynhildr shoved her visor up. “We heard Garmr’s howl and came as quick as we could.”

  Jono shook snow and blood off his fur and changed back to human in a writhing twist of skin, bone, and muscles. Joints ground together and muscles snapped to attach to new locations. The colors of the world became slightly muted, the sharpness fading. Standing naked in the snow, Jono ground his teeth together against the chill that wanted to make them chatter.

  “They attacked us in the street,” Patrick said as he lowered his shields. He conjured a mageglobe and sent it toward Jono. The heat pouring off it was welcome. “I’m betting the cops will arrive soon, so all of you need to go. I’ll handle the authorities.”

  “What about the dead hellhounds?” Wade asked.

  Patrick grimaced. “Leave them. They’re evidence. I’ll burn them after we get crime scene pictures.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have much time for evidence gathering in this storm,” Jono said.

  Two of the werewolves started to shift as well, their bright amber eyes the only things staying the same from wolf to human. Like Jono, neither of them cared about being nude with an audience. Jono assumed they were Naomi White Hawk and Alejandro Perez, the god pack alphas Patrick had dealt with earlier in the week.

  “Our home is nearby. We can house you there,” Naomi offered. She nodded at Jono, meeting his gaze with a steady one of her own. “Jonothon. My dire told us you were in town.”

  “Naomi. Alejandro. Haven’t had a chance for a proper introduction. As you can see, we’ve been a bit busy,” he said by way of apology.

  “Killing hellspawn, dealing with dead bodies, trying to stay out of reach of the cops,” Patrick said pointedly.

  “We can escort all of you to your territory home,” Brynhildr said to Naomi. The god pack alpha’s expression never changed, but her scent took on a sharp, worried layer to it. Jono figured she and the rest of her pack had finally gotten a whiff of the immortals and didn’t know what to make of them.

  “Does that mean I get to ride a motorcycle?” Wade asked excitedly, practically dancing on his feet.

  “You’re still not allowed one when we get home,” Patrick retorted. “Now all of you, get moving.”

  “I don’t like leaving you alone,” Jono argued.

  Patrick glared at him. “I don’t want to have to explain your naked ass to the Chicago PD. I’ll be fine.”

  Knowing he didn’t have time to argue, and that they’d argued enough lately, Jono gave in. He curled his fingers over Patrick’s chin to tilt his head up for a quick, hard kiss. “Be safe.”

  Patrick smiled tightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid like last time I wasn’t around.”

  Jono fought back a wince at the reminder he still wasn’t entirely forgiven. Sighing, Jono stepped back. He, Naomi, and Alejandro wasted no time in shifting back to their werewolf forms. Jono was warmer once on all fours, shaking blood from the shift off his fur. He paused long enough to headbutt Patrick before nipping gently at his hand. Patrick scratched between his ears with gloved fingers.

  “I’ll find you after I deal with this mess,” Patrick promised.

  Wade brandished Jono’s phone and waved it at them. “You can call him. I saved his phone after he shifted.”

  Jono snorted, breath coming out in white puffs, grateful for Wade’s sticky fingers. He reluctantly walked away from Patrick to follow Naomi and Alejandro. Wade happily clambered onto a motorcycle, riding tandem with Eir and petting the motorcycle with a reverent hand. The motorcycle revved its engines without Eir’s hands on the handlebars, proving that what he’d seen in that split second during their charge hadn’t been a hallucination.

  The valkyries put away their spears in the same manner as they had at the bar, the weapons dangling once more from their throats before getting tucked beneath their clothes. Brynhildr let Naomi and Alejandro take the lead. Jono stayed on their heels, the trek through snowy Chicago a quick one. The Chicago god pack’s home was three blocks away from Lincoln Park, in a mansion that rivaled Westberg’s.

  Werecreatures stood guard outside the house in human form, and one took the stairs two at a time to open the front door. Jono followed Naomi and Alejandro up the stairs but paused on the porch to look back at where Wade was climbing off a motorcycle.

  “We must keep searching,” Brynhildr said from the street, her helmeted head turned toward him, the visor flipped up. She didn’t raise her voice, and Jono could hear her even through the wind.

  Jono nodded, then growled a warning at Wade when the teenager kept petting the motorcycle. Wade heaved out a sigh and jogged over to Jono, brushing snow off his shoulders as he climbed the stairs.

  “I still want one,” Wade announced.

  Jono nipped at his heels, gape-grinning at the squawk Wade let out before the teen hurried inside. Jono followed him, walking into a pleasantly warm home where other god pack members patiently waited in the living room with changes of clothes. Naomi and Alejandro were already human and getting dressed. Monica was there, and she arched an eyebrow as she held up a stack of clothes.

  “I have something for you to wear,” Monica said.

  Jono shifted back to human, going through the grinding change of bodies once more. When he was human again, he straightened up and took the clothes with a quiet “Cheers.”

  The tracksuit bottoms were a little short, hitting just above the ankles, and the T-shirt was tight across his shoulders, but Jono didn’t complain. He’d ruined his shoes during the first shift, but he’d packed an extra pair. Jono ran a hand through his hair before nodding at Wade.

  “Let me have my mobile,” Jono said.

  Wade handed it over only slightly reluctantly. His desire to steal and keep things that weren’t his for a hoard they had to clean out monthly was a habit Jono and Patrick still hadn’t gotten him to break.

  The front door slammed shut and a few more Chicago god pack members came into the living room. They spread out to keep watch, but none were blocking exits.

  “Weather is getting worse,” one of them said. “Doesn’t feel normal.”

  “It’s not. It’s a reactionary storm,” Jono said.

  Naomi frowned at him. “The news isn’t saying that.”

  Jono smiled thinly. “The news doesn’t want to incite panic.”

  “I’m hungry,” Wade announced.

  Jono sighed. “We need to get back to the hotel. I know the weather is shit, but could one of your pack members give us a ride downtown? I lost my sunglasses in the crash, and getting a taxi with my eyes is difficult enough without a blizzard in the mix, as I’m sure you know.”

  “Every god pack member knows. Will our people be safe if they take you back?” Alejandro asked.

  “I can’t make that promise. I don’t know what’s out there in the storm.”

  Alejandro and Naomi glanced at each other, having a silent conversation. Finally, Naomi nodded. “I’ll go. You stay.”

  “Take Monica with you,” Alejandro said.

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll go start the car,” Monica said.

&
nbsp; She was the only one who left. The rest of the Chicago god pack who were present in the home remained where they were. Naomi approached, absently braiding her long hair with quick fingers and tying it off at the end.

  “Patrick offered pass-through rights for any pack coming from Chicago who wanted to go to New York,” she said.

  “If that’s what he offered, then I’m in agreement,” Jono replied.

  “And what of Estelle and Youssef?”

  Jono gave Naomi a hard smile. “They want a fight, so we’re giving them one. Our pack might be small in numbers, but our alliances include the fae and every Night Court in New York City.”

  “Every Night Court?” Alejandro asked sharply.

  Jono nodded. “Yes.”

  Naomi eyed him. “You smell like truth.”

  “We’ve taken in the packs who’ve left Estelle and Youssef’s protection, and we’re doing our best to keep them safe. We’ll do the same for whoever comes through our city from yours.”

  “There is a pack who settled here five years ago from New York. Fifteen people who uprooted their lives came to us and asked for permission to stay and for protection. They didn’t trust the god pack alphas they left behind,” Alejandro said.

  “I wouldn’t have either. I came to the States about four years ago, and I didn’t care for how Estelle and Youssef handled things then or now.”

  “But they let you stay as an independent?”

  “They didn’t have a choice.” At Alejandro’s dubious look, Jono continued with “A seer brought me over from London. I got to stay because Estelle and Youssef couldn’t say no to the government.”

  “You’re going to have a war,” Naomi said.

  “We already have one, but my pack isn’t backing down. Too many people will be hurt if we do.”

  Naomi and Alejandro were silent for a few seconds before she waved at him to follow her. “Come on. Let’s get you back to the hotel.”

  Jono looked over at where Wade had oh so casually been perusing the mantle over the fireplace, noticing that half the knickknacks that had been there were now gone. He sighed. “Put them back, Wade.”

  “But they’re shiny,” Wade protested.

  “And they’re not yours, mate.”

  Wade scowled and sulkily pulled out at least ten knickknacks from his pockets and set them back on the shelf. “They could be.”

  Jono shook his head before offering Naomi and Alejandro his apologies. “Sorry about that. Wade was a pickpocket in a past life, and it’s been tough breaking him of that habit.”

  “I think you mean current life,” Wade muttered.

  The pair eyed Wade a little warily before Alejandro snorted. “A pack under our protection said they’d seen a dragon at the cemetery the other night. We thought they had to be mistaken, or it was an illusion.”

  Jono didn’t say anything into the silence that followed, and Wade thankfully kept his gob shut. Naomi smiled slightly at their reticence but didn’t seem annoyed.

  “Let’s get you to your hotel,” she said.

  Naomi waved at them to follow her out of the home. Jono settled a hand on Wade’s shoulder and steered him toward the front door and back out into the cold. The snow beneath Jono’s bare feet was icy.

  “Thanks for your help today,” Jono said once they were in the back seat of Naomi’s car.

  She looked at him in the rearview mirror, amber eyes bright in her face. “The attack happened in our territory. We would have come no matter who was in trouble, but I’m glad it wasn’t Estelle and Youssef. I don’t like what I’ve heard about them.”

  Jono didn’t blame her. If Estelle and Youssef ever needed his help, he’d never give it, not for all the money in the world.

  16

  “Arresting me in front of my colleagues was uncalled for,” Dean Westberg snapped furiously when Patrick entered the interview room.

  “You weren’t arrested. You were just advised to come quietly to sort things out. It’s not our fault you had the press there documenting the dinner,” Patrick said.

  Patrick sat down across the table from Westberg and his lawyer, Peter Stefan Mathys, a man whose tailored suit couldn’t completely hide the gut he was sporting. Mathys had used all three names whenever he introduced himself to anyone after arriving. The condescending way he looked down his nose at Patrick wasn’t unexpected, though it was irritating. Over the years, Patrick had dealt with lawyers who weren’t that great at their jobs and others who based their worth on their over a thousand dollars an hour rate. Mathys was definitely in the latter group, and possibly in the former.

  Either way, Patrick hated dealing with lawyers.

  “The SOA would like to know where you’ve been for the past two weeks?” Patrick asked.

  “Don’t answer that. You’re under no obligation to answer any of their questions if they haven’t charged you with anything,” the lawyer said.

  Patrick opened up the file folder he’d brought with him and thumbed through a couple of crime scene photographs that had been rush developed for this interview. He slid one of the burned body in the wine cellar across the table for them to look at.

  “We found a body in your home today, Mr. Westberg. The press staked out your Lincoln Park address for the entire time it took the SOA to process your house. Now, I’m not saying you killed the guy, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t the kind of story you wanted in the news in the final stretch of your campaign.”

  Westberg’s gaze stayed locked on the picture, even when his lawyer picked it up to review more closely.

  “I had nothing to do with that. My Lincoln Park property isn’t big enough for the events I needed to put on for my donors. My wife and I have been staying at our Gold Coast mansion,” Westberg said.

  “Hope your other property isn’t hiding any more dead bodies.”

  “If you want to search my client’s homes, you’ll need to get a warrant,” Mathys snapped.

  “Fine. We’ll look into that. I still need your whereabouts for the past two weeks.”

  Mathys opened his mouth, but Westberg lifted his hand in a wordless shut up gesture the lawyer surprisingly obeyed.

  “If you’re asking me to account for every single minute between now and whenever this person died, then I should simply forward you the itinerary Kristen gave me. I’ve been scheduled to be somewhere practically every hour of the day for the past two weeks.”

  Patrick tried not to react to the assumed identity of a goddess he was pretty sure was Hel. Tracking her down was turning into a wild goose chase according to the SOA agents assigned that task. Kristen Lief was nowhere to be found at the moment.

  “Except you missed a day, didn’t you? You made up for it at the senior brunch this past week that should’ve happened last week. What day was that again?” Patrick asked.

  Westberg’s eyes narrowed. “Rescheduling events happens during a campaign.”

  “Sure, but I have a dead body and you have a period of time you’re unaccounted for.”

  “You have no proof my client has done anything wrong. If you did, you would have arrested him, or the Chicago PD would have. We’ll be leaving now,” Mathys said.

  Patrick watched both men stand up, not moving from his own seat. “Someone performed a ritual in your home, Mr. Westberg. There was no sign of forced entry, but they left behind a spell that would’ve resulted in the very messy death of anyone who crossed it. I was under the impression you didn’t care for magic.”

  “How dare you imply I’ve hired someone to use magic on my behalf in my home,” Westberg spat out. “I don’t care what other people do in their lives, but magic goes against my faith. Perhaps your time would be better spent investigating the pro-magic groups who’ve harassed my family since I entered the race. I wouldn’t put it past any of them to break into my home and desecrate it as they’ve done.”

  “If that’s the case, send me your itinerary.”

  Tracking down all the people they would have to interview to corroborat
e his locations for the past two weeks was a headache Patrick thankfully wouldn’t have to share alone. The SOA was throwing more agents at the Westberg case than they had been now that a murder had hit the news. Patrick was curious about the spin Westberg’s campaign would use to try to distance him from the mess.

  Mathys shot Patrick a dirty look. “Get a subpoena. If you aren’t charging my client with anything, then we’re done here.”

  Mathys gestured for Westberg to precede him out of the room. Patrick didn’t bother calling them back. He gathered up the photograph and sorted it back into the file. He carried the documents out of the room with him. A junior agent was seeing Westberg and Mathys out, but since Patrick was heading up to see SAIC Andrew Dabrowski, they all had to wait for the elevators for an uncomfortable minute.

  Patrick’s came first, and he took it up, stopping at a couple of floors along the way to let other people off. Despite it being late in the afternoon on a Saturday, Dabrowski hadn’t gone home. He’d stayed after the backlash on the ley lines to coordinate the SOA’s response to the threat. Patrick didn’t have to resort to a phone call, merely knocked on the already open door before heading into the SAIC’s office.

  “Westberg and his lawyer left. They claim his whereabouts can be accounted for in the last two weeks. He missed an event last week that was rescheduled for this week. It’ll be interesting what excuse he comes up with,” Patrick said.

  Dabrowski frowned. He looked better than he had earlier but still tired. “We’ve notified the attorney general’s office about what’s happened. Considering the other case in the pipeline, we couldn’t keep this information from them.”

  “Too bad we couldn’t keep it from the news.”

  “Or your fight with hellhounds in Lincoln Park. I heard you declined a ride to the hospital.”