A Vigil in the Mourning

by Hailey Turner

  Hannah was dressed in casual clothes not fit for winter, and her red hair, once tangled and long, had been shorn up to her shoulders. Patrick didn’t have to think very hard about what spell Ethan would’ve used her hair for.

  There’d been idols and a sacrifice and prayers to a god for a reason.

  Hannah said nothing, but her intent was communicated through the burning magic that poured from her fingertips, the power of a nexus cradled in her body and soul from a godhead aching to be freed.

  Patrick had no hope of containing Hannah and the godhead trapped in her soul—not here, not now. Persephone could want Macaria back all she liked, but Odin was Patrick’s priority right now, and he clung to that mission with every last bit of him.

  Bleeding fingers included.

  Patrick threw himself off Yggdrasil’s branch, reaching for the rope Odin hung from with his one free hand. The spell meant to kill him burned through the space Patrick had been standing in, charring leaves to ash as gravity pulled him down.

  Patrick got his fingers around the rope, and momentum had him crashing into Odin’s body. They swung there in the open air like a pendulum, and Patrick found himself staring into Odin’s eyes.

  They blinked back at him.

  Patrick bit back a yell of surprise and tried to ignore the way the rope was shredding his palms. Planting one foot against Odin’s chest, he levered himself upward and pressed the edge of the dagger blade against the rope. White heavenly fire flickered in its depths, along with countless silvery words giving voice to the prayers that shaped the weapon.

  He didn’t bother with sawing through the rope, just put his strength and the dagger’s magic behind the blade to cut through the fibers with a single slice.

  The rope separated and Patrick was weightless for not even half a second before they plummeted to earth.

  I didn’t think this through.

  Patrick and Odin fell through snow and wind and bursts of magic—landing not on the ground, but caught by Brynhildr.

  Patrick slammed against the back of Dynfari behind Brynhildr, the valkyrie’s free hand snapping out to grab him by his leather jacket to steady him. Patrick reflexively tightened his grip on his dagger as Odin’s weight where it swung in the air nearly pulled his left arm out of its socket.

  “Shit! Shit!” he cried out as he scrambled to not fall off the pegasus or let Odin’s body go.

  “Hold on!” Brynhildr yelled.

  “I’m fucking trying!”

  The ground rushed up to meet them. When they were close enough he didn’t think any bones would get broken, Patrick let go of Odin. The god’s body thumped to the earth. Patrick’s entire body jostled hard when Dynfari’s hooves hit the ground, nearly biting through his tongue.

  Patrick slid off the pegasus to the ground on shaky legs. He stumbled over to where Odin lay sprawled in the snow, unmoving save for his eyes that still slowly blinked, the noose still tight around his throat. Patrick’s hands throbbed, wood from Yggdrasil buried deep in his skin and the meaty flesh of his palms. It wasn’t enough to stop him from undoing the noose and tossing it aside. He hooked his arms beneath Odin’s shoulders and hauled the god off the ground with a grunt.

  “Brynhildr!” Patrick yelled. “We need to get him out of here!”

  The howling of hellhounds made Patrick swear loudly as Brynhildr urged Dynfari closer.

  “The Allfather is not dead,” Brynhildr said.

  She didn’t sound relieved, and Patrick didn’t know what to make of that. “That’s the whole point of this rescue mission, right? Save the god, save the world?”

  Brynhildr didn’t blink when she said, “Is it?”

  “Fuck you gods and your riddles.”

  Snow swirled faster around them as Hinon and Eir descended, landing nearby. Hinon’s wings were like an electric storm that Patrick didn’t want to get close to.

  Eir dismounted Töfrandi and hurried over to them. Her spear was coated in blood, but none of it seemed to be hers. “Let me aid you.”

  Patrick looked over at Hinon. “Hades?”

  “He retreated to Zachary’s side. I felt it prudent not to engage them further when you had need of me,” Hinon said.

  “Ethan?”

  Hinon shook his head. “I have not seen him.”

  Patrick’s gaze cut away to the vast darkness of Lake Michigan and the corpses clawing at the shore. They weren’t zombies risen from their graves, but the damned who were granted no surcease from torment. The veil was still tangled between where they were in Niflheim and the mortal world where the fight was happening in.

  The spell they all stood on wasn’t complete because Odin wasn’t dead yet.

  They still had time to save Odin, but they needed more help than what they had because Patrick could see hellhounds in the distance, running toward them.

  “Wade said he saw something in the Chicago River earlier,” Patrick shouted at Hinon to be heard over the wind. “There’s a monster in the lake. Can you lead it to us?”

  Hinon spread his wings wide and nodded grimly. “If it is Oniare, I will bring him to you.”

  He flapped his wings and threw himself back into the sky with a thunderous boom.

  Between Eir’s strength and Patrick’s stubbornness, they got Odin slung over Töfrandi’s back. Then he and Eir climbed up as well, and the pegasus snorted at the extra weight. Eir patted his neck with a comforting hand.

  “It will be over soon,” she said.

  That sounded a little too final for Patrick’s taste. He looked over at Brynhildr, the valkyrie still astride Dynfari, but with her back to them as she faced the oncoming horde of hellhounds, spear resting across her shoulders. Wind tugged at her blonde braids, her biker clothes streaked with blood and snow.

  “Ride,” Brynhildr said, her aura shining like a star around her. “I will hold them back.”

  “You can’t do it alone,” Patrick protested.

  Brynhildr turned her head just enough to smile at him, sharp and vicious against the light of Yggdrasil. “A valkyrie is never alone.”

  Patrick blinked, glancing at the sky. “Right.”

  “Make sure your aim is true, Patrick. There is only ever one way this story ends.”

  Brynhildr faced forward again and let out a bloodcurdling war cry that echoed in the storm—a call to arms that would not be ignored. The oncoming horde of hellhounds led by Garmr met that challenge with vicious howls of their own even as more valkyries flew to answer Brynhildr’s call, their presence in the sky backlit by lightning.

  Eir obeyed her commander and urged Töfrandi to turn around. The pegasus galloped away from the fight to pick up speed, wings beating hard to gain altitude. Brynhildr’s words echoed in Patrick’s ears as he wrapped his aching arms around Eir’s waist.

  “What did she mean?” Patrick shouted.

  Eir ignored him and grabbed his hands one at a time to heal them. Wood pushed its way out of his skin, the pressure making him bite the inside of his cheek to keep from swearing. The pulsing rawness of his hands faded, even if the cold didn’t. Patrick blinked snow out of his eyes, squinting through the stormy darkness lit by the light of a modern city to their left. To the right, lightning struck Lake Michigan in continuous bursts, a dance few knew the steps to.

  From the air, Patrick could see the concentric circles of the spell that stretched away from Yggdrasil on the ground. They reached farther than they had in New York last June, the glow of the soul-driven magic broken up by nearby skyscrapers and swaths of icy water that covered them.

  The spell was still active, but if they could get Odin out of the line of fire, maybe they had a chance to break it. Except when Patrick reached for the god’s throat, trying to find a pulse, he felt nothing but a cold stillness that made him choke back a panicked laugh.

  “Fuck, we are so fucked,” Patrick gasped out. “Odin is still tied to the spell, and we need to break it.”

  “Have faith,” Eir shouted.

  Patrick’s faith in anyth
ing had died a brutal death in Salem years ago until Jono walked into his life. There wasn’t any left to toss to the gods and their machinations that had the power to wreck the world.

  Faith, Patrick had learned over the years, was always misplaced in the end.

  They were flying over the mouth of the Chicago River where it poured into Lake Michigan when multiple strike spells were blasted their way from a ground position. Töfrandi veered around the shining blasts of magic as best he could, but it was like flying through fireworks going off on the Fourth of July. The Dominion Sect was throwing so many spells at them that one had to hit.

  And it did.

  The strike spell slammed through Töfrandi’s left wing, and the pegasus threw back his head, screaming in agony as his wing exploded. Feathers and blood turned to a bloody mist as Eir screamed in rage. Patrick held on to her with one arm, the other trying to keep Odin’s body in place as Töfrandi careened toward the water in a death spiral.

  Even as they fell, another strike spell shot toward them—only to be incinerated by dragon fire.

  Wade’s sinuous shape dove through the wind and snow, his forefeet reaching for them. They were engulfed in sharp talons that cradled them close to a warm red body, carrying them to what safety Navy Pier could provide.

  It was outside the spellwork, which could work in their favor. Removing Odin from the physical location of the spellwork wouldn’t break it, but his absence would weaken it.

  Wade spat flame the entire flight to the ground, landing with hind legs first before he gently placed Töfrandi and the rest of them onto the ground. The pegasus collapsed to his knees, heaving for air. Patrick got to his feet, struggling to drag Odin away from the wounded pegasus while Eir did what she could for her steed. There was no saving Töfrandi though, not with a critical wound like that. Patrick wasn’t surprised when Eir drove her spear through the pegasus’ ribs, piercing his heart to put him out of his misery.

  Odin was deadweight in his arms as Patrick dragged the Allfather beneath the safety of Wade’s body. Patrick stabbed Wade in the foot with the pommel of his dagger to get his attention. “Hey! I need you to keep Odin safe.”

  Wade snaked his head down to blink at Patrick, golden eye bright in his wedge-shaped head. He snorted smoke through his nostrils before hissing a warning, fire flickering behind his teeth. Patrick snapped his head around, staring through the snow at whatever had caught Wade’s attention.

  The neon lights of Navy Pier hadn’t been turned off despite the snowstorm. The Children’s Museum, Ferris wheel, and other rides provided enough light for Patrick to see the group of Dominion Sect magic users coming their way.

  They’d crashed onto the side of the pier, with the buildings to their right and Lake Michigan to their left. The only way out was through the enemy. Ethan was at the forefront of the Dominion Sect mercenaries and the hellhounds flanking them, a mageglobe held in one hand and Loki carrying Gungnir by his side.

  Patrick wondered where Thor had gone, if the god of thunder was alive considering the wound Eir had only half healed for him.

  “That weapon does not belong to you, Loki,” Eir snarled with enough malevolence in her voice that Patrick flinched.

  Or maybe he flinched because of Ethan.

  Patrick figured it didn’t matter since no one saw, and if they did, he’d blame it on the cold.

  “If Odin wants it back, he can take it from me,” Loki taunted, wind whipping his laughter away.

  Eir left Töfrandi’s body behind to come stand by Patrick, her spear pointed at the new threat. Some of her dark brown hair had been tugged free of her braids by the wind, and the furious grief on her face was matched only by the rage in her veil-colored eyes.

  “You stole something of mine,” Ethan said loudly to be heard over the wind.

  Patrick tightened his grip on his dagger with fingers numbed from the cold or fear, he couldn’t tell which. He conjured up a half-dozen mageglobes, filling them with raw magic.

  Patrick squinted through the storm at where Ethan stood, the wind tearing at his father’s blond hair and the cold-weather gear he wore. Patrick didn’t see Hannah anywhere, nor Zachary. The tugging in his soul had stopped—mostly because he’d done his damnedest to wall it off.

  “Odin isn’t yours, asshole,” Patrick forced out.

  Wind-driven waves crashed over the side of Navy Pier, the spray caught between the driving snow. Patrick spared a glance toward the water as the lightning storm drew closer. He flexed his fingers around the hilt of his dagger as he caught sight of pale, pale hands clawing at the edge of the pier.

  The dead of Náströnd who called Niflheim home were pushing through the veil.

  “We’re running out of time,” Patrick said, shaping the words with numb lips.

  He didn’t know if anyone heard him.

  Thunder echoed through the sky, a never-ending sound. In the valley of silence between each lightning strike before the thunder boomed, an eerie, haunting howl echoed in the air. Loki gripped Gungnir and looked over his shoulder into the dark. Patrick followed his gaze, trying desperately to make out whatever was coming their way. Whatever was out there, it made the Dominion Sect mercenaries scatter, half their numbers holding their ground against Patrick, Eir, and Wade, while the rest turned to face the new threat.

  Which meant it wasn’t anyone on Ethan’s side of the fight.

  The soulbond twisted—sharp and demanding—and Patrick swallowed tightly against the relief that warmed him from the inside out.

  Jono.

  Not Fenrir, but Jono—and the Chicago god pack, judging by the number of werewolves that raced through the snow toward Navy Pier. Patrick didn’t know how the hell they’d made it downtown in this storm, but he wasn’t going to turn them away even if Naomi and Alejandro didn’t know what danger they were leading their pack into.

  Magic cut through the air, and Patrick strengthened his shields. Wade roared and spat fire, breaking through some of the attack, but portions still got through. Ethan’s magic grated against Patrick’s shields, cutting through in a way only those tied by blood could manage.

  Which was fine—because his attack knocked Ethan off his feet even as Patrick took a hit that drove all the air from his lungs and sent him flying past Eir. He crashed to the pier, rolling dangerously close to the edge with all those grasping hands of the dead. Wade whipped his tail around to stop Patrick’s momentum, curling protectively around him. Instead of getting within reach of the dead, Patrick folded himself around the forked tail, trying to breathe.

  The snarling howls of a fight rushed in and out of his ears as Patrick got an elbow underneath him. He coughed, getting his lungs working again. A dark shape barreled toward him, and he nearly tossed Jono off Navy Pier with magic before Patrick got his bearings.

  Jono’s eyes had lost the shine to them that burned there when Fenrir was in control. All Patrick could see was the wolf-bright blue he woke up to every morning in their bed and the concern in them that was all human.

  “I’m all right,” Patrick rasped.

  Jono growled, placing himself between Patrick and Ethan. Which wasn’t helpful, except for how Patrick used Jono’s wolf form to haul himself to his feet. Getting eyes on the battlefield told Patrick they were fucked six ways to Sunday.

  And then Hinon arrived with Thor—and Oniare.

  The massive horned water serpent erupted out of Lake Michigan, teeth bigger than Patrick was tall snapping at the lightning both thunder gods threw at the beast they’d herded north.

  Thor let Hinon continue to play bait and crashed onto the pier, landing near Eir, Mjölnir in hand and spewing lightning bolts. Hinon stayed in the sky, taunting Oniare with a thunderous war cry as the water serpent fell back into the lake. As its head went under, its tail rose up, and Patrick’s eyes went wide.

  “Run!” Patrick shouted.

  He threw himself at Jono, wrapping his arms around the werewolf’s neck and digging his fingers into dense fur slick with blood. Jono r
an from the edge of the pier, and the pair of them missed getting crushed to death in the span of a single heartbeat. Cold water washed over them in a deluge that nearly knocked them off their feet. Patrick clamped his mouth shut against the water, shivering from the instant chill it left behind, freezing and half-numb. His teeth chattered as he struggled to bring up his tattered shields.

  Wade roared a challenge and launched himself into the sky, spitting fire at the serpent in the lake. Oniare screamed at Wade when he broke the surface again, and Wade dove at him, claws raking deceptively smooth skin. Hinon threw lightning bolts at Oniare and didn’t stop.

  Shaking from the cold and waterlogged clothes, soaked to the bone, Patrick let go of Jono. He searched frantically for Odin, finally spying where the Allfather lay motionless farther down the pier. The wave had pushed his body toward the stairs that led up to the amusement park rides. Before he could think about moving, lightning jumped from cloud to cloud above before careening down to slam into Thor’s hammer.

  “You have ruined enough lives, Loki!” Thor bellowed.

  “There was only one I ever wanted to take,” Loki snarled, raising Gungnir over his shoulder like a javelin.

  When Thor let loose the lightning bolt, it exploded from Mjölnir like a storm. Lightning arced away from it in all directions, slamming into the museum, the pier itself, Loki, and the numerous rides on the second level. Patrick leaned hard into the soulbond, and through it, the ley line. He poured magic into his shields so they would hold against the lightning storm.

  All the lights around them exploded in countless sparks as lightning cut through everything. The Ferris wheel rocked on its base in a dangerous way that had Patrick yelling a warning to anyone who would listen.

  “Watch out!” he shouted.

  The Ferris wheel tipped forward with deceptive slowness, falling with the screech of breaking metal to the museum below.

  Loki threw Gungnir with only one target in mind.

  Eir dove past Thor, sliding on one knee over slick wood as she spun her spear up and around. She used her weapon to knock Gungnir out of the air, Odin’s spear clattering to the pier rather than finding its target in Odin’s heart.