“These have the serial numbers filed off. Did you get them from Lucien?”

Nadine took her eyes off the cop car clearing them a way through New York City streets to glance at Patrick in the rearview mirror. “Rifles aren’t acceptable carry-on items for any airline, so what do you think?”

Patrick finished sliding home the magazine filled with spelled bullets for the M4A1 carbine he had assembled in the back seat. “I hate carbines. You think he’d pick a better rifle to sell.”

“You’re still fucking picky about what you carry even three years out of the Corps.”

“Like you aren’t,” Patrick retorted. “Lucien said he was waiting for more shipments to arrive. I’m assuming they did if he’s handing out weapons?”

“He still has a few more coming. These were appropriated from what he had on hand when he crossed the southern border on such short notice.”

“What was he doing on this continent? Did the Middle East stop being lucrative or something?”

“You’d have to ask him.”

“I’d rather not.”

Patrick tucked the first carbine back into its transport case and put it on the seat beside him. He grabbed the second transport case and started to assemble the next weapon in less than a minute. The motions were practically muscle memory for him, so it was easy to do. He split up the extra magazine cartridges containing military grade spelled bullets between both weapons.

Nadine’s borrowed gear was limited, but all of it was in excellent condition. Lucien’s business might be exceptionally illegal, but no one ever complained about the products he sold on the black market. Those that did usually ended up dead.

She hadn’t brought a uniform, but the Kevlar-lined tactical vest was similar to the kind they’d both worn in the military. Patrick had strapped on the set she’d brought for him over his clothes already, the weight of the gear familiar.

Patrick leaned back in his seat and scratched at his cheek. “Where were you when Setsuna pulled you this time?”

“Visiting my parents in Nice. I got the plane ticket back to the States under an alias. For all intents and purposes, I am still in Nice.”

France was Nadine’s home away from home. She’d been born in the United States but had largely grown up in Paris. Both her parents had worked for the State Department out of the Paris embassy for the majority of her childhood and teenage years. In some ways, she was culturally more French than American.

She’d joined the Mage Corps when she was nearly twenty-two after earning a degree in political science at the Paris Institute of Political Studies in three years. She was a few years older than Patrick but had earned the same sort of honorable discharge he had after the Thirty-Day War. Instead of transitioning into civilian life, Nadine had joined the PIA and opted to return to her adoptive country. She was based out of Paris now, working counterintelligence cases in Europe.

Patrick missed her. Nadine hadn’t been part of his team back then, but they’d worked with her on and off for certain missions. She was a friend, and he didn’t have very many of those these days.

“I need a sitrep,” Nadine said.

Her hands in their fingerless gloves slid along the steering wheel as she took the long, curving exit off FDR Drive onto the Brooklyn Bridge at a fast speed. She was following their escort and the directions to the address Jono had plugged into his phone’s GPS.

“What did Setsuna tell you?” Patrick asked.

“That you needed backup.”

“What else did she tell you?”

Nadine sped up to make sure the asshole in the next lane over didn’t try to cut her off. “That we have the Dominion Sect breathing down our necks again.”

Patrick glared out the windshield at the cop car ahead of them. “Yeah.”

“Should I be hearing this?” Jono asked from the front seat.

Nadine tilted her head in Jono’s direction and didn’t take her eyes off the road. “What’s with the wolf?”

Patrick made a face. “The seer we’re tracking down ordered Jono to stay with me.”

“Immortals? Again?”

“When is it ever not immortals? Remember Cairo?”

“As if I could forget that battle.”

“That’s what we’re up against, only they’ve fixed their mistakes.”

The amount of swearing Nadine spit out in no less than three different languages was expected. “I should’ve taken the grenade launcher.”

Before Patrick could ask why she hadn’t, his phone rang. He saw Casale’s name on the screen and answered it.

“Collins. Line and location are secure,” Patrick said.

“I got a suspect on his way to the PCB, and you’re not on-site. What the hell is going on?” Casale demanded.

“He’s a distraction. MO doesn’t fit and the magic at the crime scene doesn’t belong to him. I’m tracking down Marek in case the Dominion Sect is targeting him right now.”

“You still think he’s who they ultimately want?”

“He’s what will power their ultimate goal. A spell like the one they’re killing for needs a large sacrifice at the end to anchor it. Marek technically has more magic than a mage, even though his power only translates into visions of the future.”

“I was afraid you’d say that. I have officers going to his known locations here in Manhattan. I’ll let you know if he’s at any one of them or not. Where are you?”

“On I-278 about to hit I-495 on our way to the Hamptons.”

“What’s your final destination? I can call another department and have them send units over to the house.”

“No more cops. This isn’t a fight they need to be in the middle of.”

“Collins—”

Patrick cut him off. “No. They won’t be able to handle what I think we’re heading into.”

“You might have jurisdiction of the case, but it’s still our job.”

“And I’m telling you they can’t handle it. Allied forces could barely hold the line against hell during the Thirty-Day War. How do you think your first responders will fare when they don’t have the support the military did?”

“If you’re so certain this case is turning into that mess, then maybe we should reach out to the military,” Casale snapped.

“We have two days until summer solstice, and I’m going to do everything I can to stop it. I told you I needed a week, and my time isn’t up yet.”

“Sounds like it’s getting close.”

“And my job is to stop it, so let me do my fucking job.”

“You can do what you have to, but I’m going to send officers to your location to handle the aftermath. You’ll need representatives from the PCB on-site to deflect questions and handle the media.”

“Fine. They can keep our escort company on the sidelines.”

“They’ll have instructions to maintain perimeter only.”

“Great.” Patrick hung up and peered out the windshield. They were heading east, the sky a dark wall of clouds rising over Brooklyn. “That looks ugly.”

“Weather is a mess,” Nadine agreed. “My flight in was turbulent for the last hour until we landed.”

Patrick sighed. “I was hoping we wouldn’t get a reactionary storm. Jono?”

“No one is answering,” Jono said, phone pressed to his ear.

“Keep trying.”

Nadine picked up speed to stay with their police escort as they raced down the highway. They’d both learned high-speed tactical driving while in the Mage Corps. Despite the growing traffic, Patrick had faith in Nadine’s ability to get them to Marek’s vacation home safely.

Silence fell between the three; the only sound in the SUV other than the hum of the engine was the faint ringing coming from Jono’s phone as he tried to contact Marek. Patrick monitored their route on his own phone, watching the little arrow glide across the screen.

Ten minutes later Patrick got another phone call from Casale reporting that Marek wasn’t in any of his known locations in Manhattan.

“It’s the Hamptons,” Patrick said after he hung up.

Nadine nodded silent confirmation and kept driving.

Hurry up and wait had never been his favorite way to pass the time, but even with a police escort, they could only move so fast. By the time they were five minutes out by Patrick’s calculations, someone finally answered Jono’s call.

“Marek? Marek!” Jono said in a relieved voice. “Fucking hell, mate. I’ve been ringing you like mad. Why didn’t you—what do you mean am I coming to Sage’s party? Bring a friend? Marek, wait, what? Hold on.”

Jono covered the pickup on his phone with his hand and twisted around in his seat to look at Patrick. “Did you send SOA agents to guard Marek?”

A chill ran down Patrick’s spine, and he leaned forward to grab Jono’s phone. He put it to his ear even as he hand-signaled Nadine to go faster.

“Marek, listen to me. If Rachel Andrita is on-site, I want you to say great, can’t wait to see you for the party. If she’s not, and it’s someone else, ask me to pick something up from the store,” Patrick said.

Marek kept his voice steady and unaffected when he spoke. “Great, can’t wait to see you guys at the party. The more the merrier.”

“Emma and Leon, if you can hear me, corral your people and get Tyler to shield all of you right now. ETA five minutes. Tell him to hold his shield no matter what.”

“We’ll be waiting,” Marek replied.

He hung up, and Patrick handed Jono back the phone. “Rachel Andrita is on-site with an unknown number of affiliates. We are to consider her hostile with a probable connection to the Dominion Sect.”

“Isn’t she SOA?” Jono asked.

“She stonewalled Casale for six months on this case and then demanded she have access to it after it got transferred to my division. Setsuna doesn’t trust her.”

“Setsuna needs to clean house quicker. A bullet to the head would work,” Nadine said grimly.

“I’m not arguing that.”

“Rachel is a witch?”

“Yes. Strictly civilian career tract, no military background. Whoever she brought with her to Marek’s home could be military. She might have a mage with her if the Dominion Sect really is backing her.”

Nadine smiled tightly. “Mage or not, I’d like to see them try to get through my shields.”

Nadine was a combat mage whose magic leaned toward defensive rather than offensive. The shields she could build with her own magic while tapped into a ley line were nearly impenetrable. She had shielded entire forward operating bases for hours at a time from shelling by insurgents and demons while in the Mage Corps.

Patrick was glad to have her watching his six again.

“How’s your magic?” she asked.

“It got partially eaten by a soultaker. I’m still not at full strength,” Patrick told her before tapping Jono on the shoulder. “I need you to describe the house for us.”

Jono started searching through the photos on his phone. “Can do you one better. Two-story mansion with direct beach access in the back. Gated entryway. Strong threshold, but nothing you lot can’t get through, I’d wager.”

Jono handed Patrick his phone again. The folder in question contained photos shot during a Fourth of July barbecue. In some of the outdoor shots, Patrick could make out the size of the house. His mind churned through several possible infiltration methods.

“Line of sight is clear if she put anyone with a long gun in the second-floor rooms facing the front. There are open areas on the side, but best ingress might be a frontal attack,” Patrick said.

“I doubt they brought guns. That is never the first weapon civilian magic users go for in a fight. I’ll hide our approach,” Nadine said. “You sense anything yet, Collins?”

Patrick’s magic was quiet in his soul, no hint of recognition of any type burning through it. “Not yet.”

“Tell me when and what you feel the second you do.”

“Copy that.”

A couple of raindrops started to hit the windshield when their escort cut the lights and sirens off a mile out. Nadine sped up, overtaking their escort to take point the rest of the way. She braked to a hard halt a couple of houses down from Marek’s and put the SUV into park before exiting the vehicle. She yanked open the side passenger door to grab her tactical gear, strapping it into place.

“Too bad you couldn’t have borrowed some helmets,” Patrick said as he scrambled out, M4A1 carbine in hand.

“You know Lucien. He thinks a head shot can’t stop him.”

Patrick snapped the assault rifle’s carry strap to his vest to secure it to his body. He tucked the buttstock against his shoulder, finger resting over the trigger guard. Raindrops fell on his cheeks as he followed Nadine forward. The clouds out here were darker than back in Manhattan. Ocean salt hung heavy on the wind; he could practically taste it.

Officer Lee and his partner got out of their squad car, weapons drawn, but Patrick waved them back. “You two, stay put. No matter what you hear, don’t come after us, got it?”

“Yeah,” Officer Lee replied, eyeing their tactical gear. “Good luck.”

Jono fell in beside Patrick, his sunglasses left behind in the SUV. “You need me to shift?”

If Jono had any experience in fighting magic users and demons in his other form, Patrick would say yes. But he didn’t know Jono’s capabilities, and he couldn’t risk not knowing them in the field right now.

“Stay human,” Patrick said. “And stay on our six.”

Jono fell into step behind them. “Right.”

A pale lavender mageglobe flared into existence near Nadine’s left elbow, keeping pace with her as she ran. Patrick could feel her magic flowing around them, warm and clean in a stealth spell that quieted the sounds of their pounding feet and hid them from sight. She kept it up all the way to the front gate, where instead of picking the lock or shooting it off, she waved Jono toward the code box. Patrick stared through the ACOG scope of his rifle and cased the front of the home while Jono unlocked the gate.

“No overwatch that I can see, but they got a silence ward wrapped around the mansion,” Patrick said.

“That I can sense,” Nadine said.

The door lock buzzed open as Jono finished typing in the code. Patrick advanced with Nadine by his side, their weapons up and magic primed for immediate use. They were halfway across the freshly mowed lawn when recognition erupted through Patrick’s magic, the same ugly sensation he’d felt at the bar, only multiplied.

“Motherfucker,” Patrick growled, sprinting forward. “Soultakers are coming through the veil!”

“Raising a shield,” Nadine replied.

She followed hot on his heels, wrapping a combat shield around them on the fly. It could hold up against a grenade dropped on it from the outside but was layered differently from within to allow for the firing of weapons without fear of ricochets. The shield moved with them, a malleable, invisible barrier.

They scrambled up the porch, crossing a threshold that felt choked off to Patrick’s senses. The silence ward hastily drawn on the doorframe outside might have been the source, but the strength bolstering it burned in an ugly, familiar way.

He reached for the sigil, fingers hovering over the blackened lines before he made a fist. “Nadine.”

“What?” she said in a low voice, already aiming at the door.

“Hera said Hades was sighted in Manhattan last week.” Patrick turned his head to meet her gaze. “I think he’s here.”

“Fuck me. This day just keeps getting worse and worse.”

Jono shook his head. “I thought dealing with Marek as one god’s vessel was a headache. You win the prize, Pat.”

“He’s not a vessel,” Nadine muttered right before she shot the lock off the door and kicked it open.

She advanced into an open foyer that led into a large living area with murder in her eyes. Patrick was right on her six, Jono close behind him. As soon as they crossed the threshold, Patrick could hear the screams coming from within the home.

Three people dressed for a day on the beach were writhing on the floor in agony, bodies twisted in half-shifted forms as a pair of sorcerers called forth their beasts. The two men looked up at their entrance, turning to ward off the unexpected threat, but it was too little, too late.

Sorcerers might have been on the stronger end of the magic spectrum, but they had nothing on a mage, and they definitely had nothing on a bullet to the heart. Patrick pulled the trigger, the first spelled bullet taking out the closest sorcerer in the chest, the second cutting through his head at an angle. Nadine took out the man’s partner, and the ugly black spell circles glowing malevolently beneath the werecreatures disappeared.

The victims, members of Emma’s Tempest pack, lay sprawled on the floor in their half-shifted state, alive but barely conscious. Patrick cased the area and saw no demonic threat, but the taint in his own magic was screaming a warning at him he knew better than to ignore.

“Jono, do you hear anyone else in the house?” Patrick asked as they moved forward, stepping over the three werecreatures and the bodies of the dead sorcerers.

“No,” Jono got out tightly. “They’re all outside.”

Nadine wrapped a barrier ward around the werecreatures they left behind, encasing them in solid safety. “First group secure.”

Patrick let his weapon lead the way forward, his magic a persistent warning buzz beneath his skin. They cleared every room between them and the broken french glass doors at the rear of the mansion leading to a backyard empty of the Tempest pack but not the enemy.

The man and woman stood between them and the path leading to the beach. Dressed in clothes that wouldn’t be out of place in an office, with their magic meshed together to form a shield, the Dominion Sect acolytes seemed to be expecting them.

Patrick raised his voice. “Federal agent! Draw back your magic and stand down.”

In response, the woman hurtled a bolt of raw magic at them that slammed into Nadine’s shield. The attack exploded upon impact, but the shield never wavered.

“Guess that’s a no,” Nadine said.

Patrick took his hand off the barrel and called up a mageglobe, weaving the barrage spell through its shape. He waved two fingers in a single forward motion that sent the mageglobe streaking forward, passing harmlessly through Nadine’s shield. The Dominion Sect acolytes didn’t know what hit them until it was too late.

Military grade spells weren’t supposed to be used against civilians. Patrick figured the SOA would probably give him a pass when it came to the Dominion Sect. The barrage spell ripped through the sorcerers’ shield like so much paper. The blowback from the concussive force of the hit shattered the lower level windows of the mansion behind them. Torn-up grass, dirt, and body parts rained down around them.

A blackened crater now marred the backyard, but that was the least of their worries. Nadine modified her shield for mobility, and they quickly moved forward toward the beach, the rain beginning to come down harder. The curl of waves crashing to shore in the Atlantic were frothy whitecaps driven by strong winds.

Patrick smelled the sea, but he tasted hell.

His magic was frayed in his soul, but the Greek coins clicked quietly together in his pocket, and his dagger was within reach. The weapons didn’t make him feel better about the situation.

They crested the wooden stairs leading to the beach. On the sand below were members of the Tempest pack huddled behind the rapidly fading shield Tyler could no longer hold up. Rachel’s coordinated magical attack with other acolytes was moments away from breaking through Tyler’s shield. Marek stood surrounded by Emma, Leon, and Sage, but werecreatures didn’t have much hope against magic.

“Go time,” Patrick said.

They had their roles in the field, and they didn’t need to talk the details out. Nadine cut right, raising a barrier ward around the Tempest pack right as Tyler’s shield collapsed. Rachel’s attack rebounded off the shield, crashing back into a couple of witches who couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. They were thrown off their feet, falling back down to earth meters away.

Patrick’s feet sank into wet sand as he cleared the last step, blinking rain out of his eyes. Through his magic he could sense the suffocating presence of hell beginning to permeate their immediate area.

“The SOA might want you alive, but I’d be more than happy to put you in a grave, Rachel,” Patrick yelled to be heard over the wind.

The soon-to-be former SAIC turned to face him, her face a mask of rage. “It’s a shame you didn’t die in your car.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

Nadine snorted as they kept advancing. “Understatement.”

“Go guard the others and keep them safe. Soultakers in ten,” Patrick warned. “Nine.”

“Tapped into a ley line,” Nadine replied. “Jono, with me. Eight.”

“I’m staying with Patrick,” Jono argued.

“Fucking hell, we told you to listen! Seven.”

“Six. Just go, Mulroney,” Patrick snapped. “Jono, don’t get in my fucking way.”

“I hope you’re ready to die,” Rachel spat out, the circle she stood within glowing brightly. Radial lines expanded outward, the structure of the spell not something a witch of her caliber could create.

Which meant someone else was casting through the veil.

Patrick ignored Rachel as Nadine split her shield between their two positions, keeping everyone safe. “Five.”

He could feel it in his soul, the heavy weight of hell pulling at him. The world seemed to waver for a second, as if the rain coming down harder had blurred it out. The acolytes still standing were throwing whatever offensive magic they could at them, but nothing was getting through Nadine’s shield.

At least, not yet.

“Four,” Patrick counted down, Jono’s voice joining in, the seconds pounding in his ears like drums. “Three.”

The circle beneath Rachel’s feet erupted in hellfire, but the witch didn’t burn.

“Two.”

Recognition screamed through Patrick’s magic with soul-searing intensity, the taste of hell hot and bitter on his tongue.

“One.”

The world seemed to tear around them, the veil ripping over the beach in the form of ragged fog given an eerie glow from the hellfire. It spilled over the sand, obscuring the immediate area.

It couldn’t hide what crossed over.

A horde of soultakers pulled free of the veil, led by a god that made Patrick freeze in his tracks, heart pounding a mile a minute in his chest.

“If you’d like to take the seer’s place on the sacrificial altar, then by all means, lie down and die, Patrick,” Hades said.

The god’s voice echoed in Patrick’s ears in a way human voices never did. Hades stood within the lines of the circle, hellfire licking at his feet, untouched by the fury of the storm. He could have passed for a Wall Street tycoon if one ignored the unearthly power he exuded. The immortal wasn’t charismatic so much as terrifying, despite the clean-cut image projected by the three-piece suit that was perfectly dry beneath the downpour. Hades was dark-haired, dark-eyed, and corpse-pale, all chilling malevolence in human disguise.

The Greek god of the Underworld still looked exactly the same as he had in that Salem basement all those years ago.

“Patrick,” Jono said, breaking through the fear clawing at Patrick’s mind. “Don’t listen to him.”

He drew in a shaky breath, readjusting his grip on his rifle. The hellfire bomb yesterday made sense now. Patrick should have remembered it was one of Hades’ favorite little parlor tricks.

Hades smiled, the expression coloring in old nightmares in ways Patrick could have done without. Those dark eyes looked behind him at where Jono stood with a covetousness Patrick didn’t appreciate at all.

“If not you, I’ll take the wolf. I’d rather not go to war with the Norse gods just yet, but needs must. Either way, I will take a soul with me to hell today,” Hades said.

The soultakers lunged forward, half the horde coming for Patrick while the rest went after the Tempest pack. Patrick repositioned his rifle against his shoulder and braced himself. He switched the M4A1 carbine over to fully automatic and held down the trigger. The loud release of bullets sounded like thunder in the air, echoed by Nadine’s weapon. Her shields glimmered with a faint violet hue every time a bullet passed through them on the way to the enemy.

They aimed for the acolytes, because the soultakers weren’t bothered at all by something as annoying as bullets. Three of the magic users were cut down, but none of them were Rachel.

Where’s a fucking tank when you need one? Patrick thought a little frantically.

“I can shift and better protect you,” Jono said, stepping up beside him.

“Don’t even think about it,” Patrick snarled.

Patrick might have been reckless with his own life, but like hell was he risking anyone under his protection.

“Would you stop being so bloody stubborn? I can help you.”

“You can’t do anything against a god except die. I am actively trying to prevent that from happening right now!”

“Maybe I can’t,” Jono conceded. “But my patron can.”

Patrick’s finger let up on his trigger for a fraction of a second at that confession. He clamped it back down again, getting close to needing to reload.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Patrick ground out as the soultakers kept coming, mouth suddenly gone dry. “You didn’t think that bit of information was important for me to know before now?”

No fucking wonder why the London god pack had exiled Jono and why Estelle and Youssef didn’t want him around. Not every god pack had a patron these days. If the New York City god pack didn’t have one and Jono did? Agreement be damned, but Jono would be well within his right to take over the New York City god pack.

Why Jono hadn’t was a question for after they survived this fight.

The soultakers ran up against Nadine’s shield and started to tear through her magic right as Patrick’s rifle clicked empty. Patrick unclipped the strap from his tactical vest and thrust the weapon at Jono.

“Hold this and stay here,” he ordered.

Patrick conjured up half a dozen mageglobes, pouring his magic into the barrage spell twisting through each one. Nadine couldn’t hold her shields up forever against soultakers—no one could—and Patrick wasn’t about to let her magic get drained to the breaking point.

He cast his mageglobes at the soultakers, his magic passing harmlessly through Nadine’s shield. The second they were on the other side, two were immediately swallowed whole by the demons, and the rest detonated on Patrick’s silent, willed command.

The resulting explosion sent a couple of soultakers and sand flying through the air. What magic didn’t catch them off guard they ate. Patrick felt the metaphysical tearing in his soul like a heavy burn in chest.

It wasn’t enough to stop him from walking through Nadine’s shield, Jono’s frantic yell whipped away by the wind that barreled into him from the Atlantic.

His magic had carved out a bit of space to stand in, and Patrick planted his feet in the wet sand, staring over the demons at Hades. He didn’t reach for his dagger and instead pulled from his pocket the handful of Greek coins he’d left the apartment with that morning.

Lightning flashed directly overhead, illuminating the world in electric light. Thunder rolled across the beach and the waves lashing against the shore, drowning out the ear-piercing shrieks of the soultakers.

Hades’ smile disappeared when Patrick raised his clenched fists, the coins already glowing.

“Where did you get those?” Hades demanded.

“You should quit pissing off your family,” Patrick shot back.

The coins burned hot in his hand, and Patrick tossed them into the air. They hung suspended there for a moment, burning like miniature suns the soultakers couldn’t seem to face. The feel of heavenly magic was a sharp juxtaposition against the ugly burn of hell currently suffocating the beach.

Patrick thrust one arm up and sent the coins skyward like shooting stars returning to space. They disappeared into the low-hanging clouds, bright flashes of sheet lightning turning the gray sky white in areas. Patrick blinked colored spots out of his eyes and thought about what Skuld had said in the filth of Ginnungagap.

Payment for the dead.

He wasn’t dead, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered in war except survival.

Patrick made a fist and yanked his arm down, as if he were pulling down the sky. His magic burned weakly through his soul as he focused on the command to strike.

The borrowed magic from gods in the coins, guided by his own weakened magic, returned to Earth in the form of lightning.

Powerful bolts crashed down onto the beach with ground-shaking power. Patrick squeezed his eyes shut, but that wasn’t enough to block out the searing brightness of the attack. Foreign power cascaded through his soul, tearing through scarred-over metaphysical channels that could no longer handle the overload.

Ozone burned hot in Patrick’s nose when he screamed, every strand of hair standing on end as the lightning storm decimated the beach around him. The borrowed power of gods cut through him, and he had to let it because it was the only way any of them were getting out of this mess alive.

With an ear-popping boom, thunder rolled over the beach, vibrating though his body. Patrick stumbled forward, the world coming back in stages, looking more like an old photograph negative than sharp reality. He looked down at where sand used to be and only saw twisted white glass formed out of a lightning strike.

Gone were the soultakers, either burned down to ash that rain washed away or dragged into a retreat by Hades and what was left of the Dominion Sect acolytes. The borrowed power of gods had been enough to drive them back and cauterize the rip in the veil. How long before Hades returned was anyone’s guess.

Patrick felt hollowed out, the world tilting badly. It took him a moment to realize it was him, not the horizon, as his legs gave out. He crashed to the ground, tasting blood, practically breathing it. His fingers skittered over hot glass, entire body shaking as he coughed.

Warm arms wrapped around his torso and hauled him upright. “Patrick!”

Jono’s voice sounded far away through the ringing in his ears. Patrick closed his eyes, the sound of thunder nearly drowning everything out as he slumped against Jono.

“Hades?” Patrick managed to say, tongue thick in his mouth and not working right.

“Gone.”

Pain threatened to rip open his chest, shock not enough to overcome it. Patrick reached for his magic and found a raw, gaping hole where it should have been in his damaged soul. He took a breath and let himself fall into darkness, somehow knowing Jono would catch him in the end.