A Ferry of Bones & Gold (Soulbound Book 1), page 19
Patrick cleared his throat. “Hera.”
“Sit,” the titular queen of the Greek gods ordered.
Patrick sat, because he liked his balls still attached, and Hera wasn’t a goddess to be crossed. Jono took the seat opposite him with a blank look on his face, carefully pulling off his sunglasses and hanging them from the collar of his shirt.
Patrick didn’t serve himself any food, despite the empty plate in front of him. Jono, after contemplating the abundance of breakfast choices on the table—from eggs to fruit to pastries—chose to follow Patrick’s lead.
“It’s rude not to break bread, Patrick,” Hera told him.
“I broke bread for you already,” he said.
“Guess the bacon is all mine,” Hermes announced. The messenger god picked up the platter of bacon and used his fork to push the fried strips of meat onto his plate. “You’re missing out, Pattycakes.”
“I doubt that.”
Hera set her teacup down on its saucer and leaned back in her chair. She had seemed older when they’d first arrived, but Patrick knew that form was a lie, because Hera was young again. No wrinkles tugged at the corners of her eyes, and the laugh lines around her mouth had smoothed out. Her thick brown hair was braided into a crown around her head, no longer carrying streaks of gray in it. Her rich brown eyes were ancient and otherworldly in a classically pretty face.
Her aura was blinding.
Patrick had to look away.
His thoughts tumbled through his mind, bits and pieces of knowledge slotting together to form a fraction of a whole. He remembered what Setsuna had said the day he’d touched down in New York City, how he’d been the only one she could send to handle this problem.
“You ordered Setsuna to give me this case,” Patrick said.
Hera delicately spread cream cheese onto a piece of smoked salmon before stabbing the fish with her fork. “It is your job to fix your family’s mess. They took my husband. I want him back.”
Patrick tried not to flinch, but Hera saw right through him. The smile she gave him wasn’t benevolent at all. The mere idea of Zeus in the hands of Ethan was a nightmare Patrick would like to wake up from.
This whole fucked-up mess was like the Thirty-Day War all over again, with immortals taken prisoner by human greed and the world at stake once more. Only this time the frontline was New York City, home to millions and millions of people, with no one the wiser about a spell being cast through murder to kill a god.
The scars on Patrick’s chest ached at that quiet confirmation. The nightmare he’d woken from that morning was still fresh in his mind, but he wasn’t sure the warning had been about Hera. She had no affiliation with war or the dead, and ravens had never flocked to her.
“Why did you stay?” Patrick asked, looking past the goddess, not at her. “If they’re calling your power through sacrifices, why not leave?”
“Most of us have,” Hermes explained. “We’re the only ones left in the state.”
Patrick couldn’t decide if it was hubris that kept the two of them in Manhattan or stupidity. He wasn’t going to ask.
“Not the only ones,” Hera said darkly, taking another sip of her tea. “Hades was sighted in Manhattan early last week.”
If he didn’t think she’d strike him down and make it hurt, Patrick would get up from the table and leave.
“I have the coins Hermes gave me. I have the Fates giving me warnings instead of help,” Patrick said.
“Not our Fates,” Hera reminded him.
“Then maybe you should check that the Moirai still belong to you because the ones I’m dealing with can’t see the future.”
Hera took another bite of salmon, her teeth scraping over the metal prongs of the fork. She chewed carefully, attention still focused squarely on Patrick. “Perhaps if you did your job, their blindness would not be a problem.”
“Murder isn’t easy” was Patrick’s flat reply.
There were icebergs in the Arctic warmer than Hera’s voice when she spoke. “You’re good at it. Be better.”
Which was true, if you counted what he’d done in the Mage Corps and what he did for the SOA now. Killing for the gods was different.
They wanted him to destroy what was left of his past.
Hera reached for him, and Patrick made himself not flinch away. Strong fingers gripped his chin and forced Patrick to meet her eyes. The power he could see burning inside her nearly blinded him and made his eyes water.
“The Dominion Sect has hidden my husband from me, but I know he is still here, on this island. The murders are bound to Manhattan, and the island sits above the nexus. Ethan can do nothing without the nexus. It must be contained, so find a way to contain it and bring Zeus back to me.”
Her touch burned, and Patrick couldn’t move.
“Please don’t hurt him, lady.”
Jono’s voice dropped between them like a rock, his hand settling on Patrick’s shoulder with a heavy touch that anchored him. Patrick blinked, half-blinded from Hera’s aura, colored spots dancing across his eyes.
Hera’s perfectly manicured fingernails dug into his skin for another second or two before her touch eased off. She didn’t let go, slanting a look up at where Jono now stood beside Patrick’s chair.
“Wolf,” she said warningly. “He does not belong to you.”
“Think my Fates might argue that.”
Patrick’s vision cleared in time for him to see the calculating look that settled in Hera’s eyes. “Ah. You are not of the god pack here.”
“I’m not with any bloody pack.” Jono’s hand tightened on Patrick’s shoulder, offering silent support. “But Patrick is mine and I’m his until this case is finished. That’s what the Fates decreed if you want your husband back. Patrick can’t do what needs to be done if you harm him.”
Hera studied Jono with eyes that had lived through centuries, taking his measure. Patrick wanted to tell Jono to shut up, but Hera still had control of his mouth.
“Patrick hasn’t done what needs to be done for years,” Hera countered.
“He came when you called. That has to count for something, yeah?”
She let him go.
Patrick resisted the urge to rub his jaw because showing any kind of weakness in front of the gods was like giving up secrets one couldn’t afford to lose. He ran his tongue over the back of his teeth and sat up straighter.
Jono never let go of him.
It felt as if it could become a habit, one Patrick wouldn’t mind allowing.
Patrick cleared his throat. “Tell me how they took Zeus?”
“I’ve already discussed everything with the police,” Hera said.
“I’m not the police. So humor me.” Patrick paused before belatedly tacking on a quick “Please.”
He’d read the missing person report back at the PCB, but he wanted to hear it from Hera himself. If she’d held anything back from the police, she might give up the information to him.
Hera leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs at the knees, the brightness of her aura dimming to something easier on the eyes. “He had a dinner meeting with a new client. He never came home. When I sent some of my followers to the restaurant, they found traces of magic and were told they had no reservation under the client’s name.”
“What name? That wasn’t in the records I went through.”
“Does it matter? The name was falsely given.”
Patrick would have pressed for the name—it was still evidence in a way—but Hera didn’t seem as if she cared to pass it along. She’d made up her mind it was useless, and there was no changing the mind of a goddess, especially not this one.
“You have your orders,” Hera told him, waving her hand in a dismissive manner.
Hermes put down his fork and took a swig of orange juice before getting to his feet. “I’ll walk them out.”
Jono let his hand fall away as Patrick stood up and marched toward the rooftop terrace doors. Hermes overtook them easily, leading the way through the mansion to the ground floor and back outside. Once they crossed the threshold, Patrick took a deep breath, the weight on his chest lifting.
“That went rather well,” Hermes said.
Patrick glared at him. “The hell it did.”
“You’re still alive, Pattycakes.”
“Only because I’m useless to your kind dead.”
“There are gods who would disagree with that.”
“Fuck those gods.”
Hermes wasn’t put off by Patrick’s attitude. “Hera is right. You need to stop running.”
“If I was running, I wouldn’t be here.”
Hermes pulled a pair of sunglasses out of thin air and put them on his nose. “Standing your ground means nothing if you don’t fight.”
Patrick opened his mouth to argue when he was interrupted by his phone ringing. Pulling it out of his pocket, he checked the screen. He didn’t recognize the number, but the area code was for New York City, so he answered it.
“Collins,” he said.
“Got a call about another body. It’s one of ours,” Allison said. “Chinatown.”
“Fuck. What’s the address?”
Allison rattled it off. “Casale is leaving church and will meet us at the scene. Do you need a ride?”
“I’ll catch a taxi.”
“See you soon.”
She hung up, and Patrick pulled his phone away from his ear. Jono ran both hands through his hair, interlocking his fingers together behind his head. “Tenth body, innit?”
Patrick nodded. “Two more days until summer solstice.”
Two more bodies were needed for a complete zodiac of the signs representing the Greek gods. The clock was counting down to the longest day of the year when all hell might break loose again. Patrick was holding the line by sheer will alone if the ache in his soul was anything to go by.
“We are running out of time, so do your job,” Hermes said before disappearing right before their eyes.
“And I thought my life before you came to town was interesting,” Jono said, glancing at Patrick. “What’s all this about your family?”
“What’s all this about your Fates? Could’ve sworn Marek was the seer and not you,” Patrick shot back, already opening up his Uber app.
Jono didn’t answer, and Patrick grimaced down at his phone.
Guess I’m not the only one with secrets, he thought.
12
“How do the sacrifices work?” Jono asked as they hurried down the street.
Their Uber driver had let them off a block away from the crime scene due to the police presence. An open street where anyone could hear them really wasn’t the place to talk about casework. “No fucking idea.”
But Patrick could guess, and in the end, it wouldn’t be pretty.
Chinatown was a densely packed neighborhood in Lower Manhattan full of locals, immigrants, and tourists alike. Middle of the day on Sunday, the markets were crowded with shoppers looking for fresh produce, seafood, and meat on offer, jockeying for the best prices and choicest cuts.
A police officer was redirecting traffic past Mott Street, but the street itself wasn’t roped off to pedestrians yet. More police officers were huddled together halfway down the block. A storefront produce market and the stores on either side of it had been cordoned off while police dealt with the body in one of the apartments above. A crowd of curious onlookers and elderly Chinese shoppers were being held back by several officers. Patrick didn’t see the ME’s van yet, but CSU was on-site.
The first thing Patrick noticed as they closed in on the building was the hellish taint from black magic seeping into the street. The recognition burned against Patrick’s weakened magic, the feel of the taint stronger than he remembered it being at the last two crime scenes.
Patrick frowned, dodging around a dolly someone had left unmanned on the sidewalk near a delivery van. “It’s not contained in the apartment.”
“What isn’t?” Jono asked.
“The taint residue from the attack. It was only present where the bodies were for the last two murders. Now it’s spread out across the street.”
“I take it that’s a bit out of the ordinary?”
“It’s different. Means the MO has changed, and that’s not good.”
“Or maybe the cops were notified of the body earlier?”
Patrick shook his head. “What’s been left of the spell doesn’t work that way.”
He dug out his badge as they approached the police line, flipping the thin wallet open to show the policeman on watch duty. They ducked under the police tape once the officer cleared them and headed for the apartment building.
Allison stepped through the entrance as they approached, squinting at them. “Glad to see you made it. We got a mess up there.”
“You got a mess out here,” Patrick told her. “The taint has spread to the street. You’ll need to quarantine the area and get someone to scrub everyone’s souls.”
Allison gave him a surprised look. “The magic at the prior crime scenes has never done that before.”
The taint had always been contained to the apartments where the sacrifices had died. This was more than fading residue or a spell gone wrong, because someone was still dead up there.
This, Patrick knew with grim certainty, was a distraction. One that still needed to be dealt with.
Patrick drew out his magic, wincing a little at the way it made his nerves burn. A tiny mageglobe spun into existence against the palm of his hand, the dull blue glow mostly hidden from sight. He formed the searching spell in his mind, casting it through the mageglobe to help better focus his magic.
He dropped his shields and expanded his awareness, the taint easier to sense this way. Patrick walked past Allison, following the pull of his magic toward the end of the block where more curious onlookers stood. Patrick’s gaze skimmed over faces, barely taking a second for each one, until someone caught his eye.
Caught his magic.
Dark eyes in a thin face met his for a split second before the stranger ducked his head and ran off like hellhounds were nipping at his heels.
“I fucking hate it when they run,” Patrick said to no one in particular.
He ran after the suspect, taking the most direct path he could. It meant dodging around the curious crowd, feet pounding against asphalt as Patrick followed the taint of hell trailing after the man on the run.
Patrick had cleared the crowd and had eyes on the guy when the hellish taint faded beneath a different sort of magic. The man reached the corner of the block before skidding to a halt long enough to thrust his arm in Patrick’s direction and snarl out an incantation. The full-sleeve tattoo on his left arm seemed to move. The spiraling form of a serpent dragon exploded away from the man with a thunderous boom that rattled windows all around them.
The dragon filled the street in an instant, a monstrous creature of bright red and matte black, the heavy stylized lines of the tattoo disappearing beneath seemingly solid flesh and glistening fangs. It dug its claws into the street but left no damage behind as it advanced.
People screamed as the dragon opened its mouth in a roar that ripped through the air, the hint of fire in the back of its throat impossible to miss. Patrick ran right toward it, ignoring Jono’s furious shout from close behind him.
Patrick had seen dragons before.
This wasn’t a dragon.
It lacked the gravitas of those beings, the depth of age and shrewdness in the eyes. Patrick hadn’t felt the subtle shift of power that came with the sloughing off of whatever skin they hid in before emerging whole and powerful in their original bodies. The physics involved in calculating the mass displacement always made Patrick’s head hurt just thinking about it. The Old Man he once served under had made it look seamless.
Patrick ran into the dragon’s gaping mouth before the flames burst forth, flinging a pair of mageglobes into the structure of the spell ahead of him. Raw magic exploded around him, ripping through the illusion and turning it into nothing but colored smoke that made his eyes and nose burn. Blinking the sting away, Patrick kept running, still following that thin presence of tainted magic mixed with the signature of a practitioner that felt like a sorcerer to his senses.
The illusion drifted away on a muggy breeze, nothing more than a fading smokescreen now. Patrick got clear and kept his eyes on the target when he wasn’t scanning the buildings around them for any overwatch threats. Up ahead, the sorcerer had reached the next intersection and wasn’t stopping; neither was the traffic. The guy ran across the street, heedless of the moving vehicles around him, and made it to the other side without getting run over.
Which was an utter fucking shame.
When Patrick made it to the intersection, the lights had already changed—but he raced into the street against a red light anyway. Horns honked at him as the screech of brakes filled his ears. The shouts and swearing coming from the drivers were easily ignored.
The car that didn’t stop demanded his full attention.
Patrick slammed his hands on the hood of the still-moving vehicle, twisting his body into the vault and swinging his legs over the front of the car. The driver finally hit the brakes when Patrick crossed his vision. The sudden lurch to stillness jerked his body as he slid across the hood with a grunt. Patrick didn’t stick the landing on the other side, not wanting to risk breaking an ankle. He used his momentum to pitch himself forward, stumbling back into a speedy run.
“Federal agent! Stop where you are!” Patrick yelled. The order went ignored, not like he thought the guy would listen.
In the grand scheme of things, Patrick had done his legal duty with that warning.
The sorcerer was still running, and there were too many people between them for Patrick to safely use his magic. Patrick kept his eyes locked on the man and didn’t miss when he took a sharp turn into a café where elderly Chinese men were reading the Sing Tao, drinking hot tea, and watching a taped singing show on the old television set bolted to the wall.
Patrick glimpsed it all in a flash as he ran through the front area of the café before slamming through the employee door in the back. It led to a cramped kitchen where one cook was helping another to her feet, having been knocked down by the man Patrick was chasing.
