A Veiled & Hallowed Eve

by Hailey Turner

  He’d been a combat mage for almost a decade. Patrick knew the damage a fifty-caliber bullet, spelled or otherwise, could do.

  Patrick closed his eyes, letting his head fall forward, chin nearly touching his chest. Jono’s hand settled on the nape of his neck before sliding down his spine to rub his back. Patrick wasn’t comforted by the gesture, not when he had Setsuna’s blood on his hands.

  “They were aiming for me,” Patrick said in a quiet, bitter voice.

  “You don’t know that,” Jono said.

  “If I hadn’t looked back, the bullet would’ve hit my shields. I’d have survived.” He swallowed hard, opening his eyes to stare at the floor beneath his feet, the light in the waiting room almost too bright. “Setsuna never would’ve taken the bullet.”

  “You didn’t know this would happen, Pat.”

  “I should have. We’re almost to Samhain. We know Ethan is willing to do anything to turn himself into a god. We should have anticipated this.”

  “You’ve said it yourself before that plans go out the bloody window all the time. You can’t cover every possibility.”

  Patrick shook off Jono’s hand and stood, pacing the small room because he couldn’t do anything else. He wasn’t a doctor, wasn’t a healer. He could do nothing but wait, and his powerlessness ate at him.

  He was taking what felt like his hundredth turn around the room when Jono’s head snapped around, attention on the door. Patrick rocked to a halt, gaze going to the door that was shoved open not even a second later by Wade of all people.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Patrick asked in a strangled voice.

  “I told Sage I wanted to be with you guys,” Wade said defiantly, an empty-looking backpack hanging from one hand.

  “Did she tell you no?”

  “Uh. She didn’t tell me yes?”

  “So you left without telling anyone where you were going when the Dominion Sect is targeting us?” Patrick really wasn’t in the mood to explain how incredibly short-sighted and dangerous that was. “How the hell did you even get here so fast?”

  Before Wade could answer, General Noah Reed caught the door before it closed and slipped inside the waiting room. “The fledgling flew. I sensed his arrival. You’re lucky radar didn’t catch him.”

  “You flew?” Jono asked as he stood, scowling at Wade even as he tapped away on his phone, probably updating Sage.

  Wade gave him a stubborn look. “I wasn’t going to wait on some stupid airplane when I could get here faster on my own. I left out of Central Park, and no one saw me.”

  “Where the bloody fuck did you even land?”

  “Uh, Arlington?”

  “I picked him up on my drive over here,” Reed said, coming to stand in front of Patrick. “He’s growing into his nature if he’s able to fly unnoticed by the masses and block radar with his scales.”

  “You still can’t have him unless he signs up with the military of his own free will,” Patrick said.

  “Oh, fuck no. I wouldn’t be caught dead in a uniform,” Wade retorted, coming toward Patrick.

  “Shut up. You should’ve stayed in New York so you’d be safe.”

  Wade ignored him, coming close enough to wrap his arms around Patrick and hug him so hard his spine cracked. “You were in trouble, and I wasn’t going to stay behind. Not this time.”

  Patrick awkwardly patted Wade on the back, knowing that was guilt speaking, but he didn’t have the mental capacity at the moment to offer any meaningful comfort.

  “The FBI wants your statement,” Reed said after Wade finally let Patrick go.

  Because of course that agency had been called in to oversee an attack on a federal director. Patrick clenched his jaw and shook his head. “I can’t leave yet.”

  “They’re on-site—”

  “I mean I’m not talking to anyone who isn’t a doctor. Not until I know—” Patrick broke off, glaring at Reed, the world watery at the edges. “Whoever was out there tonight was aiming for me.”

  “Setsuna is the director of the SOA and has a history with you. She is as much a target as you are in this fight. You can’t know for sure who they were aiming for, Collins. You can’t blame yourself for this.”

  But he could, and he was, because he knew where that bullet should’ve gone.

  “If that’s true, then the lot of you on that fancy joint task force are all targets,” Jono said, giving Patrick time to get himself under control when all he wanted to do was rage.

  Reed slanted Jono an indecipherable look, blowing smoke out of his nose, no cigarette in sight. “Precautions are being taken as we speak. The various parties and agencies who needed to be updated on what happened have been informed. I have been told that Priya Kohli is now acting director of the SOA. She will be here shortly. We’re staging in an administration area of the hospital to stay out of the way of the staff here.”

  Patrick nodded. “If—”

  He cut himself off as the door to the waiting room was pushed open and a doctor was let inside by a military aide stationed in the hallway. The doctor was in scrubs, no white coat, and not wearing any operating gowns or gloves. Patrick could still see traces of blood splattered at the hem of his green scrub pants.

  “Usually we contact family first, but I was directed here by an officer,” the doctor said, not appearing put off by that instruction.

  “It’s a matter of national security that we know the outcome,” Reed said, turning to face the man.

  Patrick stared at the doctor’s face, and he knew by the way the other man hesitated—by the way Setsuna’s blood had poured through his own hands without stopping—that there’d been no chance of her survival. He’d only been fooling himself in thinking they’d come through tonight with Setsuna ending up in the ICU and not in the morgue.

  “I’m terribly sorry, General Reed. We did everything we could, but the trauma SOA Director Setsuna Abuku sustained was too severe. She died on the table.”

  It was like a silence ward settled over Patrick, the world going quiet, his head a mess of static. He wasn’t aware of anything, not until Jono stepped in front of him, blocking out the world. Warm hands framed his face, wolf-bright blue eyes staring into his as Jono pressed his forehead to Patrick’s.

  “Breathe, Pat,” Jono told him, sounding far away.

  Patrick sucked in air through his teeth, letting it out on a rattling, choked-off gasp. “Fuck.”

  Patrick reached for Jono, gripping the button-down he wore so hard he almost ripped the fabric. He rocked forward, moving his head so he could rest it against Jono’s shoulder for a few frantic seconds as he tried to get himself under control. Setsuna was gone, and with her, any answers to the swirl of remaining questions bubbling up inside his mind about his past.

  She was gone.

  And he only had himself to blame.

  It was bitter knowledge that, after all these years, he’d finally been able to appreciate what she had done for him. But he wouldn’t get the chance to tell her anything else, only say the words over her grave.

  Tears burned in his eyes, but Patrick knew he didn’t have the time to grieve right now. Samhain was eight days away, and they still had a war to fight. He still had a soul debt to pay.

  Setsuna would be pissed if he stopped fighting for himself.

  Compartmentalizing had never taken so much effort before, but Patrick had no choice here. He didn’t have the luxury to grieve such a complicated loss when the threat that had taken her from him was still out there.

  Patrick raised his head, let Jono go to wipe away his tears, and stepped around him to face Reed. “I’ll give the FBI my statement.”

  “Our statement,” Jono said. “I was there as well.”

  Jono’s hand slipped into his, and Patrick gripped it tightly, a lifeline he never wanted to let go of.

  Reed studied them with a clear-eyed gaze before nodding. “Follow me.”

  Wade stuck close as Reed led them out of the waiting room and through the hallwa
ys of the hospital, the general’s military escort clearing the way for them. Hospital staff didn’t seem concerned about their presence, especially not while the doctor who had operated on Setsuna was still with them, using his key card to scan them through restricted doors.

  Eventually, they ended up on a lower level, in a wing that dealt with the hospital’s administration. It was overflowing with plainclothes agents, police officers, and men and women in military combat dress. Patrick’s shields were still locked down tight, and he could sense a headache coming on, but recognition still got through. Half the people present were magic users of various ranks, most notably Priya, a non-military mage with a strong affinity for defensive magic.

  “General Reed, what’s the news?” Priya asked, pushing past a pair of uniformed police officers to get to them.

  Reed shook his head, his voice coming out rough. “I’m sorry. Setsuna didn’t make it.”

  Priya rocked to a shaky halt and closed her eyes, face losing a little bit of color at his words. She seemed to age a decade in a few seconds, grief an almost physical thing, before she shook it off with visible effort to do her duty. Patrick knew she and Setsuna had worked together for a number of years. Legally, she was now the acting director of a federal agency, and from here on out, everyone employed by the SOA would be taking their orders from her.

  “I’ll inform the president,” Kohli said, opening her eyes again. “Special Agent Collins?”

  “Ma’am?” Patrick replied.

  “I understand the FBI is waiting on your statement, as well as Mr. de Vere’s.”

  Patrick nodded. “That’s why we came with General Reed.”

  “Then see that you leave nothing out.”

  She waved him down the hall, in the direction of a pair of men in suits who were staring right back at him. Knowing how these kinds of interviews went, Patrick grabbed Wade by the arm and tugged him aside.

  “Stay with General Reed, and if he gives you a minder, don’t run off,” Patrick said in a low voice.

  Wade scowled, a mulish expression on his face. “I’m not leaving you.”

  “You can’t be present for the talks Jono and I need to have with the FBI. So just sit tight. We’ll come find you when we’re finished.”

  Wade glared at him before side-eyeing General Reed, who wasn’t paying any attention to them. “Fine.”

  Patrick hoped Wade listened, but considering he’d shifted mass to fly from New York City to Washington, DC, on the basis of a text sent from Jono about what had happened, he had a feeling they’d find Wade where he shouldn’t be later.

  Patrick moved past Priya and headed for the FBI agents with Jono by his side. He knew how an investigation like this would be run, having been on the other side of it for several years. He’d just never thought he’d be in the position of the grieving person left behind in the wake of an assassination that cut deeper than he thought it ever could.

  Strange how you didn’t know what you’d lost until it was gone.

  “Special Agent Patrick Collins, if you’ll follow me? Jonothon de Vere will be going with my partner,” the older man said.

  Patrick followed where the agent led and found himself in a patient intake office where they could have some privacy. A hospital really wasn’t the best place to spearhead an investigation, but this was where Setsuna had been brought. This was where she had died. He hoped someone from the SOA had secured her body.

  “My name is Gregory Miller,” the FBI agent said, pulling out his phone and holding it up. “I’ll need you to tell me what happened tonight. Are you okay with me recording it?”

  “That’s fine.” Patrick crossed his arms over his chest and stared over the agent’s shoulder. “I came to DC to speak with the director of my agency about an ongoing case. We didn’t stay long. She was shot as we were leaving.”

  “Did you see the shooter?”

  “No. They used a long gun. Sniper rifle.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Patrick finally looked him in the eye, choking back anger. “I was a combat mage in the Mage Corps, as I’m sure you know if you saw the news over the summer. I know what kind of damage a gun like that can do. Besides, there wasn’t anyone on the street at the time but us, so it had to be a ranged shot.”

  “Us being?”

  “My partner, Jonothon de Vere.”

  “No chance the assailant was hiding with the use of spells?”

  “I wouldn’t rule it out, but it’s doubtful.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because most of the people targeting us are tainted by hell and use black magic, and I’m really fucking good at tracking that. Odds are it was a hunter or someone allied with the Dominion Sect who isn’t a magic user or carrying a demon in their soul.”

  The FBI agent kept asking questions, and Patrick answered them to the best of his knowledge, but it was like someone else had control of his mouth. The feeling made his skin crawl, thinking about Andras, even though he knew it was simply a response to Setsuna dying. That didn’t stop the bitter ache inside from digging itself deeper.

  The interview lasted nearly thirty minutes according to the clock on the wall in the office, though it felt longer to Patrick. The agent knew Patrick had to leave due to the problem at hand. He wasn’t being held as a murderer this time, only a witness, and with Reed present to vouch for his integrity, he wasn’t going to be hauled off in handcuffs.

  “We’ll be in touch to continue where we left off,” Agent Miller said before leaving the room.

  Patrick only had a few seconds to try to get himself under control before he had to face everyone outside the office. That timing got longer by virtue of the federal agent who slipped inside the office, bringing with him the crackle of ozone and weighty presence of a god.

  “DC is never this exciting when you aren’t here,” Quetzalcoatl said as he kicked the door shut behind him.

  Patrick scowled at the god. “I’m pretty sure the DEA doesn’t have jurisdiction over Setsuna’s murder.”

  Quetzalcoatl smiled thinly at him. “The DEA doesn’t, but I do.”

  Dark-haired and dark-eyed, the Aztec god made a living in the mundane world these days as a special agent for the Drug Enforcement Agency. He’d been something of an annoyance, if ultimately grudgingly useful, when it came to taking down Tremaine’s Night Court and keeping Tezcatlipoca at bay last year.

  The DEA windbreaker he wore didn’t seem warm enough for the weather outside, but it helped Quetzalcoatl blend in. Patrick took a step back, though there wasn’t much space to move around in the small office.

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m here to give you a warning since it appears the rest of my cousins are busy.” Quetzalcoatl dragged the plastic chair away from the front of the desk and swung it around to sit in it. “The veil is getting thin.”

  Patrick stared at him. “It’s not Samhain yet. I thought we still had time?”

  “Did you think the veil would break all at once in a single day? You’re forgetting what Ethan perpetuated with the Thirty-Day War and the sacrifices last year during summer. It takes time to break through the veil, time we are losing. The Sluagh are following the storm lines. Áłtsé Hashké tells me he has found marigolds in the subways. The dead are restless in their graves.”

  “What do you want me to do? Ethan could be anywhere. I don’t have time to go from city to city chasing after rumors.”

  Quetzalcoatl’s hand snapped out, grabbing Patrick by the wrist with an implacable grip. Talons pricked his skin, making Patrick freeze. The god’s true form wasn’t the man sitting before him but a huge, feathered serpent, and the reminder made Patrick wrap his fingers around the hilt of his dagger.

  Quetzalcoatl was on their side; Patrick didn’t think the god wanted him dead before he paid his soul debt, but one never knew.

  “You need to call the gods of heaven to fight, the way Ethan has called the gods of every hell,” Quetzalcoatl said.

 
; Patrick scowled. “All of you have been telling me for years this was my fight, not yours.”

  “Yes, but the end of it belongs to every pantheon tied to the mortal plane. What gets you there at last can be drawn from all of us who came before.” Quetzalcoatl showed all his sharp teeth in a smile that left Patrick cold before letting go. “Stories are shared, after all. They are how we exist, how we are remembered.”

  “They’re also how you die.”

  Quetzalcoatl’s eyes flashed molten gold for a split second. “Creation is not the sole purview of one pantheon. Neither is death. Sometimes, for a world to be born, another must die.”

  Patrick stepped back, trying to get some distance between them, but didn’t get far, not with Quetzalcoatl still gripping his wrist. “Say I ask for help? Say I pray for it? Since when have any of you ever listened to me? I asked the Dagda for help with the Sluagh, and he said it wasn’t his fucking problem.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “So maybe he didn’t use those words. The sentiment was still the same.”

  Quetzalcoatl got to his feet, and the room suddenly felt too small, trapped inside it with a god. “Find Ethan and stop this madness. Some of us won’t survive the veil tearing again.”

  They’d lose the prayers that sustained them, their heavens and hells tied to the mortal plane fading faster than before. The current status quo was survivable, but not if Ethan won. Patrick knew that. He was doing his best to pay his soul debt, but the price was getting steeper and steeper, and he wasn’t sure the cost wouldn’t outright kill him at this point.

  The door banged open just then, and Wade barreled inside, an irritated military aide behind him, who stayed in the hallway. Wade scowled at Quetzalcoatl, sliding between the god and Patrick, knocking the god’s arm aside and forcing him to let go of Patrick.

  “I remember you, Agent Pretzel,” Wade said.

  Quetzalcoatl looked visibly pained at the misuse of his name. “You’re looking better than the last time I saw you.”

  “No thanks to you.” Wade reached behind him, arm waving around frantically until he snagged Patrick by the front of his jacket, never taking his eyes off the god. “I’m stealing Patrick.”