A Veiled & Hallowed Eve

by Hailey Turner

  Jono shook his head as he pushed his way through the revolving door of the downtown building where Gentry & Thyme was located. Even just those few seconds from the taxi to the entrance had been enough to soak his trousers from the knees down and wet his hair. An umbrella was useless in the gale force winds howling between Manhattan’s skyscrapers.

  “You look like you got no sleep,” Sage said as Jono approached her in the lobby.

  Wade was practically glued to her side, eating Dunkin’ Donuts hash browns out of a paper bag three at a time. Jono didn’t know how many orders he’d bought to make the bag bulge like that.

  Sage held two travel mugs of coffee in her hands, one of which she handed to Jono. He took it from her with a tired nod of thanks. “You’d be right.”

  Wade tilted his paper bag toward Jono. “Want some?”

  “I ate,” Jono said, though the offer was appreciated.

  “More for me, then. Where’s Patrick?”

  “At the office. I took a taxi over.”

  Sage shook her head. “You really need to get another car. Buy it with tithes. It’s technically a pack expense.”

  “Maybe when this whole bloody mess is over.”

  “Speaking of that mess, let’s get upstairs for the meeting with Tiarnán.”

  At half past eight on a Monday morning, the lobby was bustling with people arriving for work despite the ugly weather outside. The weather in Salem had followed them home yesterday, and a reactionary storm was slowly building over New York City. The radar maps on the morning news had looked absolutely horrendous, with warnings of gale force winds and possible flooding in the lower areas around Manhattan.

  Jono knew it was only going to get worse.

  They took a lift up to the floor Gentry & Thyme was on. Sage waved at the receptionist as they passed, leading them to the large conference room where all their alliance meetings with the fae were held. Tiarnán was already seated at the table, the fae lord flanked by Deirdre. Their heritage was impossible to miss, from Deirdre’s dark green hair and pale pink eyes to Tiarnán’s violet-eyed gaze and sheer otherworldly presence.

  Tiarnán’s gold-tipped cane was set across the table in front of him. Jono’s gaze caught on the silver filigree plates and links that wrapped around Tiarnán’s right hand, anchored by a thin silver cuff and adorned with gemstones. He could practically taste that metal, and it made the back of his throat itch.

  “I understand you had some trouble in Salem,” Tiarnán said in greeting.

  Jono took a seat in between Sage and Wade. “It would’ve been worse if Gwyn ap Nudd hadn’t shown up.”

  “Yes, we are aware of his aid. Brigid sent out a warning that the hawthorn paths are unstable. She’s sending support to guard them.”

  “That can’t be good. There’s one smack in the middle of Central Park. What’s going to come out?” Wade asked, sounding a little alarmed.

  “It’s difficult to say.”

  “We know the veil is thin. Samhain is on Friday, but every warning from the gods makes it seem as if the veil will rip open before then,” Jono said.

  Tiarnán nodded. “That’s a strong possibility.”

  “Yeah, well, you lot aren’t the only ones who believe that. It hasn’t hit the news yet, but the government is sending in the National Guard after everything that happened with Setsuna and the mess in Salem yesterday.”

  Tiarnán shared a look with Deirdre. “That is unexpected.”

  “In a bad way?”

  “The demonic incursion in Cairo that jump-started the Thirty-Day War already had demons and soultakers in the street before soldiers showed up. Other than a few attacks centered around your pack, there’s been no other signs here of a demonic incursion.”

  “The government knows Ethan’s side has the Morrígan’s staff and several million zombies at their disposal. I think they’re just being prudent,” Sage said.

  “They also murdered a government official. I mean, people are pissed about that,” Wade pointed out.

  Jono was glad Patrick wasn’t present. Setsuna’s death was still a gaping wound for him, despite how he kept working through the grief. It manifested itself in nightmares and the occasional tears in the shower where it was impossible to distinguish them from water, but Jono always recognized the scent of salt beneath soap.

  “The deployment is apparently being announced later today. They’ll arrive within a day or so, according to Patrick,” Jono said.

  Tiarnán looked out the windows lining the length of the conference room, the outside world distorted from all the rain. “Are you sure they’ll make it in time?”

  Jono froze at that statement. “What do you mean?”

  Deirdre tapped a perfectly manicured fingernail against the table, staring at them with unblinking eyes. “If the veil tears open similar to how it did in Cairo, New York City is going to be caught between this world and the ones beyond. It won’t be easy to send in reinforcements. It’s why we’ve gathered our side and have been bringing them through the hawthorn path in advance to get them situated how we agreed on. Block by block.”

  “Though in a city of iron, our power won’t be as it is past the veil,” Tiarnán warned.

  “You can still fight,” Jono said before taking a sip of his coffee. If the fae tried to find some way to wriggle out of the alliance, he’d let Fenrir tear into them.

  “That was never in doubt, but do you have more of a battle plan than the one we’re working with?”

  Jono shrugged. “My country’s military tried to recruit me, and I gave the bloke knocking on doors in the block a two-fingered salute. Your best bet is to talk with Patrick on something like that. We have packs from here and out of state ready to fight, as well as Night Courts moving into Manhattan proper. We’re organized to a point, but nothing on par with the military.”

  “What about covens?” Deirdre asked. “Do they remain committed?”

  Jono had had enough of covens in recent days, but he knew they couldn’t afford to be picky, especially after last night. “Casale and Angelina stopped by last night. The covens are gathered, though they’re sending some of their adherents outside the city in anticipation of what’s to come.”

  “They aren’t the only ones fleeing,” Tiarnán said.

  “I don’t want anyone here who isn’t willing to fight. That’s a weakness we can’t afford.”

  “Then what about every citizen who isn’t aware of what waits beyond the veil, who your government has not adequately warned?”

  “We fight for them and try to keep them safe.”

  “It’s why we’ll move block by block and leave allies in strategic areas. The covens may not have the sort of fighting experience those in the military have, but they’re still an asset. We’ll work with them, and they with us, despite any reservations either side might have,” Sage said.

  Tiarnán hummed thoughtfully. “You mortals do all right when it comes to war.”

  “Yeah, but you guys have actual gods of war,” Wade said.

  Tiarnán gave him a droll look. “You are a dragon.”

  Wade flapped his hand in Tiarnán’s direction. “I’m not a god.”

  “Small blessings,” Sage muttered under her breath.

  “Hey!” Wade exclaimed. “I’d make a great god!”

  “Oh? And what would you be a god of?”

  “Snacks.”

  Sage chuckled. “That won’t help us win this war.”

  “It’d keep us fed. Aren’t supply lines important in something like this?”

  “If it gets to the point of us needing supply lines, we’d be in a shit position. Between our combined alliances, the government, and whatever help the gods give us, we’ll need to be enough,” Jono said.

  They had to be, because there was no way Jono was letting Patrick lose this fight.

  There was no way Jono was losing the man he loved.

  Tiarnán met his gaze and nodded grimly. “If this world falls to hell, we all do.”

&
nbsp; It echoed what Ashanti had said when speaking about her children starving if hell were to win. Letting Ethan turn himself into a god of hell would create a new myth none of them would survive.

  “Just have your people ready, and we’ll have ours.”

  Tiarnán inclined his head. “We daoine sídhe will not shirk our duty.”

  That was as close to a promise as they would get out of the fae. Deep in his soul, Fenrir seemed satisfied, so Jono would have to be as well.

  The meeting didn’t last much longer after the confirmation of support was obtained. That was one more group of fighters they could count on when everything went to shit.

  “I’ll walk down with you,” Deirdre said as she stood. “My Starbucks order should be ready.”

  Jono didn’t know where the Starbucks was, but he figured it had to be close by, if not in the building somewhere, because venturing out in this weather wasn’t worth it, even for coffee. Patrick would probably say otherwise, but he wasn’t there.

  Sage and Deirdre made small talk about things that weren’t related to the alliance as they left the office and waited for a lift. Jono pulled out his mobile, switching it out of silent mode now that the meeting was over. Patrick hadn’t texted him an update, but he had a couple from several pack leaders he’d need to respond to.

  The lift arrived, and they took it down to the lobby, picking up a couple of other riders on the way down. Jono ignored the double takes he received, while Wade scowled pointedly at the people who began stinking up the elevator with their fear-tinged anxiousness.

  Jono was glad to leave the small space behind in favor of the lobby—right up until he realized who waited for them. The group of men and women in business attire wouldn’t be out of the ordinary if it weren’t for how they smelled bitter and acrid from demons riding their souls.

  “Take cover!” Jono snarled, grabbing Wade by the shoulder and shoving him back into a lift, forcing everyone else back as well.

  Sage threw herself against a pair of closed lift doors, the gold-and-white marble edges of the lift frame protruding outward to provide mediocre safety from the bullets aimed their way. Jono did the same while Deirdre raised a shield between herself and the Krossed Knights taking aim at them from the lobby. Whatever spells they’d used to get their weapons past the security desk, they’d dropped them now.

  The handful of people who were in the lobby screamed and ran for the entrance, including the pair of people manning the security desk. Considering they weren’t armed, Jono didn’t blame them.

  “Jono!” Wade shouted as he popped back out of the elevator before the doors could shut and take him to safety.

  Deirdre’s shields were a glittering, effervescent pink and slightly opaque. They stopped the bullets well enough but couldn’t hold up against the cross-bolt one of the hunters fired. It ripped through her shield like it was nothing but tissue paper—spelled, Jono guessed—and Deirdre wasn’t quick enough to dodge it completely. It cut across her arm, the wool of her sweater tearing along with her skin. The cry she let out was one of shock more than pain, and her shield cracked like pressure applied to a frozen-over lake.

  She staggered, reaching out with one hand to brace herself against a lift door. She’d gone white in the face, holding her wounded arm close to her body, struggling to keep up her shields.

  “Deirdre!” Sage cried out.

  The fae blinked rapidly. “Iron-tipped.”

  Jono swore, knowing how badly iron affected the fae. They couldn’t count on her shield, and when it finally shattered, Jono stood on four legs instead of two, the shift to his wolf form having taken less than a minute with Fenrir’s help.

  Wade belched fire at the hunters before they could get off any more bullets, forcing some of them to scatter out of range. Jono used those few seconds to get clear of the lift bank and sink his teeth and claws into the hunters carrying guns. The acrid scent of hell hung heavy in the air, hints of the demons riding their souls. They tasted even worse once Jono bit into them.

  Blood filled his mouth as his fangs bit through an arm like it was nothing, the pressure in his jaws tearing through clothes and flesh and bone. He jerked his head, and the hunter’s arm came with him, tearing clean out of its socket. Flesh split, the wet sound buried under the hunter’s scream as Jono spat the limb out, blood pumping from the man’s brachial artery. A dull roar filled his ears as a flash of negative light exploded around the hunter. The demon left its host to die, and Jono moved on to the next target.

  Deirdre struggled to get her shields back up, but she was pinned down in front of a lift. The flicker of opaque pink around her body hinted at her troubled state. The magic in the iron was sharp in Jono’s nose, as was the silver he could practically taste in the other half of the hunters’ arsenal.

  Aconite made his eyes water, but Jono refused to let it bother him as he took down another hunter, claws tearing open a rib cage with a single swipe. He pivoted, just missing getting a bite out of another hunter, when a vicious roar echoed through the lobby. Sage barreled out of the lift bank and slammed into a hunter taking aim at Jono.

  They went down, Sage’s teeth in the man’s face before he could curl his finger around the trigger. When she lifted her head, there was blood on her teeth and lips that she didn’t bother licking away. Jono’s attention was on her for only a second, but that was more than enough time for a demon to cause trouble.

  “Jono!” Wade screamed.

  Jono heard the whistle of something cutting through the air behind him. He tried to dodge the attack, but demons could move fast, even when taking up residence in human bodies.

  Sage was faster.

  A blur of orange and black slammed into Jono with enough force one of his ribs cracked. Jono skidded across the gold-and-white marble floor, claws raking furrows in the stone. Sage took the blow meant for him, the hunter’s aconite-laced and spelled silver machete sinking into her lower body instead of his.

  The sound she made as the hunter gutted her would haunt him for years.

  Jono howled, his wordless protest drowned out by Sage’s agonized roar as she collapsed to the ground. The hunter wrenched the machete out of Sage’s body with a vicious twist of his hand, raising it again for a killing blow. Jono was on him before the blade could descend, mouth clamped over the man’s head and biting down with enough force he chipped several fangs.

  The hunter’s skull popped in his mouth like an over-ripened berry, brain matter and fluid slipping past his lips. The demon fled, leaving behind the bitter taste of hell that washed away every other taste in his mouth. Jono spat out blood and bits of bone, globs of brain stuck between his teeth, but he didn’t care.

  All he cared about was Sage.

  “Sage!” Wade yelled, his voice breaking on her name. “Sage!”

  The remaining hunters weren’t going to survive Jono’s rage as he crouched over Sage’s writhing body.

  Neither would they survive Tiarnán’s.

  The fae lord stepped out of a lift, cane clenched in his hand like a sword, violet eyes shining with magic. The very air vibrated with his arrival, but Jono barely felt it as he shifted back to human now that Tiarnán had arrived. Even with the twisted, melting colors that assaulted his changing vision, Jono could see how all the gold veins in the marble that made up the floors and walls of the lobby burst into light and broke free of the expensive stone.

  The floor undulated like in an earthquake while the precisely cut slabs of marble on the wall cracked and shook, some falling off their mountings. Every bit of brilliant metal called forth by the Lord of Ivy and Gold wrapped around the remaining hunters—cut through them—tearing them apart in a burst of shining gold and bright red blood.

  They ended up in so many pieces that Jono knew identifying them would be practically impossible.

  But he couldn’t care about that, not with the gaping, bleeding wound in Sage’s side taking up all his attention once he was human again. Aconite glistened against the ragged edges of her f
lesh and over the organs sliding out of the wound. Worse than that was the smell of black magic that had settled all around her.

  Jono placed his hands against her heaving chest, Fenrir clawing at his soul, and poured everything he was into the order that came out of his mouth. “Change.”

  He forced Sage to obey him despite the agony it put her through, her pain all he could smell, all he could taste. When she was finally human beneath his hands, Jono choked on her name, the syllables lodging in his throat.

  She looked at him with tears in her wide, shocked eyes, blood trickling out of her mouth, the wound in her gut still gaping open, not even close to being healed.

  Tiarnán knelt on her other side, taking off his suit jacket to drape it over Sage’s naked body to help stave off shock.

  “I’ll call for an ambulance,” Tiarnán said.

  Jono nodded tightly, his hand finding Sage’s beneath the suit jacket as Wade hurried over with a frantic look on his face.

  “Stay with me,” Jono said, trying desperately to make it an order she had to obey.

  Bellevue Hospital was a Level 1 trauma center that had specialists on hand to handle anything that came through the emergency doors.

  They were not exactly prepared for being inundated by a group consisting of werecreatures and the fae, every single one of them waiting for an update on Sage’s and Deirdre’s condition. Legally speaking, the only one allowed to receive a report on her status was her husband, but Marek had Jono’s wrist in a viselike grip, ensuring he’d know she was out of surgery the second Marek did.

  Because she was coming out of surgery. Jono refused to believe otherwise.

  He closed his eyes and tipped his head back until it hit the wall. The lunch hour had come and gone, but he wasn’t hungry. They’d all given their statements to the PCB who’d followed them to the hospital, because Jono hadn’t been willing to stay at the scene. He and Wade had been driven to Bellevue in Tiarnán’s private car, the driver skirting speeding laws to get them there mere minutes after the ambulance arrived.

  Patrick always complained about how the hurry up and wait aspect of missions was his least favorite part back when he’d been in the Mage Corps. Sitting there, not knowing Sage’s status, Jono could understand why.