A Veiled & Hallowed Eve

by Hailey Turner

  He opened his eyes and moved his head to crack his neck. Emma and Leon were curled up together on a chair in the private waiting room they’d been escorted to. Wade hadn’t moved from his seat beside Jono, too worried to even fidget. Tiarnán and several other fae from his law firm took up other seats in the waiting room, the lot of them waiting on word from Deirdre.

  Whatever aconite mixture the blade had been coated in, it had been deadly enough that Sage couldn’t shift without Jono’s command, and shifting wasn’t healing her. Deirdre had been transported in a second ambulance, iron-sick in a way the fae rarely were when the wound wasn’t deep. No one was taking any chances right now, not with demons in the mix.

  It had been five hours since Sage was first rushed into surgery, and Patrick still hadn’t answered his mobile.

  Jono stared at Patrick’s number in his call log, having tried calling him every ten minutes since Sage had been loaded into the ambulance, but every attempt went straight to voicemail. The slew of texts in the group chat and the private one between them had all gone unread. He wanted to leave to find Patrick but couldn’t until he knew Sage had made it through her surgery.

  Handling all the incoming texts from the pack alphas only distracted him so much before his thoughts started circling again. Looking for a distraction, he tried calling Patrick again but had no luck getting through.

  “Why isn’t he answering?” Wade asked after Jono ended the call.

  “I don’t know,” Jono said, thinking about what Patrick had said last night.

  “What if he was attacked like we were?”

  “I’d know.”

  Jono knew Patrick was alive and on this side of the veil because the soulbond thrummed between them. It wasn’t like when they were separated by cities or the veil, or even when Andras had taken over Patrick and blocked it, but Patrick wasn’t paying any attention to it.

  “But—”

  “He went to work this morning. The government is planning the defense of New York City. He’s probably still neck-deep in that meeting.”

  Wade lapsed back into silence, worry etched into his face. Jono sighed and flexed his fingers around his mobile, wondering if he should send another text or try calling again. The only other direct number at the SOA he had was Patrick’s office line, but if he was in a meeting, he wouldn’t be there to pick up. Calling was all Jono could do while they continued to wait, but it didn’t feel like enough.

  Another hour passed by before they received any news of Sage’s condition. The doctor who entered the waiting room was in clean scrubs, but she still smelled like Sage’s blood to Jono’s nose.

  “Family of Sage Taylor?” she asked, gaze tracking around the room.

  “Here,” Marek croaked out, shoving himself to his feet and dragging Jono with him. “I’m her husband. Jono’s her alpha.”

  The surgeon nodded, taking the information in stride as she stared at them. “We’ll start with the good news first. Your wife made it through surgery and is currently being transported to ICU. The severe allergic reaction she sustained to the aconite poisoning is something we need to monitor since she’s not healing.”

  Jono’s eyes burned, and he had to take a moment to wipe away the tears of utter relief those words caused.

  Marek opened his mouth, but it took a second for him to speak. “Will she heal?”

  “The aconite needs to be flushed completely out of her system first. We cleaned the wound and sent samples of the poison to the labs to get the results of what sort of structure it has. Aconite is known to impede werecreature healing, but I expected to see some movement toward biological repair already, except nothing has started. That usually indicates some level of magic in the mix. We had to stitch her up since she’s not healing.”

  Jono drew in a sharp breath. “What about healing potions?”

  The surgeon shook her head. “Until we know what sort of spell was in that poison, we can’t give her healing potions just yet. I won’t risk a bad interaction when she’s barely stable.”

  Marek finally let Jono go to wipe the tears from his eyes. “Can I see her?”

  “Once we have her established in an ICU room, then yes, but only one person at a time will be permitted to see her.”

  “Go,” Jono said, nudging Marek in the side.

  “Can I see her after?” Wade asked.

  “The ICU wing has its own waiting room. A nurse can escort you all there,” the surgeon said.

  As badly as Jono wanted to stay, he knew he had to leave. Sage might still be critical, but she was alive, and he needed to believe she’d remain that way. “I need to find Patrick.”

  Marek nodded, not smelling angry at all. “I’ll keep you updated on Sage.”

  “Yeah.” Jono half turned, gesturing at Wade. “Stay with Marek and keep an eye on the ICU entrance.”

  Wade nodded jerkily, mouth set in a hard line, no hint of scales pushing through his skin despite his fury. “None of those fuckers are getting past me if they show up. I promise.”

  “Where are you going?” Emma asked, finally disentangling herself from Leon to get to her feet.

  “Home first. I need to get something from there,” Jono said, worry making his skin itch.

  “I’ll drive you. Leon will stay with Wade.”

  Emma walked over to give Marek a hug before slipping past the surgeon. Wade took Jono’s place by Marek’s side, looking grimly determined in his promise to watch over Sage.

  “Let me know when you find Patrick,” Wade said.

  Jono nodded. “You’ll be the first person I ring.”

  Because Wade was pack, and he needed to know before anyone else.

  Jono turned to face Tiarnán, meeting the fae lord’s gaze. “Can one of yours remain with Marek and Wade? We need someone with magic to help guard Sage.”

  “The firm is closed today after what happened. One of our partners will remain with your pack,” Tiarnán said.

  The fae had been enough that morning; he had to believe they’d be enough now. That’s what their alliance was for, after all.

  Jono met Emma out in the hallway, and they headed silently for the exit, receiving a couple of double takes as they went. Jono didn’t know if it was because of his eyes or the bloodstains on his trousers from kneeling beside Sage in the lobby. He needed a shower, just not one from the storm outside.

  They ran through the rain for the car park two blocks away, preternatural speed helping them get there in less than a minute, but they were still soaked when they arrived. Emma didn’t seem to care Jono was ruining the leather seat of her Maserati.

  Emma started the engine, and Jono tried calling Patrick one more time once they were on the street. It went to voicemail, and he ended the call, trying not to break his mobile.

  “Do you want me to send out word for the packs to keep an eye out for Patrick? Or start a search?” Emma asked as she pointed her car Uptown.

  “You’re driving,” Jono told her.

  “I can call Leon and tell him what to do and drive at the same time.”

  Jono gritted his teeth together and shook his head. “Let’s just get to the flat.”

  Emma never took her eyes off the road, the wipers set to their highest speed against the downpour. “Are we going to wait for Patrick there?”

  “No.”

  “Jono.”

  He rested his elbow against the car door and rubbed at his eyes until colored spots burst across his vision. “I know he won’t be at the flat, but I need to retrieve something from there just in case.”

  “Where do you think he is?”

  “Hopefully still at work. I’d like to believe Patrick hasn’t fucked off to do something stupid.”

  “This is Patrick we’re talking about.”

  “I know. That’s why we’re going home. We’ll need every weapon we can possibly get.”

  “And then what?”

  “I keep trying to reach Patrick.”

  His continued silence was worrisome, though
it wasn’t anything Jono could fix right then. Despite the promise last night, Jono knew what Patrick was capable of when he got it in his head to do something. Jono needed to know that Patrick wasn’t paying the price Ethan demanded in exchange for Eloise without telling him first, because they both knew it was a shit deal.

  “Maybe it’s like what you told Wade. Maybe he’s in a meeting and he can’t answer his phone,” Emma said at the next red light.

  Jono licked his lips. “Maybe.”

  The flat was empty, like he knew it would be, when they finally arrived. Jono went straight to the bedroom and pulled open the nightstand drawer on Patrick’s side of the bed. Resting beside the empty space where the iron box had been was an old Greek coin, the only one remaining from the multitudes that Hermes had given Patrick last year before the whole mess with summer solstice.

  “Jono?” Emma said from the doorway.

  “When we were in Paris, Patrick stopped Ilya by using Srecha’s blessing to break the Morrígan’s staff. We came home with a piece of it. Ethan knows we have it. Loki told us in Salem that if Patrick wanted Eloise back, he had to bring them the piece of the Morrígan’s staff. Patrick promised me he’d tell me if he was going to trade it for his grandmother. He told me he was taking the piece of it with him to work today,” Jono said.

  Emma stared at him for a long few seconds, all the blood draining out of her face. “Do you think that’s why we can’t get ahold of him? Because he’s trading himself for his grandmother?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Jono pressed a hand to his chest, wishing he was wrong, knowing he wasn’t because Patrick’s self-sacrificing tendencies were well-known within their pack. It would have been infuriating if it weren’t an essential part of Patrick’s makeup and part of the reason Jono had fallen in love with the man in the first place.

  Sighing, he picked up the Greek coin with his other hand, finding it cool to the touch, the edges not perfectly circular, and it smelled ever so faintly of magic.

  “The gods have only ever given him weapons. I don’t want him to be without a single one,” Jono murmured, staring at the coin.

  An unexpected knock on the front door had his head snapping around. Jono clenched his fingers around the coin, staring at Emma as he dialed up his hearing, listening to the dozen or so heartbeats on the landing. Jono shoved the Greek coin into his pocket and left the bedroom, Emma on his heels. He yanked open the front door, staring at the group before him.

  Captain Gerard Breckinridge smiled grimly, dripping water on the landing. He wore a black uniform that wouldn’t be out of place on a battlefield and carried a duffel bag large enough to hold a long gun and other gear. “Jono.”

  “Going to let us in?” Sergeant Keith Pearson asked, looking as soaked as Gerard and kitted out just as similarly.

  Jono’s gaze jumped from Keith to the man standing on his other side. Ranged down the stairs and to the lower landing, and probably lower than that, was the entirety of the Hellraisers who’d fought with them in Ireland to save Órlaith.

  “Patrick said the joint task force was recalling people,” Jono said, gaze flicking back to Gerard.

  “We aren’t the only team the Department of the Preternatural is deploying to New York City, but we were the one specifically told to meet up with you and Patrick,” Gerard said.

  “So it’s not just the National Guard, then?”

  “The Department of the Preternatural is bolstering the National Guard’s forces, even if the general population isn’t aware of that. Our teams are better prepared for something like this over the regular Army, even if it’s not an official deployment of the Army inside our borders.”

  “Because you’ve fought Ethan before.”

  “Him and his allies.” Gerard rubbed at his jaw with a gloved hand. “General Reed has boots on the ground in Manhattan. He’s in charge, whether anyone will like to admit it on the civilian front or not.”

  Jono had only met the dragon masquerading as a man twice, but he wasn’t impressed by the bloke. “He’ll need to take orders from us.”

  Gerard arched an eyebrow. “It’s your fight, I won’t deny that, but you don’t have military training.”

  Jono tapped two fingers against the center of his chest, a silent reference to the god he carried in his soul. “I don’t need any.”

  Thunder erupted overhead, loud enough it made Gerard look up at the ceiling. “The reactionary storm outside is getting worse because the veil is tearing.”

  Jono tightened his grip on the doorknob, denting the metal. “I know.”

  “You don’t understand. It’s like Cairo all over again, except it’s tearing open from the other side rather than this one.”

  Jono swallowed back bile. He knew what waited past the veil. They all did. “I take it that’s worse.”

  “Ethan doesn’t need sacrifices here on Earth to keep the veil open if the gods are the ones doing the tearing from their worlds. They won’t stop until everything on the other side of the veil pushes through here. It’s going to be hell. Literally.” Gerard’s gaze moved past Jono, landing on Emma, and he frowned. “Where’s Patrick?”

  Jono tried to breathe but found his chest didn’t want to expand all the way, the soulbond unresponsive to his desperate pull. “I don’t know.”

  Gerard’s silver eyes went flat and hard. “Tell me everything.”

  18

  The morning drive into work was an exercise in white-knuckled driving. Terrible weather made for terrible drivers, and Patrick probably could’ve written a symphony with his horn by the time he parked in the garage adjacent to the SOA field office.

  Patrick was prepared for the weather. He wasn’t prepared for who he found waiting for him in his office, sitting behind his desk as if he owned it.

  Patrick rocked to a halt just inside the door, eyes going wide. “Sir. What are you doing here?”

  General Noah Reed blew a smoke ring up at the ceiling, the cigarette held between his fingers nothing but the filter, and stared at Patrick. His gaze went unerringly to the small iron box tucked under Patrick’s arm, and he narrowed his eyes.

  “Close the door, Collins,” Reed ordered.

  Patrick obeyed automatically, casting a silence ward while he was at it. Static flowed through the room, making his ears pop. “What’s going on?”

  “I think that’s my question.” Reed pointed at what he carried. “That was never in any of your after-action reports from Paris.”

  Patrick reached up to grab the box from under his arm, holding it tightly in one hand. “It didn’t need to be.”

  “I gave you a mission, Collins.”

  “And the gods gave me a soul debt. Sorry, sir, but you’re dead last where they’re concerned. The Morrígan’s staff was never coming back to you or the government.”

  Reed stared at him with eyes that never blinked, the steadiness of his stare almost otherworldly. “Eloise Patterson is missing, you fought a god in Salem, and now you’re carrying a broken piece of the Morrígan’s staff. What are you planning on doing, Collins?”

  “Nothing but fight. That’s why we’re all here, isn’t it?” Patrick eyed the general. “Did the president send you?”

  “We’re trying to stave off an incursion from every hell in existence without panicking the masses. Of course the president sent me.”

  Patrick had never met the president, but considering how many immortals held government jobs, part of him wondered if the person sitting behind the Resolute desk was a god. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to find out.

  “Bad optics if the media sees you and whoever came with you,” Patrick said quietly.

  Reed smiled, teeth far too sharp for a human mouth. “Optics won’t matter if everyone is dead and this world has gone to hell. I have my people to think about, same as you.”

  Patrick swallowed tightly. “The packs who have come for the fight have their orders, as do the Night Courts. Jono’s confirming with the fae today about their support. The cov
ens stand ready.”

  “And the gods?”

  Patrick shrugged stiffly. “If the fight is here—”

  “It will be.”

  Patrick stared at him, tapping a finger against the iron box. “It’s been confirmed? New York City is ground zero?”

  Reed blew out a puff of smoke that didn’t come from the cigarette, the gray plume drifting between them. Patrick hoped it wouldn’t trigger the building’s sprinklers. “Close enough.”

  “So what now?”

  “Priya’s writ for habeas corpus et animum was granted. Setsuna’s soul will be called back from the afterlife today during the joint task force meeting.” Patrick froze, choking on air. Reed’s gaze didn’t waver. “I can’t excuse you.”

  “Why the fuck not?” Patrick demanded hoarsely.

  “Because the rest of the people on the joint task force who don’t trust you need to see you there. They need to know you had nothing to do with her death.”

  Patrick bit out a harsh laugh. “That bullet was meant for me.”

  “Maybe. But you still have a job to do, Collins. She would want you to finish it.”

  He closed his eyes, tears burning against his lashes. “They should let her rest.”

  “There is no rest in war.”

  Not even if you were dead, it seemed.

  The sound of the chair creaking made Patrick open his eyes, watching as Reed got to his feet. The general came around the desk, settling his hand on Patrick’s shoulder for a couple of seconds.

  “Meeting starts in ten minutes,” Reed said before leaving.

  The door shut quietly behind him. Patrick drew in a shaky breath and scrubbed at his eyes before yanking out his phone from his back pocket. He set the iron box on his desk and thumbed it open, staring at the carved raven sitting innocuously inside. He knew better than to touch it, Srecha’s blessing all that had saved him last time.

  Samhain was four days away. Patrick knew what he risked by giving it up, but he also knew what he would lose if he didn’t.