They crossed the wide avenue in a handful of seconds, racing down the street ahead. The open grass on the right gave way to low stone walls with iron fencing on top. Buildings on the left were dark, no lights shining through their windows. People were annoyingly in the way, which was a problem, and then became a problem when hellish recognition ripped through Patrick’s magic.
Screams echoed from the other side of the wall.
Not all of the noise was human.
Patrick skidded to a halt, facing the thick trees and greenery the wall partially obscured. “Nadine!”
She thudded to a stop, toes flexing against the asphalt, breathing fast. “We need to keep going!”
A demonic zombie threw itself over the wall with surprising agility, showing off the blood on its teeth with a snarl. Its form was familiar from London and the Catacombs as the drekavac launched itself at them, screaming all the while.
“Fucking zombies,” Nadine swore as she raised a shield around them, a single violet mageglobe spinning near her shoulder. “Ilya’s raising the dead.”
“You think?” Patrick spat out as he conjured up half a dozen mageglobes.
More drekavacs threw themselves over the wall, but not all attempted to attack Patrick and Nadine. More than half went after easier targets—the citizens of and visitors to Paris.
People screamed in terror as the drekavacs chased after them, fleeing down the street between stopped cars. One person tripped and didn’t get up, frozen in terror at the death hunting her down. Patrick filled his mageglobes with raw magic and sent them careening through the air, releasing them in the midst of the horde before the zombies reached their prey.
They exploded like bombs, ripping through the drekavacs with brutal intensity. Body parts flew through the air, and a head slammed on top of Nadine’s shield, sliding down with a smear of blackness that might’ve been blood at one point.
Not surrounded by underground walls that could cave in and crush him, in the middle of a citywide emergency, Patrick figured the French government wouldn’t mind much if he got a little defensive in an offensive way.
His attack didn’t remove all of the drekavacs from the fight. More were flinging themselves over the wall, choosing to go after easier targets than the two mages safe behind near-impenetrable shields.
“Patrick, we need to go,” Nadine said harshly.
He knew that, but it was still difficult to accept the retreat. “If Ilya is using the Morrígan’s staff, we’re going to be fighting zombies all the way to your apartment.”
“We’re going to be fighting them all the way to the Eiffel Tower, but I’ll feel better about doing that with a Carbine in my hands. So let’s fucking go.”
“Who gave you a Carbine?”
“Who do you think?”
At least Lucien was good for something after all.
Patrick hated to turn his back on the drekavacs and the people the demonic zombies were hunting, but he had no choice. They couldn’t stand their ground and fight for this one small corner of Paris when the bigger threat was still out there.
Because all around them the dead were rising, and Patrick’s side couldn’t stop a zombie invasion until Ilya and Peklabog were stopped first.
24
Jono lifted the car with a snarl and heaved it toward the intersection where a horde of rotten bones animated by lost souls were clawing at a family trapped on top of a vehicle. The car he’d tossed slammed into the zombies, shattering some of them.
The ones left turned glowing skulls their way and started shambling forward.
“Oh, wonderful,” Sage sighed irritably. “More zombies.”
“We’re almost to the flat,” Jono grunted.
He could sense Patrick’s general location through the soulbond, the connection wide open between them. The sluice of burning magic from tapping a ley line hadn’t yet hit him, which made Jono hopeful Patrick wasn’t cornered by the dead.
The streets they’d run through were still filled with people, but the crowds were starting to thin out as the threat became readily apparent. Nothing like the dead clawing their way out of manholes in the middle of the street to make people scream and run for cover. Some people weren’t fast enough, and that was the family’s problem on top of the car.
Jono squinted against the sunlight, having lost his sunglasses somewhere in the streets behind him on their run from the Arc de Triomphe. “Let’s get them out of danger first.”
“I don’t know where you think there’s no danger in Paris right now.”
Sage still stayed right by his side as they ran toward the zombie, preternatural speed enabling them to vault over the horde, missing getting caught in bony, clawing hands. Despite being bone stitched together by magic, Jono had seen what damage they could do. He and Sage had passed numerous people who hadn’t been quick enough to escape the dead. Their bodies had lain on the street with torn-open guts and gouged-out eyes and throats, magic already crawling over their corpses to make them rise and walk again.
Jono had faced plenty of nightmares in his life, but a never-ending army of the dead was definitely one he could’ve done without.
They reached the car with the family on it—Sage grabbed the mum and toddler, while Jono went for the dad—and then launched themselves over the remaining zombies. Jono grunted when he landed on the street amidst old broken bones, the man screaming in his ear not helping his concentration any. They set the humans on the ground, and Jono pointed down the street that didn’t have any zombies in it at the moment.
“Run,” he growled.
He wasn’t sure they understood him, but terror was a decent motivator. The three stumbled into a run, and Jono hoped they made it to safety somewhere.
Sage yanked on his arm, dragging Jono forward with bruising strength. “Come on.”
They kept running, faster than most others on the street. They passed police trying to protect mundane humans against encroaching zombies amidst stalled cars. Nothing electronic was working, and Jono had a sinking feeling the entire city was affected. It would make communication between groups impossible and provide no easy way to work together and fight the walking dead.
Finally, they turned down the street Nadine’s apartment was on. It was empty, with only a handful of cars abandoned and their drivers nowhere to be seen. Jono was thankful no one was around for the few seconds it took them to reach the door. It was unlocked due to the security panel being disabled.
“That’s going to be a problem,” Jono muttered as he shoved open the door.
“We’ll bring something down to barricade it later.”
They slipped inside the public foyer, and Jono made sure the door closed firmly behind them. They took the stairs rather than the elevator, because that was a kill box situation if zombies made it past the gate.
Jono pulled out the extra set of keys Nadine had given him once they reached her floor. Even before he opened the door, he knew Wade and Spencer weren’t inside, unable to hear any heartbeats or scent them.
“We told him not to leave,” Sage said.
“He’s grounded when we get back to the States.”
Jono locked the door behind them, setting the keys on the small table flush against the wall to his right. He sniffed the air, scenting for any lingering threats, and came up with nothing.
“No way to contact Wade or Spencer. We’ll have to wait for them to return,” Jono said.
“Here’s hoping they’re actually together. I wouldn’t put it past Wade to have gone out for food with Spencer none the wiser.”
Jono was going to have words with Wade about listening after they survived this whole bloody nightmare.
Sage dumped her purse on the coffee table and kicked off her shoes. Jono tossed his mobile to her, and she dropped it in her purse. No use in carrying it around with all signal towers dead across Paris.
A loud, drawn-out yell reached Jono’s ears. He met Sage’s gaze for a single second before they both lunged toward the windows.
Jono opened up the nearest one and looked outside.
Racing around the corner, clutching a bag bulging with bread to his chest, was Wade. Trailing behind him was a horde of drekavacs who screamed louder than Wade.
“Don’t eat me!” Wade shouted. “I just wanted lunch!”
Jono didn’t think and threw himself off the balcony with a grunt, falling four floors to the ground and not caring about the height. He slammed to the pavement hard enough he felt the impact vibrate up his spine, the cement cracking beneath his feet. Sage landed beside him, neither of them harmed from the jump.
Wade scrambled on top of a stalled car, yelling his bloody head off as he jumped from one car to the next. A drekavac rebounded off a parked car, twisting through the air after Wade, who lashed out with one leg while shoving a macaron into his mouth. He kicked the zombie in the side of the head while hopping on his other foot. He managed to dent the drekavac’s skull but lost his hold on his bag of food. It went flying—bread, croissants, and brightly colored macarons spilled through the air before tumbling to the ground.
Wade made a noise that was more pissed-off shriek than frightened scream. “No! My passionfruit macarons!”
“Wade!” Jono yelled, already moving. “Leave the food and get your bloody arse over here!”
“But my macarons! And my bread! That was my after-lunch snack!”
A high-pitched growl cut through the air from behind them. Jono looked over his shoulder in time to see Fatima vaulting from the bonnet of one car to another, eyes grayed-out in her small face. She was a tawny-and-black blur as she raced toward the drekavacs. Behind her came Spencer, a dark green mageglobe orbiting his body in tight circles as he ran.
A coldness cut through the air, reminding Jono of Smithfield Market back in London. Fatima landed on the roof of a car and went still, all four paws braced wide. Spencer thrust one arm forward, sending his mageglobe streaking through the air at the drekavacs. The zombies screamed, the sound making Jono want to dial down his hearing.
Spencer’s magic smelled cleaner than Patrick’s, but it still made Jono’s skin crawl. He watched as the mageglobe exploded like a mini-supernova, magic cutting through the drekavacs. Every last one of the demonic zombies went rigid before collapsing on the street. Ghostly fog drifted up from their bodies, twisting through the air.
Fatima yowled again, tail lashing as each individual spirit flew toward her. She opened her small mouth, jaw dropping wider than an ocelot would be capable of in the wild, and ate the spirits whole.
“Sorry, I took a nap and woke up when that damn spell rolled over Paris and saw that Wade was gone. I went looking for him, but then, you know, zombies,” Spencer said as he lowered his hands.
“That spell seemed a bit quicker than your casting in London,” Sage said.
“I can put the dead to rest in my sleep. Exorcising a Great Marquis of Hell is a different headache entirely.”
“Wade!” Jono shouted. “Get over here.”
Wade scrambled away from the bodies in the street, gold eyes wide as he looked at Jono. “All I wanted was one of those croak mister sandwiches!”
“We told you not to leave the flat, and this is exactly why.”
Wade scowled, the gold fading from his eyes now that these particular zombies were no longer a threat. Jono hooked a hand over his shoulder and gently pushed him toward the front door.
Fatima licked her teeth and twisted around. She launched herself at Spencer, who caught her easily enough, murmuring softly to her. She head butted him before wriggling until he put her on the ground.
“Let’s get inside,” Sage said.
They were filing back through the front entrance of the building when the soulbond tugged sharply in Jono’s chest. Awareness washed through him, and he paused in the doorway, leaning back out so he could look down the street.
Sage paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Jono?”
“Patrick is nearby,” he said.
Spencer urged Wade upstairs, but Sage stayed where she was, waiting with Jono. Less than a minute later, two figures rounded the corner at the end of the street. He could hear their hearts beating fast and their labored breathing, but both Patrick and Nadine appeared to be uninjured.
“Fucking zombies,” Patrick gasped once he was within arm’s reach.
Jono reeled him in for a hug, breathing in the smell of sweat and anger that surrounded Patrick. When Jono pressed a kiss to his temple, sweat-dampened hair tickled his nose.
“Inside,” Jono rumbled.
“Communication is dead across Paris,” Nadine said, breathing heavily as she slipped past them, heading for the stairs.
Jono urged Patrick after her and yanked the door shut. They took the stairs two at a time up to Nadine’s floor. Spencer stood at the door, holding it open, a mageglobe burning in his free hand. They all hurried into the flat. The second the door closed, Nadine strengthened her threshold to a level that made Jono’s teeth ache from close proximity.
“What’s the plan?” Jono asked.
“Ilya is using the staff to raise all the dead in Paris,” Patrick said.
“And the Eiffel Tower?”
“It’s amplifying his spells. The first one knocked out electricity for the entire city, but it wasn’t his. We think it was Zachary’s.”
“There goes any hope of coordination between first responder groups, or getting a warning out,” Spencer said.
“The zombies are warning enough.”
Nadine twisted her arms behind her back to unzip her dress, sliding it off with a full-body wriggle. “I got a crate of weapons from Lucien the other night. There’s a Carbine for each of us and some body armor. Let’s gear up and get on the street. It’s not going to be easy getting to the Left Bank.”
Patrick and Spencer followed Nadine out of the living room, off to get ready.
Sage looked at Jono, already kicking off her shoes. “We’ll shift once we’re on the street.”
“What about me?” Wade asked. “Don’t tell me to stay here. I’m not gonna listen.”
“We know,” Jono said dryly. “You already proved that.”
Wade scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do I shift?”
“Paris already has millions of zombies clawing out of their graves. The last thing the city needs right now is a dragon.”
“So no shifting mass?”
“Stay human. Blow fire. Don’t shift unless Patrick gives you the go-ahead. You don’t need to become a target.”
Wade nodded. “Right. Crispify the zombies.”
“And don’t eat them.”
“Don’t—hey!”
Wade’s affronted squawk had Jono laughing, despite the situation. He left Sage to remind Wade what he could and couldn’t do in a fight and went in search of Patrick.
Jono found him in the guest bedroom, having stripped out of his sweaty suit in favor of dark jeans and a cotton T-shirt, combat boots laced tight. Jono watched Patrick strap on the Kevlar vest with practiced ease.
“We’re going to be an odd lot running about. Will the police target us?” Jono asked.
“Maybe, but it can’t be helped. Nadine will do most of the talking for us if we need to get past any police barriers,” Patrick said.
“And if they don’t let us through?”
Patrick looked up from adjusting the last strap, rotating his shoulders against the weight of the vest. “We go through anyway.”
“It’s daylight out, and will be for at least nine more hours. Do you think the Night Courts will help when the sun goes down?”
“Lucien will know to join the fight if it’s still ongoing. The others in Paris?” Patrick shrugged his ambivalence about that. “What about the werecreature community?”
Jono grimaced. “I don’t know.”
Patrick blew out a breath, fingers ghosting over the hilt of the dagger strapped to his right thigh. He stared at his left hand and the line of reddened flesh stretched over his palm, Srecha’s blessing stark agains
t his skin.
“If we get the staff, we can stop them.”
Jono reached for him, pulling Patrick into a fierce, hard kiss that tasted a lot like desperation. “You aren’t fighting alone.”
Patrick twisted his fingers around the fabric of Jono’s shirt. “I know, but I think I might be the only one who can touch the staff.”
“Couldn’t Spencer? It’s closer to his kind of magic, yeah?”
Patrick shook his head. “Srecha gave me her blessing for a reason.”
Jono kissed him again, quick and bruising, breathing in the bitter scent of him. “Bloody stubborn self-sacrificing arsehole.”
“You love me anyway.”
“I do.”
He pulled back, and Patrick managed a tight, brittle smile, but his green eyes were clear, gaze steady when he looked at Jono.
“I know you won’t leave me,” Patrick said, sounding so sure, so insistent, that Jono could only kiss him again.
“Never.” Jono sealed that promise with a biting kiss that Patrick never pulled back from. “I’ll fight by your side, and when I’m not there, I’ll find you. Always.”
Patrick pulled back with a soft gasp, brushing his lips over the edge of Jono’s jaw. “Then let’s go fight.”
Jono followed Patrick out of the guest bedroom and to Nadine’s, where she and Spencer had already claimed a Carbine for themselves, extra ammunition clipped to the front of their Kevlar vests.
Nadine nodded at the weapon laid out on her bed. “That one is yours.”
“You give the best presents,” Patrick said.
“Wasn’t me who procured it.”
“Yeah, we all know Lucien has a weapons stash in every country.”
Jono eyed the mages, how they were kitted out in similar dark clothing and Kevlar vests. Knee and elbow guards and hard helmets were in a crate at the end of the bed, and they all strapped them on, pulling on fingerless gloves. As far as body armor went, it was makeshift, but it would have to do on short notice.
On the Wings of War (Soulbound Book 5) Page 29
