first layer of Zachary’s shield was stripped away by the spell, the second one bending in places from the blow.

Zachary’s affinity leaned toward blood magic, not offensive combat spells. He could cast them, but Patrick’s were better. It bought them time—mere seconds—but that was enough for Patrick to put distance between them in order to play bait.

“That’s the wrong way!” Wade shouted over the rising wind.

The first drops of cold rain splattered to the earth as Patrick conjured up another mageglobe and threw raw magic at the fence surrounding the Rosehill Cemetery. The blast ripped a hole in the fence, and Patrick dragged Wade through it with him right as what passed for a magical grenade crashed into his shields.

Patrick grunted, feeling a layer in his shield crack, but they stayed up. He channeled more magic through his soul, strengthening his shields. He opted for a look-away ward over a brighter mageglobe, magic spinning away from his fingers in their wake before winking out.

“Get us through the trees.”

Wade’s eyesight was better than his. In the dark cemetery, Patrick needed to rely on Wade over his magic. Any light would give them away, and they needed to gain whatever bit of upper hand they could in the next few seconds.

Wade twisted free of Patrick’s grip and tugged on the sleeve of his jacket. “Follow me.”

Patrick let Wade guide him through the sparse trees that gave shade to mourners in the warmer months. In winter, their branches were bare, providing no cover from the rain beginning to pour down. Patrick shrank his shields, swearing when that didn’t help clear his vision as rain sluiced down the invisible barrier.

Wade dragged them behind a larger tree, and Patrick pinned him to the trunk, making sure they were both hidden. When Wade opened his mouth, Patrick covered it, shaking his head. Wade got the hint and snapped his mouth shut. Patrick let him go, easing his head around the trunk just enough to try to get eyes on the enemy if they were approaching.

Sheet lightning made the clouds above pulse with an inner light. The thunder that followed was loud and angry, coming directly overhead. Patrick squinted through the rain, trying to see through his shields at the shadows moving in the darkness. His night vision was shitty after being around hellfire.

It was still good enough to see the spell casting going on and to recognize what it meant.

“Shit!” Patrick ground out.

Patrick grabbed Wade by the shoulders and yanked him to the wet ground, pouring enough magic into his shields that they flickered pale blue in the dark.

The ensuing magical blast cut through the trees around them, incinerating them into ash. While he doubted the fire spell would hurt Wade, Patrick didn’t want to put him in the line of fire unnecessarily.

“Should I shift?” Wade asked, his wide eyes reflecting the lightning above. This close and Patrick could see the reptilian slit of his pupils.

“No. Just stay behind me.”

Patrick rolled to his feet, coming up with a handful of mageglobes. He instinctively reached through the soulbond for Jono—and felt like someone tried to yank his spine out of his body. He grimaced, trying to breathe through the pain of a stretched-too-thin soulbond.

“You’re outmatched,” Zachary yelled, his own mageglobes circling his body in tight orbits.

“Go fuck yourself,” Patrick yelled.

He flung three mageglobes at the ones Zachary aimed at him, their magic meeting over a line of graves and exploding like fireworks that could kill. Beyond them, back on the street, the sickly hellfire light at the bar was joined by the flashing lights of the first fire truck to make it to the scene.

“Uh, we might have a problem?” Wade said.

“What?”

Wade pointed in a different direction. “Werecreatures.”

That was a problem Patrick hadn’t seen coming and one he could most definitely do without.

He threw his next mageglobe at the ground, his magic burrowing deep enough to make it through the shields the sorcerer had erected around his fellow mercenaries. Patrick wasn’t sure they hadn’t shielded into the ground, but he found out soon enough when his mageglobe exploded within the magic dome that suddenly disappeared in a flash of light. The scream the man let out was ear-piercing and full of agony as his legs were blown off from the knees on down.

Zachary took a step backward, away from the werewolf that landed between them out of the darkness. He knelt so he could drag his hand through the blood pouring out of the other man’s legs, writing out glowing sigils, and smiled.

“All of you get clear!” Patrick yelled, pitching his voice to battlefield loudness to be heard over the storm and hoping to all the gods the werecreatures fucking listened.

He raised his dagger instead of conjuring up another mageglobe, bracing his other hand behind the hilt. The blood spell that cut through the air was one he’d seen only during his time in the Mage Corps. It could pull a person’s blood out of their veins and drain them dry faster than a vampire. It killed in less than a minute, and Patrick couldn’t let it hit anyone but him.

So he didn’t move.

Patrick pushed his dagger through his shields, white heavenly fire exploding out of the matte-black blade when the blood spell hit. The prayers and magic that powered the gods-given dagger tore Zachary’s spell apart—and something else tugged at Patrick’s soul.

It left him reeling, sent him staggering forward a step as his magic fluctuated in his soul. He nearly got sick when he realized what it meant.

Who it meant.

Because it wasn’t the soulbond he had with Jono, but something else. Some connection he’d thought had died in that basement in Salem all those years ago.

Patrick pressed a shaking hand to his chest, fabric scraping over the scars there as what had once tied him to Hannah before Ethan severed it scratched at his soul.

Twins knew each other, whether identical or not, and always would.

No amount of magic or trauma would ever change that.

The strike spell

Вы читаете A Vigil in the Mourning
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