“As is mine,” Setsuna replied.
“Great. I need you to authorize a writ for habeus corpus et animum for me and push it through the courts.”
There was a pause before Setsuna sighed heavily. “You do understand how difficult it is to get a judge to sign off on something on a weekday much less on the weekend?”
“You sent me out to help investigate the Westberg case. He’s been dealing in souls; I’ve got a missing god we need to find and a dead body that might give us some answers. Will you authorize it?”
“Which god is missing?”
“Odin.”
Setsuna went quiet for a few seconds. Patrick kept his eyes on the snowy road while he waited her out. “You’re lucky Anika is back in DC. If Legal can convince a judge to sign off on the writ, she’ll be there tomorrow. I’ll need your affidavit for it.”
“I’ll get it to you within the next two hours. There’s a reactionary storm heading our way, and traveling isn’t easy.”
“Judges hate being woken up, especially on weekends. Try to get it to me soon.”
Setsuna ended the call as Patrick turned right onto North Clark Street. Wade leaned forward from the back seat, resting his forearms on both their headrests.
“Writ of what now?” he asked.
“We need to produce the body and soul of the dead guy we found in the house. Can’t do that without a necromancer,” Patrick said, eyes glancing at Wade in the rearview mirror. “Put your seat belt on.”
Wade stared at him with wide eyes. “A necromancer?”
“The federal government employs two and a soulbreaker. Put your seat belt on.”
Wade rolled his eyes and sprawled back on the seat, grabbing the shoulder strap of the seat belt. “It’s not like we’re going very fast. It’s snowing and you drive like an old—”
Patrick jerked the wheel to the left as hard as he could, the feeling of hell exploding through his magic and in the back of his throat as a blast of hellfire ripped through where they’d been driving. Wade tumbled into the back of his seat with a yell, one arm tangled in the seat belt he hadn’t been able to buckle as the SUV slid over snow and ice.
Patrick pumped the brakes, trying to regain control, when something heavy slammed into the SUV on the right side with a heavy crunch. The airbags deployed, keeping Patrick from breaking his nose on the steering wheel as powder floated through the air. The SUV was propelled across the center line and into oncoming traffic by the force of the hit—and kept going. The side wheels hit the curb, and the SUV tilted ominously before crashing onto its side. Patrick’s head knocked against the window hard enough to hurt, a twinge running through his neck as the SUV rolled onto its roof.
“Patrick!” Jono yelled.
“Ow!” Wade cried out. “Oh, shit!”
He blinked his eyes open, thighs slamming against the steering wheel and the seat belt holding him in place upside down. Patrick turned his head and watched as the four massive black, bloodstained paws of a hellhound landed on the snowy ground outside his cracked side window. A huge head swung down, fiery red eyes coming into view over a jaw that wouldn’t close properly over the fangs in its mouth.
“Fucking shit,” Patrick ground out right before he threw a bolt of raw magic at the hellhound through the window in an attempt to buy them all time to run.
15
Jono shifted claws out of his fingers and popped the airbags. The chalky taste of the deployment powder almost made him sneeze. He broke open the side passenger door with one strong shove of his hand, sending the door spinning into the street. He ripped his seat belt out of the vehicle’s framework, slamming one hand against the roof of the car as gravity pulled him downward. He used his other hand to rip apart Patrick’s seat belt, freeing the other man.
Fenrir howled through his mind as Jono hauled them both out of the SUV and into the cold snowstorm. The bitter scent of hell filled his nose, making him gag as they staggered to their feet. Patrick’s magic pushed past him in a flash of pale blue light, surrounding them in a shield. The reprieve bought them time, but not much.
Jono punched a hand through the rear passenger door and ripped it off, tossing it away, then held his hand out to Wade. “Come on, mate. Let’s go.”
The teenager grabbed his hand in a bruising grip and scrambled out of the SUV, gold eyes wide in his face, red scales pushing through his skin. “What the fuck was that?”
Garmr, Fenrir snarled, the syllables buried so deep in growls that it took a couple of seconds for Jono to parse the name out and repeat it. “Garmr.”
“That’s not a name, that’s a sound,” Wade complained.
“He’s Hel’s hound,” Patrick said, two mageglobes spinning close to his elbow. He clutched his dagger in his right hand, skin reddened over his temple from the hit he’d taken during the crash.
“You all right?” Jono asked.
Patrick didn’t even look at him, eyes on the hellhound coming back their way. “Fucking peachy.”
The hellhound gape-grinned at them, black saliva dripping off its fangs to hiss and bubble on the snow beneath its mouth. Jono shrugged out of his jacket and grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanking it off.
“Tap a bloody ley line,” Jono growled right before he shifted forms.
Agony ripped through his nervous system before the pain receptors were turned off. The pressure of his body ripping itself apart over breaking bones to reset in a new form was a distant sensation. Thick fur sprouted through his skin as muscles reformed over new bones. His sight shifted from purely human to that of a wolf, the sharpness throwing the world into high relief.
When his
