“Where am I?” the corpse asked, voice rough and ruined, coming out an echo, as if from a great distance.
“In the body you left behind for the other side. You will be here only for a moment.” Anika looked at Patrick, her brown eyes glimmering with magic. “Ask your questions, one at a time.”
“What is your name?” Patrick asked, because they needed an identity for the record as much as they needed to know who had killed him.
“I…” The corpse bent its neck, what skin was left over its vertebrae splitting over bone. “My name?”
“Your name when you lived for the record,” Anika coaxed, magic in her voice, at her fingertips, her psychopomp a bridge for souls of the dead to cross over.
The corpse had no eyes, only hollow, burned-out sockets. Patrick stared at the blackened and ruined skull as the spirit of a dead man said, “My name is Dean Westberg.”
Patrick turned and ran.
18
“You’d think the one time I need a god, they’d be fucking listening for me,” Patrick snarled as he ran a yellow light. “Hermes, you bastard. Where the fuck are you?”
The sirens in the SUV rang shrilly in Jono’s ears, mingling with the noise coming from his mobile. He wished he could turn the bloody thing off.
“Do the Norse have messenger gods?” Wade asked from the back seat of the SUV.
“Not one I’d trust.”
“You don’t trust any gods.”
“Shut up and put your seat belt on. Remember what happened the last time you weren’t wearing one?”
The click of Wade’s seat belt was loud in the SUV. The sound of the call switching over to voicemail yet again made Jono grimace. “No one is picking up at the restaurant.”
Patrick glanced over at him. “It’s a private event tonight. I’m not surprised the phone is being ignored.”
Jono put his mobile away. “Yeah.”
The windshield wipers were running at top speed, but it wasn’t fast enough to clear all the snow falling down on them. The reactionary storm had gotten worse, and the blizzard the SOA’s weather witches had tried to keep at bay was now blowing at the shores of Lake Michigan. Driving was a constant fight with the wheel, snow, and traffic, though Patrick seemed to be handling it well enough.
“Fuck,” Patrick growled as he gunned it through another yellow light changing to red rather than brake for it. “I’d even take those annoying ravens right now, so long as a god actually listened.”
“No you wouldn’t,” Hermes said from the back seat.
Wade yelled in surprise, twisting against his seat belt and lashing out at the god who suddenly appeared beside him. Jono turned around in his seat in time to watch Hermes get smacked in the face by Wade’s hand hard enough the god’s head snapped back.
“Fuck,” Hermes said, voice coming out muffled. “Watch your strength, fledgling.”
“No, please, hit him again, Wade,” Patrick said.
Hermes glared at Patrick as he realigned his nose that Wade had unintentionally broken. “Do you want my help or not?”
“It’s not a question of wanting your help.”
Hermes arched an eyebrow. “I can leave?”
Jono rolled his eyes and faced forward. “Wish you would, but we need your help, so stay sat.”
Patrick white-knuckled the steering wheel and kept driving. Jono reached over to settle his hand on Patrick’s thigh. Patrick was shielded so tightly Jono couldn’t get any scent off the other man, and he didn’t like that.
“The SOA is investigating a local politician. We found a body in one of his homes, but it turns out the dead guy is actually the politician. Someone has been impersonating him, probably since last week. Whoever it is has a fundraiser going on right now they refused to cancel,” Patrick said.
“Sounds like a party,” Hermes said.
“Odin is missing, Hermes. Ethan did fuck knows what to Hannah. Westberg’s campaign manager is most likely Hel, and the person taking Odin’s spot to receive tithes tonight is Thor. Someone needs to warn him and Frigg that they’re probably the next targets.”
“You mortals invented phones for a reason.”
“Oh, fuck you. I would’ve called, but I don’t have their numbers, and no one is picking up at the restaurant. Now be a good messenger god and go warn them.”
Hermes shook his head, dyed curls flopping against his forehead. Jono never took his eyes off the god in the rearview mirror. “Wish I could, but the veil isn’t where any of us want to be right now.”
Jono felt the way Patrick’s muscles tightened beneath his fingertips. Jono looked over his shoulder at Hermes and tried not to scowl. “What the bloody fuck do you mean by that?”
Hermes leaned forward, glancing at Jono before meeting Patrick’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “It took me hours to get here to you when it shouldn’t have.”
“Why?” Patrick demanded.
“Because another realm is pushing at the veil, trying to break through, and it is not any ruled over by my pantheon.”
“Ethan performed a fertility rite, not a sacrifice. There’s been no sightings of soultakers in Chicago.”
“Yes, but how many souls has Odin accepted as payment over the years for mortals to do business in his home away from home?”
Jono dug his fingers into Patrick’s thigh. “Drive faster, Pat.”
“Motherfucker,” Patrick ground out and pressed on the gas.
Driving in the snow above the speed limit was always a risk, but maybe the Fates were looking out for them tonight. The SUV only skidded out of the lane twice, and Patrick managed to get the vehicle under control every time without injuring anyone else on the road. The lights and sirens on the SUV cleared them a path, but the way forward wasn’t easy.
The reactionary storm had finally, fully made it to shore.
