A Vigil in the Mourning (Soulbound #4) - Hailey Turner Page 0,54

eyes. “I never said I’ve met Westberg, just that I know of him. I follow news of the election online like everyone else.”

“Not one to hang out with your old man?”

“Politics bore me. I prefer a more personal form of outreach.”

Patrick pointed at the skulls and antlers hanging from the wall. “Listening to people drink their joys and drown their sorrows in your altar?”

“It isn’t a crime to be worshipped.”

“It is if souls are the currency.” Patrick pulled out his phone and unlocked it, swiping through his pictures until he found the one of the pawnshop slip. He held it up for Thor to see. “The SOA is building a case against Westberg for collecting rent payments in souls through pawnshop deals. They sell their souls, bit by bit, and Westberg buys them up. Why?”

“You tell me.”

“He’s got to pay Odin’s tithes with something. Money isn’t going to cut it.” Thor stared at him without blinking, and Patrick sighed tiredly. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

Thor shrugged expansively before starting to sort dirty glasses into a plastic bin. “Everything has a price.”

Patrick glared at Thor, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “How many people have to die until he’s satisfied with a candidate’s tithes?”

“It depends on the soul’s worth. You know that.” Thor shook his head as he leaned over to check the kegs hooked to the draft spigots. “Odin asks for payment. If a candidate wants to win, they’ll pay it.”

“I find it real hard to believe that a man who spouts his hatred and disgust about magic would do a one-eighty and suddenly be willing to get down and dirty with the preternatural world.”

“Mortals have always done crazy things for power. Why are you surprised?” Hinon said.

“Closeted about his beliefs is one thing. Having an immortal as his campaign manager means I can’t discount the possibility he’s a victim here.” Patrick drummed his fingers against the bar counter. “If it’s a god using him as a puppet, then which one, and why? If it’s to get to Odin, then I’d put money on the Dominion Sect wanting his godhead.”

“Your father needs to find a new hobby,” Thor said. He picked up another apple and tossed it to Wade, who caught it easily. The teenager bit into it with a crunch that spoke of perfect ripeness.

“Thanks,” Wade said around the fruit.

“If Odin is the target, then we need to keep him safe,” Patrick said.

“The Allfather can take care of himself,” Thor replied.

Patrick opened his mouth to argue, but he was cut off by the sound of glass shattering as something bright and heavy and smelling of the hells was thrown inside the bar, lighting everything up like a supernova.

10

The scorching heat of a hellfire bomb was unforgettable, a nightmare that should have only been found in a war zone, not a bar in the middle of Chicago on a Friday night.

Patrick threw himself off the barstool and took Wade down to the floor with him. He ripped his shields out of his bones, expanding the protection around the both of them while Wade shrieked in his ears. Hellfire splattered against the shields, the overwhelming smell of sulfur making Patrick gag as the stuff slid down the magical barrier.

Hellfire was like metaphysical napalm, and Patrick didn’t want to be anywhere near it.

“What the fuck?” Wade yelled as the sprinklers went off, water sluicing over Patrick’s shields.

“You really think Odin can take care of himself when whoever is after him is lobbing hellfire bombs at you?” Patrick shouted at Thor, even though he couldn’t see the god through the rapidly encroaching smoke.

Warm hands grabbed him by the shoulders, shocking him with electricity, but they didn’t let go. “You need to get clear.”

Hinon’s voice rang in Patrick’s ears like thunder. When he looked at the god, it was like looking into the face of the sun. Huge wings the color of the sky in a Midwest storm arched away from the god’s shoulders, lightning snaking around each feather. Hinon’s aura was a halo of electricity that made Patrick’s eyes water and his skin become staticky though his clothes.

Hinon yanked Patrick to his feet, and Wade scrambled to keep up. The Haudenosaunee thunder god raised a wing between them and the crackling, deathly burn of the hellfire bomb. Patrick jerked free of his grip, conjuring up a mageglobe, the pale blue light at odds with the sickly hellfire shine around them. He grabbed Wade by the shoulder with one hand and pulled