A Vigil in the Mourning (Soulbound #4) - Hailey Turner Page 0,97
that of a force trying to reclaim the dead that Anika had summoned with the help of her psychopomp.
Bits of burned flesh broke off as the corpse’s arm bent, stiff fingers touching its charred chest and stiff face. Its mouth opened, and flakes of dried flesh fluttered to the exam table. The corpse’s teeth had all been broken down to the gum line post-mortem, making identification from dental records impossible. Fire had eaten through all but a few strands of muscles on the face, and Patrick could see through the mouth cavity to the other side.
“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