Patrick opened his eyes to the white walls and ceiling of a private hospital room, the steady sound of machines monitoring his vitals filling his ears. The pinch of a needle stung the back of his hand, and he blearily looked down at where two IV lines were each connected to a vein. The hospital gown was itchy and rough. The heart rate monitor clipped to the end of his right index finger was annoying.
The bed was positioned so he was half sitting up. Patrick gazed around the empty hospital room, noticing the large window off to his right that looked out onto a nurse’s desk. He could see two armed SOA agents standing guard outside his room.
His left thigh hurt, but not as badly as he thought it should. He dragged the thin blanket aside and poked at the bandage wrapped around his leg. Either he’d been unconscious longer than he thought, or someone had added a healer to the mix of doctors overseeing his care. Patrick assumed it was the latter. A healer could tend to the body, but they couldn’t do anything about the state of his soul.
His left hand was lightly bandaged, and ached, but no longer felt as if it were on fire. When Patrick flexed his fingers, they all responded, a clear sign he’d escaped nerve damage. Patrick pressed his other hand over the scars on his chest, trying to calm his breathing. He could feel his magic again, a quiet flicker deep in his soul as it slowly returned, but that wasn’t all he could feel.
Jono, he thought bleakly.
Patrick shied away from the ties that bound his soul to another person, the illegality of the act threatening to make him sick. He used his trickle of magic to reset his personal shields using the anchors carved into his bones. They did nothing to block out Patrick’s awareness of Jono.
“Fuck,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair.
“I see you’re finally awake.”
Patrick’s head snapped up, watching as Nadine walked into the hospital room. She looked tired, one hand holding a little paper cup of shitty hospital coffee. She approached his bedside on quiet feet, eyeing him critically. Dark circles showed beneath her eyes even through her makeup. Her shoulders were slumped with exhaustion, but she still managed a tired smile for him.
“Where am I?” Patrick asked in a rough voice. His mouth was dry and tasted disgusting. He needed about a gallon of Listerine to fix that, or a shot of whiskey. He’d take either right about now. “What day is it?”
Nadine grabbed the water pitcher off the rolling bedside table and poured him a glass. Patrick took it from her gratefully.
“Bellevue. It’s Thursday afternoon. You’ve been out for quite a while,” she said.
Patrick eyed the whiteboard bolted to the wall opposite the foot of his bed. The name of his current nurse was written in washable ink, as well as a coded list of his current treatment that might as well have been written in a foreign language for all he understood it.
He swallowed slowly, shivering at the memory of the fight in Central Park. “Tell me what happened.”
Nadine dragged the uncomfortable-looking hospital chair closer to his bed. She sat down, never letting go of her coffee. “I’m sure you noticed the guards.”
“I’m not handcuffed.”
“You’re not under arrest. They’re for your protection. Not all of the Dominion Sect magic users were caught.”
He could guess who was missing. “Ethan and Hannah escaped.”
“Yes. Hades took them through the veil.”
Patrick let his head fall back against the pillow. “You realize no security guard in the world would be able to stop them if they really wanted to get in here?”
Nadine smiled grimly. “I shielded the room. Besides, Ethan will probably lay low for a while now that the public knows he’s alive.”
“Did any of his people survive that fight?”
“Rachel did. Outside of Ethan’s escape, her arrest is all anyone is talking about on the news.”
“You didn’t kill her?”
Nadine arched an eyebrow. “You asked me not to.”
Patrick shrugged tiredly. “If your finger accidentally slipped on the trigger, I wouldn’t have blamed you.”
“Believe me, I thought about it, but your director is going to need a scapegoat when the dust finally settles.”
“What do you mean?”
“That Congress isn’t appreciative of my decision to keep Rachel in her position when I first had my suspicions about her loyalty. They fail to realize a belief isn’t probable cause, much less solid evidence,” a familiar voice replied.
Patrick stared at where SOA Director Setsuna Abuku stood in the doorway to his hospital room. The fifty-one-year-old woman packed a wealth of power in her aura despite only being a witch. Her sheer presence was enough to draw anyone’s attention when she stepped into a room.
