Marek flinched at his words, and Patrick wondered if the Fates he served had ever showed him his own future. Sage wrapped her hand around his and gave him a gentle squeeze. Marek turned his hand in hers, threading their fingers together.
“I see the future, Casale. I see it at the whims of the gods I’m at the mercy of. It’s not always what any of us want to see,” Marek said.
Sage looked away from Marek and met Patrick’s gaze. “You seem to know how to handle this kind of demon.”
“I’m a mage. It’s my job,” Patrick replied.
Except it wasn’t something all mages were taught, because they didn’t carry damage in their souls the way Patrick did. All magic users were taught according to what their magic had an affinity for. Some practitioners handled the elements. Other practitioners healed. Still others tried to raise and enslave the dead—something frowned upon in pretty much every country now, no matter how many hits those videos got on YouTube.
Patrick had a tendency to put out fires with gasoline.
The overkill method was not the SOA’s favorite, but when push came to shove, he got the job done.
“Then why don’t you explain why it targeted Marek? You have eight bodies, and now they’re going after a seer. We have a right to know why so we can protect him and ourselves,” Jono said.
The look Jono gave Patrick was challenging but not unexpected from a god pack werewolf. Casale’s greeting earlier and Jono’s answer had piqued his curiosity about Jono’s position here in New York City. Most major metropolitan cities only had one god pack, and rivalries meant war no humans liked to see. Jono taking the lead due to his status wasn’t unusual, and Marek seemed fine with him doing so, but it might be a problem later down the road.
Patrick met Jono’s gaze across the table, refusing to give ground. “Soultakers will eat anyone’s soul, but they like the clean ones best and ones with magic even more. Marek? He’s a seer. On a scale of one to ten when it comes to power, he’s an eleven. If the Dominion Sect wants a power source to anchor whatever spell they need these souls for, then Marek would be it.”
Casale drummed his fingers against the table a couple of times before he pointed a finger at Patrick. “Ward Marek’s home tonight.”
“That’s not necessary,” Marek tried to protest.
“I think it is. I won’t put a security detail on you out of respect for your pack, but I don’t think your people will be enough to keep you safe.” Casale looked at Patrick. “Can the SOA field a witch?”
Marek shook his head. “I don’t want a government agent living with me around my pack. I won’t risk their privacy like that.”
“Then I’ll ask my wife, unless you have any objections about that?”
“No, we don’t,” Sage answered quickly for the both of them when it looked like Marek might continue to argue.
At Patrick’s questioning look, Casale said, “My wife is a priestess in a coven here in Manhattan. She can get Marek set up with someone his pack won’t mind.”
Patrick would’ve preferred a witch from the SOA, but he didn’t feel like arguing. Judging by Marek’s immediate refusal of the first offer, they’d be fighting all night about it if Patrick pushed.
“I’ll ward his home tonight. Send your witch over as soon as you can,” Patrick said.
“I’ll call my wife and get the ball rolling.” Casale pushed himself to his feet, a frown on his face. “It goes without saying if you see anything else, you tell us, Marek. Please. We’ll pay the cost, and gladly.”
“If I see anything else for this case, I won’t even charge you,” Marek said grimly.
Casale nodded. “Collins, I’d like to speak with you in private. The rest of you can wait here until I’m done with him. We won’t be long.”
Patrick left the conference room with Casale, trailing after him down a long hallway filled with small offices until they came to Casale’s. His assistant’s desk outside was covered in papers and files sorted into neat stacks. Casale’s office was large and meticulously warded with such care he doubted it was done by anyone in uniform.
“Your wife ward your office?” Patrick asked as he sat down in one of the two leather chairs in front of Casale’s wide wooden desk. The space was double the size of the offices they’d walked past, as befitting the rank Casale held.
“If Angelina could ward my life to keep me safe, I think she would.” Casale waved vaguely in the direction of the closed door. “The silence ward activates automatically. They can’t hear us no matter how hard Jono and Sage try.”
Patrick blinked at that bit of information Casale had unexpectedly given him. “Sage is a werecreature? I thought she was fae?”
“She didn’t tell you?” Casale asked.
“She carries fae magic in an artifact. I thought it helped anchor a glamour.”
Casale sighed, rubbing at his temple. “That’s on me for assuming you’d figured out her status, like you’ve figured out everything else tonight. She’s a werecreature but works for the fae. I’d feel bad about disclosing her status, but you’d have found out anyway if you’re hanging around Marek for the duration of the case.”
“Probably.”
