Because he had no other choice.
Patrick stared up at the sky around the rapidly spinning mageglobe framed between his hands as sizzling splatters of hellfire rained down on his shield ward. He drew back his own personal shields, letting it sink back beneath his skin. Jono made a sound in the back of his throat, his warm breath blowing across Patrick’s ear when he spoke.
“You carry your shields in your bones,” Jono said, making it a statement, not a question.
Patrick didn’t respond, too focused on the once clear sky now marred by black smoke rising high above the street. The acrid smell of it was something even his shields couldn’t keep out. He clenched his hands into fists, manipulating his magic to fold the edges of his shield over the burning, destroyed vehicles to contain the hellfire. Shields weren’t his strong suit, even back when he could tap a ley line, but he refused to let this one break.
“Collins!” Casale yelled, his voice cutting through the cries filling the air.
For a split second, Patrick could smell desert sand and the cloying scent of death. He could hear the steady burst of suppressive fire trying to clear him a way to the center of that death spell, Ashanti’s ashes still hot under his fingernails.
Patrick wrenched his mind out of memory and focused on the here and now.
“Clear!” he shouted back, forgetting that no one had called for his status, that this wasn’t a war zone, except for how it was.
Jono shifted behind him, and suddenly Patrick was being hauled to his feet by strong arms, held close against Jono’s solid body. He was reminded of the other night, how easily Jono had manhandled him so they could both get off. It was nice to know the other man could use his strength to keep them safe as well.
“What the fucking hell was that?” Jono asked.
Patrick dropped his arms a little, the mageglobe following his hands. He couldn’t quite choke back the ugly laughter that escaped his mouth. “Hell is right.”
Casale was suddenly by their sides, expression equal parts fearful and furious. Patrick belatedly realized he was still wrapped up in Jono’s arms and reluctantly stepped away from the taller man.
“Was that your car?” Casale demanded.
“Yeah. Something tells me we’re on their radar.”
“You think?” Casale said, staring at the vehicles the hellfire bomb had destroyed, still burning away behind Patrick’s shield covering the street. “Are you all right?”
No, Patrick thought. What he ended up saying was “Yes.”
He couldn’t afford to be anything else right now.
Jono stared at Patrick like he didn’t believe him at all, but he didn’t question Patrick’s state of mind. Which was fine with Patrick, because the only person he didn’t argue about his mental health with was his VA-assigned therapist. After today, Patrick figured he owed the man a call.
“Anyone else hurt?” Patrick asked.
“We’re clearing the area, but I don’t think so. You got your shield up in time,” Casale replied.
Patrick nodded, most of his attention still on the hellfire burning itself out beneath his shield, the warning as clear as sunlight.
The Dominion Sect knew he was in town.
9
“You can’t takeme off the case,” Patrick argued. “I’m running it now.”
Casale pointed at the smoldering remains of the rental car and two squad cars. The vehicles were currently being doused by a witch with an affinity for water magic instead of the FDNY for security purposes. Casale had dispatched a couple of other PCB witches whose affinity with defensive wards were strong to work with the bomb squad on clearing the area.
“Someone just tried to kill you,” Casale said.
“They did a shitty job of it since I’m still breathing.”
Jono made a strangled noise in the back of his throat that both Patrick and Casale ignored.
“I take personal offense to someone targeting the people working my cases. I know I can’t take you off the case; I just need yousafe. You’re no good to me dead, Collins.”
Casale had a point, even if Patrick didn’t like it. “This isn’t the first time I’ve survived a bomb scare.”
