“She sounds like a right lovely lady,” Jono drawled.
Patrick snorted and put his phone away. “A lovely pain in my ass, that’s for sure.”
He started putting the files back together so he could put them away. Jono watched him curiously. “Are we leaving?”
“She said make myself available. I can’t be available inside the PCB, so yeah, we’re leaving.”
“Where?”
Patrick ran through his options and discarded most of them in seconds. He didn’t know who might be watching the apartment, the SOA office downtown was out of the question, and Marek’s apartment was impossible to reach because of the barrier ward. Setsuna’s order to make himself available gave Patrick an idea on who was coming.
And if he was right, he’d rather they meet in public.
“Is Tempest open tonight?” Patrick asked.
Jono nodded. “Tyler managed to cleanse the bar. It’s back open for business. I usually work weekend nights, but Emma is giving me paid time off until this is all over.”
“Then let’s go. After what happened this morning, I need a goddamn drink.”
Patrick put away the files in their assigned cabinet before they left the PCB, a look-away ward burning through a mageglobe in Patrick’s hand.
“Bit paranoid, aren’t you?” Jono asked as they started walking.
“Keeps me alive.”
Patrick didn’t drop his look-away ward until they were two blocks away. It faded between one step and the next, everyone’s awareness of their presence sliding through them, as if they’d been there all along.
“Want me to get an Uber?” Jono asked. “It’ll be a quick ride to Tempest from here.”
Patrick shook his head. “We don’t want quick. We want to get lost.”
Someone had gotten past the heavy police presence in Morningside Heights to set the hellfire bomb on his car. Patrick wouldn’t put it past the Dominion Sect to sic some of their acolytes on him. If anyone had eyes on the two of them, it would be difficult to keep watch in a crowd.
As they turned a corner, a heavy gust of wind smacked Patrick in the face. He glanced up at the now-cloudy sky, a marked difference from the clear blue that morning. The air had a muggy feel to it, like the lead-up to a storm.
Patrick put the change in weather and the warning it could be out of his mind in favor of leading Jono two blocks north to the Spring Street subway station. Patrick picked up a single-ride subway ticket to get through the fare gates while Jono used his MetroCard. They blended in with the crowd waiting on the platform and took the next 6 train running north, riding it all the way up to Grand Central Station.
Even before they arrived at that transit hub, Patrick could sense the magic emanating from it. The famous station contained the anchoring circle of protective wards that ran through the entire subway system. Power bled out in all directions, a faint buzz to his senses that was easy to ignore.
The train came to a stop and the doors opened automatically. As they exited the train car, Jono slipped his hand into Patrick’s and tugged him through the crush of people ready to get their Saturday night started. Jono’s hand was warm in his, the strength in the hold impossible to miss. Patrick let him take point, Jono’s presence as a predator something human instinct couldn’t ignore. People got out of his way without even realizing it.
“Where to now?” Jono asked.
“Anywhere,” Patrick told him.
Jono took him on a circuitous route through the station to catch the 7 train going west. They took it crosstown, getting off at Times Square. Rather than get on another train, they went topside into the summer crowds of tourists filling the Great White Way. The famous intersection burned bright with the neon lights of dozens of electronic billboards, familiar store-brand logos, and the famous advertising screens attached to the One Times Square building.
Patrick still carried his handgun and his dagger, the look-away ward set in the leather of his holster and sheath keeping curious eyes at bay. Patrick pulled his hand free of Jono’s grip and reached for his phone. No messages and no calls.
“Let’s keep moving,” he said.
They walked through the crowd and didn’t stop until Patrick found the first bus line going south. They squeezed their way onto a bus carrying more tourists than locals. Patrick ended up pressed against Jono’s front, one hand gripping a hand strap while he kept the other to himself. That lasted as long as it took for a taxi to cut the bus off and the driver to slam on the brakes. Patrick swayed hard with everyone else, staying upright with the help of Jono’s hand that suddenly found its way to his hip.
This close, and all Patrick could think about was their fleeting time together the other night and the way Jono wouldn’t stop looking at him, even now.
“We staying aboveground?” Jono asked, his thumb stroking distractingly against Patrick’s waist beneath his shirt.
“Down to the Financial District. We’ll catch a taxi there.”
