Patrick glared at him. “The hell it did.”
“You’re still alive, Pattycakes.”
“Only because I’m useless to your kinddead.”
“There are gods who would disagree with that.”
“Fuckthose gods.”
Hermes wasn’t put off by Patrick’s attitude. “Hera is right. You need to stop running.”
“If I was running, I wouldn’t be here.”
Hermes pulled a pair of sunglasses out of thin air and put them on his nose. “Standing your ground means nothing if you don’t fight.”
Patrick opened his mouth to argue when he was interrupted by his phone ringing. Pulling it out of his pocket, he checked the screen. He didn’t recognize the number, but the area code was for New York City, so he answered it.
“Collins,” he said.
“Got a call about another body. It’s one of ours,” Allison said. “Chinatown.”
“Fuck. What’s the address?”
Allison rattled it off. “Casale is leaving church and will meet us at the scene. Do you need a ride?”
“I’ll catch a taxi.”
“See you soon.”
She hung up, and Patrick pulled his phone away from his ear. Jono ran both hands through his hair, interlocking his fingers together behind his head. “Tenth body, innit?”
Patrick nodded. “Two more days until summer solstice.”
Two more bodies were needed for a complete zodiac of the signs representing the Greek gods. The clock was counting down to the longest day of the year when all hell might break loose again. Patrick was holding the line by sheer will alone if the ache in his soul was anything to go by.
“We are running out of time, so do your job,” Hermes said before disappearing right before their eyes.
“And I thought my life before you came to town was interesting,” Jono said, glancing at Patrick. “What’s all this about your family?”
“What’s all this about your Fates? Could’ve sworn Marek was the seer and not you,” Patrick shot back, already opening up his Uber app.
Jono didn’t answer, and Patrick grimaced down at his phone.
Guess I’m not the only one with secrets, he thought.
12
“How do the sacrifices work?”Jono asked as they hurried down the street.
Their Uber driver had let them off a block away from the crime scene due to the police presence. An open street where anyone could hear them really wasn’t the place to talk about casework. “No fucking idea.”
But Patrick could guess, and in the end, it wouldn’t be pretty.
Chinatown was a densely packed neighborhood in Lower Manhattan full of locals, immigrants, and tourists alike. Middle of the day on Sunday, the markets were crowded with shoppers looking for fresh produce, seafood, and meat on offer, jockeying for the best prices and choicest cuts.
A police officer was redirecting traffic past Mott Street, but the street itself wasn’t roped off to pedestrians yet. More police officers were huddled together halfway down the block. A storefront produce market and the stores on either side of it had been cordoned off while police dealt with the body in one of the apartments above. A crowd of curious onlookers and elderly Chinese shoppers were being held back by several officers. Patrick didn’t see the ME’s van yet, but CSU was on-site.
The first thing Patrick noticed as they closed in on the building was the hellish taint from black magic seeping into the street. The recognition burned against Patrick’s weakened magic, the feel of the taint stronger than he remembered it being at the last two crime scenes.
