“It’s fine.”
“I’ll be right outside.”
“Don’t listen in,” Casale told him. “What we need to discuss is classified.”
“No promises,” Leon sneered.
He stepped out of the office and yanked the door shut. Casale looked over at Patrick. “Can you keep him from eavesdropping?”
Patrick nodded. Rather than focus his magic through a mageglobe for a simple silence ward, he stepped closer to the wall at his back. Raising his hand, he sketched out a sigil on the glass wall. Magic followed his finger like ink. He pressed his hand over the softly glowing lines and forced his power outward. Static washed through the room, creating a barrier of magically created white noise that would keep anyone from listening in on their conversation.
Marek pushed his office chair away from the desk and stood up. His outfit was casual, in keeping with the no formal dress code theme of the company, but Patrick had a feeling all of Marek’s clothes were brand-name. One of Patrick’s few friends had grown up in Paris and had tried to school him on fashion when she found out he was clueless. They’d had to find ways to pass the time in the field somehow, but Patrick hadn’t cared about civilian clothes when he was wearing a uniform.
Marek came around the desk and didn’t offer anyone a seat on the handful of chairs or the leather couch taking up space in his office. He came to a stop a few feet from them, hands on his hips.
“I saw our meeting for next week,” Marek said, staring at Casale.
“I know, but something came up. We need to talk,” Casale replied.
“I saw our meeting for next week,” Marek repeated slowly. “But I didn’t see you coming here today.”
Casale stared at him in surprise. “You always see my visits.”
Marek’s gaze slid away to pin Patrick like a bug in an entomologist’s collection. “Which means I didn’t see you.”
Patrick kept his heartbeat steady from long practice. A good lie held up through a good story told with both voice and body. With a werecreature not present to smell truth from a lie, Patrick could keep his secrets safe—he hoped.
“Or you didn’t see the problem that Casale came here to ask you about,” Patrick countered.
Marek glanced at Casale before his attention returned to Patrick. “I’m assuming you mean the murders that have been in the news lately. I don’t need to be a seer to know which case requiring a chief’s attention in the field is the immediate problem. Besides, if I spent every waking hour looking into what people were doing, I’d be locked up in Bellevue.”
“I’m not here about what you do in your free time,” Casale said.
“No, you’re just here to buy the future.”
“I’m prepared to pay whatever price you set for your vision.”
“Is the City?” Marek asked caustically.
“We got another body today, Marek. A good man died for no reason we can discern, just like all the others. I’ve got a brand-new missing person case with one of Wall Street’s premier hedge fund managers about to blow up in the news. Dealing with Malcolm Cirillo’s wife every day isn’t easy for me, you know that. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you could help.”
“And him?”
Patrick raised an eyebrow at the finger Marek pointed at him before smiling lazily at the seer. “The latest person assigned to the case.”
“You got a name?”
“Why don’t you answer Casale’s question?”
“Why don’t you answer mine?”
Patrick shrugged and didn’t open his mouth.
“Marek,” Casale said, trying to redirect the conversation. “Will you help?”
Marek stared at Patrick for a few seconds longer before huffing out an irritated sigh. “I have a meeting in ten minutes. Make it quick. What do you want to know?”
“Who or what is killing people in Manhattan and leaving astrological signs on the eyes of the dead?”
