He closed his eyes, hand tightening around his dagger. He didn’twantto know what that meant, with those two men on the field, but he couldn’t escape the truth staring him in the face.
Patrick couldn’t escape his past.
“We got you and Marek out of the Hamptons and back to Manhattan with Lucien’s help. I sent the sorcerer you had guarding Marek back to the PCB. I didn’t want him to know where we were going.”
Patrick opened his eyes when he felt Victoria touch the IV in the back of his hand. She expertly removed the tape and needle, pressing a gauze pad over the small hole it left behind.
“Keep pressure here,” Victoria said.
Patrick cleared his throat. “Thanks, but I think you’ve done all you can. You should get going. How much do I owe you?”
“Marek pays my bills. You don’t owe me anything.”
She waved goodbye and walked away. Low voices caught his ear, and Patrick looked off to the side where Emma and Marek sat at a rickety card table some yards away. They spoke quickly with Victoria before the nurse left Ginnungagap, umbrella in hand.
Knowing that they’d been keeping watch was comforting in a way, but that they might have seen his scars left Patrick a little unsettled. He let go of his dagger and reached for his clothes. Getting dressed took some effort, but he had practice in working through damage like this. It wasn’t easy, and it hurt, but Patrick had already spent too much time out of the fight.
“Your shields are down,” Nadine said quietly.
Patrick dragged on one of the black T-shirts that had been in his suitcase. “My shields are fucked.”
He could sense the emptiness where his shields used to sit, the anchor points of the wards fractured from heavenly power. Damaged magic or not, Patrick still had a job to do.
Patrick pulled on his underwear and then his jeans, not caring if anyone looked now that the scars on his chest were covered. He’d spent a good chunk of his life in the military where communal showers didn’t allow for privacy. After yanking on his boots, he strapped his dagger into place.
He was thinking about getting to his feet when the entrance to Ginnungagap opened up and Carmen sauntered inside. She had a MacBook cradled in one arm and a large plastic bag filled with takeout hanging from her hand. Both were kept dry from the rain by the large umbrella she tossed aside.
“I see you’re finally awake,” Carmen said.
“Where’s Lucien?” Patrick asked.
“Around” came the airy response as she shed her glamour. That otherworldly power filled her aura, pressing outward. Patrick could’ve done without the sexual energy though, especially since his shields were broken.
Carmen wore a leather miniskirt and thigh-high glossy black boots. The red halter top she had on matched the red pupils of her dark eyes. Patrick shook his head as he finally pushed himself to his feet, feeling a little light-headed. He watched as Carmen approached the card table where she dropped the bag of food and pointed at him.
“You’re useless right now, so eat,” she ordered.
Patrick ignored her. “You got a toilet around here, or do I just use the nearest wall?”
“Portable,” Nadine said, pointing behind him.
Patrick looked over his shoulder at the large porta potty someone had hauled in. Walking on unsteady legs, he went to use it. The thing smelled like a sewer, but Patrick didn’t care. He closed the door, undid his jeans, and aimed his dick at the dirty urinal until the pressure on his bladder eased.
At least Victoria didn’t give me a catheter, he thought to himself. He fucking hated those things.
When Patrick finished, he washed his hands in the tiny plastic sink near the door. No paper towels were in the dispenser, so Patrick wiped his hands on his jeans before leaving. He was unsurprised to find Jono waiting for him right outside, despite the horrible smell.
Jono escorted him to where everyone was gathered around the card table. Someone had delivered metal folding chairs, and Patrick claimed one of them. His stomach growled at the smell of hamburgers, and fries but he knew he needed to work first.
“Where’s my phone?” he asked.
Jono set it down on the table in front of him. It was nice not having to scramble around for everything on his own.
Don’t get used to it, Patrick told himself.
His stay here in New York City was temporary. He only hoped he didn’t end up in a grave at the end of the case.
Patrick powered on his cell phone and checked the time first. The clock on the display read 1512, and he was of the opinion someone should’ve woken him up sooner. He had no signal though, the magic in Ginnungagap’s walls interfering with the nearest cell tower.
