Patrick could easily make out Jono’s tall form in the line, arms crossed over his chest as he either listened to or ignored whatever Wade was telling him that required such dramatic gestures from the teen. Patrick’s eyes watered as he stared at Wade, the teen’s aura still far too bright to look at. It had gotten worse since last Friday.
Wade had flown partway across the city after the attack on the Crimson Diamond, crash-landing in The Great Lawn in Central Park. Marek, Emma, and Leon had been waiting for him, sent by a vision that none of them were willing to ignore. Emma and Leon had talked Wade through shifting mass until he was human again. Then they’d spirited him away through the park and back to their apartment in the Upper East Side before the cops arrived.
Wade had made national and international news with that stunt, even if no one knew his identity. It wasn’t every day a dragon showed up, much less a fledgling, and the excitement hadn’t died down. Neither had the conspiracy theories. Patrick had forbidden Wade from leaving Marek’s apartment unless officially summoned by the police at the PCB or agents at the DEA. The lack of ability to hide his soul made him too big of a target for Patrick’s peace of mind.
Quetzalcoatl had done his best to run interference with the DEA when it came to Wade, but with a case this big, stonewalling wasn’t going to work forever. Patrick owed the immortal more than he liked, even if Quetzalcoatl didn’t see it as a debt in deference of Persephone’s claim. Using his position as a special agent with the Organized Crime Drug Enforcement Task Force, Quetzalcoatl had taken control of the investigation against Tremaine with the full support of the SOA and PCB.
The investigation into Tremaine’s Night Court and the werecreature trafficking for cage fights was still bringing in witnesses. The werecreatures Áltsé Hashké had saved, along with Kennedy, were being cared for in Bellevue. Jono had power of attorney over their treatment, and he spent a couple hours every day sitting by their bedsides, offering his support. No one had questioned his presence or called Estelle and Youssef after Patrick had banned the hospital from reaching out to the god pack alphas.
Right now, Patrick was more than happy to let Quetzalcoatl take the lead on everything. SAIC Henry Ng wasn’t pleased about Patrick ceding the final investigation to the DEA, but the case would most likely be bifurcated at trial. Either way, the federal government would get its day in court against Tremaine’s decimated Night Court. Not many of those vampires were left, but Omacatl Cartel members who had been arrested were more than willing to sell out the remaining vampires for a plea deal.
Lucien’s Night Court had extricated themselves from the fight with no one dead or arrested. Sergio had escaped, though he’d lost quite a few of his people in the fight, either to bullets or the police. He had excellent lawyers on retainer to fight for their release. Patrick knew he would be speaking to the New York State attorney general at some point about plea deals for the Anahuac Cartel members in relation to the SOA portion of the case. Lucien would be annoyed if he didn’t.
Patrick shifted on the bench, gaze skimming over the crowd of walkers, joggers, bikers, locals and tourists alike. The trees didn’t provide as much shade as Patrick would have liked, but he wasn’t out here for an aimless walk. The reason he had ventured into Central Park was walking down the pathway with the straight-backed stride of a military man, despite the fact that General Noah Reed wore civilian clothes.
Patrick stood, resisting the urge to salute, though he couldn’t stop himself from unconsciously settling into parade rest as the general approached. “Sir.”
General Reed extended his hand. “Collins. I understand you’ve had an exciting couple of weeks.”
Patrick gripped his hand for a firm shake before letting go. “That’s one way of putting it, sir.”
Reed took a seat on the bench, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket. With an appearance of a man in his midfifties, Reed was short and barrel-chested, his salt-and-pepper hair trimmed to exact regulations. He always carried a hint of smoke around him. Most people attributed that to his chain-smoking habit, but Patrick was one of the few who knew that was a cover.
“Take a seat and ward us, Collins.” Reed waved the pack of cigarettes at Patrick. “Want one?”
Patrick’s nicotine patches hadn’t been used in over a week, but he’d gone through three packs of cigarettes since lying on that altar. He didn’t have it in him to saynoright now and took what was on offer. “Thank you, sir.”
Reed tapped out two cigarettes, and Patrick lit both with a snap of his fingers and a bit of mage fire. Then he wrote out a silence ward on the wooden bench slat. Static flowed over their area, a bubble of silence encasing them. They smoked for a minute or two, watching the crowd, before Reed spoke.
“I’m giving a speech at the United Nations tomorrow morning about promoting shared defenses against the hells.” Reed took a hit off the cigarette, blowing smoke out of his nose that smelled more like sulfur than tobacco. “It’s irritating how human memory fades even after a few years.”
Patrick said nothing, keeping his eyes on Jono and Wade, who had finally reached the front of the line and were receiving their hot dogs. “Some of us don’t forget.”
“I know you don’t. How is the fledgling?”
“A mess.” Patrick flicked ash off the tip of his cigarette. “Trauma does that.”
“He has learned bad habits. I saw his soul from a kilometer away.”
“He never learned anything. Kid didn’t know what he was for years. I would appreciate it if you could teach him how to hide before you leave.”
Reed leaned back against the wooden bench, eyeing Patrick. For a moment, his brown eyes flashed golden in the sunlight. “You speak as if he will be staying.”
Patrick looked away from the dragon’s intense gaze, attention drifting back to Jono and Wade, who were now heading their way. “Wade needs therapy, not war.”
“He is of my kind.”
“Yeah, well, he’s part of my pack, sir. Jono would fight you over him.”
“Gods are meddlesome and annoying, as are their vessels.” Reed took another drag off of his cigarette, the tip glowing orange. “You are human and mortal. You can’t give the fledgling what he needs.”
Patrick’s mouth twisted. “You told him to stay with me. He’s staying, sir.”
He didn’t want Wade to leave here today, pressured into signing a contract with the US Department of the Preternatural. Patrick remembered the feeling of hopelessness he’d experienced when he signed his own contract all those years ago, but he’d known what he’d been getting into back then. At least, he thought he had.
“You think so?”
“Wade has been held captive, tortured, and forced to fight for his life since he was fourteen. He’s had his entire world upended for the second time last week when he learned what he was. No professional psychiatrist would approve him for basic training, much less active duty.”
