“How are your eyes?” Jono asked instead.
“I can’t see your soul, so I’m hoping the shine is out of my system. I have a raging headache though. Kind of feel like I have the flu.”
Jono cleared his throat. “Come on. Let’s get you up. I’ve a potion you need to take and about a hundred text messages to answer.”
Patrick shoved the blankets down so he could slowly sit up, his heart rate picking up in Jono’s ears. “Shit. Sage? Kennedy?”
“They’re both at Ginnungagap. Sage has your dagger, though I’m not sure why you didn’t just keep it on you.”
“I knew Tezcatlipoca wouldn’t have just let them go. Giving them my dagger was the only way I could get them backup. I figured the gods who make my life a living hell wouldn’t want to lose it.”
“Next time, I’m going with you.” Jono unscrewed the cap on the metal water bottle and handed the potion over to Patrick. “Drink.”
“It smells disgusting.”
“Drink, and then you can gargle with whiskey.”
Patrick took the bottle from him and drank the potion in several long gulps, trying not to gag. He dropped the bottle on the bed after he finished and let go of Jono’s hand. Patrick realigned his nose with a quiet scrape of cartilage that made Jono wince.
“Don’t want it to heal crooked,” Patrick muttered, looking a little queasy. “Ugh. That shit you made me take is foul. Where’d you buy it from?”
“I told Marek it was okay to ring Victoria and have her come by.” Jono hesitated before saying, “He seemed to know exactly what you would need and told her so she could brew the appropriate potion.”
Patrick sighed as he slid off the bed, not put off by the fact he was nude. “The Norns probably want me in better fighting form for whatever will go down with Tezcatlipoca and Santa Muerte.”
Jono set the empty bottle back on the nightstand. “Santa Muerte?”
“A personification of death is running around in the fringe of the veil and the subways.” Patrick paused in the middle of pulling on a pair of underwear. “Do you remember where you found me?”
“Yeah. You were outside a building in SoHo with Áltsé Hashké.”
Jono tripped over the name, mangling it. Patrick finished pulling on his underwear and straightened up. His gaze was distant for a few seconds before refocusing. “Coyote?”
Jono shrugged. “One of them?”
“Trickster gods are the worst. Fuck it. I’ll let him fight Persephone over me.”
“He seemed more pissed at Tezcatlipoca and Quetzalcoatl than about gloating over rescuing you.”
“Next time I’ll just sell my soul to a pawn shop. It would make my life easier.” Patrick yanked a shirt on, making his hair even worse if at all possible. “Did I call Quetzalcoatl Pretzel last night, or did I dream that?”
Jono snorted in amusement. “Yeah, you did.”
“Agent Pretzel is forever going on my shit list.” Patrick left the bedroom for the hallway, where Jono had tossed their shoes last night. “Tremaine has tunnels in his territory that lead to an abandoned subway platform. They built a shrine to Santa Muerte and fucked with the old subway wards.”
“That’s not good,” Jono said as he got up and headed for the guest bathroom.
“I know, but I think it could be our way into the heart of his Night Court.”
Jono let Patrick finish lacing up his boots in the hall while he tidied up the bathroom as best he could. Jono would have liked to burn their clothes from last night, but he settled for putting them in a trash bag, along with the towels, shower curtain, and bath mats. Having the lights on revealed the damage from last night, and it wasn’t pretty.
Some of the floor tiles and the sink were cracked. The toilet needed to be scrubbed down with bleach to sanitize it. The door was off its hinges and would need to be replaced. Some of the paint looked scorched, and the glass on the floor from the broken mirror needed to be swept up.
“Seven years bad luck,” Patrick said when he peered around Jono at the mess. “Glad we got renter’s insurance. Hand me my med-kit, would you?”
Jono bent down to retrieve the field-rated med-kit stored under the sink. Patrick unlocked the case and dug through its contents, coming up with a roll of medical tape. Jono watched as he tore off a strip and very carefully pressed it over his nose. The swelling seemed to be going down, but it would be a slow healing process, and the potion wouldn’t heal all the hurts Patrick had come away with last night.
Jono took the medical tape from Patrick and tossed it in the med-kit before leaving the bathroom. Patrick grabbed his wrist before he got very far, and Jono went still. Jono gazed down at him in silence, waiting for Patrick to speak first.
