“I pulled proof out of the Crimson Diamond two nights ago, but I had to take shine in order to save her. She’s currently under suicide watch at a hospital. I have a pack I trust keeping an eye on her.”
“You tookwhat? To save who? Why am I only now hearing about this?”
Patrick waved off Casale’s questions. “The DEA and SOA are aware of what happened. Both agencies are working to ensure the new information gets added to the case.”
“I take it you had no warrant. Again.”
“There’s an angle that will hold up in court. It involves my criminal informant.”
Casale’s gaze sharpened. “The same one from June?”
“Yes.”
“More vampires. This city doesn’t need more vampires, Collins.”
“They have unfinished business with Tremaine, and their claim is one that can be legally acknowledged. But this problem isn’t just about shine and dead werecreatures.” Patrick bent down to flip up the lid of the box he’d been carting around, unwilling to hand it off to anyone else. Inside the wooden containment box was the black Santa Muerte idol. “This showed up before the fun started.”
“Been seeing those a lot,” Casale said slowly. “Calling card?”
“Of a sort.” Patrick flipped the lid closed and rested his hand on top of the box, the wards warm against his skin. “What are your thoughts on the old gods?”
Patrick knew Casale’s wife, Angelina, was a priestess in the Crescent Coven, a group of witches and warlocks who had been brought together to worship Hera, the titular queen of the Greek gods. Someone of Angelina’s rank, who kept that sort of company, had to believe in the gods who fucked with his life. Patrick knew Casale loved his wife, and sometimes that meant believing in things even his church didn’t.
Casale rubbed at his chin, staring at the containment box. “They are stories, but stories have a grain of truth in them sometimes.”
“If I told you Tremaine has allied himself with death, would you believe me?”
Casale was quiet for a long minute before finally speaking. “I’d like to say Santa Muerte isn’t real. That she’s just a false idol certain gangs worship and think will bring them luck when the bullets start flying.”
“But?” Patrick pressed.
“I’m Catholic. The Church says there is only one god. That’s what I believe, but I know that’s not enough for some people. Humanity has prayed to all kinds of gods over the centuries, Collins. I don’t believe we’ll ever stop.”
Patrick nodded slowly as he straightened up. “What protects Tremaine will see us coming if we go through the front door. I’m hoping they’ll be so focused on the frontal assault they’ll miss us coming up from behind. I know of a different way in, but I can’t get there without a subway train.”
Casale pinched the bridge of his nose. “You want me to somehow commandeer you a subway train so you can perform a preemptive attack? Christ, I must be out of my mind for even thinking about letting you do this.”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it would work.”
“Your idea ofworkingalways leaves the city a mess. If I don’t get you the train, you’ll find some other way down there, won’t you?”
“Marek will,” Patrick said, hoping he wasn’t lying through his teeth.
Casale sighed heavily. “It’s going to take time for me to wrangle a train out of the MTA. When do you need it by?”
“Friday night. After sunset.”
Casale turned his head and looked at the street where members of the PCB’s Crime Scene Unit were working alongside an SOA team. “No other possible way?”
“No.”
Casale clenched his jaw for a moment before nodding. “I’ll get you the train.”
“Make sure it’s on the A line, and you’ll want to assign more cops to Grand Central on Friday night as well. The SOA will be deploying agents as well after what happened today.”
At that request, Casale’s gaze snapped back to him. “Why?”
“Rats like tunnels, and I wouldn’t put anything past Tremaine. Grand Central holds the anchor points for the protective wards that run through the entire subway. I don’t want to risk what would happen if those break.”
