* * *
“I wishyou had been able to find her,” SOA Director Setsuna Abuku said over the phone, her voice cutting in and out a little due to the shoddy connection. He should’ve requested a satphone before leaving New York.
Patrick pressed his hand against the SUV’s roof to better steady himself as Jono took a turn on a snowy, bumpy road with a little more speed than he would’ve liked. But the rugged vehicle had snow chains, and if they got stuck in a snow drift, Jono could lift them out of it.
“The Wisteria child isn’t ever coming back. Medb stole her, and everyone knows children taken by the fae are never seen again,” Patrick said.
“That has never stopped a parent from wanting their child back.”
“Wanting something doesn’t mean you’ll get it.”
He should know. Patrick had wanted the family he lost for years before he finally gave up on that dream turned nightmare. Sometimes you had to let go of the past and move on, otherwise it would consume you. Patrick had a feeling the Wisterias would never stop searching for what they’d lost.
“They will never stop looking for her.”
“I’m sorry for their loss, but there’s nothing we can do. They can sue us, but the SOA isn’t the one who took their kid, and we exhausted every avenue we could. The lawsuit will get thrown out.”
“Most likely, but it’s negative exposure for the agency, and we’ve had enough of that this year.”
“I don’t think the new year will fix that.”
Setsuna was quiet on the line. Patrick stared out the windshield at the snow-covered evergreen trees and high mountains that was all he could see. Montana in winter was mostly white, and the cold was different than the chill they’d left behind in New York and past the veil. Out here, in the mountains and the valleys where the preternatural world claimed more territory than mundane humans, everything felt different. Patrick wasn’t sure if that was nature or magic, but either way, he missed the city streets.
“I’m giving you from tomorrow until January second off,” Setsuna finally said.
“I didn’t put in for time off.”
“The paperwork has been handled.”
Patrick leaned his head back against the seat, making a face. “You still owe me an actual vacation.”
“I’ll let you put in the paperwork for that.” Setsuna paused before continuing with “Merry Christmas, Patrick. I’m glad you’re home.”
He blinked at that, some tiny part of him wondering if she was glad for his own sake or for whatever reasons drove the decisions she made. Setsuna had been his guardian while growing up, but the holidays had never been easy for them.
“Merry Christmas,” Patrick echoed.
He ended the call, tucking his phone into the pocket of his leather jacket. Órlaith had given his jacket back with a smile and heavy protection wards written across the leather back at JFK hours ago. Nadine’s magic was now overlaid with that of a goddess’, and Patrick had accepted the gift without outright saying thank you, because it would’ve been rude.
Manners were sometimes backward when it came to the fae.
“I know this place,” Gerard said suddenly from the far back seat where he sat with Órlaith.
Patrick peered over his shoulder, gaze skipping past where Gwyn ap Nudd sat alone on the center bench of the SUV. “How? We’re going to a safe house not even the CIA knows about.”
Gerard’s silver eyes seemed almost too bright. “This is where I came after the Civil War.”
Patrick blinked, tamping down on the riot of emotions those words hit him with. His anger toward Gerard had cooled a little after everything they’d gone through, but that didn’t mean Patrick had completely forgiven his old captain for lying to him.
“Been over a hundred and fifty years since you were last here. It’s snow and trees. How is it familiar?”
“There’s fae magic out here.”
Considering what the safe house held, that probably shouldn’t have been surprising. Patrick turned back around, catching Jono’s eye.
“How much longer?” Jono asked.
Patrick used the flashlight on his phone to illuminate the paper map unfolded across his lap. He didn’t trust the signal out here in the mountains, and sometimes magic played havoc on electronics. Besides, the only person who knew where they were going was him, and the route wasn’t—and couldn’t be—written down.
