“Welcome to bitter, population Patrick,” Keith mused.
Patrick flipped him off. “Fuck you.”
“You saidI love youwrong.”
“Finish your food. There’s a werewolf I want to meet,” Gerard ordered before they could devolve into further insults.
“Ooh, shovel talk time,” Keith said with a grin.
Patrick made a face and picked up his pint glass again. His stomach was a hard knot. It had nothing to do with the food, but with the messy situation staring them in the face. Chasing after the Morrígan’s staff was one thing—dealing with a missing fae lady who happened to be his friend’s fiancée was an entirely different level of fucked.
By silent agreement, they shelved talk of the mission for later and finished their meal while discussing the rest of the team and their families. Patrick got brought up to speed on the newest additions, including the sorcerer the US Department of the Preternatural had deigned to assign the Hellraisers after Patrick was discharged.
“Not up to your level magic-wise, but Desmond is still excellent at watching our six. He’s good people,” Keith said as he took over demolishing the chili cheese fries.
Patrick rubbed a finger against the condensation on the outside of his pint glass, thinking about the change in his magic with the soulbond. The damage to his soul and magic during the Thirty-Day War had been the main reason he’d left the Mage Corps. Now, thanks to the gods, he could tap ley lines again through Jono’s soul. Very few were privy to that information, and even if he wanted to tell Gerard, Patrick couldn’t risk it—both for his own safety and Gerard’s.
“I’m glad. You need a good magic user,” Patrick said.
Patrick removed the silence ward around them and flagged down their waitress once everyone was done with their dinner. It didn’t take long to pay, and Keith plunked down cash for a good tip. Patrick pulled on his jacket and gloves before shoving his wool beanie on his head. Sliding out of the booth, he was surprised to see a couple walk past, following the hostess, with what looked like snowflakes on their shoulders.
“Is it snowing?” Keith asked, sounding confused.
“It wasn’t even raining when we arrived over an hour ago,” Patrick replied.
Gerard shrugged into his heavy wool coat, frowning in the direction of the exit. “Let’s get out of here.”
“You think it’s the Sluagh?”
“The Sluagh aren’t the only ones who ride the storms.”
Keith glanced at Patrick as they hurried toward the door. “Could it be a reactionary storm?”
Patrick shook his head. “There hasn’t been a displacement of magic.”
“Doesn’t mean the weather hasn’t been tampered with. The fae are capable of affecting the seasons, and that includes the weather,” Gerard said.
“Fucking great.”
They stepped outside into an icy cold wind, the temperature having plunged at least twenty degrees since the start of dinner. The night sky overhead was thick with dark clouds, and snow flurries spun through the air, drifting through the street.
Patrick blinked as a couple of snowflakes caught on his lashes. He wiped them away, staring at his gloved hand and the falling snow that settled on it.
“This isn’t normal. The forecast called for rain, not snow tonight,” Patrick said slowly.
“No shit? I’m fucking freezing,” Keith grumbled.
Patrick reached out and snagged Keith’s winter coat, pushing his magic into the cloth. The heat charm was easy to cast, filling Keith’s outerwear with a warmth that wouldn’t fade. Keith sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Thanks, Razzle Dazzle.”
Gerard raised his arm and flagged down the first taxi he saw rather than opening up a ride-hailing app.
“Where to?” Gerard asked once they were inside the vehicle.
“Tempest,” Patrick said, giving the driver the address.
6
