“My sneakers are getting ruined,”Wade whined. “Whose idea was this? Because it sucks.”
“You had the option to stay home,” Jono reminded him.
“No. The pack is going, so I’m going.”
The stubborn look in Wade’s brown eyes was marred by the pout on his face as he stared down at where his new Nike sneakers sank into the snow that covered the path they walked on. Noon on a weekday in Central Park, even in winter, usually still had people around: joggers, the homeless, hot dog carts. Today, their group seemed to be the only ones in the entire park.
“You’ll live,” Patrick said.
“My sneakers won’t.”
Jono snorted and shared an exasperated, if fond, look with Patrick. They’d given Wade the option to stay with Emma’s pack while they crossed the veil, but the teen had adamantly refused. They were all big on letting Wade make his own choices, and Patrick especially was careful about not trying to influence his decisions. Patrick had done that in August and still carried some lingering guilt over it, even though Wade had been integral in that fight against Tremaine’s Night Court.
“So where is the hawthorn path?” Sage wanted to know.
“Past Bethesda Fountain up ahead and across Bow Bridge. It’s in the copse of trees on that side of the Lake,” Gerard said.
“Your bosses ever take you out here for a picnic in some faerie ring?” Keith asked.
Sage rolled her eyes. “I work for them—that doesn’t mean I completely trust them. If they ever asked me to cross the veil, I’d say no.”
“Speaking of food, nobody eat or drink anything offered to us when we get to Tír na nÓg. Goes double for you, Wade,” Patrick said.
“What if I’m hungry?” Wade asked.
“Then you ignore your growling stomach until we get back here. Fae offerings aren’t to be trusted.”
Wade patted at the pockets of his winter coat Jono had made sure he’d worn before leaving Marek’s flat. “Hope I brought enough snacks. Someone’s gonna water the Christmas tree while we’re gone, right?”
“He’s going to eat you out of house and home,” Gerard said with a faint chuckle.
“The Tempest pack tithes will more than cover our living costs and keeping Wade fed. Ten percent from them is quite a hefty amount. Estelle and Youssef will be hurting without their money. And yes, Wade, Emma will take care of the Christmas tree,” Sage said.
Jono rubbed at his chest, taking a deep breath. The cold air burned his lungs but couldn’t burn out the lingering scent-memory of what taking on Emma’s pack had felt like. His soul had cracked open when he’d touched them, their individual scents and the pack scent they carried transferring to his awareness. Jono would know their scents until the day he died or they left him, whichever came first.
“Here’s hoping Em and the others will be safe while we’re gone,” Jono said.
“Tiarnán will file the protective order.”
“Not sure that will be enough.”
Gerard looked over his shoulder at Jono, the duffel bag carrying the weapons hanging from one shoulder. “My Hellraisers won’t let anything happen to them.”
Jono nodded slowly, believing in that promise because he knew Patrick did.
Terrace Drive curved slightly up ahead, leading into Bethesda Terrace. In the summer, when Central Park was thick with greenery, it was difficult to see it until one was upon it. In winter, most of the trees were barren, their spindly branches lined with white snow. The pathway they walked on hadn’t been cleared by the city yet. Most people weren’t venturing outside unless they absolutely had to. A citywide curfew hadn’t been called yet, but Jono figured it was only a matter of time.
Jono’s gaze was drawn to the sky and the dark gray clouds hanging low over the city. The chill in the air was icy, and the weather was below freezing, even in the middle of the day. While the weather wasn’t the start of a reactionary storm, it was still a threat they had to be careful about.
They came around the bend, the view of Bethesda Terrace now unobstructed by trees. Buildings in the distance rose above Central Park’s tree line, reminding Jono that for all the hint of a forest the trees provided, it was an illusion.
The fountain on the lower level that was the centerpiece of Bethesda Terrace had been turned off for the winter. The large basin was full of snow, and the statue’s angel wings were lined with it as well. Beyond the open area was the Lake, the water near the shoreline iced over.
Jono squinted against the glare of weak sunlight reflecting up from all the snow as everyone sidled up to the terrace railing. Gerard pointed at the Lake and the swath of bare trees and wintery shrubs that covered the park to the east of it.
“The hawthorn path is in there. We’ll need to cross Bow Bridge to get to it,” he said.
“Weird that people don’t stumble across it every day,” Keith mused.
