“Come on, hurry up,” Patrick muttered.
It took another minute before the door was opened by a woman in her midtwenties. She wore a long sweater with a thick turtleneck collar over skinny jeans tucked into knee-high fashionable riding boots. Her blonde hair was twisted into a low bun, and her brown eyes were red-rimmed.
“Mrs. Wisteria?” Patrick asked, not sure if he had the right woman as he lifted his badge. She didn’t feel like a witch to his magic. “I’m Special Agent Patrick Collins with the SOA.”
The woman shook her head, giving him a tremulous smile. “No, sorry. I’m the nanny. My name is Arianna. Mr. and Mrs. Wisteria are upstairs with the police. I can take you to them.”
Patrick crossed the threshold, and Arianna gestured at the pile of bread and glass pitcher of room temperature water sitting on a side table. “Hospitality first. It’s required by the family for all who enter.”
Patrick went through the motions without a fuss, sensing the home’s threshold settling once he’d partaken in the ceremony. After he finished, Arianna led him through a mansion that was less a home and more a museum, filled with expensive art and even more expensive artifacts of magic. The feel of witch magic was strong in the home, recognition flickering through Patrick’s soul.
The magic lacked warmth, feeling cold and sterile to his senses—much like the couple he was introduced to in a nursery painted in soft yellow and pastel green. The colors couldn’t warm the icy reception he was given.
Arianna made an immediate beeline for the crib where a baby close to a year old stood on surprisingly steady legs, tiny hands clutching at the wooden safety bars keeping her in one place. Patrick didn’t have much familiarity with children, but he didn’t think most babies had that sort of steadiness in their chubby little legs at this age.
She was Patrick’s sort of pale but lacked the pinkish hue most redheads carried in their skin. Her skin was porcelain fair, with no freckles. Her hair was pitch-black, eyes a dark brown, the irises slightly too large to be normal, even for a baby.
She watched everything with an awareness that was unsettling. She carried no real resemblance to her parents, both of whom stood some distance away talking with a pair of detectives out of the NYPD’s Preternatural Crimes Bureau. The handful of cases Patrick had partnered with the PCB on over the last few months usually came directly from Bureau Chief Giovanni Casale. Tonight felt as if Patrick was intruding more than usual.
Thomas Wisteria was tall and blond, looking every inch the businessman he was in the bespoke suit he wore. The arrogance he exuded was difficult to miss.
Margeaux Wisteria’s brown hair fell in loose waves around her pretty face. She wore diamonds in her ears, and the stone on her engagement ring was so large it dipped to the side of her finger. The gold of her jewelry matched the small athame hooked to her designer leather belt. Margeaux’s full mouth was curved in a frown, brown eyes focused on the detectives. Her gaze snapped to Patrick the moment he arrived though, and she stared at him with a modicum of distrust he chose to ignore.
Recognition pricked Patrick’s magic, telling him Margeaux was the blood member of the Wisteria family. Patrick had his shields locked down tight, keeping his magic from seeping out. He knew he felt human to her own magic, and he wondered how that would color their interactions if she didn’t recognize his name. Some old witch families considered themselves superior to mundane humans in every way that mattered.
Patrick couldn’t remember if his mother’s family had ever been that way. Clara Greene, née Patterson, had been born into the Salem Coven, expected to be their next high priestess. Only she’d been murdered by his father, and Patrick was assumed dead as well. In reality, he’d been living under a false identity that had kept him safe from Ethan and the Dominion Sect until the Thirty-Day War.
It was a false sense of safety and security. No matter the name Patrick went by, Persephone still owned his soul debt.
“Mr. and Mrs. Wisteria, I’m Special Agent Patrick Collins,” Patrick said, flashing his badge at them before tucking it away in his back pocket.
Margeaux’s gaze sharpened. “Are you the mage who was involved in the summer solstice mess?”
Patrick managed not to wince. “I’m not here about past cases, ma’am. You requested the SOA send someone to check on your child.”
“She’s not our child,” Thomas said.
The taller detective turned to face Patrick. He was an older man, not someone Patrick had ever interacted with before. His younger partner was just as unfamiliar.
“They’re saying the child is a changeling,” one of the detectives said.
Patrick looked over at where Arianna was holding the baby in her arms, murmuring softly to her charge. The little girl had her head turned toward them, those large dark eyes staring at Patrick with an unblinking gaze.
“How about you walk me through your reasoning?” Patrick said to the Wisterias.
“Can’t you read his notes?” Margeaux asked, gesturing at the detective.
“I need to make my own.” He hadn’t brought anything to write on, so Patrick pulled out his phone to access the recording app. “I’ll take it from here, Detectives.”
The man nodded, and Arianna moved to show him and his partner out.
“Leave it here,” Thomas snapped.
Patrick bristled at the use ofitbut held his tongue. Arianna ducked her head, cheeks flushing with anger or embarrassment; Patrick couldn’t tell.
“Of course, Mr. Wisteria,” Arianna murmured.
She set the baby back into the crib, gently patting her head in a silent goodbye. Arianna left with the detectives. The little girl watched her leave but didn’t make a sound.
