“Guess that answers my question.”
Patrick listed to the side and ended up leaning against the tub. He kept his eyes shut, but that didn’t stop the world from moving. The hangover he was suffering through was caused by trying to drink his body weight in whiskey last night. Jono had eventually caught up with him at some dive bar downtown. He’d paid Patrick’s tab, driven him back to the hotel, and poured him into bed, where he’d passed out rather than slept.
“Shower, and I’ll ring the front desk for some paracetamol,” Jono said in a quiet voice.
“They call it Tylenol here,” Patrick muttered.
“Hush, you.”
The thought of moving wasn’t appealing, but Patrick knew he needed to. It wouldn’t be the first time he worked while feeling like he wanted to keel over and die, though this time it was self-inflicted as opposed to an injury.
Moving hurt, but he did it anyway, slowly peeling out of the sleep pants he didn’t remember putting on last night. Hauling himself to his feet, head pounding, Patrick turned on the shower and carefully stepped into the tub. The warm spray hit him in the face, and he flinched, the water like needles against his skin.
He tipped his head back to get a mouthful of water, swishing it around before spitting it out. It didn’t get rid of the taste of vomit on his tongue, but it would do for now until he brushed his teeth.
Patrick moved with slow motions to get clean, trying to get his bearings. He was in the process of deciding if he wanted to actually shampoo his hair and make his headache worse by touching his skull when the shower curtain was moved so Jono could enter the shower with him. Jono didn’t say anything, but he did take the soap and start to wash Patrick up.
Patrick let him, staring blankly at the bleached white tile surrounding them, thoughts catching on Persephone’s words from last night.
“Ethan performed a fertility rite at Westberg’s house,” Patrick said slowly, the words coming out rough. He felt every single syllable in his head, but he couldn’t keep quiet about this.
Jono’s hands stilled on his body for a couple of seconds before resuming their soaping. “Fertility? Not sacrificial?”
Patrick closed his eyes, nausea in his belly and guilt a heavy weight on his shoulders. “Hannah.”
He didn’t want to think about the implications of a spell like that, but knew he couldn’t ignore it. Pretending a problem didn’t exist was a luxury Patrick would never get.
Jono gently tugged him backward. Patrick’s shoulders settled against Jono’s chest, strong arms wrapping around him to hold him close. “How do you know?”
Patrick swallowed, wanting desperately to brush his teeth but not wanting to leave Jono’s warmth. “Hermes took me to see Persephone last night. She brought her mother.”
“Demeter?”
“Yeah. Fertility goddess. She said Freyr was involved.”
“Doubt the other Norse gods will be pleased about all this.”
The thought of reporting back to Frigg about more betrayals in their pantheon made Patrick want to crawl back into bed and never leave it.
Jono pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Patrick’s head. “Is that why you went drinking in a blizzard?”
“Not a blizzard yet. I think Thor might have broken up bits of it. The SOA has weather witches trying to keep the worst at bay right now.”
“Pat.”
“I keep not saving her. I keep fucking up.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I—”
Jono raised his hand and gently placed it over Patrick’s mouth. His breath blew warm over the shell of Patrick’s ear when he spoke. “Listen to me, love. You were eight when Ethan tried to murder you, and you thought Hannah had died during that spell. You spent years believing she was dead. What Ethan has done is not on you, it’s on him. This is not your fault.”
“It feels like it is,” Patrick said after Jono removed his hand. “I’m her twin.”
“That doesn’t make you responsible for her.”
“I’m older than her by seven minutes.”
