They had a pack, and they had each other, and it was more support than Patrick had ever had for his entire adult life, because Jono knew his secrets. Jono knewhim, and that made all the difference when everything that made Patrick who he was kept being torn down. Except the bones of Jono’s support were made of a fierce belief that would never be shaken or broken.
“I know,” Patrick said.
They left the car behind them—protected with magic— and followed the signs to the elevators. The only buttons available were the garage levels and the ground level. Access to City Hall was restricted in the areas they could go as members of the public.
The weight of the magic built into the foundations and walls of the place pressed down heavily on Patrick’s shields. The protective wards here were threaded through with active offensive spells designed to trigger in the event of an attack. The combination wasn’t unheard of in major government buildings, but there was something in the air that made Patrick’s shoulders tighten. Jono appeared just as on guard as they made their way to the security check-in at the lobby
“Doesn’t feel right,” Jono muttered under his breath. “Doesn’tsmellright.”
The security guards on duty spotted them and waved them over. Patrick no longer had an SOA badge to produce as his ID, so he handed over his New York State driver’s license instead, while Jono presented his green card.
“The mayor is expecting you, but he’s still in a meeting. We’ve been instructed to escort you up to his office’s reception area, and one of his aides will be with you shortly,” the guard said.
It wasn’t out of the ordinary, but Patrick still kept his guard up, shields at the ready as they passed through hallways and an elevator to get up to a higher floor. The bustle of City Hall had slowed for the day, the lack of people enabling their footsteps to echo in the air. Jono stayed right by his side as they followed the security guard to a grand wooden door carved with runes along the edges that had been made decades ago.
The magic in the door didn’t react when pushed open. Patrick and Jono entered a reception area that would’ve looked better in a contemporary art museum than City Hall. The furniture was sleek and thinly designed with no embellishments, the glass tables were weirdly shaped, and the area rug beneath the reception space was a mix of color with no pattern to it.
“Someone will be with you shortly,” the guard said before leaving.
The door closed behind him, and Patrick tried not to feel as if they were being locked in. He’d had enough of that while in jail.
Jono drew in a deep breath, making a face as he did so. “Smells bloody awful.”
“The magic?” Patrick asked.
“Not sure.”
Patrick let his fingers stray over the hilt of his dagger, reminding himself it was within reach. “I don’t think anyone will notice bloodstains on this rug if it comes down to it.”
There wasn’t much to look at in the reception area, but Patrick still cased the area. The wards were old and layered, renewed yearly, but not dangerous unless you were. The decorations on the shelves were generic pieces, but there were also framed photographs of Mayor Doyle Ferbenn posing and shaking hands with other people throughout the course of his job.
Patrick leaned closer to one at eye level, staring at the redheaded man through narrowed eyes. His curly hair was more on the orange side and neatly trimmed. His suits were stylish if a little loud when it came to patterns, and his smile was wide, pricking at Patrick’s memory.
He’d seen that face before, he realized, in the shadow of the Gap of Dunloe amidst a winter fight.
It was as if a shroud lifted from his mind, memory washing clean, sharpening the god’s features into a visage no one would take as mortal. Patrick nearly bit through his tongue, shock flooding his veins.
“Pat?” Jono asked worriedly.
The door opened, allowing a blonde woman to enter, ozone crackling through the air with her arrival. Patrick yanked his dagger free of its sheath and conjured up a mageglobe as he turned to face her. White heavenly fire burned along the edge of the matte-black blade, drawing the goddess’ attention. Jono growled, low and harsh, mouth twisted in fury.
“You,” Jono snarled.
“I see you remember me,” the immortal said with a face devoid of emotion even if her eyes were dark pools of rage.
She kicked the door shut behind her, the wards activating on some unheard order. If the more recent layers were hers, then she was the cause for the strangeness of the magic. But it meant they were trapped in a cage with no way out, facing off against a murderous goddess.
“Hard to forget the audience watching me get tortured last summer.”
She was the mayor’s aide Jono had recognized months ago, Patrick realized. It made him wonder who else on the mayor’s team was immortal.
The goddess shrugged carelessly, her clothes fashionably trendy, even as her glacial beauty wasn’t something a mortal woman could ever obtain. Jono stepped closer to Patrick, bringing with him a warmth that offset the coolness that had settled in the reception room.
“You gods really need to get out of politics,” Patrick said.
Her mouth curled at the corners, jaw elongating in a way that allowed all her sharp teeth to shine in the light. “I am an Erinyes.”
“Still a fucking immortal.”
