Henry pinned Patrick with a look. “If the case takes you out of the five boroughs, it will be reassigned.”
Patrick bristled at that order. “It’s my case.”
“And the director was clear on your current limitations.”
Patrick had half a mind to call Setsuna and tell her to lift the restrictions, but he had a feeling she’d ignore his call. “Fine.”
“Keep me updated. That’s an order, Collins.”
Patrick nodded, knowing better than to antagonize someone who was in his corner. Henry had let him run his cases how he saw fit and backed him in moments other SAICs might not have. His predecessor definitely wouldn’t have. Henry’s loyalty was to the agency, but it helped that he believed in Setsuna’s quiet eradication of Dominion Sect supporters and sympathizers within the SOA.
Patrick left the office and grabbed his chips off Tiana’s desk. He ate them quickly on the elevator ride down to the lobby, bypassing the floor his office was on completely. He left the SOA’s New York City field office with his dagger strapped to his right thigh, tactical pistol holstered to his right hip, and badge tucked away in his back pocket. The second he stepped beyond the warded walls and air-conditioned interior of the federal building, he was met by a wave of humid heat that had him sweating before he even finished crossing the street.
Summer in New York City was as bad as the ones he’d lived through growing up in Washington, DC. They were both swamp-like in their own way, and no amount of cold charms in his clothing could fix that. It’s why his leather jacket had a permanent spot in the closet now until the weather cooled down.
His Mustang was parked in the adjacent warded garage, in need of something more than a detail job from getting clawed by a werecreature over the driver’s-side door the other week. Patrick hadn’t had the time to get it seen to between work and pack problems.
Getting behind the steering wheel, Patrick started the engine and then turned the air-conditioning on full blast. Sighing in relief at the coolness blasting him in the face, he pulled out and drove toward the exit, mentally mapping out his route. The Metropolitan Museum of Art was located at the edge of Central Park. Heading Uptown on Madison Avenue was going to take some time. Tourists were out in force, and Monday traffic was always the worst in his opinion.
Being the height of summer, one would think Central Park would be a riot of greenery. Driving past it on his way to the museum, Patrick noticed the trees didn’t seem as thick as they should for the season, and the flashes of lawn and bushes he caught glimpses of looked thin and brown. It looked as if autumn was coming early despite the hot weather.
Sage and Marek had a view of Central Park from their home, and she’d commented on the change the other day, noticing it happening in other parks across the city as well when she went to meet with some of the packs under their protection. Nothing out of the ordinary on the magic front had come through the SOA regarding the flora change though. Local opinion seemed to think it might have been leftover damage from last summer, but Patrick wasn’t so sure. Central Park had looked fine in spring, and the wilting of the plants was more recent.
The issue wasn’t one he could focus on right now though, not when he had a missing artifact to deal with. Patrick put it out of his mind and kept driving. The museum had its own parking garage, which was full, but a security spot was open on the ground floor when he finally arrived. Patrick claimed it, knowing the government plates on the Mustang would keep it from being towed.
He scanned Fifth Avenue while he waited to cross, nothing out of the ordinary pricking his attention or magic. Patrick’s damaged soul and magic meant he could more easily track demons and monsters than other agents, but his magic made everyone who could sense it uncomfortable. The anchors for his personal shields had been set into his bones by Persephone, and they helped to hide what he was, letting him pass as a mundane human.
With everything going on right now, he wasn’t willing to make anything easy for the enemy. Hiding in plain sight was an ingrained habit after so many years of doing it, but that wasn’t a guarantee of safety.
The summer crowds flocking to the Metropolitan Museum of Art were a mix of tourists and locals alike this time of the year. Patrick cut his way through them as he hurried down the sidewalk toward the front entrance of the grand building. The smell of hot dogs and pretzels wafted from the food carts situated on the sidewalk in front of the steps leading to the museum. It made his stomach growl.
Colorful banners hung between stone pillars over the museum’s façade, one of which showcasedAn Eastern Spiritual Journeysummer exhibit. The image used for it was that of a stone Buddha statue, the limited dates of the exhibition listed below it.
“Collins,” someone called out over the noise of the crowd.
Patrick rocked to a halt midway up the stairs, scanning the area through his sunglasses. A slight, dark-haired woman in a dark pantsuit caught his attention, and Patrick waved at Detective Specialist Allison Ramirez.
“I thought I was only meeting with Casale,” he said in greeting as he approached her.
“Dwayne and I are lead on the case, but the museum director refused to talk to anyone but Casale,” Allison said.
“Oh, he’s one of those types.”
Allison snorted. “Seems like it.”
“Where’s your partner?”
“Interviewing some of the museum workers involved with the exhibit in question. Casale is with the director, but he told me to bring you to him.”
“Then lead the way.”
Patrick had worked with Allison and Dwayne on cases several times before and got on well enough with the detectives. Allison led him up the rest of the stairs to the entrance, flashing her badge at the security guard on duty to bypass the long line of patrons eager to get in. They were waved around the metal detectors, entering the Great Hall beyond. The neoclassical space echoed with footsteps and hushed voices of visitors.
The information desk was crowded, but Allison bypassed it in favor of approaching a slim blonde woman dressed all in black with a museum lanyard hanging from her neck. She stood near the wall, out of the way of the foot traffic. A walkie-talkie was clipped to her belt, and she was studying an iPad held in one hand. She looked up from it when Allison cleared her throat. The discreetly disdainful once-over the woman gave Patrick made him raise an eyebrow.
“Is this who we’ve been waiting for?” she asked. Her ID card listed out her name as Cynthia Fox, a curator for the museum. She felt human to his magic.
“SOA Special Agent Collins is here to assist the PCB with your problem,” Allison said mildly.
