Estelle’s god pack held ancestral territory in Hamilton Heights. Patrick wasn’t surprised to see the media had descended on the location once Youssef’s murder hit the morning news. The police could decline to state the identity of the murdered man in Brooklyn until their family was notified all they wanted, but people talked, and reporters were like sharks with blood in the water for a story like this. With Youssef dying so soon after attacks on Jono, the media was apparently following the same line of thought that this was retribution.
A minute later, the front door opened, and the reporter moved out of the way of the live shot so her cameraman could focus on the people stepping outside. A handful of god pack members came down the steps, glaring at everyone. Behind them, a man in a dark suit that screamed lawyer stayed right by Estelle’s side as they exited the brownstone. The two walked down the stoop to the sidewalk, escorted by members of Estelle’s pack.
Estelle was pale-faced, and a close-up zoom showed her wolf-bright amber eyes weren’t bloodshot from crying, but her lashes were spiky from lingering dampness. Preternaturally enhanced healing meant grief didn’t show the same way as it did on a mundane human. Patrick could admit the sight of a grieving woman clutching the arm of her attorney as she slowly approached the circle of media was tailor-made to tug at the viewers’ heartstrings.
Patrick’s phone was muted and in his pocket, but he knew, without even having to look at it, that everyone in his pack was probably reaching out to him right now.
Patrick had dealt with expensive, high-powered attorneys in the past on cases, and the man who spoke briefly to the press probably charged four figures an hour if his attitude was anything to go by.
“My client will give her statement to the press and answer no follow-up questions,” Estelle’s attorney said.
Then he stepped aside, and Estelle took his spot in the ring of microphones straining to capture every last word. Patrick had to admit she played the grief-stricken wife well, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, lower lip trembling before she spoke. Her auburn curls were a frazzled mess, a match for the grief she allowed on her face and in her voice.
“The NYPD informed me this morning that my husband, Youssef Khan, was found murdered in Brooklyn. We’ve been defending ourselves against a pack that has no problem twisting the laws to suit them, and my husband paid the ultimate price. I won’t let his death be in vain, not when our job is to protect the people who depend on us to ensure their privacy,” Estelle said.
Patrick clenched his hands into fists, heart pounding, already knowing where this press conference was heading.
Estelle raised her chin, blinking back tears. “There are only two people who wanted to see me and Youssef dead, who stood to gain everything with our fall. The police need look no further for my husband’s murderer than the foreign pack who seeks to dethrone us, led by Jonothon de Vere and SOA Special Agent Patrick Collins.”
“What thefuck?” Henry snarled, getting to his feet so quickly his chair rolled back and crashed against the wall beneath the window behind him. “What thehellis she talking about, Collins?”
Patrick stared at the television, watching Estelle walk back into her house while ignoring the shouted questions from the press. He swallowed thickly, stomach twisting with nausea that made him feel overly hot in the air-conditioned office.
“Collins!”
“You should probably reassign all my cases,” Patrick said, refusing to look at Henry. “And call the director.”
Patrick closed his eyes, barely listening as Henry erupted into a furious tirade, trying not to get sick as the career he’d worked so hard to attain since leaving the Mage Corps was destroyed in a single morning.
9
Jono watchedPatrick pour himself another glass of whiskey, not even bothering to measure, just filling the glass to the brim. He knew he wasn’t the only one watching, but like the others, he didn’t try to take the bottle away from Patrick despite it not even being noon on Saturday.
“So you’re suspended?” Marek asked.
“My security clearance was suspended. The SAIC put me on unpaid administrative leave yesterday. He took my gun and badge, and said a formal letter was going into my personnel file. They tried to take my dagger, but it’s my personal property,” Patrick said.
Patrick picked up his drink and knocked back a good quarter of the whiskey. Jono got up and snagged the bottle, carrying it back to Marek’s kitchen to hide it in the pantry.
Jono had been holed up with Danai at her downtown office almost all day yesterday after the bombshell that was Estelle’s press conference. Sage and Wade had been with him, but Patrick hadn’t been able to extricate himself from the SOA’s field office until late afternoon. When Patrick had finally shown up there to meet with them, it had been sans gun and badge, shields locked down so tight Jono couldn’t smell a bloody thing coming off him.
He still couldn’t.
Jono went back to the living room and settled beside Patrick again, wrapping an arm around the other man’s waist. Patrick was tense beneath his touch, neither of them having slept well last night after fighting their way past reporters to get inside their flat. The gargoyles had kept the media frenzy at bay, but neither of them felt safe anymore.
Jono looked across the coffee table where Marek sat on the other sofa. “Have you seen anything?”
Marek’s hazel eyes were clear of any inherent power, his scent clean without the heavy ozone layer that appeared when the Norns spoke through him. “No. Nothing. I’ve even tried looking rather than wait for a vision, but I can’t see a damn thing.”
Sage, who was curled beside him with her laptop resting on her knees, placed her hand on his thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s not your fault.”
“It’s mine,” Patrick said, taking another sip of whiskey.
“Pat,” Jono said.
“What? It’s the truth. I’m tied to this whole fucking mess because of Ethan. Our fight, my soul debt, is the reason Marek can’t see the future.No one, not even the gods, knows which side is going to win.”
Jono shook his head hard. “We will.”
