Patrick stared at the expensive area rug beneath his feet and did as Jono asked, forcing air in and out of his lungs. He couldn’t afford to have a full-blown panic attack, not right now. If he’d been alone, maybe, but he had his pack, and they let him have his minor freak-out until he got himself under control. When Patrick finally sat up again, Sage was sitting beside him, radiating warmth the same way Jono did, telegraphing every move she made as she reached to take one of his hands in hers.
“I spend twenty-two years keeping my mouth shut about my past, and then we go and spill it all on national television,” Patrick said, mouth dry.
“Maybe it was time,” Sage said gently. “You’ve carried those lies long enough.”
“The gods were the ones who said I had to change my name in the first place.”
“If Maat is presiding over your case, maybe she allowed you to come clean for a reason,” Jono said.
Patrick dragged a hand over his face, letting out a hard breath. “Who knows. Whatever their reason, it won’t be good.”
His phone buzzed on the coffee table, lighting up with Danai’s name on the screen. He picked it up and swiped the green icon to accept the call. “Collins. Line and location are not secure.”
It wasn’t secure for legal reasons, but it was for everything else. Patrick trusted everyone in the room with him, but he wasn’t willing to put them in the line of fire when it came to government subpoenas. If he could try to spare them that, he would.
“It’s done,” Danai said.
“I saw.”
“I don’t enjoy giving out statements like that. It’s not my normal way of doing business. A case should be decided on the evidence, not the court of public opinion.” She let out a heavy, annoyed sigh. “The Brady demand and request for writ for habeus corpus et animum went out yesterday. I’ll be reaching out to the US Attorney’s Office within the hour to request a meeting with them on Monday about the trishula and magical signature. I think you should be present for it if they agree.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“We’re in the strange position of having the government both prosecute and defend you. They don’t have any evidence against you except the magical signature that you say isn’t yours. Your ties to the werecreature community admittedly don’t look good, but that doesn’t mean you’re guilty of murder or a hate crime.”
“There’s still the obstruction charge.”
“The SOA’s own admittance about Dominion Sect sympathizers over the years is cause enough for doubt in that area, especially if you’ve always been a target. I’ll also speak with Preston about a forensic investigator. I’ve used several in the past, and so has his office. If we can find an overlap both sides agree on, we might be able to have one appear on Monday, but that’s a stretch. Hopefully Preston won’t try to stonewall us.”
“If you want me with you on Monday, I’ll be there.”
“Good. I’ll keep you updated if it goes forward. For now, lay low.”
“That was the plan.”
She ended the call, and Patrick put his phone down on the coffee table. Jono and Sage never moved, keeping their hands on him in a show of support he never thought he’d ever be worthy of before he came to New York.
“The media will stake out our flat again,” Jono said, sounding irritated.
“What do you mean again? It’s not like they ever left,” Wade retorted.
“That’s why you both packed an overnight bag and are staying here this weekend,” Sage reminded him.
Patrick stared at his coffee mug. “I need a drink.”
Jono shook his head. “Best not start drinking this early.”
Patrick would’ve argued that whiskey in his coffee wasn’t a bad thing when Sage’s phone rang, Tiarnán’s name flashing over the screen. She picked it up to answer. “I’ll buzz you in. Please come up. Our door is open.”
Patrick reached for his coffee again, guzzling down half of it before the Lord of Ivy and Gold arrived at Sage and Marek’s door. He wasn’t alone. The fae lord arrived dressed as if he were going to a human court rather than one in Underhill. Silver hair brushed his shoulders, and his violet-eyed gaze was studiously blank.
A gold-tipped wooden cane was held in a hand wrapped in silver filigree plates and links that lined every knuckle and bone, connecting to a silver cuff. Gemstones flashed against the silver, and Patrick had half a thought to ask him to leave the silver designer gauntlet outside.
Trailing after him was a tall, lithe fae woman with pale pink eyes and dark green hair braided back away from her face in deference of the hot weather. Delicately pointed ears were adorned with numerous tiny gold hoops. Unlike Tiarnán, Deirdre wore no silver jewelry into werecreature territory.
Tiarnán’s gaze strayed to the television, which was still on, if muted. “I’ve been made aware of this morning’s news on the drive over.”
“Yeah, so was the entire country. What’s so important you got summoned back to the Seelie Court?” Patrick asked.
