“You’d have done the same if I was standing in your shoes.”
Patrick shoved himself to his feet so it was easier to look Casale in the eye. “If you were standing in my shoes, you’d be the one with a homicidal father gunning for your ass, and not me. I didn’t kill Youssef. If my pack was going to fight them, it would’ve been in a challenge ring. I thought you’d have a better opinion of me than that.”
“Please don’t make statements like that to the police,” Danai said, giving him an irritated look.
“It won’t be held against him,” Casale said.
Patrick snorted. “Watch your people’s backs when you go into that other god pack’s territory. Don’t brush aside my warnings like you have been.”
Despite the ruined professional relationship, Patrick didn’t want anyone to die because of negligence.
Casale nodded slowly. “You should know that we’ve received reports from multiple covens that every single park in the five boroughs looks as if winter has come early.”
If it was fae magic like Persephone thought it was, Patrick hoped it didn’t have anything to do with the Morrígan’s staff. The last thing they needed was zombies ruining everyone’s commute. They had enough problems with demons and werecreatures as it was.
“If it’s a local magical problem versus a crime, shouldn’t the PCB handle that outreach and not the SOA? I don’t have a badge right now, remember? It got taken, along with my gun.”
“Then consider it a friendly exchange of information.”
“You were real friendly when you were knocking on the door to our flat looking to arrest people,” Jono growled as he gently pushed Patrick out of the pew.
Casale raised an eyebrow at him. “Going to hold that against the PCB forever?”
“Don’t tempt him. Jono lives for grudges,” Patrick warned.
Jono snorted his opinion on that before steering Patrick around Casale, heading for the exit. “Wade, we’re leaving.”
Patrick looked over his shoulder and did a double take as Wade came running down the center aisle, a red, square, rigid cap sitting ludicrously on his head. He didn’t look guilty at all, and his pockets definitely bulged with stolen goods.
“Put it back,” Patrick told him.
Wade gave him a defiant look. “No! It’s red, and I like red.”
“It’s not yours.”
“Finders, keepers.”
“You didn’t find it, you stole it.”
Wade crossed his arms over his chest, the cap slipping sideways on his head. “Who’s to say the door wasn’t unlocked? You weren’t there.”
Sage came up behind him and plucked the cap from his head, tossing it onto an empty pew. “No stealing. Come on, we’re going home.”
Wade rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Whatever. I’m hungry. All they had back there were dry crackers.”
Casale pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like he was trying not to laugh. Patrick managed to keep a straight face because Wade’s hoarding habits were an everyday occurrence, and he’d learned not to encourage Wade with things like this.
“I better not find out you’re hoarding crosses,” Patrick said.
Wade smirked as he walked past them. “In these pockets? I don’t think so.”
Considering the way Wade shifted mass, Patrick knew it was a distinct possibility he could be hiding extremely large religious iconography in his pockets.
“Might be useful against demons,” Jono mused.
“Only if he believes in that god,” Patrick said.
Wade snorted, a hint of smoke drifting out of his nose, the acridness impossible to ignore. “Hell no. Gods are just trouble.”
