Patrick froze, fingers curled in the air above the counter for a second before he slowly made a fist. “Okay.”
He ended the call and hoped Sage didn’t mind the curtness of his actions. Jono removed the pan from the hot burner and left the kitchen ahead of Patrick to turn on the television. Patrick joined him in the living room and tried to steady his breathing as the picture filled the frame of their large flat-screen television.
He didn’t remember his grandmother’s house in Salem—the memories long since buried beneath the life he’d lived—but the scene on the news channel seared itself into his mind.
The house was two stories, situated next to a body of water, the yard open and blooming in the middle of summer. Standing in front of it, arrayed on the sidewalk beyond the property line, was a group of people Patrick could see himself in. Whether blond or red-haired, he saw bits of his own face in theirs, the profile of his nose, even his height. For all that he had his father’s eyes, the rest of him, he realized right then with sudden clarity, was very strongly influenced by his mother.
Eloise Patterson was a slender woman at the age of eighty, with bony shoulders the silk of her blouse settled lightly on. Her fair skin was wrinkled around her eyes and mouth, her hair a pale red that spoke of the genetics that had been passed down to Patrick, though her current shade was probably a dye job. She appeared poised before the cameras, her eyes clear, but her voice was riven with steel when she spoke, a cut-glass, genteel accent that sounded nothing like him.
“I speak for my family, as well as for the Salem Coven which we preside over. I am aware of the information recently come to light about my grandson and granddaughter. My family have previously reached out to government officials to confirm the truth of the matter. It is with great grief that I confirm my grandchildren, who we thought taken from this earth twenty-two years ago, are indeed alive, and we were kept in the dark,” Eloise said.
She paused, swallowing loud enough the microphones caught the noise. Her gaze swept over the people gathered in front of the house that viewers couldn’t see, but judging by the number of microphones set up on the podium, there was a large news crew present.
“Despite the national security issues that stem from Ethan Greene’s traitorous acts, this is, at the very heart, a private family matter. We will not play it out before the cameras to satiate public curiosity.” Eloise stared directly into a camera, her blue eyes shimmering lightly with unshed tears. “However, it would be remiss of me to not use this moment to reach out to my grandson. Patrick, if you are watching, please understand we didn’t know. If we—ifIhad known, rest assured, there would be nothing on this earth that would have kept me from you.”
Patrick didn’t know he was holding his breath until Jono wrapped both arms around him from behind, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “Breathe, Pat.”
He let out an explosive gasp, lungs burning. Patrick stared at the television screen, the sound of reporters calling out questions a buzz in his ears as he watched his grandmother step away from the podium and head back to her home. The rest of his family—people who had to be aunts and uncles and cousins—put themselves between her and the cameras, escorting her into the safety of her home.
“If she tries to ring you, will you pick up?” Jono asked long minutes later after the scene had cut away to an anchor and Patrick had gotten himself under control.
“My old phone is still in evidence lockup,” Patrick said, throat working hard to get the words out.
“Pat.”
“I don’t know. I can’t think about this right now.”
It was too much in a way—the reality that the family he’d been kept hidden from wanted him back, even after all these years. Even after what he was being charged with. Persephone had delivered him into Setsuna and Ashanti’s hands as a child, and he’d gone knowing he could never look back. He could never dream of a reunion, of a home, if he wanted to stay alive, so he hadn’t.
This wasn’t something Patrick was ready for, if he ever would be.
Maybe that made him a coward or worse, but he had other, more immediate problems he needed to deal with. Getting in touch with his grandmother was at the bottom of his list right now. It had to be.
Patrick twisted around in Jono’s arms, rising up on his tiptoes to kiss him hard on the mouth. “You promised me breakfast before my meeting.”
It was a brutally obvious plea to change the subject, and Jono went along with it, letting Patrick ignore his past for a little longer.
* * *
“The director is concernedabout your safety,” Henry said.
“I know. It’s not like there’s much she can do,” Patrick said.
“She suggested we put a security detail on you.”
“Oh, fuck no. I’m still on unpaid administrative leave. She can worry about my ass if the agency decides to pay me again.”
It was Henry’s job to handle threats against the agents who worked beneath him, but Patrick wasn’t going to put this mess on him. The SOA was already besieged on all sides, and none of that was Henry’s fault.
Coming back to the New York City field office had still been difficult and awkward. Patrick had held his head high through all the stares and the whispers that trailed in his wake as he’d cleared his way through security and been given an escort up to Henry’s office. He couldn’t move around the building with the freedom he used to have. He might be out of jail, but the murder charge still hung over his head.
“It’s my understanding that the PCB is working to get a handle on the hunter issue and to bring the remaining alpha of the New York City god pack in for questioning about her pack’s actions against you on Monday.”
“The only New York City god pack is mine.”
Patrick met Henry’s gaze with a challenging one of his own. He knew his standing within the werecreature community was causing hell for the SOA and all the cases he’d touched since last June, but he refused to let them ignore his pack.
Henry’s expression didn’t change. “I’m sure the PCB will keep you apprised of their findings.”
