The Dagda’s presence filled the space around them, the sudden pressure a weight against Jono’s ribs. He didn’t flinch, and neither did Patrick, but he’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t speed up a tick.
“Your debt is not paid,” the Dagda said in a voice like a storm-filled rushing river, crashing against their ears.
“And when I pay it, what then?” Patrick leaned forward, hands clenched into fists on his knees. “When you stab someone, pulling out the knife doesn’t fix the wound left behind.”
The Dagda smiled in a way that promised no comfort. “Then make sure the wound is deep enough to kill.”
Jono settled his hand over Patrick’s fist. “What of the city? Can you issue a curfew?”
“I’ve issued enough curfews in your favor lately. The public won’t appreciate another.”
“Is that your polling numbers speaking?” Patrick asked snidely.
“What excuse would I give to corral the public for the next couple of weeks before Samhain that they would believe?” The Dagda spread his hands, looking as far from apologetic as one could get. “We gods you see as myths are not who they believe in. Bring me evidence of a threat, one that the masses will understand, and then, perhaps, I can aid you in my capacity as mayor of this fine city.”
Jono glared at the god. The thought of sacrificing people who could’ve been saved if inaction wasn’t the name of the bloody game made him furious. But gods did what was best for gods, and there was no arguing with that sort of stubbornness.
“The Sluagh won’t be the last incursion, will they?” Patrick asked after a moment.
The Dagda stared at them, the weight of his presence receding just a little. “What makes you think they were the first?”
“Fuck,” Jono muttered, sharing a look with Patrick.
The Dagda reached for his keyboard to tap at it, gaze flicking to the screen and whatever information was on it. “I have another meeting in ten minutes. Will that be all?”
Patrick rolled his eyes and got to his feet. “The PCB and the SOA are aware of the Sluagh’s presence. You should probably have a backup plan that isn’t ignoring the problem.”
The Dagda didn’t seem put out by that warning and merely waved them off. Jono followed Patrick out of the mayor’s office and into the hallway beyond the reception room.
“Tell me you’re not voting for him next election,” Jono said as they walked back toward the bank of lifts.
“If he’s still around? Fuck no,” Patrick replied.
“What do you want to do?”
Patrick scowled. “I’m not sure we can do anything until the Sluagh strike. Sage still has her meeting with Tiarnán today, so we’ll let her bring it up with him.”
“All right.”
They were waiting for the next available lift when the doors pinged open and disgorged someone neither of them expected. Giovanni Casale, Chief of the NYPD Preternatural Crimes Bureau, was in full uniform rather than a suit, which made Jono think he had a press engagement of some sort.
Jono hadn’t seen Casale in person since the fallout from taking over the god pack territory. New Yorkers didn’t much care for the civil war that had exploded on their doorstep, but his pack had done their best to contain it with the reluctant help of the PCB, as ordered by the Dagda in his capacity as mayor. Casale’s favorability had taken a beating in public polls, but from what Jono had heard, the older man wasn’t in danger of losing his position.
Yet.
“Collins,” Casale said politely enough. “Jonothon. Fancy meeting you here.”
“Casale,” Patrick replied evenly. “Here to visit our favorite mayor?”
“I take it you’ve already spoken to Ferbenn about what you saw last night?”
“Made him move his schedule for us. He didn’t care about the sighting.”
Casale glanced down the hallway in the direction they’d just come. “Reports of missing people are starting to come into the PCB. I can’t say all are attributed to the Sluagh, but it’s a good bet some can be tied to the damn things. Does the SOA know?”
“The SOA and some of the other alphabet soup agencies are in the loop.”
“We’ve warned all the packs, and we’re talking to the fae today,” Jono said.
