“I have to do this,” Patrick said through numb lips.
“Bollocks. No one is ordering you to reach out to them. You don’t know the Pattersons, and you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
Patrick clenched his hands into fists over his thighs, trying not to chew his bottom lip to shreds. “I should. They’re my mother’s family. I’d like to think they’re nothing like Ethan, but I won’t know that until I meet them.”
“Have to wonder why Setsuna and Ashanti keep warning you off about them.”
Patrick shrugged one shoulder, keeping his eyes on the road as Jono slowed to the local speed limit. “My guess is because of Ethan. Eloise thought I was dead until I got arrested. She was supposed to.”
Because if they thought he was dead over the years, so would Ethan. That lie had been destroyed at the end of the Thirty-Day War, causing Ethan to focus on Patrick to the detriment of those around him. He was done running though, done letting Ethan dictate how he reacted. Standing his ground was always going to be a fight, but facing his past wasn’t easy.
Patrick thought maybe it should be. Except he realized, as Jono drove through the historic center of Salem, following the GPS route, that was a lie he’d told himself to get through the days leading up to this moment.
“Don’t park in front,” Patrick said when they finally turned down a street whose houses were built along the waterfront of a small inlet.
“I don’t think we’re allowed to park on the street,” Jono said, frowning at the narrow road they were on. Every vehicle they passed was parked in a driveway.
“Just do it.”
Jono stopped four houses down from the waterfront property Eloise called home. He turned the engine off, leaving them in the quiet, fading warmth of the Mustang. The clouds in New York seemed to have stretched all the way up here, as the day was overcast. It didn’t look like rain was in the forecast, but Patrick knew how quickly something like that could change with heavy magic in play.
“We can always turn around,” Jono said softly after a few minutes had passed.
Patrick shook his head, finally undoing his seat belt. “Let’s get this over with.”
The invitation had included brunch, though Patrick wasn’t sure who was going to be present or if he’d be able to stomach food. He knew the names and faces of some of his extended family from written reports and news segments. A couple of aunts and uncles, because Clara hadn’t been an only child; younger cousins he struggled to recall from a childhood visiting this house, but always drawing a blank where memories were concerned.
He supposed it was time to make new ones.
They got out of the car, the cold, biting wind smacking Patrick in the face and slipping beneath his leather jacket. The warming charms embedded in it kept him from feeling chilly, and his dagger and handgun were a comforting weight within easy reach. Jono’s support was what got his feet moving though, the warm hand finding his holding on with a firm grip.
He made sure his personal shields were locked down tight before they started walking. Patrick let himself be led to the house beside the water, the unfenced front yard wilting beneath the autumn season settling over Salem. He could sense the powerful wards laid down on the property before they even reached it, the magic pricking against his shields with a familiarity that felt strange. Blood would always call to blood, and his magic recognized this place even if he didn’t.
Curtains on the first-floor window were drawn shut, but they twitched a little as he and Jono came to a stop in front of the house, as if someone didn’t want to be seen peering out.
“Do you think it’s just the Pattersons inside?” Jono asked.
“The SOA has the house under watch. I’m doubtful Eloise would’ve agreed to an agent being embedded in her home. They’re probably around here somewhere though.”
Jono glanced at him, wolf-bright blue eyes full of concern. “Ready?”
Nowasn’t an answer Patrick could give.
Instead, he nodded and stepped onto the cement pathway that led from the sidewalk to the front door. He let go of Jono’s hand, wiping his own suddenly clammy ones on his jeans. Heart pounding, Patrick took the steps up to the front door, Jono right behind him. He was reaching for the doorbell when the door opened, and he found himself staring into a middle-aged blonde woman’s face, recognition sliding through his magic.
The witch wasn’t his grandmother, but the family resemblance to her was strong. Slim and dressed in a dark green woolen coat dress and brown boots, she stared at Patrick with blue eyes that were a little damp.
“Oh,” she said, covering her mouth with one hand. “Oh, hello, Patrick. Welcome home.”
He stared at her, tongue unmoving in his mouth. It took a few seconds before he managed to shake himself free of his uncertainty and cleared his throat. “Madelyn?”
His mother’s younger sister let out a soft, watery huff of a laugh. “Yes, I’m your aunt Madelyn.”
Patrick nodded, head jerking a little in Jono’s direction. “This is Jono.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Jono said, managing a small, polite smile for the both of them.
If Madelyn seemed uncertain about inviting a god pack alpha werewolf into her mother’s home, she didn’t show it, though Patrick couldn’t be sure about scent. “Please, both of you, come in. Your grandmother and the rest of the family can’t wait to see you, Patrick.”
