Georgelle nodded as she followed them out. “We’ll be in touch as needed.”
Jono ushered Patrick to the car, the wind a cold breeze blowing across the water toward them. Only when they were on the road with Salem’s border behind them did he feel safe speaking.
“What do you want to do?” Jono asked.
Patrick rubbed at his eyes, white-knuckling his phone. “I need to talk with Setsuna. In person.”
“Okay. We’ll fly out tomorrow. Get the tickets.”
“Jono—”
“If you think I’m letting you go through this alone, you’re off your bloody head.” Jono glanced at him, noticing how hard Patrick was clenching his jaw. “That’s what pack is for. That’s why I came today. You don’t have to face all of this on your own. Get two tickets.”
Patrick let out a breath before nodding. “I’ll text Sage and tell her to get the tickets and that she’s playing proxy for a second day. I need to update the joint task force with what we’ve learned.”
Jono flexed his fingers around the steering wheel, pressing down on the gas pedal just a little more. “I’ll get us home.”
8
Patrick parkedthe rental car in front of Setsuna’s home in Dupont Circle Thursday night, the sun having set over an hour ago. That he found a parking spot in the neighborhood at this hour at all was pure luck. He switched the engine off and sat there for a moment, not in the least clearheaded for the conversation he was about to have.
“Hey.” Jono’s fingers curled around his chin, turning his head. “It’ll be okay. Whatever happens, I’m right here.”
Patrick licked his lips and reached out to pull Jono into a quick, hard kiss, drawing comfort from the other man. “Let’s get inside.”
He’d called Setsuna after getting back to New York yesterday, demanding to see her. Not for an official meeting but a personal one. She’d agreed without hesitation, which told him she’d known what he would ultimately find in Salem.
They got out of the car, locking it behind them. The porch light was on, and he could see the soft glow of more light seeping past the curtains drawn across the living room windows. He knocked loudly when they made it to the front door, the threshold surrounding the home brushing softly against his shields.
The dead bolt turned, and the door opened, revealing Setsuna standing in the foyer without her carved rosewood cane. She was dressed in black slacks and a soft-looking violet sweater, house slippers on her feet.
“Hello, Patrick,” she said, stepping aside so they could enter.
Patrick crossed the threshold, letting the familiar magic wash over him. He didn’t bother removing his shoes since they were leaving right after the meeting. Jono followed him to the living room, where Patrick made a beeline to the wet bar in the corner and proceeded to pour himself a glass of whiskey.
Setsuna sighed from somewhere behind him. “Please tell me you ate something if you’re going to drink like that.”
Patrick set the whiskey bottle down on the wet bar with a loud smack, staring at the amber liquid in the cut-crystal glass. “There’s not enough alcohol in the world to drown out what I’m feeling.”
“Pat,” Jono said quietly.
He turned around, holding the glass with tight fingers as he met Setsuna’s gaze across the living room. “You knew who they worshipped. All this time, youknew.”
Setsuna didn’t try to deny or equivocate. She only nodded, her eyes filling with a quiet sort of sadness. “I knew.”
Nearly every coven in existence worshipped some form of god or goddess, ancestors, or demon—something to pray to, to ask for guidance from, to gain a blessing. Setsuna had always prayed to her family’s kami. When visiting her home around his time at an Academy growing up, Patrick had worshipped nothing and no one. He still didn’t.
The apartment back in New York had no altar, no physical frame of worship to guide prayers he never spoke. But his mother’s family prayed, and who they worshipped was the same goddess who owned his soul debt. Patrick wasn’t sure he could ever reconcile the two.
“You always warned me against reaching out to my mother’s family. I always thought it was because of Ethan. That you wanted to keep them safe from him. But that wasn’t it,” Patrick said.
“No, it wasn’t. Not completely.”
He glared at her, hand shaking so hard the whiskey sloshed against the side of the glass. “You told me to lie, and I did. You told me I had to change my name, and I did. You never told me thetruth. You let me believe it was just Ethan.”
“I never lied about your father. Ethan was a threat back then the same as he is now.”
“That’s beside the point. I’m talking about my mother’s family. Did you think I’d never find out?”
