“If they are, they’re lying low like the Sluagh, unless they’ve all fucked off to some other city.”
Jono grunted agreement before finishing off his beer and leftovers. “I’d wager the bar that the whole bloody mess happens here.”
Marek smiled wanly at him. “Don’t tell me you’re a seer now.”
“Not in the least.”
The future might not be knowable beyond the upcoming fight, but Jono was determined to make sure it wouldn’t end how Marek had seen it before—with a graveyard.
12
Patrick was lyingon the couch, sprawled against Jono as they watched the Saturday night news, when his phone rang. He reached for where it sat on the coffee table, fingers scrabbling at it. He finally got a grip and lifted it to eye level. He didn’t recognize the number on the screen, but he answered anyway. He knew too many people who used burner numbers these days to send it to voicemail.
“Special Agent Patrick Collins. Line and—”
“Get to Ginnungagap,” Lucien snarled, his voice difficult to hear over the music on his side of the line.
Patrick shoved himself to a sitting position, swinging his legs around so he could plant his feet on the floor. “What happened?”
“Constructs just tried to enter the club. Ashanti is keeping them at bay, but they’re still outside and don’t seem in any hurry to leave.”
“Constructs?”
“Jaguars.”
The scent-memory of marigolds was suddenly in Patrick’s nose, and he had to swallow against the rise of bile in the back of his throat. “Tezcatlipoca?”
“Just fucking get here.”
Lucien ended the call. Patrick stood and shoved the phone into his back pocket on his way to the bedroom to retrieve his dagger and pistol, Jono half a step behind.
“Do you want Sage and Wade to meet us there?” Jono asked, shoving his feet into his shoes.
“Wade doesn’t have to come if he doesn’t want to. I’d rather he didn’t, to be honest,” Patrick said as he yanked on his leather jacket.
“I’ll let them know.”
Patrick didn’t want Wade to have to face off against the god who had held him captive and forced him to fight to the death in order to survive. Patrick knew a thing or two about facing off against nightmares, and if he could spare Wade that, he would. Besides, it wasn’t like Wade would have room to shift mass. Most of Manhattan’s streets were pretty narrow for a dragon.
He and Jono left the safety of their apartment and took the stairs down to the ground floor two steps at a time. Patrick slammed open the building’s front door, making one of the gargoyles on the stoop railing hiss in that rough voice they all had. A handful had come off the front of the building to guard the entrance. The reason for their territorial attitude were a couple of reporters lurking on the sidewalk, the last stubborn holdouts of the media wanting Patrick’s opinion on Setsuna’s death.
He fucking hated them.
“Do you have a statement you’d like to give the American people on who you think is behind the death of SOA Director Setsuna Abuku?” one woman asked, spitting the words out so fast they ran together.
Her phone was thrust in their direction as they reached the sidewalk. Patrick could see the recording app running on the screen of her phone. He bit his tongue to hold back how badly he wanted to tell the media to fuck off.
“No comment,” Patrick gritted out as they headed for the Mustang parked at the corner of the block.
“It’s being reported you were present when she died. How does her death affect your standing with the SOA after everything that happened over the summer?”
“Fuck off,” Jono snarled, clearly as annoyed as Patrick was.
The woman was persistent, as were the other two vying for a comment. Patrick bit his tongue, knowing that to do anything but look straight ahead and ignore them would only feed their desire for answers.
Setsuna had always taught himno commentwas the greatest defense against the media. He was all set to respond that way when recognition cut through his magic so hard he nearly doubled over. The presence of hell exploded in the street, searing through him.
Jono’s hand caught him by the shoulder even as Patrick ripped his shields outward to cover where they stood. The reporters startled hard at the manifestation of his magic, eyes going wide when he conjured up half a dozen mageglobes right as a hellfire bomb crashed against his layered shields.
