Patrick was prepared for the weather. He wasn’t prepared for who he found waiting for him in his office, sitting behind his desk as if he owned it.
Patrick rocked to a halt just inside the door, eyes going wide. “Sir. What are you doing here?”
General Noah Reed blew a smoke ring up at the ceiling, the cigarette held between his fingers nothing but the filter, and stared at Patrick. His gaze went unerringly to the small iron box tucked under Patrick’s arm, and he narrowed his eyes.
“Close the door, Collins,” Reed ordered.
Patrick obeyed automatically, casting a silence ward while he was at it. Static flowed through the room, making his ears pop. “What’s going on?”
“I think that’s my question.” Reed pointed at what he carried. “Thatwas never in any of your after-action reports from Paris.”
Patrick reached up to grab the box from under his arm, holding it tightly in one hand. “It didn’t need to be.”
“I gave you a mission, Collins.”
“And the gods gave me a soul debt. Sorry, sir, but you’re dead last where they’re concerned. The Morrígan’s staff was never coming back to you or the government.”
Reed stared at him with eyes that never blinked, the steadiness of his stare almost otherworldly. “Eloise Patterson is missing, you fought a god in Salem, and now you’re carrying a broken piece of the Morrígan’s staff. What are you planning on doing, Collins?”
“Nothing but fight. That’s why we’re all here, isn’t it?” Patrick eyed the general. “Did the president send you?”
“We’re trying to stave off an incursion from every hell in existence without panicking the masses. Of course the president sent me.”
Patrick had never met the president, but considering how many immortals held government jobs, part of him wondered if the person sitting behind the Resolute desk was a god. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to find out.
“Bad optics if the media sees you and whoever came with you,” Patrick said quietly.
Reed smiled, teeth far too sharp for a human mouth. “Optics won’t matter if everyone is dead and this world has gone to hell. I have my people to think about, same as you.”
Patrick swallowed tightly. “The packs who have come for the fight have their orders, as do the Night Courts. Jono’s confirming with the fae today about their support. The covens stand ready.”
“And the gods?”
Patrick shrugged stiffly. “If the fight is here—”
“It will be.”
Patrick stared at him, tapping a finger against the iron box. “It’s been confirmed? New York City is ground zero?”
Reed blew out a puff of smoke that didn’t come from the cigarette, the gray plume drifting between them. Patrick hoped it wouldn’t trigger the building’s sprinklers. “Close enough.”
“So what now?”
“Priya’s writ for habeas corpus et animum was granted. Setsuna’s soul will be called back from the afterlife today during the joint task force meeting.” Patrick froze, choking on air. Reed’s gaze didn’t waver. “I can’t excuse you.”
“Why the fuck not?” Patrick demanded hoarsely.
“Because the rest of the people on the joint task force who don’t trust you need to see you there. They need to know you had nothing to do with her death.”
Patrick bit out a harsh laugh. “That bullet was meant forme.”
“Maybe. But you still have a job to do, Collins. She would want you to finish it.”
He closed his eyes, tears burning against his lashes. “They should let her rest.”
“There is no rest in war.”
Not even if you were dead, it seemed.
