The sound of the chair creaking made Patrick open his eyes, watching as Reed got to his feet. The general came around the desk, settling his hand on Patrick’s shoulder for a couple of seconds.
“Meeting starts in ten minutes,” Reed said before leaving.
The door shut quietly behind him. Patrick drew in a shaky breath and scrubbed at his eyes before yanking out his phone from his back pocket. He set the iron box on his desk and thumbed it open, staring at the carved raven sitting innocuously inside. He knew better than to touch it, Srecha’s blessing all that had saved him last time.
Samhain was four days away. Patrick knew what he risked by giving it up, but he also knew what he would lose if he didn’t.
He closed the box and called Ashanti, because Setsuna might be dead, but she hadn’t been the only one to keep an eye on him over the years. It took a few rings before the mother of all vampires picked up.
“What is it now?” Ashanti asked, not bothering with pleasantries.
“Did you know my mother’s family had ownership of the Salem nexus?” Patrick asked.
“No one owns a nexus.”
“The Pattersons say they do.”
“They guard it. They do not own it.”
The dismissive tone to her voice reminded Patrick of Lucien’s opinions about any contract or treaty. “You still knew.”
“Does it matter? It was never going to change your situation.”
“It matters if Ethan has Eloise.”
She made a soft, thoughtful noise. “Ah. The blood kin. It would be unwise to give him whatever he wants in exchange for her.”
Patrick closed his eyes. The idea churning in the back of his mind was bound to piss off Jono, but Patrick didn’t see a way through this mess without trying the impossible.
“I have a meeting to get to. They’re calling back Setsuna’s soul.”
“She is dead. She cannot help you.”
Patrick bit at the inside of his cheek. “You can. I need to talk to you after my meeting.”
“I am in Brooklyn ensuring my children’s territory is well guarded for the fight ahead.”
Patrick mentally calculated how long he thought the meeting might take, then doubled it. “I can meet you there around 1600.”
“Very well. If it’s that important to you, then we will meet. Call me when you get to Brooklyn, and I will direct you to a neutral location.”
Ashanti ended the call, and Patrick pulled the phone away from his ear. He glanced at the clock on the screen before turning it off and shoving it into his back pocket.
“Fuck,” he said tiredly, running a hand over his face.
He wished this wasn’t happening, but wishes had never changed anything in his life, and neither had praying, so Patrick left his office and went to do his job.
* * *
Hours later,sheet lightning illuminated the reactionary storm churning over New York City, sometimes forking down to crackle on the rods erected on top of every skyscraper and bridge. The wind was a cold, howling thing that drove the rain sideways with gale force speed. The black clouds moved in a way that reminded Patrick of the start of a tornadic supercell storm in the Midwest. Few people walked the streets, and if they did, umbrellas were useless.
Worse than the storm was the frightening pressure in the air that wasn’t just a barometric issue. Patrick remembered the weight of wild magic in Cairo, how it had hung over their heads like a guillotine during the fighting. All the sacrifices Ethan’s side had done back then to keep the tear between worlds open had caused that reactionary storm to be brutal. It’d taken close to a year for weather patterns to settle after the Thirty-Day War.
Patrick hoped that wouldn’t happen here.
He drove through the pouring rain, windshield wipers working frantically. He kept his eyes on the road as he oriented himself for the drive to Brooklyn. At the next red light, he finally turned on his cell phone.
He’d turned it off before the start of the long virtual meeting with Henry, the governor of the State of New York, the heads of the joint task force, the Dagda in his guise as the mayor, and the NYPD commissioner.
