Losing time never stopped being disorienting.

Patrick opened his eyes to the white walls and ceiling of a private hospital room, the steady sound of machines monitoring his vitals filling his ears. The pinch of a needle stung the back of his hand, and he blearily looked down at where two IV lines were each connected to a vein. The hospital gown was itchy and rough. The heart rate monitor clipped to the end of his right index finger was annoying.

The bed was positioned so he was half sitting up. Patrick gazed around the empty hospital room, noticing the large window off to his right that looked out onto a nurse’s desk. He could see two armed SOA agents standing guard outside his room.

His left thigh hurt, but not as badly as he thought it should. He dragged the thin blanket aside and poked at the bandage wrapped around his leg. Either he’d been unconscious longer than he thought, or someone had added a healer to the mix of doctors overseeing his care. Patrick assumed it was the latter. A healer could tend to the body, but they couldn’t do anything about the state of his soul.

His left hand was lightly bandaged, and ached, but no longer felt as if it were on fire. When Patrick flexed his fingers, they all responded, a clear sign he’d escaped nerve damage. Patrick pressed his other hand over the scars on his chest, trying to calm his breathing. He could feel his magic again, a quiet flicker deep in his soul as it slowly returned, but that wasn’t all he could feel.

Jono, he thought bleakly.

Patrick shied away from the ties that bound his soul to another person, the illegality of the act threatening to make him sick. He used his trickle of magic to reset his personal shields using the anchors carved into his bones. They did nothing to block out Patrick’s awareness of Jono.

“Fuck,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair.

“I see you’re finally awake.”

Patrick’s head snapped up, watching as Nadine walked into the hospital room. She looked tired, one hand holding a little paper cup of shitty hospital coffee. She approached his bedside on quiet feet, eyeing him critically. Dark circles showed beneath her eyes even through her makeup. Her shoulders were slumped with exhaustion, but she still managed a tired smile for him.

“Where am I?” Patrick asked in a rough voice. His mouth was dry and tasted disgusting. He needed about a gallon of Listerine to fix that, or a shot of whiskey. He’d take either right about now. “What day is it?”

Nadine grabbed the water pitcher off the rolling bedside table and poured him a glass. Patrick took it from her gratefully.

“Bellevue. It’s Thursday afternoon. You’ve been out for quite a while,” she said.

Patrick eyed the whiteboard bolted to the wall opposite the foot of his bed. The name of his current nurse was written in washable ink, as well as a coded list of his current treatment that might as well have been written in a foreign language for all he understood it.

He swallowed slowly, shivering at the memory of the fight in Central Park. “Tell me what happened.”

Nadine dragged the uncomfortable-looking hospital chair closer to his bed. She sat down, never letting go of her coffee. “I’m sure you noticed the guards.”

“I’m not handcuffed.”

“You’re not under arrest. They’re for your protection. Not all of the Dominion Sect magic users were caught.”

He could guess who was missing. “Ethan and Hannah escaped.”

“Yes. Hades took them through the veil.”

Patrick let his head fall back against the pillow. “You realize no security guard in the world would be able to stop them if they really wanted to get in here?”

Nadine smiled grimly. “I shielded the room. Besides, Ethan will probably lay low for a while now that the public knows he’s alive.”

“Did any of his people survive that fight?”

“Rachel did. Outside of Ethan’s escape, her arrest is all anyone is talking about on the news.”

“You didn’t kill her?”

Nadine arched an eyebrow. “You asked me not to.”

Patrick shrugged tiredly. “If your finger accidentally slipped on the trigger, I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

“Believe me, I thought about it, but your director is going to need a scapegoat when the dust finally settles.”

“What do you mean?”

“That Congress isn’t appreciative of my decision to keep Rachel in her position when I first had my suspicions about her loyalty. They fail to realize a belief isn’t probable cause, much less solid evidence,” a familiar voice replied.

Patrick stared at where SOA Director Setsuna Abuku stood in the doorway to his hospital room. The fifty-one-year-old woman packed a wealth of power in her aura despite only being a witch. Her sheer presence was enough to draw anyone’s attention when she stepped into a room.

On the petite side, with jet-black hair cut into a blunt bob around a thin, barely wrinkled face, the SOA director wore a precisely tailored business suit. She held a tote bag in one hand and a rosewood cane in the other. The cane had intricately carved steps twisting upward to the image of a Shinto shrine at the top. Delicate kanji were written over every step, the prayers a quiet hum to Patrick’s senses.

Setsuna let the door close behind her and tapped it with her cane, warding the room for silence. Static flowed over the walls and ceiling and floor, shrouding them in a bubble of privacy.

“There are rumors already about a congressional hearing,” Nadine added.

Patrick made a face. “Great. What I wouldn’t give to be back in the military so the brass could deal with the mess and leave me out of it.”

His after-action reports regarding the Thirty-Day War were highly classified and he had gladly let the chain of command handle the scrutiny of the public once the fighting was over. Unfortunately, Patrick didn’t think he’d be able to get out of testifying before Congress about what happened this week if they subpoenaed him.

“I may have to reach out to the Joint Chiefs regarding this issue. We’ll see,” Setsuna said.

Nadine took a sip of her coffee and made a face at whatever she tasted. “We have Rachel to take the fall. That should be helpful to a degree.”

Patrick snorted. “Until the Dominion Sect decides she’s better off dead in order to keep their secrets.”

“She is under twenty-four-hour watch at a classified location,” Setsuna said.

“Running black sites on domestic soil again, are we?” Patrick asked caustically.

Setsuna leveled a flat look his way. “The SOA does no such thing.”

Patrick rolled his eyes, letting her stick to whatever story she wanted to tell. He’d claim deniability by way of unconsciousness all the way to the courts in that area. “When can I leave?”

“You still need to be debriefed.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“You’re recovering from a gunshot wound in your thigh, a stab wound to your hand, severe bruising, and magical backlash on top of magical burnout,” Nadine pointed out.

“I can negotiate with the doctor or just AMA my way out.”

“They’re doctors. We don’t negotiate with medical personnel like that.”

“AMA it is.”

Nadine picked his cell phone off the table and waved it at him. It had survived the fight in Central Park with only a slightly cracked screen, which was impressive. “I have a text from Smooth Dog who insists you’ll try to pull that stunt and to handcuff you to the bed as a preventative measure.”

“Kinky, but he knows that’s not my kind of kink. Give me my phone.”

Nadine handed it over. She knew his passcode for the same reason he knew hers. Patrick wasn’t surprised she’d been monitoring his phone while he’d been out of it. Patrick unlocked the phone and stared down at the text messages from his old team captain. Smooth Dog was a call sign Captain Gerard Breckenridge would never live down as long as Patrick was alive to tease him mercilessly about it.

The text conversation between Gerard and Nadine was from ten hours ago, the glut of messages spanning roughly thirty minutes.

“Huh,” he muttered. “Guess they’re no longer running dark.”

That didn’t necessarily mean his old team was accessible, or they’d have tried to call. Most likely Gerard had bribed someone to give him clearance to use his personal cell phone and get a signal boost.

Patrick tapped back into the general queue of text conversations and hit Marek’s next. He didn’t get past reading the latest one.

Everyone safe. Jono’s with us.

Seeing Jono’s name reminded Patrick of all the problems this case had spawned for him personally and how he wasn’t remotely ready to process any of it. His VA therapist would probably have something to say about that, but Patrick was all for keeping his head in the sand for a little while longer.

He dropped his phone on the bed, sighing heavily. “Did we lose anyone?”

“We have more critically injured than dead, but yes. We lost some agents. They died making sure soultakers didn’t escape Central Park. When the spellwork blew, the overload took the demons apart since they were tied to it,” Setsuna said.

“Anyone I know?”

Because nearly all of the SOA agents in the field Tuesday night had been from the Rapid Response Division. Patrick didn’t have a permanent partner, but he’d worked with a few of them over the years when their cases crossed paths and he’d been brought in as backup on others.

“Maybe. I’ll get you a list.”

As if she didn’t already know the names of the dead, which meant he’d probably known one or more of the agents who died. “Okay.”

“They’ll all be awarded posthumous commendations for bravery in the line of duty.”

And funerals with all the pomp and circumstance the agency could muster beneath the glare of media cameras. Patrick knew Setsuna wouldn’t be above using their deaths to engender sympathy toward the SOA and the danger its agents operated under. Patrick hated politics with a passion, but he knew how the game was played.

“What about Lucien?”

“Sticking around,” Nadine said. “Whether for a few days or a few weeks, he won’t say.”

“And you?”

Nadine’s mouth curved into a slight, lopsided smile. “I am being formally reprimanded for agreeing to liaise without permission while on vacation, without the proper paperwork done up, and for not informing my superiors of my intentions or the threat at hand. The PIA will also be giving me a commendation for bravery in the field.”

Patrick laughed a little. “Of course they will.”

Setsuna cleared her throat. “Special Agent Mulroney, I’d like to speak with Patrick alone.”

Nadine got to her feet without argument. “I’ll go find the doctor and let her know you’re awake, Patrick.”

She left the room, the silence ward reforming after she was gone. Setsuna approached the bed and set her tote bag on the chair Nadine had vacated. She withdrew his dagger from it, and Patrick didn’t realize how tense he’d been until he got eyes on it again. Setsuna passed the dagger over, and he practically snatched it out of her hand.

“Thanks,” he said.

Setsuna folded both hands over the top of her cane, her fingers curling over the gates of the Shinto shrine. “What did you do in that circle?”

“I’m not talking about it with you.”

“Then shall I make an educated guess? Because your soul reaches for another when it never has before.”

“I know.”

The sound of his heart rate monitor beeping louder caused Patrick to rip the electrodes off his chest to silence the damn thing. He glared at Setsuna, clenching his jaw so hard his teeth ached. He knew exactly what he’d done to Jono and just how illegal that action was.

Souls were supposed to be off-limits.

Patrick had strived for his entire life to never become like his father, and that had all changed on summer solstice. He’d done the unthinkable, and he didn’t know how to fix it—because the bond tying his soul to Jono’s felt permanent.

Setsuna regarded him with an unreadable look in her brown eyes before she nodded, more to herself than to him. “I set a forgetting spell on the healers and witches who are responsible for your care. Your actions regarding this particular problem will be kept out of all official reports. That won’t stop Mr. de Vere from needing to be interviewed.”

Patrick bit his tongue at that admission. Her actions, as illegal as they were, didn’t make him feel any better. But they would keep him safe, whether he liked it or not. As for Jono…well, Patrick doubted he’d have to remind Jono to keep his secrets.

“The SAIC position here in New York City will be filled on an interim basis for eventual permanent placement by the Assistant SAIC out of California,” Setsuna continued.

“I take it you can’t trust the one here?”

“The entire upper management in the New York City office is under investigation. The office in California is clean of any hidden threats.”

Patrick had to think hard for a few seconds on why that was before he remembered who headed up the SAIC post in San Francisco. “Maybe you should put a witch with an affinity for mind magic in every office.”

Former Major Veronika Federova was years out of service with the Caster Corps within the US Department of the Preternatural. Her penchant for doing everything by the book and knowing when people were lying, even through shields, meant the ranks below her operating out west were clean. Patrick knew she wouldn’t like giving up her Assistant SAIC, but whoever was transferred to New York from that office would be trustworthy.

“It will be a tough sell to make the general public trust our office here again. A transparent investigation will go a long way toward helping with that.”

Patrick eyed her dubiously. “You hate transparency.”

“Sometimes it is required and necessary,” Setsuna said with all the distaste of a person stepping in dog shit.

“Good luck with that.”

“You’ll want to keep some of that luck for yourself. I’m transferring you here to New York City.”

“What?”

Setsuna didn’t seem bothered by his anger. “You helped save this city, and that’s goodwill I refuse to give up. The Rapid Response Division here lost a couple of agents in the fight. You’re more than capable of taking over one of their spots.”

“No.”

“This isn’t negotiable, Patrick. The transfer paperwork has already been drawn up.”

Patrick knew this was an order he couldn’t argue against. His contracted government job was one of the few barriers between himself and the demands levied by immortals. He wasn’t keen on giving up that defense, even if it meant he bowed to the demands of what the SOA needed from him instead.

A tiny voice in the back of his mind pointed out that staying in New York City meant staying with Jono.

Patrick ignored that voice.

“You could have at least asked,” Patrick said angrily.

“You’ll have a month to get all your affairs in order in DC and move out here. I’ll even give you time to take your vacation.”

“It’s a little late for bribes, and the agency better reimburse me for the vacation I had to cancel.”

Setsuna tapped the point of her cane against the floor, her gaze never leaving his. Patrick thought she might reach out to try to comfort him, except she didn’t. He didn’t know why, in that moment, he wanted her to. Setsuna had taken over guardianship of him when he was a kid and relinquished it when he turned seventeen and joined the Mage Corps. She’d provided almost a decade of year-round boarding schools away at an Academy and an apartment shared with her in Washington, DC, during holiday breaks that never felt like home.

She cared for him but had never seemed to care about him.

For once, Patrick wished she would.

“I’ll expect your report by the end of the weekend. I believe Chief Casale would prefer it earlier, but take your time. I will handle everything else,” Setsuna told him quietly. “Goodbye, Patrick.”

Patrick didn’t watch her leave. Nadine came into the room with the doctor a minute later. “I’m leaving,” he said.

“I would advise against that,” the doctor replied.

“Advise away. It’s not going to change me walking out that door today.”

“Can you give us a minute?” Nadine asked the doctor, flashing her a polite smile.

The doctor left, but not before giving Patrick a stern look, which he ignored. Nadine went to his bedside again and reached out to card her fingers through his dirty red hair. “You still have mud in your hair. Guess the sponge bath didn’t get rid of it all.”

“I can take a shower back at the apartment.”

“Stay another day, Patrick. You need the rest.”

“Nadine—”

“One more day. Then I’ll escort you out of here no matter what the doctor says. Whatever you think you need to do, it can wait.” She paused, settling her hand on his shoulder and looking him in the eye. “Jono can wait.”

Patrick closed his eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. “I hate hospitals.”

“We all hate hospitals. Now don’t bite the poor doctor’s head off when she comes back in.”

Nadine left to go fetch his doctor once again. Turned out modern medicine and a witch’s brew could cut his healing time in half, but it wasn’t a cure. The soft tissue damage in his left thigh was weeks ahead in the healing process, but the muscle there was still delicate. He’d scar and need a couple of weeks of physical therapy, but the doctor believed he’d regain full range of motion in the leg.

The stab wound in his left hand had healed up as well, but the skin there was still delicate. The bandage was to hold the last salve treatment in place, and the RN witch promised the marks in his skin would fade in a couple of months.

No one mentioned the mess of his soul, Setsuna’s forgetting spell keeping his secret.

Nadine left not long after the doctor, off to deal with whatever needed to be handled right now. Patrick grabbed the remote off the side table, turned on the television, and switched it to a news channel. He needed to get caught up on things.

It turned out when you broke up a high-level sacrificial spellwork by way of magical overload, it really did a number on the grass.

The North Meadow in Central Park was nothing but mud surrounding craters made from grenades and offensive spells. The baseball fields were absolutely ruined for the rest of summer, and the park itself had been closed off to the public for the next week at the very least. A dozen talking heads across half that many channels were busy discussing what had happened and getting a lot of facts wrong as they did so.

The spin is going to be ugly, Patrick thought to himself a couple of hours later.

“You shouldn’t be watching that. It’ll just piss you off.”

Patrick jerked his head around as Casale stepped into his hospital room. He cleared his throat, muting the television. “Needed to get information somehow. What are you doing here?”

Casale eyed him critically as he came closer. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Did you come by before now?”

“I did, but you were still unconscious. Got a call from your director that you were awake.”

“I don’t have my report ready.”

“While I’d be happy if you did, I’m not here for that.” Casale pulled a flat white envelope out of his inner suit pocket and handed it to Patrick. “This is for you.”

Patrick took it and slid his thumb under the flap to open it. He stared in confusion down at the small stack of money stuffed inside. “Is this a bribe? Are you bribing me? Wait a minute. Shouldn’t I be the one bribing you to keep the press at bay?”

Casale let out a dry chuckle. “It’s not a bribe. Ramirez and Guthrie wanted me to give that to you. Apparently you won the pot I know nothing about. Figured you’d earned it.”

It took a moment before Patrick remembered what Casale was talking about. He didn’t bother to hide his grin. “I won the pot.”

“Of which I know nothing about,” Casale stressed.

Patrick stuffed the envelope under the blanket and waved at the only chair in the room. “Take a seat. I can’t promise I’ll be great company right now, but it’s not like I’m going anywhere today.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“Oh, you’re good. But no, it’s still today, so I’m stuck eating hospital food for one more night.”

Maybe he could bribe the nurses to order him a pizza. With cash on hand, that was a possibility now.

“You sure leaving medical care so soon is a good idea?”

“I’ll be fine, Casale. I’ve had worse and kept working.”

“That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement of your decision-making skills when it comes to your health.”

Casale sat back in the chair a little. His suit was slightly wrinkled in places and damp at the shoulders. Patrick glanced out the window that faced the street, seeing rain still coming down, but nowhere near as violently as it had during summer solstice. Right now it was more of a lazy shower.

“Our weather witches on staff say the reactionary storm will disappear by tomorrow night,” Casale said.

“That’s good.” Patrick was absolutely terrible with weather magic. He didn’t have an affinity for it at all. He figured out what the weather would be like on a day-to-day basis by checking an app on his phone rather than communing with nature. “Means I can take a smoke break outside when it finally stops.”

Casale’s mouth twitched a little. “I should warn you the media has camped outside the hospital. Might want to wait on that smoke break.”

Patrick scowled. “Fucking media. The press are like cockroaches.”

“Worse, on occasion.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll get Nadine to cast a look-away ward when we make our great escape.” He scratched at where the medical tape had been adhered to on his arm. No matter what brand was used, it always made his skin itch. “Are all your people accounted for?”

“Yes. We didn’t lose anyone, though I hear your agency did.”

“Hazard of the job.”

“From what I understand, this particular job almost cost you your life.”

“Well, it didn’t.”

Casale got to his feet and extended his hand. “Get some rest. I’ll keep in touch with you and your director as we close out the cases on our end.”

Patrick shook Casale’s hand firmly. “I’ll have my report done by Sunday night at the latest. Director Abuku will have to sign off on it before it goes to you for your records.”

“I’ll keep a look-out for it.”

Casale left with a final wave goodbye. Patrick picked up the remote control and unmuted the television. He shifted on the bed, trying to get comfortable. The pain in his leg was a hazy sort of ache, numbed by drugs, despite the forced healing medical professionals had put him through. He tugged the blanket aside and hiked up the hospital gown a little, poking at the bandage again.

“You probably shouldn’t touch that.”

Patrick had his dagger out and pointed at Hermes before he even registered moving. The messenger god rolled his eyes from behind the gigantic vase of white flowers he carried. He was dressed in wet, skinny black jean shorts that fell to his knees, a waterproof cycling jacket, and cycling shoes. A waterproof messenger bag was slung over one shoulder, and his black bike helmet had silver wings painted on the sides.

“Seriously?” Patrick asked. “You’re a bike messenger when you’re not annoying the fuck out of me?”

Hermes smirked at him and deposited the vase on the rolling side table, taking a moment to adjust the bunches of small white flowers. “Today I am.”

“What do you want?”

Hermes leaned his hip against the bedside railing, taking in Patrick’s less than stellar state. “What do you think? I’ve come to give you a message.”

Patrick eyed the flowers, in no mood to accept any more gifts from the gods. “Any chance I can reject it?”

“It’s customary to bring the invalid flowers. Hera thought you’d like them. They’re cliff roses. Native to Greece.” Hermes cocked his head to the side, rainwater dripping off his helmet onto the bed. “Manhattan now sports four bushes of the flowers on land at the cardinal points.”

“A simple thank-you would’ve sufficed, but your kind doesn’t know the meaning of that phrase.”

Hermes laughed. He snapped his fingers and a single gold coin spun into existence in the air. It fell onto the bed between Patrick’s knees.

“The fight isn’t over. That is your message.”

Patrick blinked. When he opened his eyes again, Hermes was gone.

“Fuck my life,” he muttered.

Patrick pressed the call button for the nurse, figuring they’d like the flowers more than he would.

He kept the coin.