A slim woman with perfectly styled blonde hair and wearing a warm winter pantsuit seemed to be in charge of the event. She drifted through the room, answering questions from curious people in between directing the ones handing out food and flyers. It seemed inevitable she would make her way to where they were standing.
“Here to support Mr. Westberg?” she asked with a smile that was friendly enough.
Patrick shrugged, never taking his eyes off her face. In the high heels she wore, the woman was closer to Jono’s height than his. “Just checking out my options.”
“As a candidate, Mr. Westberg is the only choice you should make.”
“I guess. Never really been one to vote, but this year’s election seems like one I should pay attention to,” Patrick said, lying through his teeth.
“As his campaign manager, I can assure you Mr. Westberg only has the well-being of all Chicagoans at heart.” She extended her hand to him. “Kristen Lief.”
Her hand was cold when Patrick shook it, declining to give his name. “Nice to meet you.”
“Do you have a ticket for the brunch?”
“Nah. We had time this morning between errands and thought we’d check things out. We need to go soon.”
“I want chocolate,” Wade said.
Patrick rolled his eyes. “We should probably go now.”
Kristen kept smiling, the practiced expression of a consummate public figure. “Hopefully we’ll see you at a later campaign stop.”
“It’s possible.”
She moved on, deftly transferring her attention to the next possible vote. Wade leaned in once she was out of earshot and whispered in a hesitant voice, “She smelled like how Tezcatlipoca always smelled.”
The chill that shivered down Patrick’s spine felt colder than the winter winds blowing outside. Patrick kept his expression calm, moving with a deliberateness he hoped no one would see through to the fear that made his heart pound in his chest.
“Let’s find you some Nutella.”
They left the community center, the wind blowing outside a cold, cutting thing that made Patrick duck his head and pull out his beanie from a jacket pocket. He yanked it on, tucking the wool over his ears. Wade knew better than to talk until they were back in the SUV and Patrick had set a silence ward throughout the vehicle.
“Are you sure?” Patrick said as he started the engine.
Wade hunched his shoulders, gaze distant for a few seconds before he shook himself free of whatever memory was making his breath come a little quicker than usual. “She smelled like electricity. It was subtle, like perfume, but there. Kind of got the feeling she was trying to hide.”
Patrick tightened his hands on the steering wheel before he forced himself to loosen his grip so he could pull into the street. “Okay.”
Patrick wasn’t going to question what Wade had sensed. To him, Kristen Lief had seemed as mundane human as they came, but he knew from experience gods could hide themselves if they tried. Not to mention the ones who weren’t worshipped as much or as often as the more well-known immortals were weaker, less likely to be noticed and more likely to pass as human.
Being forgotten was a lonely existence for a god, but it made it easier for them to cause trouble in the mortal world.
Patrick thought about the supposed souls being offered up in lieu of money for rent and wondered if Westberg was the problem or a victim.
“I need to interview Westberg,” Patrick said, thinking out loud.
“Could’ve done it back there,” Wade said.
“Too public, and I need to see if I can even get permission to do it first. The case is being worked under seal. I can’t disrupt what’s going on with this field branch of the SOA.”
Wade slouched in the seat and put a foot up on the dash. “I don’t wanna go to the office with you. I want my Nutella latte.”
“Then I’ll drop you off at the café.”
It was on the way, so it wasn’t a hardship. Wade fiddled with the SUV’s satellite radio until he found a station he approved of. Patrick didn’t mind the choice of music, nodding along to the beat occasionally as he drove east toward downtown. They were on I-90 for a brief part of the drive before crossing over one of the tributaries of the Chicago River.
Eventually, Patrick turned right onto North Michigan Avenue, heading toward the skyscrapers in the heart of downtown Chicago. As they approached the DuSable Bridge, lightning flashed overhead, followed by the boom of thunder that Patrick swore rattled the SUV’s windows. He peered up at the sky in time to see a sheet of rain fall toward the earth, sending pedestrians without umbrellas running for shelter.
“Uh, pretty sure the weather forecast said windy and cold, not rain for days,” Wade said.
Patrick flicked on the windshield wipers, staring through the downpour at the bridge up ahead. Between one eye blink and the next, two ravens appeared, one perching on either side of the drawbridge pillars. Even from the short distance between them, Patrick could see the aura burning around the larger than normal ravens that no one else seemed to notice.
They spread their wings at the exact same time, launching themselves into the air, inky shadows against the cloudy sky. Follow.
The voices of Huginn and Muninn cracked through his mind, leaving behind a headache Patrick could’ve done without. “God damn it.”
“Any chance we can get food first? Maybe a latte?” Wade asked plaintively, eyeing the ravens winging ahead of them.
“I don’t think we should keep who they’re leading us to waiting.”
Wade crossed his arms over his chest and sulked, staring mournfully out the window as they passed the Nutella Café a few minutes later. “I hate gods.”
“You and me both.”
Driving south, Patrick navigated traffic, relying on Wade to keep an eye on the ravens and what direction
