“It’ll get reviewed back at the PCB with some facial recognition software. We’ll make you a copy after we get those results,” Casale said.
“Does the trishula have any history of conflicting ownership?”
Phillippe cleared his throat. “No. It was donated by a private owner to the Louvre twenty years ago. Its historical background is not at issue.”
“We’ll need copies of those records.”
“They’re already being pulled at Chief Casale’s request.”
Patrick nodded. “Then I want to see the exhibit room.”
Phillippe sighed in obvious irritation. “Cynthia can show you. I ask that you don’t make it obvious you’re there for a crime.”
“I’ll come along. Ramirez can take it from here,” Casale said, nodding at his detective.
“We aren’t closing the exhibit down while you’re there. The museum is open, and it will be too noticeable if we attempt to close off that area right now,” Cynthia warned as she opened the office door.
Casale stared her down. “We already lost possible evidence by your delay in reporting the crime. That isn’t helpful. We’ll handle this review as we see fit.”
“What did you do with the display case?” Patrick asked Phillippe.
The director waved a hand at them. “It’s still in the exhibit room. We left a placard stating the trishula has been taken off exhibit for the time being.”
Patrick caught Casale’s eye and shook his head in disbelief. The things some people did to try to save their own ass. Not that he had any room to talk.
“Let’s go,” Casale said.
Patrick was glad Casale had opted for a suit over a uniform. It meant neither of them stood out when they finally made it to the special exhibition gallery in the center of the museum. Cynthia walked them past the timed-entry line, leading them to the room that had held the Trishula of Shiva and currently still held other artifacts.
The second Patrick stepped into the exhibit room, recognition cut through his shields, the warning burning through his magic. Patrick’s head snapped to the side, gaze skimming the nearby crowd. His attention settled on a man who made his lips curl into a snarl.
“Excuse me,” Patrick said curtly.
He left Casale and Cynthia without explanation, sliding through the small crowd, never taking his eyes off Youssef Khan. The alpha of the rival New York City god pack watched him come with a sharp smile, amber eyes bright in the dim lighting of the exhibit room. He hadn’t bothered with sunglasses, which ensured everyone gave him a wide berth.
Youssef was in his forties, stocky and dark-haired, and married to Estelle. Patrick was of the opinion their marriage was a power exchange rather than one built out of love. They’d kept a stranglehold on the packs in New York City over the years, but Patrick’s pack was rapidly changing that. Niceties had long since been left by the wayside between their packs. The fact that Youssef was here didn’t bode well. It made Patrick hyperaware of his space, knowing other werecreatures could be in the Met. Aside from that, their paths crossing right now was decidedly not a coincidence.
“Come to gloat over your crime scene?” Patrick asked lightly, unable to keep the venom out of his voice.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Youssef drawled.
“Right. Because you aren’t making deals with devils, except for how you are.”
“Again, you’re making accusations that have no merit.”
“How long have you been following me?”
“I wasn’t, but even if I was, you’re easy enough to track.”
“I doubt that.”
“You leave a lot of damage behind wherever you go. Here. Chicago. Paris.”
Youssef’s smile settled somewhere in the vicinity of a smirk. Patrick’s magic wasn’t picking up any hint of hell from the older man, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been around any hunters carrying demons in their souls. After everything they’d uncovered in London, Patrick knew it was only a matter of time before the demons came out.
“Stalking is a crime, especially when a federal agent is the target,” Patrick said.
Youssef stepped closer, not bothering to keep his voice down. “But you’re not just a federal agent, are you? Stands to reason you’re fair game in your other capacity. I’ve always been curious if your superiors know of your true allegiance and how it affects your cases.”
Patrick fought against clenching his teeth, trying to keep any physical tells to the bare minimum. “If you’re here to fight—”
“I’m here to enjoy the fine arts.” Youssef’s gaze briefly flickered over Patrick’s shoulder before returning. “The Met is open to everyone.”
“Is there a problem?” Casale asked from behind Patrick, voice calm and easy.
Youssef rocked back on his heels, never taking his eyes off Patrick. “No problem, Casale.”
“Then you might want to move along. We’re working.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. Youssef seemed more willing to listen to Casale than to Patrick—whether for ulterior motives or otherwise, Patrick couldn’t tell. Considering what was going on, Patrick would leave the Met later as if he were heading into a war zone. He didn’t trust Youssef not to try to ambush him out in the open.
Youssef left the exhibit room at a lazy pace, secure in the knowledge that Patrick couldn’t do anything to him. Patrick wasn’t sure how far the other man would really go, so he pushed magic out of his damaged soul and conjured up a tiny mageglobe. He closed his fingers around the softly glowing pale blue sphere, filling it with a silence ward. Static washed over the space he and Casale stood in, bringing with it an all-consuming quiet.
“I didn’t think you liked being so popular,” Casale said after a moment.
Patrick turned to face him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Patrick fought back a scowl. “Youssef is an asshole. So is his wife. It’s not a crime to hate them when they’re shit at their jobs.”
“The fights breaking out between packs are a crime when innocent people get caught in the crossfire.” Casale frowned, the lines around his mouth deepening. “What’s happening won’t be good for your job in the long run.”
Patrick knew that, but his pack wasn’t something he could or would walk away from. At some point, his personal and professional lives were going to collide. But that was in some future even the Fates couldn’t control, and all Patrick could do was walk toward it.
“Lucky for you all I’m doing today is dealing with a stolen piece of art and not a dead body,” Patrick said.
Casale eyed him for a moment before shaking his head. “Word of advice, Collins. Estelle and Youssef won’t back down. Things are going to get ugly.”
“Uglier than hunters with demons in their souls making a mess of the city? You know what they’ve done.”
“Knowing and proving are two separate hurdles.”
It was an argument Patrick couldn’t afford to have in public, even with a silence ward wrapped around them. His position in their god pack wasn’t known yet to the public, even if Casale was tacitly aware of it. The longer he could keep that fact hidden, the safer his pack and his job would be.