The drekavacs screamed a warning, the shrill sound enough to shatter a couple more windows. Jono resisted the urge to cover his ears, dialing down his hearing for a couple of seconds to save it before risking sound again.
“What are they? Part banshee?” Jono asked.
Patrick didn’t answer, too busy flinging a magical strike at the undead while digging out his mobile. He tossed it to Jono, who caught it with one hand.
“Call Nadine. Tell her what’s going on,” Patrick said before flinging another mageglobe at the drekavacs, which the lanky bastards dodged with preternatural speed. “She needs to get the WSA to get eyes on CCTV around this place, and then you need to get the hell out of here.”
“I’m not fucking leaving you.”
“The WSA can’t know about you. The only way they won’t know is if you get the fuck away.”
Jono unlocked Patrick’s mobile and speed-dialed Nadine. “Sorry, you’re speaking idiot again. There’s CCTV all around. It doesn’t matter if I stay or go, they’ll see me anyway, so piss off with your suggestion that I walk away.”
Patrick snarled wordlessly, irritation in the curl of his lips. Jono ignored him and his stupid bloody idea of standing his ground alone.
“Did you find anything, Collins?” Nadine said in lieu of a hello.
“Sorry, not Pat. He’s a bit tied up at the moment with some zombies,” Jono said.
Nadine swore. “Where?”
“Tottenham. Rainriver council estate.”
“Tell him not to blow anything up. I’ll notify the WSA and local police.”
She ended the call, and Jono shoved the mobile into his pocket. “Nadine knows.”
“Great,” Patrick grunted, magic sparking at his fingertips.
“She said not to blow shit up.”
“Too late.”
A mageglobe exploded, managing to catch one more drekavac in the blast range. Its body was torn apart, blood and meaty bits arcing through the air to splatter around them. They hit various cars and Patrick’s shield, the curve of it flickering pale blue for a second.
Jono scanned the area, studying how the drekavacs moved. They stayed close, hunting like a pack, though he doubted they’d have a problem attacking one-on-one. He counted nine of the bastards left, and they moved too quick for Patrick to contain them in a shield.
“I’ll shift,” Jono said.
“Don’t,” Patrick snapped.
Jono ignored him. “I brought a change of clothes in the car.”
Patrick conjured up another mageglobe, the sphere losing its shape to a shocking amount of fire that Jono could feel from a meter away. Then the soulbond snapped between them, opening deep in Jono’s soul. The oncoming rush of magic pouring through him from somewhere else momentarily made his teeth ache and his skin go hot.
The pain was manageable. Jono’s years of shifting from human to wolf and the training he and Patrick had done together helped him to push past it all and focus on the fight. The magic was only passing through his soul to Patrick’s, its power something Jono would never be able to use. Patrick could, and did, creating what could only be called an inferno in the parking lot when he let the spell loose.
The magefire was hot enough to scorch paint off the cars, damage the framework, and liquify the asphalt. Burning through the undead was child’s play. The drekavacs couldn’t run fast enough to escape the fire. Patrick’s magic burned them down to bone, but they didn’t go quietly. Even with his hearing dialed down and hands over his ears, Jono could hear how loud they screamed.
Glass from shattered windows from the flats above them rained down onto Patrick’s shield, clattering to the pavement. The fire died down to nothing, and Patrick’s mageglobes faded away. He still held his dagger, the matte-black blade lined with white fire.
“Was that spell legal?” Jono asked, eyeing the half-melted cars nearby.
“For this country?”
“In general.”
“Outside of a war zone, not really.”
“Then why use it?”
“Fire breaks all kinds of magic. It’s one of the few things that can stop zombies, but it’s risky, and you need to hit a particular heat level.”
Jono stared at the crispy mounds of what used to be drekavacs and now were little more than piles of charred bone. “What now?”
Patrick sheathed his dagger and started toward the bodies. “I wait for Nadine and our WSA counterparts to arrive.”
Jono could make out the sound of sirens in the distance, the tone different from the ones he’d been hearing for the last few years on the streets of New York. “Police will get here first.”
“Then you need to go.”
Jono didn’t want to, but he knew it was the better option. He knew he’d probably show up on CCTV with Patrick whenever the government pulled the security feed. He’d leave Patrick to make up whatever story he thought would work to keep people from digging into Jono’s identity. It wouldn’t stop anyone from asking, but Patrick could stonewall with the best of them, and if push came to shove, the gods owed them.
“I’ll take the Tube back to the hotel,” Jono said, pulling out Patrick’s mobile and tossing it back to him. “Ring me when you can.”
“Spencer will probably get to the hotel before I do. I’ll text him your number so you can tell him where to go.”
“All right. Be safe.”
Patrick nodded, most of his attention already on the mess in the car park. Jono wanted badly to kiss him but didn’t want to risk getting any sort of familiarity on camera. So he turned on his feet and hurried off, trying to look like a civilian running away from a threat rather than someone getting mixed up in trouble.
He’d done it as a lad, and the reminder wasn’t lost on him as he headed for the nearest Underground station. While Jono might have changed over time, London’s streets and its Underground hadn’t, and his feet took him down the route he’d walked growing up as easily as breathing.
13
“The British government isn’t pleased with your actions,” Setsuna said over the phone.
Patrick rolled his eyes even though she couldn’t see it, too tired and annoyed to care. “Would they have preferred a horde of drekavacs running rampant through dense social housing and feasting on their tenants?”
“There were only ten. That’s not a big enough hoard to justify the incineration spell you used.”
“If someone had died, the British government would be bitching about why I didn’t use the spell.”
“Since that didn’t happen, we’re stuck smoothing over your actions. Again.”
“There’s a goddamn necromancer running around London. Just because the British government is pissed they can’t find the fucker doesn’t mean they need to blame us.”
“Your attitude and decisions make diplomacy harder.”
“We’re lying to our allies on the president’s authority. Don’t blame me when the commander-in-chief okayed the damn mission.”
“Then do better,” Setsuna snapped. “Too much is at stake for you to run roughshod through another city, much less a foreign one.”
Patrick ground his teeth, staring at the car stopped ahead of them at the intersection. Nadine was driving them back to the Sanderson after spending hours stepping on diplomatic landmines with the WSA. He was hungry, tired, and not in the mood for the dressing down Setsuna was giving him.
“I’m doing what I was ordered to do by everyone. What else do you want from me?”
“To not risk the mission.”
“Sure thing,” he said acidly. “I’ll just risk my life instead.”
He ended the call, too angry to continue the conversation without saying something he’d regret. Patrick gripped his phone so tight the edge dug into the big muscle near his thumb, making it throb.
“Doesn’t sound like that went well,” Nadine said as she kept her eyes on the road.
“You think?”
“Don’t get pissed at me. I just spent hours trying
to smooth things over with Albert on your behalf. You know better than to use an incineration spell within city limits. I didn’t think you could even cast that spell anymore.”
Patrick unclenched his teeth, jaw aching from the release of pressure. “I tapped a ley line through Jono.”
Nadine frowned, her voice sounding worried rather than accusatory. “Should you have done that?”
“Would you rather have bodies for the Met’s morgue to handle?”
“Drekavac victims we can explain. You being able to do higher-level spells again is a little harder to ignore.”
“We’ll say the SOA issued me an artifact with the spell embedded in it. If the WSA asks for it, we’ll deny them. If someone sends a request up the chain of command, Setsuna will cover for me.”
“You are making my job so much harder.”
Patrick kept his mouth shut, not wanting to take his anger out on her. She’d had her hands full since appearing on the scene at Rainriver earlier in the day. Nadine had expended a lot of personal political capital to soothe all the ruffled feathers at the WSA that Patrick’s actions had caused.
Nadine sighed. “What’s done is done. Let’s get to the hotel and bring Spencer up to speed.”
Patrick loosened his grip on his phone, watching the cars around them. Friday night in London was busy, especially on Oxford Street. The upscale shopping district was clogged with vehicles and people, the stores brightly lit beyond the sidewalks. Nadine had taken him shopping in the area once years ago, some months after they were both discharged from the Mage Corps. If there was an Olympic sport for shopping, she’d win a gold medal.
By the time Nadine turned off Oxford Street and made it to the Sanderson, Patrick was ready for the entire fucking day to be over with. Except he knew what waited for him upstairs in Sage’s penthouse, and when they entered the suite, Patrick got an earful despite the silence ward embedded in the walls.
“You fucking asshole,” Spencer said from where he was sprawled on one of the two white couches, not bothering to lift his head at their arrival. “You go and get yourself soulbound to a god pack werewolf and you don’t even have the courtesy to tell me?”
A streak of tawny gold and black darted across the penthouse. Patrick barely had time to brace himself before Fatima flung her twenty-five-pound body at his legs, paws planted firmly on his left thigh. He stared down at the psychopomp, watching her tail lash back and forth, golden eyes unblinking. She’d taken the shape of an ocelot when she chose to work with Spencer, though the intelligence in her gaze was one no animal would ever have.
“Shit,” Patrick said. “I forgot your bone.”
Fatima growled deep in her throat before swatting at his stomach in a reprimand. She shoved herself away from him and pranced over to where Wade sat on the other couch, Jaffa Cake boxes scattered around him, and a look of pure adoration on his face as he held out one of the treats to Fatima.
“You can’t keep her,” Patrick warned Wade.
“But she’s cute,” Wade cooed, watching as Fatima demolished the Jaffa Cake, getting crumbs everywhere.
“She’s a spirit guide and belongs to Spencer.”
“The fledgling can have her. She was annoying the entire flight over. That’s the last time I fly economy with only one seat,” Spencer said.
Fatima yowled at him and flicked her tail in disdain. Spencer ignored her.
“Sit up,” Nadine told him as Jono and Sage came out of her bedroom. “You go to sleep now and you’ll be a mess tomorrow. You know that.”
Spencer flapped his hand at her before heaving a loud sigh and reluctantly sitting up. He blinked tired blue eyes at them, the small Band-Aid over the bridge of his nose not doing much to hide the bruised cut there. The circles under his eyes could’ve doubled as bruises, and his dark blond hair resembled a rats’ nest. He stretched out his long legs, digging his socked feet into the trendy rug beneath the coffee table.
“What have we told you about kissing the ground with your face?” Patrick asked.
Spencer raised both middle fingers at him. “Like you have room to talk. When’s the last time you’ve taken a case and come away with no bruises?”
“He hasn’t,” Sage said calmly as she crossed the space to greet Nadine with a hug and an air kiss on each cheek. “Good to see you again.”
“Wish it was under better circumstances,” Nadine said.
“If only.”
Jono came to a stop between both couches and crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at Patrick. “How did the meeting go?”
“It went,” Patrick said.
Sage turned to face Patrick, tilting her head in Spencer’s direction. “You were right. Spencer took one look at Jono when he arrived and asked about the soulbond.”
Patrick shrugged. “He’s a soulbreaker.”
“Can he be trusted?”
“Hey!” Spencer protested.
“He’s one of the few who knows about Ethan, so yeah, he can be trusted,” Patrick said.
“Apparently not enough that you’d tell me you got a pack.”
“When do I ever see you? You live on the West Coast.”
Spencer made a face. “You could visit me.”
“Setsuna still owes me a trip to Maui. You’re a flyover state when it comes to my vacation time.”
“Just for that, you owe Fatima two bones now.”
“She’s a spirit guide. She doesn’t even need to eat.”
“Tell her that when she’s growling across the Atlantic Ocean because she’s hungry and won’t eat airplane food. I got no sleep on the flight over.”
“That’s your fault for not packing her food.” Patrick watched as Spencer stood, raising his arms over his head to stretch. His spine cracked loudly, and Patrick winced at the noise. “That doesn’t sound comfortable.”
“Economy seats aren’t comfortable.” Spencer ran a hand through his hair, ruining it even more. Paired with his bruised but healing face, worn jeans, and wrinkled T-shirt, he definitely looked as if he’d seen better days. “So when did all this happen?”
“When what happened?”
Spencer gestured widely. “Don’t be dense.”
“The soulbond mess happened last June. The rest of it all came after. Right now, our focus needs to be on the Orthodox Church of the Dead. The WSA is certain the Patriarch of Souls was the one who summoned the drekavacs today even though he wasn’t caught on CCTV,” Nadine said.
Spencer made a face. “I hate those things.”
“They’re why we called you in.”
“Yeah, but I can still hate them.”
Patrick crossed over to where Jono stood, ignoring Fatima’s growl directed at him. Jono reached out and curled a finger through Patrick’s belt loop, tugging him closer.
“Is he the only one who can see the soulbond?” Jono asked.
“Spencer?” Patrick glanced over at his friend and arched an eyebrow in a silent question. Spencer waved at him before shuffling over to the minibar with its decimated snacks. “He breaks souls. He knows when one’s been messed around with.”
“If you’re worried about another magic user being able to read your auras, don’t be,” Spencer said as he came back with a bag of chips in his hand. “Patrick’s specialty is hunting monsters and demons. Mine is sending them back to where they came from. I peel souls apart when I do that, so I know what a pieced together soul looks like. I’ve seen soulbonds before, but never one as cleanly placed as yours.”
“The gods did it,” Jono said.
“Yeah. That would explain it.” Spencer popped a chip in his mouth, chewed once, then made a hurk noise before swallowing quickly. He turned the bag around in his hands and groaned. “Aww, chips, no. Who thought ketchup was a good flavor?”
“Dinner should be here soon. I ordered us room service,” Sage said.
Jono tugged pointedly on Patrick’s jeans. “Lucien rang. Sage and I were chatting with him before you arrived.”
“What did that bas
tard want?” Patrick asked.
“He saw the news about what happened in Tottenham. Said you’re too recognizable for the auction.”
“My name didn’t even make the news.”
“Doesn’t matter. Lucien doesn’t want any of us to go with him to the auction.”
“Oh, fuck that. He’s not going alone. He’s getting oversight whether he likes it or not, because that was in the bargain we made. I’ll call him.”
“Wait,” Spencer said, blinking at them. “Wait. Lucien is here in London?”
“Weren’t you read in to this mission?” Nadine asked exasperatedly.
“I was briefed about the Morrígan’s staff, just not the specifics of this mission. The director put me on a plane and said go to London.” Spencer wheeled around to face her, clutching the chips bag to his chest. “You didn’t tell me Lucien was here. No one told me Lucien was here.”
“He’s getting us the Morrígan’s staff.” Nadine narrowed her eyes. “You are not fucking him.”
Wade paused in opening up another box of Jaffa Cakes. “Ew. Lucien? Really?”
Patrick left Nadine to deal with Spencer and grabbed Jono’s wrist, hauling the other man with him into Sage’s bedroom. He closed the door, muffling the beginnings of the argument out in the living area.
“Is he really attracted to Lucien?” Jono asked, wrinkling his nose.
“Vampires have no souls, so Spencer’s magic doesn’t work on them. It’s a danger kink with him, I think. He’s always had shitty taste in men and women the entire time I’ve known him.” Patrick paused before shaking his head. “Except for Nadine. She’s been his only good choice.”
“She looks ready to throttle him, the poor sod.”
“Well, he owes her a really expensive dress and he’s bunking with her, so they’ll either end up arguing all night, or fucking all night. Either way, their neighbors won’t be happy.”
Patrick pulled out his phone and dialed Lucien’s latest burner number from memory. It rang a total of ten times before the master vampire picked up.
On the Wings of War (Soulbound Book 5) Page 16
