“May I?” Patrick asked.
At Órlaith’s nod, he picked one up, the spark of recognition in his magic hot in his soul. He turned the ring around, studying the knotwork and flowers carved with incredible precision into something so small.
“They will size to fit whoever wears them. The magic will mask itself once worn, and the glamour will give you a new face,” Órlaith said.
“The auctioneer is fae. Do you think he’ll be able to sense the magic?”
Órlaith frowned. “Who is the auctioneer?”
“Dillon Rossiter.”
“The name is not familiar.”
Patrick put the ring back in the box and pulled out his cell phone, unlocking it and swiping through to get to the encrypted folder stored on it. He pulled up a picture of Rossiter and showed it to her. Órlaith’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she studied the image.
“I do not know him, but that is not to say he isn’t fae. He could be from either court,” she said.
“Could it be a glamour?”
“We fae are not always what we seem when you meet us.”
Patrick nodded, thinking of Gerard. “But the rings will work?”
“My grandmother’s power can connect Tír na nÓg to the mortal world if she so wishes. The rings will work.” Órlaith reached for one of the tea sandwiches. “Let’s finish our tea, and you can tell me how your pack is doing.”
As much as Patrick wanted to take the rings and leave to get ready for tonight, he knew the polite thing to do was to stay. He didn’t know Órlaith well, not how he did Gerard, but sipping tea for another hour and making small talk wasn’t the worst way to spend a Saturday morning.
“I don’t like it,” Jono said, watching as Patrick finished lacing up his combat boots.
“So you’ve said. Doesn’t change that we have a plan and we’re sticking to it,” Patrick said.
He double knotted the laces and stood, automatically checking the security of the straps connecting the dagger sheath to his belt. It was the only physical weapon he was bringing with him, but he still wanted his gun.
“I wish I could go in with you.”
Patrick looked over at where Jono sat on the bed, dressed in dark clothes, a backpack with an extra set of clothes resting beside him in case he needed to shift later. Sage and Wade would do the same.
Patrick and Spencer were set to be picked up by Lucien and his Night Court in less than ten minutes. The rings with their inlaid glamour were still in their warded box on the table. Jono and the others would follow in a rental, and Nadine would keep them hidden from prying eyes.
The Auction of Curiosities and Exceptional Items was taking place at Smithfield Market, the location having finally come through the invitation at noon. The place had apparently been a meat market at one point before being turned into a museum, but everyone still called the building the Smithfield Market, according to Jono.
When Lucien had notified them of the updated location, Patrick and Nadine had in turn notified their individual directors. Neither of them had notified the WSA, though Special Agent Santiago was on standby to aid them. Gael hadn’t been made aware of the auction location, a fact he’d bristled at but which neither Patrick nor Nadine would budge on. The decision concerning the WSA was one Patrick was glad he wasn’t responsible for explaining when this was all over.
His phone rang, and Patrick ignored Jono’s frown in favor of whoever was calling. He wasn’t surprised to hear Carmen’s voice on the other side of the line.
“We’re two minutes away. Be ready out front,” she ordered.
“We’ll be there,” Patrick said.
She ended the call and Patrick shot a text message off to Spencer to meet him downstairs in the lobby. Then he went to stand between Jono’s legs, framing the other man’s face with both hands. The scrape of a beard coming through pricked his skin, but Patrick didn’t care. He still kissed Jono as hard as he could, relishing in the heat of Jono’s hands that gripped him by the waist and held him tight.
“No matter what magic they have wrapped around that place, you can still feel me. You can still find me,” Patrick murmured against his lips.
Jono chased after his mouth. “Always.”
They kissed for a few seconds more before Patrick reluctantly stepped back. Jono stood and hauled the backpack onto one shoulder while Patrick pocketed the rings. They left the hotel room for the lobby, finding everyone else waiting for them by the front doors.
Sage and Wade were dressed in comfortable clothes they wouldn’t miss if they shifted. Nadine wore a casual outfit with boots, no weapon in sight, but Patrick could see the outline of her badge in her back pocket. She and Spencer had come over earlier for the pickup. Spencer was dressed like Patrick—in durable clothes that would hopefully survive a fight.
Patrick’s shields were locked down so tight his joints ached a little. It would keep his damaged magic from being recognized, and he’d come across as human to anyone casting invasive spells at the auction, but he could do without the encroaching headache. He hoped the rings Órlaith had given them would work as they should and hide them both in a seamless glamour.
“Ready?” Spencer asked, looking less bruised and more awake than he had the other night. Nadine must have forced a healing potion down his throat.
“Let’s go,” Patrick said.
They made it outside in time to see Lucien’s caravan of luxury SUVs pull up in the valet parking area, tinted windows making it impossible to see who was inside. The side passenger door on the middle SUV opened, and Patrick caught of glimpse of Carmen in a crimson red dress he wasn’t sure was lingerie or not. One never knew with Carmen.
Patrick climbed into the far back after Spencer while Carmen closed the door behind them. She looked over her shoulder at them, the rubies and diamonds wrapped around her throat sparkling even through the tinted windows. As he watched, her personal glamour sloughed off, revealing her red-pupiled eyes and the curled horns of her kind.
“Your face is still your own,” Carmen said.
“Not for long,” Patrick said as he dug out the rings. “The London god pack assigned some of their people to watch us. We may be followed.”
“We came prepared. The London Night Court is handling escort duties tonight.”
“Did Lucien order them to, or did they do it out of the goodness of their cold, undead hearts?”
“What do you think?”
“Obedience through threats means we can’t trust them to watch our six.”
“Get rid of your face, Patrick.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Patrick handed one of the silver filigree rings to Spencer and slipped the other onto his right middle finger. The ring seemed too big for a second before the filigree twisted tighter, creating a snug fit.
Cool magic crawled down to his fingertips and up his arm, spanning across his body. It slid over his skin and shields, adhering itself to his body and aura with a tenacity that made him want a shower. Patrick shoved aside that desire and looked up from his hand to meet Carmen’s shrewd gaze.
“Curious toy. Where did you get it?” Carmen asked.
“Does it matter? Just tell me we look like someone else,” Patrick said.
“You sound like someone else as well.”
“That’s the point of glamour.”
“You’ll pass as someone else so long as you stay shielded and don’t use your magic. I can’t see your true form beneath it.” Carmen’s gaze slid toward Spencer, and her smile widened ever so slightly. “Spencer. Where is your companion?”
“Around,” Spencer replied vaguely. “Fatima will meet us at the auction. Where’s Lucien?”
Carmen chuckled throatily. “Around.”
Patrick elbowed Spencer in the side and looked at him, surprised to see the face of a dark-haired man who could have walked a fashion runway in lieu of Spencer’s familiar features.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you make a terrible blond,” Spencer said, eye
ing Patrick.
He rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”
“You remember your roles?” Carmen asked.
“Favored human servants.”
“Don’t forget your place. Be silent. Be adoring. Don’t interfere.”
The idea of needing to get up close and personal with some vampires and pretend they were everything Patrick could ever want wasn’t how he wanted to spend his evening. But he’d gone through worse to get the job done before, and it wasn’t like Lucien was demanding he take shine. Some things would be a deal breaker, but pretending he liked the master vampire for a mission wasn’t one.
Patrick couldn’t orient himself on London’s twisted streets, but the GPS on his phone told him they were driving east. The lights of bars and restaurants flashed by as they drove, traffic still heavy despite the late hour.
Patrick sensed the magic before they got within view of Smithfield Market. The undercurrent of black magic was subtle, difficult to detect if one wasn’t searching for it. Patrick’s soul and magic honed in on the taint even through his shields. He swallowed against the bitterness that erupted in the back of his throat, grimacing at the taste. Not sure what they were driving into, he cast a silence ward through the frame of the car. Carmen glanced at him over her shoulder but didn’t order him to remove it.
He hoped if they were followed, the London Night Court had waylaid whatever werecreatures were assigned tonight. Patrick didn’t think they’d have to worry too much about the London god pack until they turned down a street and the overwhelming recognition of werecreature coursed through his magic.
“I thought you said the London Night Court was going to keep werecreatures off our six?” Patrick asked, staring at the men and women fanned out on the sidewalk as the SUVs slowed to a stop.
“The London god pack is handling security for tonight,” Carmen said.
“Fucking hell.” Patrick pulled out his phone to send a warning text message on the group chat to the rest of his pack. “What’s their perimeter?”
“Why do you think I would know that when we aren’t in charge of this auction?”
“They won’t be able to smell anything through Nadine’s shields. Everyone should be safe in the car,” Spencer said.
“Safe is relative,” Patrick muttered.
Carmen retrieved a compact out of her Gucci clutch and checked her makeup. “Leave your phones. Electronics aren’t allowed inside for buyers, only the auction staff.”
“You couldn’t have told us that before we left the hotel?” Patrick added that warning to his message, sent the text off, and then turned off his phone. Spencer did the same. “You better have someone guarding your vehicles.”
Patrick took down the silence ward with a silent command, and the dull chatter of voices beyond the vehicle filtered back in. A tall figure came around and opened the side door. Einar extended his hand to Carmen, helping her out of the vehicle. The silk dress she wore was slit all the way to her hips on both sides. Her black stilettos were knife-sharp at the tip, but Patrick thought he might be the only one who noticed that detail.
Patrick and Spencer exited the SUV, and Patrick nearly tripped over Fatima, who wound through their legs the second he got feet on the ground. He bit back a curse, glaring down at her. Her ocelot form hadn’t changed, and everyone around them didn’t so much as glance her way. He wondered what they saw, if they even noticed her at all. Patrick knew she could appear however she liked to people, as most spirits could.
The werecreatures standing on the sidewalk drew closer before freezing when Lucien finally exited the lead vehicle. Patrick had thought he’d dress up a little nicer for the auction, but Lucien had stuck with his ripped jeans, T-shirt, and leather jacket pierced through with metal spikes. It was his reputation that would carry him through the doors, and that’s what mattered most.
Patrick glanced at Spencer, who stared at Lucien and very obviously licked his lips. Patrick sidled closer and subtly stepped on Spencer’s foot, shooting him a pointed look. He couldn’t voice the warning to not fuck the vampire because of all the prying ears around them, but he thought he got his point across when Spencer rolled his eyes.
Lucien slung his arm over Carmen’s shoulders and reeled her in close before curling his finger at Spencer. “Come here.”
Spencer went, because they had roles to play, but he didn’t seem to mind the possessive way Lucien touched him or the kiss the master vampire gave him. Patrick tried not to gag, then Fatima swatted at Lucien’s foot, forcing them to break apart.
Lucien stared down at the psychopomp before squeezing Spencer’s ass. “I don’t know why I indulge you that beast.”
Spencer laughed a little nervously but didn’t say anything, playing up his role just fine. The trio walked toward the main entrance of the Smithfield Market. Einar fell into step beside Patrick, several other vampires appearing around them. No other human servants were joining them tonight.
The three SUVs they’d traveled in drove off, clearing the street for the next arrival. The area of London they were in didn’t have any active nightlife, and the street they were on had only light traffic.
The magic wrapped around the long building of Smithfield Market scraped against Patrick’s shields, the strength in its making speaking of power he wasn’t sure he could break even if he tapped a ley line. The place closed early on Sundays, and he had little hope the security guards tasked with patrolling the area would make it out alive tonight.
Black market auctions were usually not held so out in the open, but considering the number of buyers involved, a larger space had to be acquired. The magic hiding the auction from prying eyes was proof of the auctioneer’s power, or at least his ability to pay for it. Considering the London god pack had been roped in as preternatural security told Patrick that Rossiter and Cressida were probably still just as friendly as they had been in the photograph he’d seen at Winfield House.
They reached the entrance to Smithfield Market where the metal gates were winched up. God pack werecreatures handled security while a fae with the look of the Unseelie Court took everyone’s invitation.
Patrick refused to be worried about the glamour they wore—it had been set by Brigid, a goddess who sat far above the fae standing at the entrance. If she couldn’t hide them against her own kind, then the world was worse off than he thought.
“Invitation?” the fae asked.
Lucien removed the invitation from his inner jacket pocket, handing it over. The fae took it with creepily long fingers, unfolding the magicked paper to read its contents.
“Lucien.” The fae looked up, taking them all in with a sweeping glance. “And your Night Court, I presume?”
“Where I go, they go,” Lucien said.
The fae studied him for a long moment before looking each of them in the eye for several seconds, her gaze lingering on everyone equally. Patrick tried not to hold his breath, keeping his heartbeat steady beneath the scrutiny.
“No weapons. No artifacts. No magic. No electronics. All hostilities will be held to a temporary truce.”
Carmen smiled widely. “Those are the rules.”
“Abide by them.”
“As required.”
Carmen could play word games with the fae well enough. She’d had a few centuries to try her hand at it. The fae couldn’t deny them entrance, and Smithfield Market wasn’t a home. Hospitality couldn’t be forced upon anyone who entered, as there was no threshold laid down around its foundation.
Fire sparked at the tips of the fae’s long fingers, catching at the invitation. It burned to ash in seconds, breaking the magic written across it. The remnants of the paper fell to the sidewalk, and the fae gestured toward the entrance.
“Enter freely,” she said.
Patrick noticed she said nothing about their options to leave.
Lucien led the way beneath the winched-up gates and into the foggy darkness stretched across the wide entrance. It reminded Patrick of the veil, even though he knew it was on
ly someone’s magic they were passing through. The searching spell clawed its way down his body but found nothing, the dagger’s magic keeping it hidden.
When they stepped free of the magic, they found themselves in a brightly lit corridor with a high ceiling. The table to their left contained bagged electronics people forgot to leave behind or thought they could hide. To the right was a table almost overflowing with weapons that ranged from pistols to a sword and everything in between. Most held magic within them, small-scale artifacts that had been confiscated.
The werecreature who blocked their way forward held out his hand. “Your weapons.”
No one in their group moved to divest themselves of weapons. Fatima sat beside Spencer’s feet and calmly washed her face with one paw.
“We have none,” Lucien said disdainfully. “Get out of my way.”
Patrick very much doubted that, and the feeling must have been shared by the werecreature, who unsubtly sniffed at them. Whatever he was hoping to find, he didn’t. Scowling, the werecreature looked over at a teenager who sat on a folding chair off to the side, hands clasped in her lap, wavy hair falling over both her shoulders.
Recognition hummed through Patrick’s magic beneath his shields—the feel of a witch. Her gaze swept over them, eyes flickering with an inner light, before she nodded.
“No weapons,” she announced.
The werecreature reluctantly stepped aside, clearing their way to the Auction of Curiosities and Exceptional Items.
15
A fae dressed in white hot pants, corset, and heels greeted them with a smile at the entrance to the left wing of Smithfield Market. “Welcome, buyers.”
Her bloodred hair matched her nail polish and lipstick, and while she didn’t physically look like your typical fae, she felt like it to Patrick’s magic. She stood beside a small table that held a stack of small leather-bound notepads and pens. She handed one of each to Lucien—who promptly passed them to Carmen—before gesturing at the crowded wing behind her.
“The auction begins in an hour. Until then, please browse the items up for sale. Not all are being displayed.”
On the Wings of War (Soulbound Book 5) Page 18
