Setsuna’s breathing was sharp and staticky across the line. “We don’t win this fight if you’re dead.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
“Then find the staff. Director Franklin has sent senior agents to meet you and Mulroney at the ministry. They’ve been informed of the auction, but not what artifact we were after. They’ll take lead on the negotiations with France.”
Patrick’s jaw twitched. “Understood.”
There wasn’t much more they needed to discuss, so he wasn’t surprised when Setsuna ended the call. Patrick put his phone away, glaring out the windshield.
“If you’d gone after the staff, you would’ve left Spencer vulnerable,” Nadine said quietly. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
Patrick drew in a sharp breath and let it out slow. “Me too.”
The gods could demand the impossible of him because they owned his soul, but that didn’t mean he’d drag his friends down with him. The Morrígan’s staff was still missing, but Spencer was alive and safe.
Patrick would never regret that.
19
The Metro train rolled into Anvers station, faces flashing by on the platform. Jono stood, gesturing for Sage and Wade to follow him to the nearest exit. A few people were already positioned in front of the door, darting out the moment they opened.
They stepped out between the barricades on either side of the door on the platform, sliding past commuters waiting to board. Jono spotted the blue-and-white Sortie sign over everyone’s head and veered in that direction. Sage and Wade stuck close until they reached the surface, where they came up on an island between the streets.
The buildings that surrounded them were much like the ones they’d left behind in Nadine’s neighborhood. Densely packed apartment buildings lined the street, with shops taking up space at the ground level.
They’d left Nadine’s because Sage had worked out a meeting with the Paris god pack’s dire, and it was happening today after all. Jono had texted Patrick an update, but he hadn’t gotten a response yet.
Sage stared at her mobile, moving her thumb to shift the map on the screen. “We cross here and take that street over there up the hill. We have twenty minutes until we meet Gaspard and Mireille. Most likely they’re already there.”
Jono nodded. “Let’s go.”
They could easily make it up to the meeting point at Square Louise-Michel near Sacré-Cœur in that time frame, except Wade got distracted first by a boulangerie, then a crêperie, and finally a gelato shop.
“Wade,” Jono said through gritted teeth as the teenager hiked his bag of croissants higher in his arm and tried to fit as big of a bite of his Nutella crêpe as he could into his mouth.
“Let me finish this so I can get gelato,” Wade managed to somehow get out around the food making his cheeks bulge.
Sage opened up her sleek Chanel wallet purse, pulled out a twenty-euro bill, and tucked it into Wade’s front pocket. “Meet us at the top. Don’t dawdle.”
Wade beamed at her from beneath the red felt beret he’d convinced Jono to buy him at a little souvenir shop near the Metro stop at the bottom of the hill. “You’re the best.”
“We should stay together,” Jono said.
Sage hooked her hand around his elbow and pulled with a preternatural strength that forced Jono to move his feet. “He’ll be fine. Besides, we may need backup. At the very least, a warning.”
She was probably right.
“When you come find us, be obnoxious about it,” Jono called over his shoulder. The order wouldn’t make sense to anyone around them, but Wade nodded his understanding, lips smeared with Nutella.
They left Wade to feed himself, joining the summer crowd of people that filled the street and the park up ahead. Jono’s nostrils flared at the scent of so many people packed in together but he didn’t dial down his senses. He caught the scent of more than a few werecreatures in the crowd and tried not to bare his teeth. Jono didn’t appreciate being surrounded, but he didn’t think the Paris god pack would be one to start a fight in a public space, especially in their city.
Rather than choose a restaurant or a home, Rami, the Paris god pack’s dire, had instructed them to meet at the park. The open space provided very few, if any, spots to get cornered in, and the number of mundane humans would make most people think twice about initiating a fight. That was never a guarantee though, so Jono kept his guard up.
Montmartre was both a hill and a neighborhood, and its crown jewel was the basilica that sat atop it. Sacré-Cœur’s white façade stood out against the blue sky as they took the steps that bisected the park up to the top. Its turreted roofs were atypical of most churches in the city, but the panoramic views of Paris its courtyards provided were unparalleled.
“Up there,” Sage said, pointing at the next terrace level.
Amidst the tourists milling around on their climb up to Sacré-Cœur and the best view in Paris, a cluster of men and women had taken over a bench. A gentle breeze brought their pack scent to Jono a second later, thick and heady, but without the underlying fear and unease that had permeated the London god pack.
The werecreatures in the crowd who followed their climb up the steps kept their distance. That didn’t stop Jono’s skin from prickling with all the eyes on them as he and Sage approached the Paris god pack. While he could understand their precaution, Jono didn’t like being surrounded.
Jono and Sage stood shoulder to shoulder on their approach to the group on the bench. The midafternoon sun beat down on them, providing a clear panoramic view of Paris stretched out around them. Only a few puffy white clouds floated across the sky, making for an idyllic backdrop to heavy negotiations.
“Bonjour, Jonothon,” Gaspard Renaud said where he lounged on the bench, one arm draped over a lovely brunette woman, who flashed sharp teeth at them.
“Hello, Gaspard,” Jono replied, eyeing the blond Frenchman and his companion. “Mireille. I appreciate the courtesy.”
“I would expect the alpha of the New York City god pack to sound American. You don’t,” Mireille Chastain said. Tall and slim, stylishly dressed, she was quintessentially Parisian and would have been welcomed anywhere if her eyes weren’t the same shade as Jono’s behind her Dior sunglasses.
“Ex-pat. New York City is my home now, and has been for years.”
Mireille puffed on her cigarette and blew smoke out her nose. “Interesting. You smell like truth, but you’ll forgive us if we don’t quite believe you. The London god pack has been, how do you say, troublesome lately. We would not put it past them to send you here with lies on your tongue.”
She spoke quietly, but Jono could hear her just fine. The rest of her pack were enforcing distance between their alphas and the tourists to keep the conversation as private as possible in such open space.
“If you’re talking about Cressida, she’s dead,” Jono said.
Mireille’s hand stilled, cigarette hovering in front of her lips. Gaspard’s hand tightened ever so slightly on her shoulder, staring at them through his sunglasses.
“She was a hunter with a demon riding her soul, sent to infiltrate the London god pack and damage it from the inside out. Finley executed her,” Sage said calmly before anyone could lunge at them. “Call him if you doubt us.”
“Rami,” Gaspard said, the order in his dire’s name and nothing else.
A lean man of Middle Eastern descent slipped away from the bench, already tapping away at his mobile. Jono didn’t bother listening in on whatever conversation the man would have.
“Why should we believe you had nothing to do with such a terrible breach in protocol?” Mireille said.
“Because we have our own territory back in New York. We didn’t want Finley’s, and we don’t want yours. We’re only here to ask for pass-through rights, nothing more,” Jono said.
“I find it odd you’re the only one of your pack who is present.” Mireille eyed Sage contemplatively. “My dire said yours was a woman, but humans aren’t pack.”
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“I’m human enough,” Sage demurred, not removing her necklace.
“I trust Sage with my pack and my life. She’s my dire, so treat her as such,” Jono said.
Gaspard smiled thinly. “I always knew America did things backward.”
Jono said nothing to that, content to wait out the silence that settled over everyone. Rami came back a couple of minutes later, face expressionless as he leaned over the bench to whisper his report in rapid French to Gaspard and Mireille. Jono didn’t understand it, but the way the alphas went absolutely still had him tensing, readying for a fight.
Before anyone could make a move, Gaspard and Mireille’s heads snapped to the side, along with everyone else’s in their pack. Jono followed their stares, squinting against the sun. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Then the breeze shifted and he was suddenly bowled over with the acrid, fiery scent of a dragon.
A figure darted through the crowd below, taking the steps up to them two at a time and racing down the path. Wade must have eaten the gelato and the crêpe, but he was still working his way through the bag of croissants and bread judging by the half-eaten croissant in his hand when he came running up. The red felt beret sat askew on his head, but he hadn’t lost it yet.
“Jono! These are so good. Why don’t they taste like this in New York?” Wade asked as he approached, flaky crumbs standing out on his shirt.
While Jono couldn’t see Wade’s aura, his scent was unique and triggered Jono’s instincts the way few things did these days, even with Fenrir howling through his soul. Dragons were the sort of apex predators that made werecreatures want to turn tail and run. The werecreatures around them might not know what Wade was, but the Paris god pack knew he was a threat.
Except Jono had walked in on Wade sprawled out on their sofa at home too many times to count, covered in crumbs and snack wrappers as he heckled at sports on the television or played video games. He and Patrick had argued with the teen over school, homework, and remembering to stay safe. Wade was ridiculous and loud and pack, and Jono would never be scared of the fledgling.
“Because the French do croissants better. You’re a mess, Wade. Finish that one, then save the rest for later,” Jono said.
Wade stuffed the rest of the croissant into his mouth, chewing rapidly as he stared down the Paris god pack. “Hi. I’m with them.”
Mireille’s voice came out slightly strangled. “What is he?”
Jono smirked. “Pack.”
Gaspard never took his eyes off Wade, recognizing the biggest threat in the park despite Wade’s teenage form. “Rami tells me his London contact corroborates your news. Cressida is dead.”
“Does this guy think I ate her?” Wade asked. He made a disgusted noise before pointedly pulling out a pain au chocolat from his bag and ripping off the corner with sharp teeth. “I didn’t eat her.”
Mireille dropped her cigarette to the ground and ran the sole of her strappy sandal over it to crush it out. “This is not a conversation we should have here.”
Jono could’ve told them that when they requested the initial meeting, but it wasn’t his place to tell another god pack how to go about their business. “We just want pass-through rights.”
“And while we don’t believe the London god pack sent you, I’m thirsty and would like a drink.”
It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no to his request. The nonanswer was frustrating, but it was what Jono had expected after the two checked in with London.
Gaspard got to his feet and helped Mireille to hers. “You and your pack will have dinner with us tonight at our home near la pelouse de Reuilly.”
“There’s four of us. My co-leader had other business to attend to today.”
“Come by our home in five hours. You will abide by hospitality.”
Jono nodded. “We’ll be there.”
Gaspard rattled off an address that Sage tapped into a file on her phone for later. Jono let the Paris god pack leave first. The second they vacated the bench, Wade threw himself onto it and stuck his face into the bag, humming to himself as he picked out his next snack. The prickly presence he exuded abruptly diminished, his scent returning to that of a normal human’s as he dragged all that he was back behind the shields Reed had taught him to build.
“That went better than I thought. They didn’t outright deny us entry,” Sage said once the Paris god pack was out of earshot.
Jono sighed. “They still might.”
“There doesn’t seem to be any love lost between them and the London god pack. Makes me wonder what international pack relations have been like since Cressida joined them.”
“Bloody awful would be my guess.”
Wade lifted his head and stuck his arm in the bag, coming up with an almond croissant. “Can we eat dinner before their dinner?”
Jono eyed him. “You want two dinners?”
“They’re eating late. I can’t wait that long.”
“You just ate two crêpes, who knows how much gelato, and that entire bag was full before you made it up the hill.” Jono shook his head. “Must be growing pains.”
“No, I think it’s his normal appetite,” Sage mused.
Jono sat beside Wade and pulled out his mobile to text Patrick the update. They had time to rest there for a bit and let Wade finish his food before they headed back to Nadine’s.
The sound of wings flapping through the air and the distinctive caw of ravens and crows made Jono look up at the sky. Overhead, dozens and dozens of the corvids momentarily blocked out the sun as they flew over Sacré-Cœur and the park, their cries ringing in Jono’s ears. People looked up at the sky and pointed at their passage, the birds dark spots against an endless blue.
Jono watched them fly, unease washing through him.
“You’ve got another pack who wants protection,” Emma said into his ear.
Jono hummed thoughtfully as the taxi drove through the 12th arrondissement to their destination. “Which one?”
“The Davenport pack.”
Jono’s eyebrows crept upward. “Really?”
“Their alpha seemed annoyed you were out of town, but she’s willing to wait for you to return and pass judgment on her.”
“I doubt I’ll find her lacking.”
Some of the packs who came to them asking for protection were denied such support because their underlying loyalties remained with Estelle and Youssef, despite their claimed change of heart. Fenrir was one hell of a lie detector, and Jono never questioned his patron’s final decisions.
If Fenrir accepted the Davenport’s request, then that would effectively cede half of Brooklyn to them. The Davenport pack was big, not a huge supporter of Estelle and Youssef, and had always been on good terms with the Tempest pack. Their alpha was married to a federal judge and was herself a partner in a venture capitalist firm. She’d leaned hard into her local ties to make it difficult for Estelle and Youssef to retaliate against her pack, but those connections only went so far.
“That’s what I told her,” Emma said cheerfully enough.
“How are things otherwise?”
“The Queens Night Court unearthed a small group of hunters hiding out in a motel. They dumped the remains in front of the PCB.”
Jono winced. “I don’t think Casale would’ve liked that.”
“He didn’t, judging by the news conference. None of the packs have been attacked yet, but I ordered everyone to stick close to their territories until you’re back.”
“Good idea.”
“When are you coming back?”
Jono glanced over at where Patrick sat between him and Wade in the taxi’s back seat. “I don’t know.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“No. We’re in Paris now.”
“I won’t ask what you’re doing there. Just stay safe.”
“We’ll try.”
Jono ended the call after a couple more minutes of bland conversation. Patrick glanced at him when he put the mobile away, loo
king tired.
“How are things back home?” Patrick asked.
“Fine.”
Patrick nodded, taking him at his word.
No one spoke for the rest of the drive to the Paris god pack’s home territory, though the taxi driver’s stench of fear and pounding heartbeat made Jono roll down the window. The man sped away so fast after dropping them off in front of the building the taxi’s tires squealed.
Jono removed his sunglasses and let Sage pack them away in her purse. He no longer needed to hide his eyes since they were eating here and not going out. The Paris god pack’s home consisted of an entire ring of connected buildings on a single block that formed multiple apartments. The property was right across the street from Bois de Vincennes, and their pack scent saturated the area.
“That park would be nice to stretch our legs for a run if we were here under better circumstances,” Sage said as they headed for the front door.
“Yeah,” Jono agreed.
The door opened before they reached it, Rami standing in their way. He eyed them distrustfully and said something in French Jono couldn’t understand, but the annoyed wave for them to come inside was easy enough to parse.
They stepped inside a small foyer, crossing the threshold. Rami gestured at the credenza set beneath a large oval mirror hanging on the wall. A bottle of red wine, four glasses, and half a baguette were lined up neatly on the wooden top there.
“Be welcome,” Rami said in heavily accented English as he tore off pieces of the bread and passed them out.
They ate the bread, drank the mouthful of wine, and the uneasiness Jono had felt upon entering faded away once hospitality was given and accepted. Beside him, Patrick winced.
“Pat?” Jono asked, immediately on guard.
Patrick shook his head and rolled his shoulders. “Nothing. It’s fine. Just some prickly magic.”
Jono took him at his word, mindful of Rami’s narrow-eyed contemplation. Then he gestured for them to follow him.
Like the property Estelle and Youssef claimed as their territory and the one in Farningham, the multitude of connected buildings here had history pressed into their walls. Thankfully, they wouldn’t have to spend however long surrounded by the scent. Rami cut through the level they were on, leading them to a pair of french glass doors in the rear of the building that opened into an inner courtyard.
On the Wings of War (Soulbound Book 5) Page 24
