Maybe Jono would stop somewhere to get a drink after they left.
Because they would be leaving. Right the fuck now.
“I’m not up for brunch,” Patrick said when he finally stepped into the hallway.
He wasn’t at all surprised to see Jono acting like a living wall between Patrick and his mother’s family. His stomach still churned in a threatening way, but he swallowed hard to try to settle it. He couldn’t bring himself to smile at the people who worshipped the goddess who owned his soul debt.
Setsuna’s careful warnings all these years suddenly, achingly, made so much sense now.
Eloise opened her mouth to speak when Jono twisted on his feet with preternatural speed, body a blur for a split second. The knock that came from the front door just then made Patrick step in front of Jono before he could dart down the hallway.
“Werecreatures?” Patrick demanded.
Jono’s nostrils flared on his next intake of breath. “Yes.”
“Then stay the fuck behind me, because if they have demons riding their souls, I’m taking off their goddamn heads first.”
Patrick turned on his feet, conjuring up a mageglobe, the pale blue sphere burning bright against the palm of his hand. Someone breathed in sharply behind them, but he wasn’t going to apologize for the way his magic felt. Patrick expanded his personal shields to protect the people behind him as he walked to the front door. He opened it a few inches, just wide enough to see who stood on the porch.
The woman waiting there had hair more gray than brown, all of it pulled back in a single braid in deference of the fierce wind. Her wolf-bright amber eyes dominated a heart-shaped face, crow’s-feet at the corners of them and smile lines around her mouth. Patrick didn’t get a sense of hell off her, but one could never be too careful.
Behind her, scattered on the street, were a handful of men and women keeping watch but staying clear of the property line.
“Yeah?” Patrick asked.
“Alphas of the New York City god pack?” the woman asked.
Considering their faces had been splashed across the media since August, Patrick thought that was a rather rhetorical question. How the werecreatures had tracked them was something else entirely. “We were here for a visit and are just leaving. Didn’t think we needed to ask for pass-through rights.”
“We’ve no quarrel with you in our territory, but I would like to speak with you.”
The door was pushed open wider as Jono crowded in behind him. Patrick didn’t let his mageglobe burn out.
“What for?” Jono asked.
The woman grimaced. “My name is Georgelle. I’m alpha of the Salem god pack, and we’ve had sightings of hunters in the city.”
Patrick heaved out a sigh that made Georgelle wrinkle her nose, probably from the smell of vomit, and let his mageglobe fade away. “Yeah, we’ve got time to meet with you.”
Anything to get out of this fucking house.
7
Jono wanted to grab Patrick by the collar of his jacket, haul him back to the Mustang, and get the hell out of Salem after that revelation about his so-called family. Instead, he found himself getting through some awkward, terrible goodbyes in order to deal with pack business.
“We can’t stay,” Patrick said, barely looking at his grandmother in favor of the werecreatures waiting on the street.
“Ta for the tea,” Jono said. It had been decent tea, but the taste of it had turned rancid in his mouth once he realized who the Pattersons worshipped.
“Are you sure you don’t want a healing potion?” Eloise asked, not quite wringing her hands together but sounding and smelling worried nonetheless.
She stood on the walkway to her home, her three children flanking her. The grandkids were all huddled at the door and on the porch, watching everything going on. The alpha of the Salem god pack had moved off the property after her initial greeting, waiting for them on the sidewalk. Eloise didn’t seem concerned about their presence.
Patrick shook his head, finally giving them his attention. Jono couldn’t smell anything through his shields, but he knew Patrick wasn’t comfortable being here any longer than necessary.
“I’ll be fine. This is SOA business.” He paused, gaze drifting back to the werecreatures before returning to his grandmother. “You should know the SOA has your home under surveillance as a precaution against an attack from the Dominion Sect. If there’s evidence of hunters in Salem, I’m going to request the SOA send a mage with an affinity for defensive magic to ward your homes.”
Eloise lifted her chin, annoyance and anger bleeding through her scent. “I want no aid from that agency.”
“What you want doesn’t matter when it comes to national security. This is about safety, not your pride,” Patrick told her bluntly.
She seemed taken aback, and Patrick’s aunt and uncles didn’t look happy about his words either. Whether the tone or their meaning, Jono couldn’t tell. The reunion hadn’t gone how they’d probably hoped, but they should’ve been prepared for that possibility.
“We should go,” Jono said, trying to hurry everything along.
Patrick nodded, staring at his family for a couple more seconds before blowing out a harsh breath. “Call me if anything unusual happens. I’ll let the agents on the ground here know to stop by.”
“When can we expect to hear from you again?” Eloise asked.
“I’ll call when I can,” Patrick said, not promising anything, which was fine by Jono.
He curled his hand around Patrick’s elbow, swinging them both around. “Georgelle? Where should we meet you?”
“We drove. If you want to follow us, we’ll take you to neutral territory,” Georgelle said.
Jono slid his hand up Patrick’s arm to his shoulders, drawing him in close. He didn’t ask the questions he wanted to, not out in the open like this, still feeling eyes on his back. Only when they were in the car, with Jono behind the wheel again and a silence ward lining the Mustang’s frame, did he speak up.
“You couldn’t have known,” Jono said.
“Setsuna did,” Patrick said through clenched teeth, mobile clenched in one hand.
Jono nodded slowly, keeping his eyes on the car ahead carrying Georgelle. “Probably.”
Patrick dropped his mobile in his lap and raised both hands to press them against his eyes once they were out of sight of the house. Jono didn’t smell tears; then again, he didn’t smell much of anything other than the fading scent of vomit. He reached over and pulled Patrick’s left hand away from his face, drawing it closer. He turned his head enough to press a kiss to cold knuckles, holding on.
“It’s something we should deal with back in New York, not here,” Jono said.
“I know.”
“Game face on, yeah?”
Patrick sighed. “And mouthwash. Or whiskey. Something to help me get this disgusting taste out of my mouth.”
“We’ll find something. I love you, and I want to kiss you, but not right now.”
“Ugh. Don’t even think about it.”
Jono let his hand go and kept driving. What he could see of Salem was quaint, the city extensively decorated for the upcoming Halloween celebrations. It wasn’t a holiday Jono had celebrated until he’d moved to the States. Tempest usually had a costume contest on Halloween night, though Jono had a feeling it would probably be postponed until next year.
They ended up at a bar overlooking the Salem Harbor, the waves white-tipped from a strong wind. The sea salt on the wind burned the inside of Jono’s nose until he dialed down his sense of smell. The strong scent stemmed not just from the water but the bartender manning the drinks in the Siren’s Song.
Her teeth were a shade too sharp, eyes just a little too big in a thin face, and her hair was so black it had a blue sheen to it in the low light. She smelled of the sea but seemed friendly enough toward Georgelle.
“Meeting?” she asked in a distinctly musical voice.
“Usual table if it’s available, Saoirse,”
Georgelle said.
Saoirse waved them toward the back. “Always open for you. Lunch?”
“For mine, yes.” Georgelle glanced back at Jono and Patrick. “If you’re hungry, they have a menu.”
“A shot of Jameson for me. Guinness for Jono,” Patrick said.
“We’ll take that menu, please,” Jono said.
Saoirse tipped her head toward the back. “On the table.”
The bar wasn’t very crowded yet, though Jono wondered what the lunch crowd was like. They followed Georgelle to a corner booth, she and her dire taking the bench across from them while the rest of her pack members who had been on the street fanned out. Jono didn’t like having his back to them, but he trusted in his and Patrick’s ability to fight their way out if it came down to it. Besides, from what he’d got off the other god pack earlier, none of them had smelled like lies.
Patrick cast a silence ward over their table before pulling the paper menu off the little wire rack by the wall and flipped it open. “They better have a burger. You can have fish and chips, Jono. Dive into your English roots.”
“I’d rather have crab cakes. We’re in Massachusetts,” he said.
“Good point.”
Jono let Patrick figure out their food, turning his attention to Georgelle. For all her kind visage, he wasn’t going to outright trust her.
“So. Hunters,” Jono said.
“They tried to ambush a member of my pack while she was out for a jog along the harbor last week. Steven here managed to reach her in time when she called for support,” Georgelle said.
Her dire was a thin man with dark skin and bleached white-blond hair, about a decade younger than her. While Georgelle was a werewolf, her dire had the distinct scent of a weregrizzly.
“Did your pack member survive?”
“She suffered from aconite poisoning, but she managed to escape. We reported it to the police. After the warnings we heard about London and what happened in New York City, we thought it best to have a paper trail started.”
“Were the hunters with any magic users?” Patrick asked, folding up the menu and returning it to the little wire rack.
“She didn’t see any, and neither did I once I got there. But more hunter sightings have cropped up since then. The covens have been warned,” Steven said.
Georgelle’s gaze flicked past them. Jono looked over his shoulder and saw Saoirse walking toward them with a tray of drinks in hand. If she noticed or cared about the silence ward, she didn’t say anything.
“Here you are,” Saoirse said, passing out beer and whiskey and a fruity-looking drink in a martini glass that she set in front of Steven. “Lunch for you two?”
“Crab cakes, a burger, and an order of fish and chips,” Patrick said.
“Got it.”
Georgelle and Steven gave their orders from memory. Saoirse left, and Patrick knocked back his shot of whiskey. He coughed to clear his throat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Better.”
“That’s all you’re having,” Jono said.
“Of whiskey. You’re sharing your beer.”
Jono sighed and nudged his glass over so it sat between them on the table before meeting Georgelle’s gaze. “The federal government is aware of the hunter problem. If you’ve seen an uptick in their presence here, we’ll let the SOA know.”
Her amber-eyed gaze flicked to Patrick. “No friends of yours, I’m betting.”
Patrick smiled thinly. “No.”
“But they’re here because of you. The Salem Coven wouldn’t be a target otherwise. You said you have agents watching out for them.”
“Are you happy about that? Or is there bad blood between your god pack and the Salem Coven?”
Georgelle shook her head. “Quite the opposite. We’ve had good history with them for several generations.”
“Preternatural fighting is hell on the tourist industry in this town, and there are some ordinances specific to our community about living here,” Steven drawled.
“Would the Salem Coven be amenable to someone from your pack patrolling Eloise’s home in conjunction with the SOA?”
“We could come to an arrangement with them,” Georgelle said slowly.
Jono nodded thoughtfully. “We’d appreciate it if you’d do that. They’re not quite fond of the SOA.”
Patrick snorted and reached for Jono’s drink. “I can put you in touch with the SOA. The hunters are a problem, but worse is the Dominion Sect threat.”
Steven sipped at his drink. “So we’ve seen on the news.”
“We’ve instructed the packs in Salem to lie low for the next few weeks. Normally this is a time for celebration, but things don’t feel right,” Georgelle said.
“How big is your pack?” Jono asked.
“We’re a small god pack, in a small, if popular town.” She didn’t give a solid number, but Jono wouldn’t hold that against her. “Not as small as yours, but then, ours is not like yours, is it?”
Jono made a thoughtful sound, not taking his eyes off her. “No, it’s not, but it’s not a competition.”
Georgelle smiled slightly. “You’d be one of the few who thinks that. My god pack unfortunately doesn’t have that luxury.”
“Territory fights?”
“Not within our town’s borders.”
Jono tilted his head a bit, thinking about the route they’d driven here. “Boston?”
“In some ways, yes. They’ve been testing our borders for years.”
“Massholes,” Patrick drawled.
Georgelle chuckled, though it sounded strained. “We all resemble that some days. Look, Salem is filled with all sorts of folks with ties to the preternatural and supernatural communities. We’ve learned to live with each other without too much fuss. We’ve had to, if we wanted to stay. Salem isn’t like most other towns. Werecreatures who come here looking for a fight are told to move on. Hunters are a different story. There’s no talking with them, just fighting, and the Boston god pack didn’t warn us the bastards went through their city first before coming here.”
“We don’t get involved in territory fights between other god packs,” Jono warned.
“Ours was enough of a headache,” Patrick added.
More like a bloody nightmare.
Georgelle shook her head. “I’m not asking you to fight on our behalf. But I do hope you’ll find the information useful and look upon the Salem god pack in a favorable light in the future. We’ve heard rumors of your patron, and it’s been several hundred years since a god pack was known to be blessed in such a way.”
Jono tipped his head back and closed his eyes, sending his awareness down deep to where Fenrir resided. The god didn’t respond in words so much as a growl, but there wasn’t any warning in the sound that echoed through his mind, only an acknowledgment of no threat stemming from the Salem god pack.
“We have alliances with half a dozen major god packs the world over, and that number is growing,” Jono said, opening his eyes. “If you aid the SOA with keeping watch on Salem and the Salem Coven, then we’ll extend the same courtesy to you.”
Georgelle’s expression didn’t change, but the relief in her scent smelled like truth. She extended her hand across the table. “The Salem god pack thanks you for your trust and will gladly join into such an alliance with you.”
Jono reached for her hand, ignoring the kind of electric spark that crackled against his skin when their fingers met. “The New York City god pack accepts your terms and will respect your sovereignty.”
A different waitress, probably back from her break, approached their table with a tray holding their food. For a good few minutes after she left, the only sounds at their table were everyone chewing while they ate.
They chatted a little more as the meal progressed, mostly about pack business, the conversation easy enough to get through for the rest of lunch. By the time Jono paid the tab though, he could tell that Patrick was ready to leave.
“You have our numbers, and Patrick
will get you contact information for the SOA,” Jono said on the way out of the bar.
Georgelle nodded as she followed them out. “We’ll be in touch as needed.”
Jono ushered Patrick to the car, the wind a cold breeze blowing across the water toward them. Only when they were on the road with Salem’s border behind them did he feel safe speaking.
“What do you want to do?” Jono asked.
Patrick rubbed at his eyes, white-knuckling his phone. “I need to talk with Setsuna. In person.”
“Okay. We’ll fly out tomorrow. Get the tickets.”
“Jono—”
“If you think I’m letting you go through this alone, you’re off your bloody head.” Jono glanced at him, noticing how hard Patrick was clenching his jaw. “That’s what pack is for. That’s why I came today. You don’t have to face all of this on your own. Get two tickets.”
Patrick let out a breath before nodding. “I’ll text Sage and tell her to get the tickets and that she’s playing proxy for a second day. I need to update the joint task force with what we’ve learned.”
Jono flexed his fingers around the steering wheel, pressing down on the gas pedal just a little more. “I’ll get us home.”
8
Patrick parked the rental car in front of Setsuna’s home in Dupont Circle Thursday night, the sun having set over an hour ago. That he found a parking spot in the neighborhood at this hour at all was pure luck. He switched the engine off and sat there for a moment, not in the least clearheaded for the conversation he was about to have.
“Hey.” Jono’s fingers curled around his chin, turning his head. “It’ll be okay. Whatever happens, I’m right here.”
Patrick licked his lips and reached out to pull Jono into a quick, hard kiss, drawing comfort from the other man. “Let’s get inside.”
A Veiled & Hallowed Eve Page 7