“Let’s not rely on those arseholes, yeah?”
Jono glanced at the rearview mirror, seeing Sage’s car behind them, refusing to let anyone merge between them. She was a deft hand at driving a manual, a knack Sage had probably picked up from some of the expensive sports cars she and Marek shared.
“I have a feeling we won’t get a say in that.” Patrick scraped his fingernails gently over Jono’s jeans-clad thigh. “If you got the chance to come back here and stay free and clear, would you?”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“You’re my home, Pat. The only pack I’ve ever had. London doesn’t have anything for me. Not anymore.”
He’d wanted it to, when he was younger, but he’d learned over time that a city couldn’t care for you—you needed a pack for that.
But the memories came back to him on the drive into the city center: the years growing up in Tottenham, falling in and out of the wrong crowds that could never seem to fully leave the council estates behind. Living on the outskirts of all the packs in London, barely scraping by with jobs in pubs and construction work. He’d left nothing behind and was returning with everything he’d ever wanted, found on another shore.
Jono wasn’t willing to lose any of it.
He knew Emma would hold the line back in New York while they chased after the Morrígan’s staff. Jono hoped all the precautions they’d scrambled to set up wouldn’t fall apart, and that everyone they’d left behind would be safe.
“When will Lucien ring you?” Jono asked.
Patrick shrugged. “Whenever he gets settled. I’m assuming he chartered a private flight over here for himself and whoever he ordered along.”
“He’s not taking his entire Night Court?”
“No. He’s making sure the government back home won’t go back on its word. Lucien doesn’t trust any authority but his own.”
“Arrogant wanker.”
Patrick huffed out a laugh. “Yeah.”
They took the Chiswick Roundabout onto the A406, turning onto the A40 and taking it all the way to the Fitzrovia District in central London. The Sanderson London was a street or two up from Oxford Street, taking up half the block in a slightly dated-looking building, but the interior, once they made it inside, had a modern vibe to it. Sage, unlike he and Patrick, was greeted by the manager on duty the second she walked through the doors ahead of them.
“Ms. Beacot, a pleasure,” the man said with a professional smile. “The penthouse suite is ready for you and your guests.”
Sage smiled back politely, handing off her luggage to the porter with an absentminded ease that spoke of wealth in a way Jono didn’t think he’d ever be able to emulate. “Thank you. It’s been a long trip.”
They left Sage and Wade to the capable hands of the hotel’s staff and headed for the receptionist counter so Patrick could check in. He needed a separate room to keep the government from learning about the pack. If he left London without a hotel invoice, too many questions would be asked.
“Two people?” the receptionist helping them asked, glancing over at Jono, who still had his sunglasses on.
“One,” Patrick corrected. “But I’ll take two keys.”
Patrick had booked a standard room with a queen-sized bed, and Jono must have been in the States for too long, because he thought it looked positively tiny when they entered it. The third-story street view wasn’t much to look at, and the room smelled like cleaning solutions and bleach from the white sheets and duvet. Jono’s lip curled a bit before he dialed down his sense of smell.
Patrick tipped his luggage over onto the floor in the bathroom, since that’s where the wardrobe was located, and started to unpack. He’d checked a bag, because apparently he’d had to bring along a couple of suits for the times he’d need to work out of the WSA. Jono had honestly been a little surprised he’d owned any. Jono left his luggage by the bed, choosing to unpack later, and waited for Patrick to finish up.
“At least we won’t have to fight Wade over the bed,” Jono said when Patrick came out of the bathroom.
Patrick rolled his eyes. “I’d have let Sage get him his own room if we weren’t in foreign pack territory.”
They’d all agreed to pair up as much as possible while in London, though they all knew Patrick would have to work alone some of the time. Jono didn’t like that, but the nature of Patrick’s job made it inevitable, and CCTV made it difficult to wait around government buildings without looking suspicious.
Familiar footsteps in the hallway caught Jono’s ears seconds before someone banged on the hotel door.
“Hey!” Wade called out. “You better be dressed. Sage wants us upstairs.”
“If he has air freshener, I’m confiscating it and spraying his bed,” Patrick decided.
“I heard that!”
Jono laughed and got to his feet. He followed Patrick out of the room, finding Wade waiting for them in the hallway, eating from a bag of Walkers cheese-and-onion crisps. He shoved another handful into his mouth, then jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
“You can’t get to the penthouse without my key card, but Sage has some upstairs for you guys,” Wade said.
“Let’s be off,” Jono said.
Wade left a crumb trail to the lift. They rode it back down to the lobby so they could switch over to the private lift that would take them to the penthouse suite. Wade waved his keycard in front of the sensor pad with greasy fingers, gaining access. The lift took them to the top floor, opening up onto a small foyer.
They followed Wade into the suite, the spacious open-plan area bright with early afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. The curtains had all been opened, offering up a distant view of the London Eye on the south side of the Thames. Jono paused, taking in the sight.
“Someone with a long gun wouldn’t even need to work hard to take out anyone up here,” Patrick said.
He conjured up a mageglobe, still muttering about sightlines. Jono left Patrick to ward the penthouse while he went in search of Sage. He couldn’t track her by scent, but the two-bedroom suite was only so large. The turquoise pendant filled with fae magic that masked her scent completely and hid her status as a weretiger had been latched firmly around her throat before she even stepped foot outside her home yesterday.
Jono found her unpacking her luggage, an open bottle of sparkling water within easy reach. She flashed him a quick smile as she hung up a summer dress in the wardrobe.
“Wade has raided the minibar for snacks already,” Jono said.
“We can afford it,” Sage replied.
Beyond the tithes he and Patrick received from the packs under their protection, Marek was a billionaire and had given Sage access to all his accounts years ago. He had no problem fronting costs for their pack. Jono had long since gotten over the awkwardness of needing and asking for money for pack needs, and receiving it with no strings attached.
Sage had changed out of her linen trousers and loose blouse that had been her travel outfit. Her skinny jeans and fitted shirt were trendy enough that she wouldn’t look out of place in the city.
“We need to meet with the London god pack alphas. Those overtures aren’t something we can afford to ignore,” Sage reminded him.
Jono sat down on the bed. “Were you able to get any contact information on them?”
Sage shook her head and pulled another dress out of her luggage, this one protected in a garment bag. She’d come prepared to dress for any manner of events or meetings that might be thrown in their path.
“Other than one of the alphas who had exiled you having lost her position in a challenge ring some time ago, no. I’m hoping Patrick might be able to get what information we need from the WSA.”
“Jessamine was forced out?” Jono asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.
Sage glanced at him. “You didn’t know?”
Jono shook his head slowly, thinking about the older god pack alpha who had pas
sed judgment on him years ago. “Anyone I was mates with that I left behind risked punishment if it was found out we kept in contact. We cut ties because we had to. Once I was in the States, I didn’t care about what happened in London.”
He’d wanted to in the beginning—had tried to keep up to date on what was happening in the werecreature community he’d left behind. But the distance and lack of communication made it difficult until he’d come to the bitter conclusion it didn’t matter anymore. None of the people he’d left behind had wanted him in the first place, while Emma, Leon, Marek, and Sage had been more than willing to fill that void at the time.
“Patrick doesn’t meet with the WSA until tomorrow. I don’t think we can afford to wait that long to announce our presence here. Do you have a way we can try to get information?” Sage asked.
“Might do,” Jono said slowly. “We’d need to go to Hackney for it.”
Sage frowned slightly, looking at him with concern in her brown eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Sure about what?” Patrick asked as he wandered into the bedroom. “I’ve warded your suite.”
“We need to find a way to contact the London god pack.”
Patrick made a face. “Do we really need to do that today?”
“I don’t know if we’ll be asked to meet, but we need to call. Jono thinks he can get us their number.”
Patrick sighed, looking over at Jono. “So where are we going?”
“We can try the last place I used to work. There might be someone in the old neighborhood there who will have information,” Jono said.
“Will there be somewhere we can eat? Wade is decimating the minibar.”
“Yeah.”
“Then let’s go.”
Jono’s preference would’ve been to take the Tube, but if they needed a quick getaway, a car was more useful. They took Patrick’s rental instead of dividing up into two vehicles. Jono drove, needing the GPS app on his mobile to show him the way. He wasn’t a black cab driver with the Knowledge, and he hadn’t owned a car while living in London. He’d relied on his mates if he needed a ride, and his memories of London’s streets were best mapped through the Tube and bus stops.
“I’m hungry,” Wade whined from the back seat.
“Shut it. We’re almost there,” Jono said.
“Do you even know where you’re going? It feels like we’ve been driving forever.”
Jono ignored him, taking the next left. Midafternoon meant the street traffic wasn’t terrible. While many people took the trains in, Jono doubted the evening rush hour had gotten any better since he’d left London. Finding parking was the hardest part. There wasn’t a public car park to pull into, and they had to wait for a metered spot to open up one street over from their destination.
City blocks in London were nothing like those of a city built on a grid. And unlike central London, the area of Hackney they were heading to was a poorer section of the neighborhood, with many of its buildings run-down compared to the wealthier parts of the city. It meant their rental stood out a little, but Jono figured Patrick’s magic would help it blend in.
They got out, Jono’s sunglasses firmly on his nose as he took a deep breath, getting the scent of the place. The city smells mixed with a particular one that meant pack, but beneath it was a faint hint of smoke that was embedded in the concrete in this area. He couldn’t smell Patrick or Sage at all, and Wade smelled as human as he could be these days.
“I thought we were going to a pub? One with food?” Wade said accusingly.
“We will be, but we need to pop into the kebab shop first,” Jono said.
Wade perked up at that, grinning widely. “Gyros?”
“Kebabs.”
“Whatever. It’s a tasty food wrap, and I want ten of them.”
“You think the same person still owns the shop?” Patrick asked as they walked down the street.
Jono shrugged. “I’m out of the loop with everything here. The shop might not even be there anymore. In which case, we’ll go to the Black Knight where I used to work.”
“Oh, hey! They have snacks,” Wade said, pointing at the corner shop across the street.
“We’ll get you lunch in a few minutes,” Sage said.
“But the gyros place won’t have chocolate.”
The light changed and they crossed the street. Jono was unsurprised when Wade darted into the corner shop. Sage sighed loudly before turning to follow him. “Order me a mixed doner kebab. We’ll be there as soon as I can pry Wade out of the candy aisle.”
“Good luck with that,” Patrick said.
The kebab shop was several shop fronts down, and the smell of greasy meat and chips hung heavy on the air outside it. The door was propped open, and a couple of people were eating at the counter by the window. They stepped inside, and Jono was glad to see that Ahmed was still working behind the counter.
The djinn hadn’t cared about his status as an independent werecreature when he lived here. All Ahmed cared about was Jono’s ability to pay for food. They’d been friendly in their interactions, but they weren’t mates.
“Huh,” Patrick said from beside him, the quiet curiosity in the tone easy enough for Jono to decipher.
“He’s not like the bloke in Chicago,” Jono said.
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Ahmed was looking at them through narrowed eyes, smelling a bit uneasy to Jono’s nose. The djinn still looked exactly the same as he had years ago on the night Jono and Marek had eaten dinner and had a chat about his future. Jono stepped up to the till and shoved his sunglasses up on top of his head.
Ahmed’s eyes went wide. “Never thought I’d see you walk through my doors again, Jono. I thought you’d left for the States?”
“I did. I’m back temporarily,” Jono replied. “I was hoping we could chat.”
Ahmed pointed at the sign bolted over the food prep counter, listing out the kebab shop’s menu with corresponding pictures. “Better feed yourself first.”
Food in exchange for information was a cheap price to pay. “All right. Two fish and chips, one mixed doner kebab, and ten doner kebabs.”
Ahmed didn’t blink. “That’s a lot of food for just the two of you.”
“It’ll get eaten.”
Ahmed placed the order in the tablet, and Jono stuck his card in the reader on the counter. The total wasn’t terrible because the prices were cheap enough. While the cook on duty started filling their order, Ahmed crossed his arms over his chest and studied Jono with dark brown eyes in an expressionless face.
“Last I heard, you were exiled,” Ahmed said in a low voice.
“Still am,” Jono admitted.
“And still a bit thick, are you? What are you doing here?”
“Been out of touch with everyone. I don’t know how to reach the god pack alphas here to ask for pass-through rights for my pack. I figured you might be able to point me in the right direction.”
Ahmed’s thick eyebrows crept toward his hairline. “Your pack?”
“Yeah. My pack.”
Ahmed’s wary gaze flicked over to Patrick for a second before returning to Jono. “He’s not a werecreature.”
“We’re a tad unconventional.”
“If you want gossip, you won’t find it here. You’d have better luck ringing up your old crew for that.” Ahmed nodded at the windows. “They’re still about. The lot of them spend time at the Crossed Arms. I don’t see them much here.”
“They aren’t welcome?” Jono asked. That was a surprise, as Ahmed had been one of the few shop owners who had done business with Jono and his mates back then without hassling them.
Ahmed gave him a thin-lipped smile that looked forced. “London runs on crazy these days, mate. Especially amongst the werecreature community.”
Before Jono could question that remark, Wade’s loud cackle echoed through the air. Jono half turned, watching as Wade came into the kebab shop carrying a shopping bag bulging with crisps and biscuits. He held a familiar-loo
king box in one hand, using his other to pry a Jaffa Cake free of its plastic wrap and shove it into his mouth.
“Jono, these are amazing,” Wade got out around a mouthful of food. “I think I might like them better than Pop-Tarts.”
Patrick shook his head. “That’s a first.”
Wade dug out another Jaffa Cake and held it up for them to see. “Look! Chocolatey cake goodness.”
“We bought you ten kebabs for lunch.”
Wade beamed at them. “Don’t worry, I’m still hungry.”
“Chew with your mouth closed,” Sage said as she came inside.
“I am!”
“No, you aren’t,” Jono told him.
Wade shoved the Jaffa Cake into his mouth, staring past Jono. “Are those my gyros?”
Jono turned around again, eyeing the multiple takeaway bags the cook was setting on the counter for pickup. Then he noticed Ahmed had gone a little pale in the face, his gaze riveted on Wade.
“Ahmed?” Jono asked.
The djinn’s brown eyes flashed with an inner light—a hint of fire burning within his black pupils. “That one is—”
“Pack,” Sage interrupted calmly as she stepped up to the counter to retrieve the takeaway bags. “As am I.”
Ahmed blinked, and the fire in his eyes was gone, though the acrid scent that now surrounded him couldn’t be explained away by the cooking meat behind him. He stared at Jono in silence for a couple of seconds before shaking his head.
“Are they who the seer promised you?” Ahmed asked.
Jono thought about that night years ago when he and Marek had come here to discuss his future, and Marek had promised him a pack he’d never find in London.
“Yeah,” Jono said, refusing to lie about the people he cared about.
Ahmed nodded slowly. “Is the young one with you of his own free will?”
“Duh,” Wade muttered before digging out another Jaffa Cake.
Jono rolled his eyes and rapped his knuckles on the counter. “Cheers.”
He led the way out of the kebab shop. It might have been years since he’d walked these streets, but he knew where the Crossed Arms was. He’d drunk enough pints there to never be able to forget it.
On the Wings of War (Soulbound Book 5) Page 6