“You can tell them not to get in my way.”
Jono followed Patrick over to the group of sofas situated in the middle of the living room. The large space was accessed by several doors but had no windows. Jono assumed the view of Hyde Park was found elsewhere in the penthouse and Lucien wasn’t willing to show it off.
“I’m not telling the British government I brought you into their country. It was difficult enough getting them to agree to allow the joint task force to operate on their soil. If they knew we were working with you, they’d question every open back channel they have with us,” Patrick retorted.
“That’s not my problem.”
“It’s all our problem,” Jono said.
Lucien’s black-eyed gaze slid his way. “The bargain was get you access to the staff in exchange for diplomatic immunity for me and my Night Court.”
“I thought the bargain was you bring us the staff?” Sage asked.
Carmen’s smile was more of a smirk as she came to stand beside Lucien. “Our attorney argued for more general language. Your government agreed to it.”
Patrick rolled his eyes. “Because you backed them into a corner.”
“This is your mess, not ours,” Lucien said.
“It’s all our mess. The SOA put me in charge as your handler. I know you find that idea distasteful, but we need to work together. There’s too much at stake not to.”
“We’ve kept our side of the bargain between us,” Jono said, staring Lucien down. “Altars for your mother in every pack home with prayers to feed them every night. You’re getting more than you deserve with payment from the government. Abiding by the rules they set won’t hurt you.”
“You talk as if I care about what you have to say,” Lucien said.
Patrick made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and extended his hand. “Let me see the fucking invitation.”
Lucien stared him down. “No. The magic is tied to me. You can’t afford for it to be tainted.”
Patrick closed his hand into a fist before dropping his arm with a frustrated sigh. “Where is the auction being held?”
“The spell indicates the final location will be revealed on Sunday, on the day the auction is set to take place. Until then, you have as much information as we do,” Carmen said.
“Doubtful,” Sage replied.
Carmen’s smile was full of secrets Jono didn’t care for. “Keep our names out of any conversation you have with government officials here.”
“That was the plan to begin with,” Patrick said.
“Then abide by it.”
“Soon as you show me the invitation.” Patrick raised a hand before Lucien or Carmen could argue. “I won’t touch it, but I need to know what it says. You owe me that.”
Lucien’s eyes narrowed, and Jono took a step closer to Patrick. He didn’t trust Lucien at all, and anytime Patrick brought up the promise Lucien had made to Ashanti, it always ended with someone getting bruised.
“Careful with your words,” Lucien hissed.
Patrick was as defiant as ever in the face of the master vampire’s wrath. His willingness to run his mouth and worry about the bruises and broken bones later was a stress Jono could honestly do without.
“You were the one who called us here. If it wasn’t to chat about the auction, then why?” Jono asked.
“We’ve been in contact with some of the groups we’ve done business with in the past. The auction is popular,” Carmen said.
“I can’t imagine why.”
Carmen tilted her head, staring at Patrick. “It is popular with the Orthodox Church of the Dead. The Patriarch of Souls is very, very interested in what the auction is selling this time.”
Patrick went still, and Jono frowned at him. “Come again?”
“Necromancy, with a side of cult-level madness,” Patrick said.
“The use of church in its name is a misnomer, and that group is anathema to all religions. If I recall correctly, they were run out of Odessa and have been banned by every country,” Sage said slowly.
“Laws mean nothing to those of us who do business in the shadows. Your government better be willing to pay whatever price the buyer sets for the Morrígan’s staff. The Patriarch of Souls has deep pockets,” Lucien said.
Patrick ground his teeth so hard Jono could hear the enamel scraping together. “I’ll be sure to ask my counterparts at the WSA about them. Setsuna already set up an open-ended wire transfer for the buy. It will cover whatever your bid price is.”
“Good.”
“Is the Orthodox Church of the Dead in contact with the Dominion Sect?”
Lucien gave him a scornful look “What do you think?”
Which was answer enough.
Patrick let out a heavy sigh. “We’ll be in touch before Sunday. You aren’t going to the auction alone. Play by the fucking rules the lawyers hashed out or the deal’s off. Got it?”
Lucien didn’t argue, but the way he smirked in response hinted at his opinion of that order. Patrick turned on his heels and headed for the door. Sage and Wade followed after him, but Jono didn’t immediately move.
Looking at Lucien, knowing full well what sort of games the master vampire liked to play, Jono smiled in a way that was as far from friendly as one could get. “If you betray us, I’ll let Fenrir hunt you down and enjoy the mess he’ll make.”
“I don’t fear your god,” Lucien said.
“You should.”
It wasn’t Jono’s voice that came out of his mouth, but Fenrir’s, the harsh tones of his animal-god patron scraping at his throat. Lucien acknowledged the god’s presence with a hard smile that drove the color from his lips.
“The only god I fear is my mother. You will never hear my prayers.”
“Maybe you should auction off a bit of your hubris,” Jono said as he turned his back on Lucien and headed for the door where Patrick impatiently waited. “Could probably pay off this flat’s mortgage with the funds.”
He left the penthouse for the foyer, skirting the chandelier with its tangle of magic. Patrick was holding open the lift doors, and Jono stepped past him into the car.
“Why’s everyone so worried about some church?” Wade asked as the lift doors closed and it started to descend.
“Because it’s a church founded and run by necromancers,” Sage said.
“It’s a cult,” Patrick corrected.
“It’s a problem.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Wade opened his mouth to ask another question, but the lift came to a stop and the doors slid open. He stayed quiet until they made it back to the car.
“Do you think they’ll outbid us for the staff?” Wade asked.
“They’ll try,” Patrick said.
Jono started the engine and worked the gears as he drove onto the street. “Think Lucien can pull it off?”
Patrick’s face appeared as if it were carved from stone when Jono glanced at him, the streetlights they passed washing him out. His shields were still locked down, and Jono couldn’t get anything off him.
“Lucien loves his bottom line too much not to.”
“That’s not a ringing endorsement.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
“If we can’t rely on Lucien, then what do we do?”
Patrick’s right hand strayed toward his dagger. “Whatever we have to.”
Jono bloody well hated that plan.
7
The UK’s Department for Witchcraft and Supernatural Affairs was located at One Horse Guards Road. The gray stone building took up what passed as a city block in the City of Westminster. On a Wednesday morning, the streets were full of cars ferrying government officials to work, but the sidewalks were just as bad with commuters exiting the Tube. The business of government never really stopped, but mornings were usually the busiest.
Patrick drove down Parliament Street, left hand resting on the gearshift as he kept an eye on the traffic. Jono had offered to drive him, but Patrick had no trouble
handling a manual vehicle, and he hadn’t wanted any British officials to know they were working together in London. They couldn’t do anything about CCTV, but they could steer clear of being together near government buildings.
He changed lanes a couple of buildings from the turnoff, eventually pulling into a short narrow drive leading to the Triple-Arched Bridge entrance. The wards written into the stone pillars and the arches burned hot to his senses, the magic old, layered, and powerful. Patrick braked to a stop between two of the pillars, rolling down his window so he could speak to the security guard on duty.
“Special Agent Patrick Collins,” he said, holding out his SOA badge for the man to review. “I’m here for a meeting.”
“Right, then. Let me check your credentials.”
The security guard took Patrick’s badge into the tiny guard station built inside one of the pillars. Patrick waited, engine idling, until the man returned and handed back his badge. The yellow arm of the security gate ahead of him raised for passage.
“You’re cleared through. Turn left up ahead into the courtyard.”
Patrick drove forward and turned where directed, pulling into a wide circular courtyard ringed by the building’s walls. He took the first available parking spot that didn’t look reserved. He was getting out of the car, tugging his suit jacket into place around the lower back sheath that held his dagger, when a crisp female voice called out to him.
“Special Agent Patrick Collins, I presume?”
He shut the door, remote locked the car, and turned to face whoever had come down to be his minder for the day. The blonde woman standing at the nearby entrance wasn’t shielded, and Patrick got a sense of her magic through his own—sorceress. She matched him in height in the high heels she wore, navy blue sheath dress skimming the top of her knees. Her gaze was frankly curious as she sized him up.
“That’s me,” Patrick said.
“You’re late.”
Patrick shrugged. “Traffic.”
She pursed her lips, nose wrinkling slightly, most likely from the feel of his magic. He hadn’t completely locked down his shields, and the taint in his soul and magic seeped through his aura. She still extended her hand in greeting, and Patrick accepted the firm handshake.
“I’m Leighton Northcott. I’m a WSA intelligence officer and the liaison for your case.”
“Great. I was told I’d be meeting with you and a couple other people this morning.”
“Yes. We’re waiting on you.”
Patrick raised an eyebrow at that subtle dig. “Then lead the way.”
“Put this on first.”
She handed him a visitor’s badge, the charm cast on it making his fingertips itch. If it was anything like the badges the SOA handed out, Patrick figured it would set off a magical alarm if he went where he wasn’t supposed to. He clipped it to the lapel of his suit jacket.
“You are not to go anywhere without an escort,” she informed him. “Now stay close.”
Leighton spun neatly on her heels, which was impressive, since they looked to be about four inches in height. Patrick’s feet ached just looking at them. He followed her through a heavy wooden door warded as strongly as the entrance he’d driven through a few minutes ago. The threshold buried deep in the building would never be as strong as a home since it was public space, but the defensive magic laid down around it more than made up for its lack.
Patrick tightened his shields even more as they entered an atrium. People hurried back and forth, ignoring them. The main staircase was a switchback near the main entrance, and Leighton cut through everyone to reach it. Patrick followed in her wake, dodging neatly around anyone who got between them.
“We’re meeting with my superior. Operations Officer Albert Lee is lead on this matter.”
Patrick committed the name to memory. “Understood.”
Leighton took the stairs to the second floor, and from there it was a maze of hallways until she reached a warded door. She touched the handle, and the metal glowed briefly from whatever magic was embedded in it. Pushing it open, she waved Patrick inside.
“SOA Special Agent Patrick Collins, sir,” Leighton announced to the room at large.
Patrick’s gaze swept over the space, taking in the multiple desk terminals all facing the front wall dominated by a large screen. A couple of people looked up at their arrival before returning their attention to the task at hand.
A gray-haired sorcerer stood at the front of the room, studying the information on the large screen. He turned around at Leighton’s announcement, staring at them over the heads of everyone working. The woman standing beside him was familiar, welcome, and someone Patrick hadn’t seen since December.
PIA Special Agent Nadine Mulroney wore a dove gray pantsuit, a white blouse, and her heels were just as high as Leighton’s. The cut of her clothes told Patrick she wasn’t carrying a gun, but that didn’t mean she was unarmed. An ex-combat mage like he was, Nadine’s affinity for defensive magic was matched by no one. She was his closest friend, despite living and working out of Paris the past couple of years.
He hadn’t known who PIA Director Franklin had been going to appoint as the agency’s representative for this mission, but Patrick was glad it was someone he knew.
“Collins,” Nadine said with a faint smile on her face.
“Mulroney,” Patrick replied in a friendly tone.
Albert eyed Patrick as he and Leighton approached. “I take it you two know each other?”
“We fought together from time to time in the Mage Corps,” Nadine said.
“This is London, not a battlefield, Mulroney.”
Patrick wondered if his reputation had somehow crossed the Atlantic ahead of him. Nadine said nothing to that warning though, and Patrick followed her lead by keeping quiet.
Albert turned to face the large screen. Someone had uploaded a set of grainy photographs taken with a long-lens camera. Ethan’s face was familiar in a way Patrick wished it weren’t. The other two men were unknown to him.
“Your government asked for assistance in locating and apprehending these three targets. INTERPOL has a long-standing Red Notice for Ethan Greene, though we haven’t flagged him inside the UK’s borders as of yet,” Albert said.
“Have they flagged him in any other country in Europe?” Nadine asked.
“No. Considering his criminal connections and background, we’re operating on the assumption that if Greene has business inside a country, he’ll find a way through the border in question with no one the wiser.”
“And the other two?”
“Targets your government asked us to keep an eye on. The first one is Dillon Rossiter. He’s Irish, and that’s about as much as we’ve got on him.”
Patrick studied the sharp-featured man in the photograph, wondering if his eyes were truly silver or if it was a shadow effect from being photographed. His hair was a riot of curls on top, shorn along the sides, revealing ears that were a shade too pointed at the tips to be fully human.
Patrick and Nadine shared a glance, but they didn’t say a word. Patrick knew he wasn’t the only one thinking about how the fight in the Gap of Dunloe against Medb’s Unseelie Court had ended.
“He’s got fae blood in him,” Patrick said.
“That’s the WSA’s assessment as well. We’ve been trying to track down his lineage, but no luck. The fae have been stonewalling us.”
Patrick crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the photograph of Rossiter. No telling which Court he was from, but if Patrick had to guess, he’d bet all his money on the Unseelie Court.
“He’s your auctioneer,” Leighton said, coming over to their small group with a stack of folders in her hands. She gave one to Patrick and Nadine before offering one to Albert. “He’s known for facilitating the sale of hard to find objects and people of power.”
“People?” Patrick asked sharply.
“The Auction of Curiosities and Exceptional Items consists of anything and everything for sale. To the o
nes looking to buy from him, people are as much an object as an artifact.”
“Slave trading is abhorrent,” Nadine said as she flipped open the file.
“We’ve never cared for Rossiter’s sort of business ventures. Parliament is adamant we put a stop to the auction before a single sale goes forward,” Albert said.
“That will risk us losing the item we’re searching for.”
Albert eyed them both. “It would be helpful if you told us what, exactly, you’re searching for. Your country’s liaisons haven’t been forthcoming.”
“Our superiors will have to be the ones to answer that for you,” Patrick said.
Albert appeared unsurprised at that answer, even if he seemed annoyed. “We are under no obligation to allow the auction to go forward.”
Nadine offered him a thin smile. “It is my understanding that high-level talks have happened on both sides of our governments concerning this auction. What Rossiter is selling is something the Dominion Sect is very interested in. You know their history, and why that group can’t get their hands on what they desire. Attempting to interfere with the auction and cause the item in question to fall into the wrong hands helps no one.”
Albert and Nadine stared each other down in a bid for dominance Patrick knew his friend would never back down from. Rather than spend hours sniping at each other, he tried to move along the meeting because he had plenty more on his schedule for the day if the update texts on his phone from Sage were anything to go by that morning.
Patrick flipped through the folder until he came to an INTERPOL Red Notice page for the other wanted man. “Who is Ilya Nazarov?”
“The latest Patriarch of Souls,” Nadine said.
Patrick studied the printout, taking in the man’s dirty-blond hair, light eyes, and tall frame. Judging by his name and appearance, Patrick assumed he was Russian, even if the storefront behind him on the picture had a sign in French. The sheet listed out his identifying information, and while his date of birth put him a decade older than Patrick, he looked a little gaunt in the face, making him appear older.
On the Wings of War (Soulbound Book 5) Page 8