On the Wings of War (Soulbound Book 5)

by Hailey Turner

  “You don’t even know where to start looking,” Carmen said with a faint curl of her lip.

  Patrick dropped his hand away from his face, rubbing at the red mark there on his palm. Jono frowned. He’d noticed it last night before Patrick had left with Nadine to deal with the fallout of the auction, but had thought Patrick would’ve got it healed at the WSA.

  “Summer solstice is happening soon. I don’t think it’s a matter of looking so much as they won’t be able to hide whatever they hope to do.”

  Jono grimaced. “We’ve shit luck with solstices and equinoxes.”

  “Guess we’ll have to work on that.”

  “Don’t take that as a challenge.”

  London had been a bloody mess. Jono had a sinking feeling Paris would be worse.

  18

  Getting through Customs at the Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport on a Tuesday morning was a headache Patrick hoped not to repeat anytime soon. The scrutiny over his dagger took far longer than it had in London, and by the time his paperwork was cleared and his passport stamped, he’d been held up for almost an hour. At least when Patrick finally made it to the others at baggage claim, all their luggage had been retrieved.

  Wade was eating his way through a box of Jaffa Cakes and looking like he needed to be fed again. Everyone else just looked tired.

  “Are you still okay with us staying with you?” Patrick asked Nadine as he approached. “Or did you want us to find a hotel?”

  “I don’t like the idea of us being separated,” Jono said, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.

  “It would be better if you stayed with me. I have room, and neither of our agencies will think much of you bunking at my home. Considering the potential property damage this case might have, it’ll be one less bill to pay,” Nadine said.

  “I’m never the one who blows holes through buildings,” Patrick grumbled.

  “Your entire case history with the SOA says otherwise.” Nadine grabbed the handle of her luggage and turned around. “Come on. Let’s get a taxi. I don’t feel like taking the train in, and the Ministry of Magical Affairs is expecting us in three hours.”

  “No rental car?” Wade asked as he pried free another Jaffa Cake. The smell of orange and chocolate made Patrick weirdly hungry.

  “I’ve only the permit for my car. It’s too much of a hassle otherwise to find parking where I live. You can take a taxi or the Metro to get around.”

  Nadine tactfully didn’t mention why they’d have to travel around. Patrick wasn’t looking forward to dealing with the Paris god pack, not after the state they’d left the London god pack in. Rumors spread quick through the werecreature community, and less than twenty-four hours was more than enough time for packs in position of power to know something was wrong with a foreign counterpart.

  People talked. Always. Reputation mattered, and the London god pack’s was in the gutter at this point, the same way Estelle and Youssef’s was. Resentful people made things worse. At the heart of the problem was a selfishness demons had exploited in different ways. Sin was impossible to get rid of completely, which meant demons would have their pick of souls to choose from. Patrick only hoped no more werecreatures turned up with a demon riding their soul.

  They followed the signs to the taxi stand outside. Patrick’s French had never been the best, and he’d lost the knack for it over the years. Nadine was the one who gave the taxi attendant her address for the two taxis being waved forward. Jono and Wade handled all the luggage while the rest of them climbed into the vehicles. Jono slid in next to Patrick, buckling up as the driver pulled forward.

  “Where does Nadine live?” Jono asked.

  Patrick pulled at the seatbelt strap to settle it over his shoulder. “In the 8th arrondissement on the Right Bank. Her parents worked for the State Department, and she spent a lot of years in France. The apartment was theirs, but they deeded it to her before retiring to Nice.”

  He’d been her guest only a couple of times since his discharge from the Mage Corps. Their schedules rarely lined up, and getting time off was difficult when the difference between taking a case or walking away could mean someone’s life.

  The drive into central Paris was choked with morning traffic. Patrick was glad he wasn’t ultimately responsible for the fare cost when they finally turned down the street Nadine lived on. No trees lined the densely packed buildings, and cars were parked on only one side of the street. The taxis pulled to a stop in front of a set of green double doors. They got out, dragging their luggage across the sidewalk to the building’s entrance.

  Nadine tapped in her passcode on the tiny security panel, buzzing them in. Her building thankfully had a small elevator, so even though it took them two trips with all the luggage, no one had to use the stairs.

  “I have three rooms, but one is my office. Sage can sleep with me, the rest of you can sort yourselves out in the living room and guest room,” Nadine said as she led the way inside a sunny fourth-floor apartment that was stuffy from being locked up for the last week or so.

  The threshold wrapped around the home pulsed gently against Patrick’s shields but welcomed them readily enough. The small credenza Nadine used for hospitality was empty of food and drink, but he knew she wouldn’t ask it of them.

  The furniture and décor hadn’t changed much. The open-plan design meant the dining room and living room overlooked the street. Tall, wide windows opened out into tiny balconies that someone could stand on, but the view wasn’t much to look at. Nadine left her luggage by the couch to go unlock and open all the windows, letting a soft breeze waft through the home and clear out the musty air.

  “Dibs on the guest bedroom,” Wade said.

  “No,” Jono said. “You’re sleeping out here.”

  “Dibs on the couch,” Spencer said swiftly.

  Wade scowled. “I want the couch!”

  Spencer very pointedly went to sit on the couch, the look on his face practically daring Wade to evict him. Patrick could’ve told his friend that Wade was a thief, and that Spencer’s claim on the couch wouldn’t last long, but he thought the fight might be entertaining, so he kept quiet.

  Patrick waved at Jono to follow him, knowing the way to the guest bedroom even though he hadn’t been there in over a year and a half. It was small, but the bed was big enough for both of them. Patrick sat on it, sinking into its softness, and watched as Jono set about unpacking their things into the closet and dresser.

  “Leave my suit out. I’ll need to change before heading over to the ministry,” Patrick said.

  Jono nodded, leaving the garment bag on the bed for him instead of hanging it in the closet. Patrick would get dressed in thirty minutes. Right now, he wanted to rest. He wouldn’t get much time for that in the coming days.

  When Jono finished, he came over and extended his hand to Patrick. “Come on. Let’s get back out there.”

  Patrick allowed himself to be pulled off the bed with easy strength, tipping into Jono’s embrace. He took a moment to steal a kiss from Jono, enjoying being held close and safe. As pissed off as Patrick was about the near miss in London with the Morrígan’s staff, Jono calmed him in ways he never wanted to let go.

  “I hear Wade complaining about being hungry,” Jono muttered against Patrick’s mouth.

  “There’s a boulangerie a street over. I’ll give him some euros and he can go eat his weight in bread,” Patrick said.

  “Careful, love. He might eat all the boulangeries out of baguettes, and the last time there was a bread shortage here, it started a revolution.”

  “A starving Wade is worse.”

  Jono chuckled, allowing himself to be pulled out of the room. Patrick didn’t let go of his hand as they retreated back to the living room where everyone else was lounging. Sage had pulled out her MacBook and was currently catching up on email. Wade had two Jaffa Cake boxes in his lap and was methodically eating his way through them. Patrick wasn’t looking forward to the day they got back to New York and Wade realized thos
e weren’t available in any store in Manhattan.

  Spencer was sprawled on the couch still with Fatima in his lap. The ocelot-shaped psychopomp had her nose tucked into his neck and sounded like she was snoring. Which was weird. Patrick didn’t think spirit guides needed to sleep.

  Nadine had rustled up a tray of champagne glasses, a bottle of champagne, and a pitcher of orange juice. Patrick wasn’t a fan of mimosas, but he wasn’t about to say no to alcohol, not after the last couple of days. She cast a silence ward that muffled the noise of Paris beyond the open windows before putting together the drinks.

  “Do you think the French will be willing to share intelligence on Ilya?” Spencer asked, scratching behind Fatima’s ears.

  “We have a meeting soon. We’ll see what comes of it,” Nadine said.

  International relations weren’t Patrick’s strong suit, for obvious reasons. It was Nadine and Spencer’s line of work more than his.

  “Are you going to ask them about the Orthodox Church of the Dead?” Sage asked, eyes on her laptop.

  “We’re going to have to, even if they won’t believe in Peklabog.” Patrick drew Jono over to the love seat that no one else had claimed, getting comfortable in it. “We have a necromancer who is in possession of the Morrígan’s staff and spends his time worshipping a god of the Slavic underworld. If they’re going to use it, they’ll use it here.”

  “Why?” Wade asked around a mouthful of Jaffa Cake.

  “Paris has a lot of dead.”

  “You mean graveyards?”

  Patrick nodded. “In a way.”

  Jono sighed heavily, reaching up to rub his face in a tired motion, jostling Patrick a little. “Oh, bloody hell. The Catacombs.”

  Spencer’s hand stilled on Fatima’s back as he turned his head to look at them, expression troubled. “A necromancer can animate bones, but you still need spirits to fill them. The new or recently dead would be easier to raise. There are, what? Six million dead in the Catacombs? Even a necromancer who is a mage can’t raise that many.”

  “A god can,” Patrick said. “So can the staff.”

  Spencer shook his head, looking defeated. “That’s going to be a goddamn nightmare.”

  Patrick rubbed at the tender red line burned into his left palm. His muscles kept cramping, and it didn’t feel like it was starting to heal, even with the potion Nadine had poured down his throat at the WSA before they were given their marching orders. He stopped only when Jono reached over to pull his hands apart.

  “When did this happen?” Jono asked.

  “Before the fight started at Smithfield Market.” Patrick stretched out his fingers, frowning down at the angry-looking skin. “I met one of the Fates while we were walking around viewing the items up for sale.”

  Spencer straightened up on the couch, staring at him. “Is that where you went when I turned around and you weren’t with us?”

  “You couldn’t have mentioned this sooner?” Nadine said exasperatedly before downing her entire mimosa.

  “When? Srecha manipulated everyone around me during the auction, I couldn’t exactly talk about her while we were there, and we’ve been stuck defending ourselves to the WSA. I couldn’t risk anyone knowing,” Patrick said, trying not to feel defensive about his choices. “And it's not something Lucien needs to know.”

  Jono wrapped an arm around his shoulders, tugging him closer. Patrick leaned into his warmth. “What did the Fates have to say this time?”

  “Srecha talked about being remembered. Called this her blessing.” Patrick lifted his hand so everyone could see the red mark there. “Your guess is as good as mine about what she really meant by that.”

  Nadine pursed her lips. “The gods have given you enough cryptic gifts, don’t you think?”

  “I’d give the fucking thing back if I could and it didn’t mean chopping off my hand. My dagger and the Greek coins were enough.”

  “What about me?” Jono asked lightly, rubbing his hand up and down Patrick’s arm.

  “What about you?” Patrick turned his head to stare at Jono, raising an eyebrow. “You aren’t going anywhere. I’ll give you up over my dead body.”

  Spencer winced. “We’re fighting a necromancer. Let’s not tempt the gods.”

  “Too late,” Wade said. “Patrick does that all the time.”

  “Eat your snacks,” Patrick told him.

  “I want French snacks. I saw little colored cookies with cream like an Oreo on the way out of the airport. I want some of those.”

  Jono snorted. “I’ll take your stomach for a walk in a bit. Let’s get Pat and Nadine out the door first.”

  Patrick groaned, not really wanting to move. “I hate suits.”

  Nadine pushed herself to her feet, running her fingers through her hair. “We do need to get going. I’ll leave the silence ward up. Jono, let me give you my spare set of keys.”

  Patrick left Jono’s side even though he really didn’t want to. He managed to get to his feet, but that was as far as he went. Jono grabbed his wrist, keeping him in one spot. Patrick turned to look at him.

  “Be safe,” Jono said, bringing Patrick’s hand to his lips to kiss his own sort of blessing over the one already burned into his skin. “I love you.”

  Patrick framed Jono’s face with his fingers. “I’ll come back.”

  He could feel Jono’s smile against his palm, those wolf-bright eyes looking up at him. “I know.”

  It was a promise Patrick intended to always keep, no matter what.

  He left the living room for the guest bedroom, getting dressed in his suit in record time. Patrick was in the middle of looping his tie around his neck when Jono entered the bedroom, letting the door click shut quietly behind him.

  “Going to feed Wade?” Patrick asked.

  Jono reached for the tie, sliding it out of Patrick’s hand. He turned so Jono had room to work with, enjoying the feel of Jono’s hands brushing against his body.

  “We’ll feed him. Sage is communicating with the Paris god pack’s dire. We’ll have to meet with them, and Sage thinks they’ll want to meet today,” Jono said, eyes on the silk he was deftly knotting around Patrick’s throat.

  Patrick bit his lip as Jono straightened his collar. “I should be there for that meeting.”

  Jono’s gaze flickered up to meet his. “You need to focus on the government side of the mission.”

  “Our pack is more important than my job.”

  Jono blinked at him, but Patrick wasn’t about to take those words back. Warm fingers slid up his throat to stroke over his jaw, cupping his chin. Jono drew him into a kiss that made Patrick dream about getting undressed and messing up the bedsheets.

  “You staying safe is important, and your job helps with that,” Jono murmured against his mouth. “So don’t get fired.”

  “I’d get a vacation if that happened.”

  Jono laughed, pulling back but not going far. “We’ll make it to Maui one day, love.”

  “Promise?”

  Jono tugged on his tie, voice rumbling in his chest when he spoke. “Promise.”

  Patrick stole another quick kiss before extricating himself from Jono’s arms. They left the bedroom, and he wasn’t surprised to see Nadine waiting for him in the living room, dressed in a pristine white pantsuit and scarlet high heels that matched her lipstick. She looked like she could’ve been walking a runway rather than preparing to do battle with a foreign intelligence and magic agency.

  “Ready?” Nadine asked as she tossed Jono a set of keys that he easily caught.

  Patrick nodded and followed her out of the apartment. Sound popped back into his ears once they crossed through the silence ward. They left the building, and Nadine led him a block over to where she paid a monthly fee, covered by the PIA, to park her car. It was a black two-door Audi that had scratches over one rear wheel from claws rather than keys. Patrick didn’t ask what had caused it. They got in, and Nadine started the engine, pulling out of the tiny space.

  �
�How long do you think this emergency meeting will go?” Patrick asked as they got on the road.

  The French Ministry of Magical Affairs was located at the Quai d'Orsay. Luckily, the drive wouldn’t take too long since it was near the Seine. While it wasn’t within the same arrondissement as Nadine’s apartment, it was still close as opposed to being clear across the city.

  “However long it needs to take.” Nadine shifted gears as they came up on a red light, sunglasses perched on her nose. “We should probably report in.”

  Patrick sighed as he smacked his hand against the roof of the car, setting a silence ward into place before pulling out his phone. “All right.”

  The time difference between Paris and Washington, DC, meant he wasn’t waking Setsuna up, but she still sounded pissed off when she answered the phone.

  “We’re in contact with INTERPOL,” Setsuna said in lieu of a greeting. “They’ll be present at the meeting you’re scheduled to attend.”

  “Any hits on Nazarov?” Patrick asked.

  “Not since London.”

  Patrick leaned his head back against the seat. “He’ll be coming to Paris if he’s not here already.”

  “How certain are you?”

  “If Nazarov has been worshipping out of Paris, then his god is here.”

  “The French government will need something more concrete than a myth.”

  “That’s all I have.”

  It should’ve been enough, but the old myths weren’t the predominant religions these days. Science and magic and religion might co-exist, but believing in the old gods was a step too far for most people. The ones who worshipped the gods whose lives had fallen by the wayside were few and far between compared to the billions who worshipped in churches and mosques and temples across the world.

  Patrick curled his fingers around the mark on his palm, Srecha’s blessing burning deep as he thought about Ashanti and the altar he hadn’t prayed before in over a week.

  “The auction was where this should have ended, Patrick,” Setsuna said.

  “The auction was a means to an end. This whole fucking mess won’t stop until Ethan is dead, or I am. You know that,” he bit out.