The monthly pack dinner Patrick had been invited to in July had gone a long way toward getting the Tempest pack to be comfortable around him. Jono knew Patrick was still a bit standoffish, but that was to be expected from someone who lived with the secrets he carried. With Marek, Emma, Leon, and Sage, he was more himself.
Emma got up to hug them goodbye and walk them to the lift. She barely came up to Patrick’s chin in her bare feet, but size didn’t mean anything in the preternatural world.
“I don’t like this,” she said bluntly, not bothering to lower her voice since the silence ward was still up. “If it’s the Night Courts, we have a problem that Estelle and Youssef most likely won’t do anything about.”
Jono glanced at Patrick, catching the other man’s gaze. “We’ll get it sorted, Em.”
She nodded, her brown eyes flicking between the two of them. “I mean it, Jono. We’d follow you.”
“Cheers, love.”
The mageglobe faded away and Jono assumed Patrick had removed the silence ward. Emma stepped back, letting the lift doors shut. Jono didn’t know what to say in the face of that pledge of loyalty. On the one hand, her faith in him was humbling. On the other hand, fracturing the packs in New York City would turn the werecreature community into a hellish, bloody mess.
Patrick didn’t seem in a conversational mood, and they made their way back to the car in silence. They were halfway to the Mustang when a scent rocked Jono to a halt, hand snapping out to grab for Patrick and hold him back. A burning ozone smell filled his nose, sharp and cutting.
A scent he only ever smelled around immortals.
“Smells like an immortal took a walkabout,” Jono said.
“Motherfucker,” Patrick spat out.
Protective wards were embedded in the Mustang. Jono had been there when Patrick had laid them down despite not having the greatest affinity for that kind of magic. The wards were minor, set to shield the vehicle if someone with magic tried to access it, and warn him of the attempt. Patrick should’ve been aware of the tampering. The fact that he apparently wasn’t made Jono hyperaware they were out in the open on the street.
“Stay here,” Patrick said.
Jono snorted. “Not bloody likely.”
Patrick opened his mouth to argue before abruptly shaking his head. “Sorry. Habit.”
The bitter scent emanating from Patrick grew stronger as his personal shields expanded around them both. Jono couldn’t see the movement of magic, but he could feel it, the way power skittered across his skin.
They approached the car together and Jono stayed right by Patrick’s side as he circled the Mustang. The ward runes flared up brightly at each corner and the doors before turning invisible again.
Patrick frowned. “The wards weren’t broken.”
Jono pulled the keys out of his pocket and hit the fob to unlock the door. “Someone still got inside. Can I open the door?”
“Should be safe. I have you shielded.”
Jono nodded and hauled the passenger-side door open, lips curling into a snarl. “Someone left you a gift.”
Jono didn’t recognize the black plastic doll sitting in the cup holder in the center console, but Patrick did judging by the amount of swearing that left his mouth. Jono stepped aside so Patrick could lean in and grab the figurine, magic sparking around his hand in a protective layer. Pale blue light flickered and folded around the doll, encasing it in a protective mageglobe.
“What is it?” Jono asked.
Patrick glared at the skeleton-shaped reaper in his hand. “A Santa Muerte idol. It matches the one we found in the subway tonight.”
“You didn’t mention that to the others.”
“It’s not something they needed to know.”
Jono stared at Patrick. “That’s not how pack works, mate.”
Patrick sat down in the passenger seat and wouldn’t look at him. “I’m telling you.”
Jono should feel grateful about that, considering how he knew Patrick played things close to the chest—only he didn’t. “What immortal are we dealing with this time?”
“I don’t know yet.”
