“Not personally, but Sage might.”
“Then let’s hope she’s home.”
Jono held out his hand for the car keys. “I’ll drive.”
* * *
The Tempest packhome was located in an Art Deco building on Fifth Avenue in the Upper East Side. Marek had bought it when he became a billionaire overnight after PreterWorld, the social media company he founded and owned, went public. Marek shared the apartments within with Emma and Leon, Sage, and a couple other pack members. When Jono had first emigrated to New York City, Marek had put him up in a tiny studio walkup, but he’d spent a lot of his time here. These days, it was almost like a second home.
Jono parked the Mustang in front of the car park entrance since they weren’t staying long. The government plates it carried would keep the car from getting towed. Jono wrapped his arm around Patrick’s shoulders as they headed for the building’s entrance, holding him close. Patrick didn’t try to pull away, and Jono let out a quiet breath at the way the soulbond had finally stopped tugging at his awareness now that the mage was within reach.
Jono let them through the warded front door, and they took the lift inside up to the topmost flat that Marek and Sage called home. When it opened onto the small foyer, they were greeted by Emma. She was a petite Chinese American woman with thick black hair currently tied back in a long braid. She wore a cotton camisole and sleep shorts, feet bare as she waved at them. Jono had a feeling she’d put clothes on for Patrick’s sensibilities.
“Hey,” Emma said. “We’re all here. You hungry?”
“No,” Patrick replied.
“When was the last time you ate?” Jono wanted to know. Patrick hesitated, which was all the answer Jono needed. “Could do with some grub, Em.”
“With a pack of bottomless stomachs, that’s always available,” Emma said as she waved them inside. She didn’t ask about the fading bruises on Patrick’s face, but her slight frown told Jono she was worried.
Emma and Leon owned the flat below Marek’s. Not everyone who belonged to the Tempest pack resided in the building. None of them carried the god strain of the werevirus in their veins and preferred staying under the radar as much as they could. With Marek being a seer, sometimes staying anonymous was difficult, and distance was the only cure.
Marek and Sage were sat on the sofa in the family area of the open-plan flat. Leon was already in the kitchen down the way to make up a couple of plates. The first time Patrick had ever visited here, Emma had conducted hospitality with him, a ceremony of welcome to a person’s hearth and home.
Hospitality greetings were binding welcomes that protected a home from threats while a magic user was present. Tied to the threshold wrapped around the building, it was another layer of magical protection. Emma had deemed the traditional greeting unnecessary for Patrick after June, and he’d been welcomed with open arms ever since.
“Your texts said you wanted to talk, but you didn’t say about what,” Sage said once they’d sat down on the other sofa.
Jono eyed Patrick. “You didn’t tell her?”
“It’s not something I’m willing to leave an electronic trail on with an unsecured phone on her end,” Patrick retorted.
“That doesn’t sound good,” Leon said from the kitchen.
Patrick leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely together between them. Jono studied his profile, taking in the tight line of his jaw as he clenched his teeth before blowing out a heavy breath.
“I got called in for another case with the PCB,” Patrick began. “You see the news tonight about a body in the subway?”
“I’ve been working on a demurrer ever since I got home. I haven’t seen any news,” Sage said.
“The three of us have been remotely overseeing back-end work on PreterWorld being handled out of our Silicon Valley office,” Marek added, waving a hand to encompass himself, Emma, and Leon.
Patrick met Sage’s gaze with a calmness that had Jono wondering how many bodies it took for someone to become inured to death. “A train operator saw a body in the Old City Hall subway station. He notified his bosses at the MTA, and they called in the PCB due to the wards. The SOA assigned me to the case. The victim was a teenager, partially shifted in the head, and the medical examiner’s office confirmed he was a werejackal.”
Sage never looked away from Patrick, never blinked. Her left hand slowly curled into a fist, knuckles turning white. “New York City has one werejackal pack in Brooklyn. As far as I know, they aren’t missing any members, and none of theirs have been exiled.”
“So he was independent?”
Sage’s lips pressed into a hard line, and Jono could smell the anger and distress pouring off her. “About six months ago, an independent werejackal went before the god pack asking for permission to approach local packs for possible placement. He only approached a few before word got around he wasn’t a good fit.”
“How so?”
“Too ready to fight. Too keen on power. Pack alphas would have been challenged by him the moment they accepted him into their pack.” Sage leaned forward, her gaze piercing. “He was still a teenager.”
Patrick nodded grimly. “Yeah, so is our victim.”
“Most of the other independents didn’t want anything to do with him. I was an independent like them for years before Emma offered me a place in her pack. They know to come to me when they feel they can’t go to the god pack.” Sage glanced over at Emma before her eyes flicked Jono’s way. “I’ve been hearing rumors over the last couple of months, but hearsay is just that without proof.”
