“What does the media say about the case? I haven’t seen the news yet.”
Sage blew out a heavy breath. “Oh, this is a PR disaster for the fae. Missing child of an old coven witch family who are being targeted by the Sluagh? The story writes itself, to be honest. The press conference this morning was a slick piece of spin.”
“Are they accusing every fae? That seems a bit overdone.”
Patrick shrugged. “You can’t paint a whole race of beings as monsters if you only pick and choose. The Wisterias and their attack-dog lawyers are going the xenophobic route because they can and because it works. Get out front with your story first and you get to control the narrative.”
Jono knew that playbook all too well. It had been used against god pack werecreatures plenty of times in the past, and still was, because it worked. The only difference was people always saw werecreatures as monsters and romanticized the fae. Appearances were everything sometimes, and the fae were beautiful—when they wanted to be.
“So now it’s your job to find the missing child?” Jono asked.
Patrick glared down at his coffee mug. “There’s no finding and returning someone who’s been taken by the fae.”
“Why not?” Wade asked. He was on his second Pop-Tart from the packet he’d carried out of the kitchen. Jono made a mental note to check his snack cupboard. Patrick’s grocery shopping last night had filled it up a little, but Wade was notorious for eating his way through any and all available snacks.
“I’d ask if you’ve read any stories about Tír na nÓg, but I’m sure the answer is no.”
“Not much use for books in the fight ring,” Wade shot back.
Patrick winced. “Sorry.”
Wade shrugged in a sulky way, but since he didn’t storm off, Jono figured he wasn’t as mad as he pretended to be. Navigating Wade’s teenage angst and trauma was a minefield some days, but Wade was getting better at realizing they were never going to intentionally hurt him.
“Buy me more Pop-Tarts and I’ll forgive you.”
Patrick turned to glare at him. “I brought homefour boxeslast night. Did you seriously eat all four?”
Wade looked smug as he opened his mouth and took a large bite of his latest snack, getting crumbs all over his T-shirt. “Yes.”
“I’ll order some more for delivery,” Sage said, pulling out her mobile.
Wade took another bite. “Is this going to be a case you can’t close?”
Patrick glanced over at the sleeping baby, and Jono followed his gaze. She hadn’t moved, wrapped up tight in her blanket. “Probably. Time moves differently past the veil, and Tír na nÓg is no exception.”
“Don’t the fae come from Underhill?”
“Different names for the same place,” Sage said, tapping away at her mobile. “I’m getting you strawberry and the S’mores one, Wade. Don’t eat them all in one day this time. The Pop-Tarts will be here in a couple of hours. You can get them after school.”
Jono stepped closer to Patrick and wrapped an arm around him from behind. He pressed a kiss to the top of Patrick’s head. “You need to take a kip.”
“I need to call Henry after the baby gets picked up,” Patrick muttered.
“You’re no good to him sleep deprived, Pat.”
“I’m feeling that.”
Before Jono could reply, Patrick’s mobile started going off. Jono didn’t let him go as he answered it, merely dialed up his hearing to listen in.
“Collins. Line and location are secure,” Patrick said. Jono’s mouth quirked a bit at that show of trust in their pack.
“I’m downstairs, but it’s pouring and I can’t see the sky. Let’s get this transfer done quickly,” a woman said in a crisp, no-nonsense voice.
“Sky?” Wade asked sotto voice.
“Sluagh hunt from on high. They ride storms,” Sage replied quietly.
“I’ll be right down,” Patrick said. He ended the call and shoved his mobile back into his pocket. “Wade, get ready for school. Sage, can you drop him off after the agent leaves on your way to work?”
