The silence from both packs was indicative of a resoundingno. Patrick finished his third slice of pizza. Before starting on his fourth, Patrick flicked his fingers over the wet Henley stretched across Jono’s shoulders, sending a drying charm coursing through Jono’s clothes. Steam puffed up from his clothes and shoes. Jono tilted his head toward Patrick in silent thanks.
Patrick didn’t do the same for himself, because he had plans to shower with Jono the second everyone left.
“You came to me, not Estelle and Youssef,” Jono pointed out. “My pack doesn’t decide shit the way they do. Which means we’re not going to deny someone their right to territory just because they aren’t present and didn’t know tobepresent. That’s not a game we play.”
“We?” Letitia asked carefully, gaze flickering Patrick’s way.
“We,” Jono stated in a hard voice. “Patrick co-leads our pack. You have a problem with that, then the door is right behind you.”
Patrick took another bite of his pizza and stared them down. The uncomfortable silence lasted a few more seconds before they went back to arguing their respective cases before Jono. Patrick finished his slice of pizza and was contemplating a fifth when his phone rang.
“Goddamn it,” he muttered. He set the plate down and wiped his fingers clean on his jeans before pulling his phone out of his pocket to answer it. “Collins. Line and location are not secure.”
“Make yourself secure,” Special Agent in Charge Henry Ng replied.
Patrick headed for the master bedroom. He closed the door behind him and used his finger to write out a silence ward on the wood. He pushed his magic out of his tainted soul and into the ward, letting static fill the bedroom. The world went quiet around him. All the werecreatures in the other room wouldn’t be able to hear the conversation he was about to have.
Wade could, because magic didn’t work on dragons, but the teenager knew better than to talk about what he overheard around people who weren’t pack.
“Secured, sir,” Patrick said. “Is this about the kappas? I turned in my report.”
“No. This is different. We got a report of a missing child.”
“That’s usually a police matter, not federal, unless it crosses state lines.”
“It becomes ours when it’s believed the child was replaced by a changeling.”
Patrick banged his forehead lightly against the door a couple of times. Crossing the veil between worlds definitely put a case within federal jurisdiction. “Gods fucking damn it. I hate dealing with the fae. Are you sure?”
“The PCB forwarded the case at the couple’s request. They want an agent to take their statement, and they want it done immediately.”
“Tonight? Sir, if it’s a changeling, the kid will still be there tomorrow morning.”
“Tonight,” Henry said firmly. “I know you just got off the clock, but I need you to take this case. The family involved is the Wisterias.”
Patrick banged his forehead against the door one more time for good measure. “Well, fuck.”
The Wisterias were a rich, powerful blueblood family of witches and warlocks, who had cornered the potions market during the Gilded Age. They considered their conservative family its own coven, who only admitted new members when those new people married into the family. The Wisterias were politically and magically well connected, having supported some of the more xenophobic policies and candidates the government had put forth over the years.
Patrick was not looking forward to dealing with them.
“What’s the address?” he asked. Henry rattled it off and Patrick committed it to memory. “Let them know I’m on my way.”
“They’ll be informed.”
Henry ended the call. Patrick sighed tiredly before dragging his hand over the sigil on the door to break up his magic. The silence ward faded away, sound returning to his ears. Patrick looked down at his damp clothes and scuffed combat boots and made a face. Not the sort of clothes he should probably meet the Wisterias in, but if he was going back into the storm tonight, he wasn’t getting two outfits rained on.
Yanking open the bedroom door, Patrick headed back to the dining area, surprised to see the packs had disappeared. Jono still sat at the dining table, staring blankly at the opposite wall where they’d hung a watercolor print of the London skyline.
“Did they leave or are they coming back?” Patrick asked.
Jono blinked, looking over at him. “They’re gone. They accepted my decision.”
“Which was?”
“An equal reduction of territory on the street to compensate for the independent weregrizzly, and one pack dinner a month to work out a possible alliance between the three.”
“Sounds fair.”
