If anything, it was the Fates, but Jono had come to terms with what Patrick meant to him months ago. He loved Patrick because he could, becausehewanted to, and no god would ever tell him otherwise.
“London’s calling,” Jono said. “We better answer.”
Patrick rolled his eyes and pulled Jono down for another kiss. “At least you have decent taste in music.”
Jono laughed against Patrick’s mouth, refusing to give in to the worry eating at the back of his mind. They’d find out soon enough what problems waited for them across the pond.
5
The last timeJono had walked through London Heathrow, he’d been on the Departures level, leaving with a rucksack, a carry-on, and the bitter memory of being unwanted following him to the States. Heathrow was the same sort of hamster maze Jono remembered from years ago, but at least this time he wasn’t fighting the crowds alone.
Jono reached out and hooked a finger over the collar of Wade’s T-shirt, hauling the teenager away from the direction of the Costa stand just outside the passport control area.
“No,” Jono said in a firm voice. “You ate on the plane.”
“But I’mhungry. It feels like it should be dinner, not lunch,” Wade grumbled.
“If he has coffee, he’ll stay up until tonight, and that will help with the jet lag,” Sage said as she tucked her passport into the oversized Louis Vuitton tote bag she’d traveled with.
Wade scowled. “Jet lag is for theweak.”
Jono let Wade go, reaching up to shove his sunglasses higher on his nose. Getting through Customs had taken longer for Jono than the other two, but not nearly as long as Patrick. While the agent overseeing his queue had pulled Jono aside for further questioning, he at least hadn’t been escorted to a private room like Patrick had been.
Having Patrick out of his sight didn’t help the tension in Jono’s shoulders. He couldn’t blame the tightness on shit sleep for the overnight flight, not when Sage had booked them all first-class tickets since those were the only ones available last minute. No, his anxiety had everything to do with the proverbial English soil he was standing on for the first time in years.
Sage grabbed the handle of her carry-on and nodded at the sign indicating the location of the car hire desk. “We need to get a car.”
“The Tube is the easiest way around London,” Jono said.
“But not the quickest on short notice. Patrick is going to need a car, and so will we.”
“Do I get one?” Wade asked.
“No,” Jono and Sage said in unison.
Wade rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m getting coffee.”
He ran off before Jono could tell him to stick close. Sage shook her head at Jono. “Let him have the coffee.”
“He’s going to be bouncing off the bloody walls,” Jono said with an irritated sigh.
“When isn’t he?”
Wade made it back to them with coffee in one hand and a bag of pastries in the other well before Patrick finally escaped Customs. Patrick’s dark red hair was easy to spot in the sea of people he cut through to get to them once he was finally cleared.
“What took you so long?” Wade asked.
Patrick scowled. “They needed to double-check my credentials and the paperwork for my dagger. Long blades are restricted in this country.”
He’d left his gun at home, because the UK’s Department for Witchcraft and Supernatural Affairs had refused to clear any firearms for the SOA. The WSA had argued that Patrick was a mage and his magic would be enough within the country’s borders. Jono had listened to Patrick whinge about how magic wasn’t always the answer on the entire drive to JFK Airport yesterday. It wasn’t new information. Patrick defaulted to his sidearm or dagger as often as he used his magic in a fight.
“Let’s get our cars and get out of here,” Patrick said.
“Do you even know how to drive on the wrong side of the road?” Wade asked.
“Shut it,” Jono said. “You Yanks are the ones who do everything backward.”
Wade arched an eyebrow in supreme teenaged judgment. “Mr. Green Card over here doesn’t think he’s a Yank.”
