“He’s not taking his entire Night Court?”
“No. He’s making sure the government back home won’t go back on its word. Lucien doesn’t trust any authority but his own.”
“Arrogant wanker.”
Patrick huffed out a laugh. “Yeah.”
They took the Chiswick Roundabout onto the A406, turning onto the A40 and taking it all the way to the Fitzrovia District in central London. The Sanderson London was a street or two up from Oxford Street, taking up half the block in a slightly dated-looking building, but the interior, once they made it inside, had a modern vibe to it. Sage, unlike he and Patrick, was greeted by the manager on duty the second she walked through the doors ahead of them.
“Ms. Beacot, a pleasure,” the man said with a professional smile. “The penthouse suite is ready for you and your guests.”
Sage smiled back politely, handing off her luggage to the porter with an absentminded ease that spoke of wealth in a way Jono didn’t think he’d ever be able to emulate. “Thank you. It’s been a long trip.”
They left Sage and Wade to the capable hands of the hotel’s staff and headed for the receptionist counter so Patrick could check in. He needed a separate room to keep the government from learning about the pack. If he left London without a hotel invoice, too many questions would be asked.
“Two people?” the receptionist helping them asked, glancing over at Jono, who still had his sunglasses on.
“One,” Patrick corrected. “But I’ll take two keys.”
Patrick had booked a standard room with a queen-sized bed, and Jono must have been in the States for too long, because he thought it looked positively tiny when they entered it. The third-story street view wasn’t much to look at, and the room smelled like cleaning solutions and bleach from the white sheets and duvet. Jono’s lip curled a bit before he dialed down his sense of smell.
Patrick tipped his luggage over onto the floor in the bathroom, since that’s where the wardrobe was located, and started to unpack. He’d checked a bag, because apparently he’d had to bring along a couple of suits for the times he’d need to work out of the WSA. Jono had honestly been a little surprised he’d owned any. Jono left his luggage by the bed, choosing to unpack later, and waited for Patrick to finish up.
“At least we won’t have to fight Wade over the bed,” Jono said when Patrick came out of the bathroom.
Patrick rolled his eyes. “I’d have let Sage get him his own room if we weren’t in foreign pack territory.”
They’d all agreed to pair up as much as possible while in London, though they all knew Patrick would have to work alone some of the time. Jono didn’t like that, but the nature of Patrick’s job made it inevitable, and CCTV made it difficult to wait around government buildings without looking suspicious.
Familiar footsteps in the hallway caught Jono’s ears seconds before someone banged on the hotel door.
“Hey!” Wade called out. “You better be dressed. Sage wants us upstairs.”
“If he has air freshener, I’m confiscating it and spraying his bed,” Patrick decided.
“I heard that!”
Jono laughed and got to his feet. He followed Patrick out of the room, finding Wade waiting for them in the hallway, eating from a bag of Walkers cheese-and-onion crisps. He shoved another handful into his mouth, then jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
“You can’t get to the penthouse without my key card, but Sage has some upstairs for you guys,” Wade said.
“Let’s be off,” Jono said.
Wade left a crumb trail to the lift. They rode it back down to the lobby so they could switch over to the private lift that would take them to the penthouse suite. Wade waved his keycard in front of the sensor pad with greasy fingers, gaining access. The lift took them to the top floor, opening up onto a small foyer.
They followed Wade into the suite, the spacious open-plan area bright with early afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. The curtains had all been opened, offering up a distant view of the London Eye on the south side of the Thames. Jono paused, taking in the sight.
“Someone with a long gun wouldn’t even need to work hard to take out anyone up here,” Patrick said.
He conjured up a mageglobe, still muttering about sightlines. Jono left Patrick to ward the penthouse while he went in search of Sage. He couldn’t track her by scent, but the two-bedroom suite was only so large. The turquoise pendant filled with fae magic that masked her scent completely and hid her status as a weretiger had been latched firmly around her throat before she even stepped foot outside her home yesterday.
Jono found her unpacking her luggage, an open bottle of sparkling water within easy reach. She flashed him a quick smile as she hung up a summer dress in the wardrobe.
“Wade has raided the minibar for snacks already,” Jono said.
“We can afford it,” Sage replied.
Beyond the tithes he and Patrick received from the packs under their protection, Marek was a billionaire and had given Sage access to all his accounts years ago. He had no problem fronting costs for their pack. Jono had long since gotten over the awkwardness of needing and asking for money for pack needs, and receiving it with no strings attached.
