Nadine smacked Patrick in the arm without looking. “He owes me a new dress.”
“Then you can tell him to pay up in person. He flies out tonight and gets into London tomorrow.”
PIA Special Agent Spencer Bailey had fought with them on occasion in the Mage Corps. Like Nadine, he’d never been assigned permanently to a team or a base, but moved around on an as-needed basis. Spencer was a soulbreaker with an affinity for the dead. If they were going up against the Orthodox Church of the Dead and a demon-led god pack, Patrick wanted someone on their side who could put the dead to rest and exorcise demons.
The three of them were friendly even though they never got to see each other very much. Patrick used to fly across the country for cases while Nadine was stationed out of Paris, and Spencer called San Francisco home whenever he was stateside. Patrick didn’t know what Spencer’s job entailed in the nitty-gritty, just that his magic was in high demand.
“Is he coming on official orders or no?” Nadine asked.
“The orders are official, but Reed doesn’t want his presence announced to the WSA or anyone else outside the joint task force.” Patrick glanced at her. “You know how people get about his kind of magic.”
“That’s going to be a headache trying to keep Spencer off the grid. Is he traveling on an alias?”
Patrick shrugged, switching lanes again. “Your guess is as good as mine. He’ll tell us his cover if he has one when he gets here.”
“Let’s hope they have decent coffee at the meeting. I need something stronger than tea this morning,” Nadine said, rubbing at her forehead.
“You and me both.”
They weren’t heading to the WSA headquarters, but to Winfield House, the place where they had been ordered to meet with the PIA’s permanent liaison officer. Patrick knew they could be tracked on the CCTV that saturated London, but there was no getting around that, especially when it came to diplomatic property.
Magic made spying a hell of a lot more difficult though, even with modern tools at hand. They’d meet with their WSA counterparts in the afternoon, but right now they had to focus on their own country’s needs. International cooperation only extended so far, and PIA Special Agent Gael Santiago’s loyalty was to the United States of America first, no one else second.
Patrick followed the GPS route to Regent’s Park where Winfield House was located. The residence was home to the Ambassador of the United States of America, which offered up a space for diplomatic protection for their meeting.
They were stopped at iron gates that towered over the narrow road, the wards etched into iron scratching at Patrick’s shields. The tips on every other spiked rod were coated in silver, and he could sense the building’s foundational wards stretching through the acres of greenery between the walls surrounding it.
A pair of armed guards exited the guardhouse beyond the closed gates. Patrick looked around the area, spotting several discreetly placed security cameras that probably didn’t account for all of them. They’d most likely been tracked half a mile out.
One of the guards stayed in position ahead of them as the other guard opened one side of the gate. Patrick rolled down his window as the woman came over to his side of the car, a no-nonsense look on her face.
“Identification?” she demanded.
Nadine passed over her PIA badge, and Patrick offered up his SOA one. The guard compared their faces to the photos printed on the badges before walking back to the guardhouse to further confirm their identities. They waited patiently, car idling, before the guard returned with their badges.
“Permission to enter has been granted.”
Patrick could feel it in the wards, the way the magic embedded in the brick and iron and dirt eased back from his senses. He let out a heavy breath as he pressed the button to roll up the window.
“Ambassador homes take some getting used to,” Nadine said as the guard opened the other half of the iron gate to give them clear passage through.
“And I thought the Pentagon was bad,” Patrick muttered as he drove forward.
They made their way up the drive to the Neo-Georgian town house. Up ahead, the red-and-white brick façade stood out against the sleekly mowed green lawn and trees thick with leaves. To the left was a stretch of cultivated gardens that ran up against the house.
It was difficult to see London beyond the treetops, and the city noise was lessened by the greenery, but not by much. Patrick parked out front of the main entrance. As they got out of the car, a staff member exited the front door, giving them a polite nod in greeting.
“Special Agents Collins and Mulroney,” the woman said, her American accent a little jarring after days of being surrounded by British ones. “You’re late.”
“We were held up by a case matter,” Patrick said easily.
She didn’t seem impressed with that excuse. “Special Agent Santiago is waiting.”
Patrick shared a look with Nadine before following their escort inside Winfield House. The second Patrick crossed the threshold, a shock of magic ran through him, cutting across his shields. The searching spell wasn’t subtle, and he rolled his shoulders to shake off the tingles skittering through his nerves.
“Apologies about the threshold, but it’s for our protection,” the woman said, not sounding sorry at all. She waved them over to a small side table situated between the women’s bathroom and a small office in a foyer lit by a crystal chandelier. “Hospitality first.”
“Really?” Patrick couldn’t help but ask.
