“If you say so.”
Jono looked out at the drab gray concrete building of intersecting wings that rose like a prison amidst the homes surrounding the area. Rainriver was a council estate in Tottenham that had never seen better days. The block was high-density social housing that served a needed purpose but didn’t do it well in Jono’s opinion.
The playground between them and the first wing of the complex was filled with half a dozen women in abayas and hijabs who were watching young children climbing about the slide and swing set. Music echoed in the air from quite a few flats, and he could see a group of teenagers congregating around a couple of cars down the street having a smoke.
It was exactly how he remembered, and yet, it wasn’t. The building was the same, but the people were different, and the stressful bitterness had long since disappeared. Staring at the place he’d grown up, Jono realized, for maybe the first time in years, that his past didn’t matter anymore. This was where he’d come from, but it was the present with his pack that needed his attention.
“Did you want to take a look inside the grounds for old times’ sake?” Patrick asked.
Jono shook his head. “Don’t need to. There’s nothing here for me.”
Patrick nodded, not bothering with platitudes others might’ve given voice to. “We’re still within the vicinity where the WSA caught Rossiter on CCTV. Let’s take a walk, see if we can’t find anything.”
“The car would be quicker.”
“A car isn’t as maneuverable as you think it is in a chase unless it comes with a mounted machine gun. In which case, then it’s a tank, and while I wouldn’t mind that on occasion, it’s not street legal.”
“You just want a gun.”
Patrick rolled his eyes. “Magic isn’t the answer to everything.”
“I’ve listened to you whinge about that enough already. No need to start again.”
Patrick laughed but didn’t offer up more complaints. They’d parked some streets over and done a bit of wandering before angling back toward Rainriver. Patrick had been following whatever traces of magic Jono couldn’t scent, and he didn’t seem in a hurry to leave.
They started walking, heading down the street at an easy pace. Jono could feel eyes on them, could smell the wary curiosity on the air, but he didn’t take any of it as a threat. They weren’t local, didn’t really look like they belonged, and Patrick definitely didn’t sound English. Jono dialed up his hearing, keeping an ear out around them.
“Think Rossiter and his ilk will be about?” Jono asked.
“Who the fuck knows. I’m just checking for black magic.”
Jono couldn’t smell him anymore. Patrick had locked down his magic before leaving the car, and he smelled human to Jono’s nose. He looked it, too; they both did—coming across as out-of-place, easy marks. Maybe that was why the teenagers they passed started following them.
“Oi!” one of them yelled from close behind. “Bit lost, are you?”
Patrick sighed loudly. “What’s the law here on punching idiots?”
“Could still get arrested,” Jono said mildly as they both stopped at a corner and turned around to face the group of five teenagers.
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Oh, one of them’s aYank. Did you wander too far from your tour group and get lost? Could help you on your way, but it’ll cost you,” a tall youth jeered.
The five drew closer, one on a bicycle, going so far as to ride directly at them, fully expecting them to move. Except neither Jono nor Patrick jumped aside, and the youth’s smirk was wiped clean off his face when Jono grabbed the handlebars. He halted the bicycle’s forward momentum with preternatural strength, grabbing it with one hand while using the other to snatch the teen out of midair as he went flying forward from unchecked momentum.
Jono let go of the bicycle and swung the teen around, holding him off the ground by the collar of his polo shirt. Fabric tore, but Jono didn’t let go. The kid gripped Jono’s hand with both of his, trying to pry himself free, eyes gone wide in surprise.
“What the fuck, mate! That was my bike!” the teen yelled.
He stank of anger, bravado, and fear, but the fear overrode everything else when Jono removed his sunglasses.
“Oh shit, ohfuck, didn’t mean nothing by it, bruv,” the teen got out, eyes wide in his suddenly pale face, feet kicking but getting nowhere close to Jono.
“Seems like you did,” Jono said, shooting an annoyed glance at the other four, who looked like they were going to come to their mate’s rescue, then thought better of it once they saw Jono’s eyes. “I don’t see anyone else trying to run me and my mate down.”
“I swear, we wouldn’t have done it if we knew what you were!”
The teen’s voice had gone up an octave, and his group of mates were jostling each other as they backed up. Their attempts at trying to run away weren’t subtle.
