“Tottenham. Rainriver council estate.”
“Tell him not to blow anything up. I’ll notify the WSA and local police.”
She ended the call, and Jono shoved the mobile into his pocket. “Nadine knows.”
“Great,” Patrick grunted, magic sparking at his fingertips.
“She said not to blow shit up.”
“Too late.”
A mageglobe exploded, managing to catch one more drekavac in the blast range. Its body was torn apart, blood and meaty bits arcing through the air to splatter around them. They hit various cars and Patrick’s shield, the curve of it flickering pale blue for a second.
Jono scanned the area, studying how the drekavacs moved. They stayed close, hunting like a pack, though he doubted they’d have a problem attacking one-on-one. He counted nine of the bastards left, and they moved too quick for Patrick to contain them in a shield.
“I’ll shift,” Jono said.
“Don’t,” Patrick snapped.
Jono ignored him. “I brought a change of clothes in the car.”
Patrick conjured up another mageglobe, the sphere losing its shape to a shocking amount of fire that Jono could feel from a meter away. Then the soulbond snapped between them, opening deep in Jono’s soul. The oncoming rush of magic pouring through him from somewhere else momentarily made his teeth ache and his skin go hot.
The pain was manageable. Jono’s years of shifting from human to wolf and the training he and Patrick had done together helped him to push past it all and focus on the fight. The magic was only passing through his soul to Patrick’s, its power something Jono would never be able to use. Patrick could, and did, creating what could only be called an inferno in the parking lot when he let the spell loose.
The magefire was hot enough to scorch paint off the cars, damage the framework, and liquify the asphalt. Burning through the undead was child’s play. The drekavacs couldn’t run fast enough to escape the fire. Patrick’s magic burned them down to bone, but they didn’t go quietly. Even with his hearing dialed down and hands over his ears, Jono could hear how loud they screamed.
Glass from shattered windows from the flats above them rained down onto Patrick’s shield, clattering to the pavement. The fire died down to nothing, and Patrick’s mageglobes faded away. He still held his dagger, the matte-black blade lined with white fire.
“Was that spell legal?” Jono asked, eyeing the half-melted cars nearby.
“For this country?”
“In general.”
“Outside of a war zone, not really.”
“Then why use it?”
“Fire breaks all kinds of magic. It’s one of the few things that can stop zombies, but it’s risky, and you need to hit a particular heat level.”
Jono stared at the crispy mounds of what used to be drekavacs and now were little more than piles of charred bone. “What now?”
Patrick sheathed his dagger and started toward the bodies. “I wait for Nadine and our WSA counterparts to arrive.”
Jono could make out the sound of sirens in the distance, the tone different from the ones he’d been hearing for the last few years on the streets of New York. “Police will get here first.”
“Then you need to go.”
Jono didn’t want to, but he knew it was the better option. He knew he’d probably show up on CCTV with Patrick whenever the government pulled the security feed. He’d leave Patrick to make up whatever story he thought would work to keep people from digging into Jono’s identity. It wouldn’t stop anyone from asking, but Patrick could stonewall with the best of them, and if push came to shove, the gods owed them.
“I’ll take the Tube back to the hotel,” Jono said, pulling out Patrick’s mobile and tossing it back to him. “Ring me when you can.”
“Spencer will probably get to the hotel before I do. I’ll text him your number so you can tell him where to go.”
“All right. Be safe.”
Patrick nodded, most of his attention already on the mess in the car park. Jono wanted badly to kiss him but didn’t want to risk getting any sort of familiarity on camera. So he turned on his feet and hurried off, trying to look like a civilian running away from a threat rather than someone getting mixed up in trouble.
