Jono wantedto grab Patrick by the collar of his jacket, haul him back to the Mustang, and get the hell out of Salem after that revelation about his so-called family. Instead, he found himself getting through some awkward, terrible goodbyes in order to deal with pack business.
“We can’t stay,” Patrick said, barely looking at his grandmother in favor of the werecreatures waiting on the street.
“Ta for the tea,” Jono said. It had been decent tea, but the taste of it had turned rancid in his mouth once he realized who the Pattersons worshipped.
“Are you sure you don’t want a healing potion?” Eloise asked, not quite wringing her hands together but sounding and smelling worried nonetheless.
She stood on the walkway to her home, her three children flanking her. The grandkids were all huddled at the door and on the porch, watching everything going on. The alpha of the Salem god pack had moved off the property after her initial greeting, waiting for them on the sidewalk. Eloise didn’t seem concerned about their presence.
Patrick shook his head, finally giving them his attention. Jono couldn’t smell anything through his shields, but he knew Patrick wasn’t comfortable being here any longer than necessary.
“I’ll be fine. This is SOA business.” He paused, gaze drifting back to the werecreatures before returning to his grandmother. “You should know the SOA has your home under surveillance as a precaution against an attack from the Dominion Sect. If there’s evidence of hunters in Salem, I’m going to request the SOA send a mage with an affinity for defensive magic to ward your homes.”
Eloise lifted her chin, annoyance and anger bleeding through her scent. “I want no aid from that agency.”
“What you want doesn’t matter when it comes to national security. This is about safety, not your pride,” Patrick told her bluntly.
She seemed taken aback, and Patrick’s aunt and uncles didn’t look happy about his words either. Whether the tone or their meaning, Jono couldn’t tell. The reunion hadn’t gone how they’d probably hoped, but they should’ve been prepared for that possibility.
“We should go,” Jono said, trying to hurry everything along.
Patrick nodded, staring at his family for a couple more seconds before blowing out a harsh breath. “Call me if anything unusual happens. I’ll let the agents on the ground here know to stop by.”
“When can we expect to hear from you again?” Eloise asked.
“I’ll call when I can,” Patrick said, not promising anything, which was fine by Jono.
He curled his hand around Patrick’s elbow, swinging them both around. “Georgelle? Where should we meet you?”
“We drove. If you want to follow us, we’ll take you to neutral territory,” Georgelle said.
Jono slid his hand up Patrick’s arm to his shoulders, drawing him in close. He didn’t ask the questions he wanted to, not out in the open like this, still feeling eyes on his back. Only when they were in the car, with Jono behind the wheel again and a silence ward lining the Mustang’s frame, did he speak up.
“You couldn’t have known,” Jono said.
“Setsuna did,” Patrick said through clenched teeth, mobile clenched in one hand.
Jono nodded slowly, keeping his eyes on the car ahead carrying Georgelle. “Probably.”
Patrick dropped his mobile in his lap and raised both hands to press them against his eyes once they were out of sight of the house. Jono didn’t smell tears; then again, he didn’t smell much of anything other than the fading scent of vomit. He reached over and pulled Patrick’s left hand away from his face, drawing it closer. He turned his head enough to press a kiss to cold knuckles, holding on.
“It’s something we should deal with back in New York, not here,” Jono said.
“I know.”
“Game face on, yeah?”
Patrick sighed. “And mouthwash. Or whiskey. Something to help me get this disgusting taste out of my mouth.”
“We’ll find something. I love you, and I want to kiss you, but not right now.”
“Ugh. Don’t even think about it.”
Jono let his hand go and kept driving. What he could see of Salem was quaint, the city extensively decorated for the upcoming Halloween celebrations. It wasn’t a holiday Jono had celebrated until he’d moved to the States. Tempest usually had a costume contest on Halloween night, though Jono had a feeling it would probably be postponed until next year.
They ended up at a bar overlooking the Salem Harbor, the waves white-tipped from a strong wind. The sea salt on the wind burned the inside of Jono’s nose until he dialed down his sense of smell. The strong scent stemmed not just from the water but the bartender manning the drinks in the Siren’s Song.
Her teeth were a shade too sharp, eyes just a little too big in a thin face, and her hair was so black it had a blue sheen to it in the low light. She smelled of the sea but seemed friendly enough toward Georgelle.
