Dealing with the SOA attorneys and the ones from the United States attorneys’ general office always made him so glad he’d never gone into law. That’s what Sage was for.
Tori led him down a long hall to a conference room tucked away in a corner of the building. He couldn’t see into it, the room built for privacy, and the silence ward set prominently on the door was activated. Tori didn’t bother knocking, merely turned the knob and pushed the door open, waving Patrick inside.
His ears popped as he passed through the silence ward, coming into the conference room filled with summer sunlight shining through the windows. Patrick recognized six of the people seated at the table—four attorneys and two paralegals—but the seventh was unknown to him. Recognition sparked through his magic, letting him know the outlier was a sorcerer who hadn’t bothered to shield themselves. The feel of their magic was dark in a way he hadn’t sensed in years, immediately putting him on edge.
“Sorry I’m late,” Patrick said slowly, letting the door close behind him, glancing around the table.
No one responded to his greeting, everyone sitting rigidly in their seats.
Everyone except the rebuttal expert.
It might have been years since the last time Patrick was in a combat situation, but some instincts would never die. He no longer carried a sidearm, but the magic in his soul and his ability to tap a ley line as a mage meant he was never without a weapon. The sorcerer who was the supposed rebuttal expert and looked to be in his late twenties seemed to recognize that fact.
“I wouldn’t cast any magic if I were you. Not if you want everyone in this room to keep breathing,” the sorcerer said, clutching at a small, carved piece of bone. The artifact pulsed with pale red magic thatspread across the skin of everyone seated at the table, mapping out veins, arteries, and capillaries.
Patrick knew blood magic when he saw it, and while he was perfectly willing to attack, it wasn’t worth risking everyone else just then. Their lives were literally held in the hands of the sorcerer, and Patrick didn’t know what would happen if he initiated an attack. Nothing good, he was certain. “Who are you?”
“Someone who has quite a few demands. The first of which is my wife.”
The case set for trial next week had ensnared the heads of a rather large coven of magic users spanning several northeastern states under a RICO charge. Patrick didn’t know who the guy was talking about, other than the wife in question was probably locked up somewhere. If the guy thought Patrick had the power to get her out of prison, he was sorely mistaken.
Inwardly, Patrick sighed and reached for the soulbond that tied him and Jono together, giving it a firm tug. The tight pull would be enough of a warning while Patrick played hostage negotiator to keep the attorneys alive, the case on track, and deal with a renegade magic user.
He needed to remember to charge the SOA extra for a hazard fee after this.
2
Jono wasa few minutes from the Queensboro Bridge when the soulbond went tight in a way he hadn’t felt in years. Swearing, he resisted the urge to slam on the brakes in moving traffic and cause an accident. He fumbled for his mobile even as he flicked the indicator on, aiming for the next right turn that could get him heading back downtown.
“Come on, pick up,” Jono muttered, but the line rang out to voicemail, Patrick’s recorded voice filling the SUV’s speakers for a second before Jono ended the call. He didn’t bother trying again, instead calling Sage. “We have a problem.”
“What’s going on with the packs in Queens now?” Sage asked, sounding distracted.
“Not the packs. Patrick.” The sharp, indrawn breath on her side of the line and the way he heard her heartbeat spike told Jono he had all of Sage’s attention. “Just felt Patrick yank on the soulbond in the way he’d do when he was in trouble.”
“He hasn’t done that in years.”
“I know. I’m not on the bridge yet, so I’m heading to the SOA field office.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
Jono blew out a breath, glad he didn’t even need to ask. “Call Wade.”
“I will. Don’t treat the streets like the highway.”
Sage ended the call, which let Jono focus on Manhattan traffic while trying to ring Patrick again. Each time, it went directly to voicemail, while the pull on the soulbond never let up. It’d been so long since he’d felt the clawing tightness after so many years of peace that he did, indeed, treat the streets like the highway, despite Sage’s warning.
By the time he reached the street the SOA field office was on, he couldn’t turn because a detour had been put into place by the police. Traffic was a snarl as cars tried to funnel away from that block and into a bottleneck that wasn’t moving. Jono clenched his hands tightly around the steering wheel, trying to remember not to break it with his greater strength.
Someone pounded on the passenger-side window, grabbing his attention. “Hey!”
Jono jerked his head around, staring in surprise at Wade standing in the street between Jono’s SUV and the neighboring taxi, traffic stalled all around them. Jono stabbed a finger at the window controls to roll it down. “You better not have flown here.”
Wade at twenty-five was no different than at eighteen when he retorted, “I know better than to do that in Manhattan!”
It was everywhere else in the country that was sometimes the problem. People still talked about Boston, and as far as Jono knew, the suburbs outside Seattle still told stories about a dangerous beast in the night. Wade thought it was hilarious. It only gave Jono a headache.
Riordan McGuire gently pushed Wade aside and ducked down, catching Jono’s eye. “I’ll take the SUV. You both head for the police line. It’s not like I’ll be of much use on land right now.”
