A Vigil in the Mourning (Soulbound #4) - Hailey Turner Page 0,27
as they got back to their hotel room, Patrick wrote out a silence ward on the back of the door, wrapping the space in static.
“Why aren’t we leaving?” Wade asked.
“I’m not sitting out in the open while we wait for people to show up.” Patrick dug out his phone and speed-dialed Sage. “Keep an ear out, will you?”
Wade mock saluted before throwing himself on the bed to play a game on his phone. After two rings, Sage picked up.
“Patrick,” she said in greeting.
“So, hypothetically, if I never asked for permission from the local god pack to come to Chicago to do my actual job and they got pissed about that, what are my options?”
Sage sighed over the phone in such a way that Patrick could envision the annoyed look on her face. “Maybe I should have gone with you after all.”
“You’ve taken enough time off from work to deal with pack business as it is. I can handle this. I just need to know how to get out of the corner I’ve found myself in.”
“You should’ve asked for pass-through rights when you landed.”
“Kind of busy with a case. I can’t really say no to my job, remember?”
“Being our alpha is just as important. You need to apologize without apologizing. You can’t afford to be seen as lesser because that puts our pack on uneven footing.”
“I know that.”
“Then find a way out of your hypothetical situation.”
Patrick winced. “Are you mad at me?”
“I’m mad at the stupidity of males in general right now. Try not to make any promises or enter into a bargain. Your track record with those is terrible.”
Patrick wondered who had pissed Sage off today other than himself. “I’ll do my best.”
“Call me after the meeting. Don’t call me during. That’ll just make you look like you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Wade laughed at that, and Patrick thought about chucking a pillow at him. “I know what I’m doing.”
“We can only hope. Good luck.”
She ended the call, and Patrick shoved his phone into his pocket. “She thinks I suck at this.”
“You kind of do,” Wade said.
Patrick grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at his head.
Monica and some of her pack were waiting for them outside the hotel when Patrick decided enough time had passed for the Chicago god pack to have made it to the neutral territory.
“Took you long enough,” Monica said.
“You’re just mad you couldn’t eavesdrop,” Patrick retorted.
Monica shrugged, not denying she’d sent someone up to their floor to try to listen in on their conversation. Wade had heard them, even if the person in question hadn’t been able to hear anything through Patrick’s silence ward.
The doorman hailed them a cab that Patrick planned to pay for with cash because he didn’t want the trip logged on a ride-share app for the SOA to track. Pack business wasn’t the government’s business.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“The Monk’s Pub,” Patrick replied.
Wade buckled up, making sure the seat belt didn’t crush his Pop-Tarts. Patrick wrote out a look-away ward on his handgun because people sometimes got uncomfortable about someone bringing a gun into a packed bar. He left his badge where it was, wanting to make it clear about his reason for being in Chicago.
It didn’t take long to get to the bar, and Monica must have called ahead about their arrival because two god pack werecreatures were standing outside waiting for them. Patrick paid the taxi driver and got out, eyeing the Monk’s Pub façade. It had been designed to look like a medieval building; the wooden doors had wards carved into the top, and the amount of witch magic emanating from the foundation told him it probably belonged to a coven.
“Our alphas are waiting for you,” the petite blonde woman said as she shoved open the bar door.
A couple more cars and taxis pulled up on the street behind them. Patrick looked over his shoulder in time to see Monica getting out of a sleek sports car. Patrick’s skin crawled with the feeling of being boxed in, and his fingers twitched toward his dagger. Wade stepped closer, arms crossed over his chest as he scowled at everyone around them.
“What if I eat them?” Wade asked.
Patrick rolled his eyes. “No. They’d taste bad. Get inside and I’ll order you food. The place has a kitchen, and you’re allowed to stay even though you’re underage so long as the kitchen is open.”
“They better have hot dogs.”
Patrick entered the bar first, a wall of warm air hitting him in the face.