Walking The Razor: A Montague & Strong Detective Novel

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  “He’s a Lead Designer,” Rey said with admiration. “He’s talking to ‘himself’ across different timestreams. Different versions of himself.”

  “Oh,” I said, because sometimes my mastery of language astounds even me. “That’s almost impossible to wrap my head around. I think I’d prefer an afternoon chat with Professor Ziller at this point. Probably safer for my remaining brain cell.”

  I touched my ears repeatedly.

  “What are you doing?” Rey asked. “Is something wrong with your ears?”

  “I’m checking to see if my brain is leaking out,” I said, glancing at Sid. “Does he do that often?”

  “I know he seems a little off at times,” Rey said with a knowing smile. “I can assure you, he’s sharper than he appears.”

  “Not exactly filling me with confidence here,” I said. “He gave me a box and neglected to tell me how to open it. Do you know how to open it?”

  “We’re going to address that now,” Rey replied. “Try to understand, as a Lead Designer, he monitors countless timestreams at one time. Anyone else would be driven mad; it takes centuries of training.”

  “Centuries?” I said, with a new appreciation for Sid’s abilities. “How old is he?”

  “That’s not a rabbit hole you want to jump into. Easy answer? Lead Designers count their birthdays in millennia.”

  “He doesn’t look a day over a thousand,” I said, glancing at Sid again. “How does he do it without losing his mind?”

  “Practice and focus,” Rey said. “Anyway, that’s why he can come across as distracted. His focus is everywhen, literally at times.”

  “Are you a designer, too?”

  “Not really, I’m a Temporal Realignment and Interdiction Operative—TRIO. You’d understand it more as Time Police,” Rey said. “Before you ask, I don’t know any Doctors, never went to med school, and make all my phone calls on a cell phone, pretty much like yours—not in a blue police box that happens to be bigger on the inside than on the outside.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask any of that.”

  “Sure you weren’t,” Rey answered. “My job is simple: I make sure the streams aren’t violated. Basically, I watch the streams to prevent splintering or blatant abuse.”

  “Blatant abuse of time?” I asked. “Seriously?”

  “Yes. In any case, let’s get you working on the TEST.”

  “I have to take a test?” I asked. “I’m not ready for a test…wait, what kind of test?”

  “Temporal Energy Signature Totem. A TEST is an artifact that will help regulate the fluctuation you are going through,” Rey said. “It’s what Sid gave you in the box.”

  “A totem? What kind of totem?”

  “That’s up to you,” Rey said. “It will take shape according to how you view objects of power.” Rey looked at the keepsaker. “In this case, small objects of power.”

  “So it could be anything?”

  “It’s usually something from your memory, and wearable,” Rey answered. “Something that made an impression on you and remains with you, even to this day.”

  “That could be anything,” I said. “Especially after meeting Monty.”

  “It could be, but it won’t be.”

  “Good thing that’s not cryptic at all,” I said with a glare.“That’s all well and good, but why am I going through this?”

  “Wow, that’s a whole other subject we really can’t get into right now.”

  “Are you going to tell me we don’t have time?”

  “Yes and no,” Rey said, with a crooked smile. “I can’t tell you, but I can help you open this”—he pointed to the keepsaker—“and that will set you on the path to answers. Fair enough?”

  I nodded.

  “Fair enough,” I said. “How do I open it?”

  “First things first. TESTs have a limited amount of uses,” Rey said. “It depends on your current level of power, and how far off alignment your signature is currently operating.”

  “That, I kind of understand.”

  “Okay, good,” Rey said. “The next part is not so fun…the initial adjustment period kind of hurts. The greater the amount of uses, the greater the pain. There’s always a cost.”

  “Hurts how?”

  “Try opening the box.”

  “I tried this a few times before. I got nothing, except nearly spraining my wrists.”

  “Try opening it the same way you created the sphere of power a little while ago,” Rey coaxed. “Focus the energy with your mind and into the box.”

  I tried to focus energy into the keepsaker, picturing energy flowing from me into the palm of my hand…nothing.

  “It’s not working.”

  “I think I see the problem,” Rey said with a nod. “You’re not a mage.”

  “Oh, is that all?” I said, frustrated. “I could’ve saved you all this trouble.”

  “No, no, no,” Rey said, raising a hand. “Hear me out. Mages are foci for the energy they manipulate, which is why they don’t use wands or staves or other methods of focus. The mage is the focus. With me so far?”

  “Yes,” I said, remembering when Monty had to use a focus during his shift. “I follow you.”

  “Good,” Rey continued. “Since you aren’t a mage, you can’t think of yourself as the focus—you have to go beyond. This is both easier and harder. You can be both weaker and stronger over time.”

  “Beyond, how?”

  “Instead of viewing yourself as the source of energy—which mages do with their will, by spooling energy into their bodies and then tapping into it—you have to invert that thought process. The source of energy is all around you; all you’re doing is aligning to the flow and channeling it, not storing it in your body.”

  “Easier and harder…? More on the harder side, I think,” I said. “Are you sure you didn’t study with Professor Ziller?”

  “I’ll tell you a secret,” Rey said, looking back at where Sid stood. “Ziller was one of the few mages to ever make it through the Lead Designer novice program.”

  “Novice…program? Professor Ziller?”

  “Yes, Sid even invited him to take the intermediate level in a few centuries, when he matured more.”

  “That is staggeringly mind-blowing on levels I can’t even voice.”

  “I know,” Rey said. “Ready to try again?”

  “The whole energy concept is throwing me off.”

  “Think of it like the ocean,” Rey said. “A mage is a container and can carry the water with him wherever he goes. You, not being a mage, have to stay in the water and splash it where you want it to go. Is that easier to grasp?”

  “Somewhat,” I said. “I need to tap into the energy all around me and then direct it?”

  “You’ve done it a few times already,” Rey said. “Much to our surprise. Now you have to be intentional, not reactive. Precise, not scattershot.”

  I let my senses expand and felt the energy around me. I nudged the energy to the keepsaker in my hand, and felt it wrap itself around the box. I felt it shift in my hand and open slightly.

  “There you go,” Rey said with a nod of approval. “Remember what I said about the cost? When you put on the TEST, you won’t be able to remove it until it’s exhausted, or…”

  He paused.

  “Or?”

  “Or you’re killed. Which for you would be quite difficult, considering your curse.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “Try to recall the worst pain you’ve ever felt,” he said. “Got it?”

  “Yes,” I said, recalling some of my most agonizing moments. “That bad?”

  “That’s where you begin,” Rey said with a nod. “Make sure you’re safe before you put it on. It can take you out of play for a bit.”

  “I opened it,” I said, looking down at the keepsaker. “Does this mean the box is open out there?”

  “Out where?” Rey asked. “This isn’t a dream. This is the same effect as you pressing your mark and briefly stepping
out of time. This is still you…the corporeal you. Only this time, I pulled you out of the timestream.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “It’s what Sid does,” Rey said. “I’m just on loan at his request. TRIO usually takes a more…surgical approach to temporal entanglements.”

  “A surgical approach? Like?”

  “If we find an abrupt deviation in a timestream, we cap it, and move to a parallel stream with relocations.”

  “Why does that sound devastatingly painful and lethal?”

  “Because it is,” Rey said, his expression grim. “We don’t waste time.”

  “You think he’s wasting time?”

  “With you? No,” Rey said. “But we don’t really understand Lead Designers, anyway. We basically stay out of their way and do as they request.”

  “How strong is he?” I asked as we headed back to where Sid stood. “Is he stronger than an Arch Mage?”

  “Lead Designers like him, because of their exposure to the timestreams, eventually become embodiments of Time…capital T,” Rey said. “What do you think?”

  “Much, much stronger than any Arch Mage.”

  “Sid has probably forgotten more runes, castings, and wards than any Arch Mage will ever learn in their lifetime.”

  “Right, making a mental note to never piss off Sid.”

  “Always a good policy,” Rey said with a smile. “You ready?”

  “Ready? Ready for what?”

  Rey nodded to Sid, who nodded back.

  “I apologize for the abruptness, Simon,” Sid said. “But we’ll speak again soon. I look forward to it. Brace yourself…this might sting a bit.”

  “What? What are you…”

  A white flash blinded me, and I found myself pushing up on the door at the top of the stairs leading away from The Dive. I shoved the door open, and rolled out into the afternoon heat, coming just short of the busy street.

  “We should get off the street,” Jessikah said from behind me as she looked around. “This city is peculiar. Did no one see you exit and tumble out of an underground tunnel?”

  “If it doesn’t directly impact us, we don’t care,” I said. “Especially if it’s going to make us late somewhere. Then, we don’t even acknowledge its presence, no matter how bizarre it can be.”

  I turned back to look at the exit we had just stepped out of, but it had disappeared. I couldn’t even sense where the tunnel was. Whatever runes Grey had used, they were excellent at camouflage.

  “You’re right though,” I said, looking around. “We do need to get off the street. We need to go somewhere your friends, or my enemies, would think twice about attacking.”

  “You know another run-down, seedy clubhouse we can go to?”

  I pulled out my phone and pressed a button.

  “You destroyed it?” Cecil answered, with a certain amount of restrained joy. “Did you kill the Dark Goat? How did you survive? Tell me everything.”

  “Always great to hear your voice too, Cecil,” I said. “Good morning, how has your day gone? Oh, mine? Thanks for asking. Well, aside from the fact that some maniac is out there trying to blow me to bits…”

  “You’re going to need to be a bit more specific, Simon,” Cecil said. “That sounds like a normal day for you and Tristan.”

  “Tristan is in trouble,” I said. “I’m headed to Erik’s and need the Dark Goat delivered there.”

  “You mean it’s still intact?” he asked, sounding somewhat defeated. “I thought you called to tell me it was in pieces. You know, your usual.”

  “Still in one glorious piece of automotive art,” I said. “I don’t think the Dark Goat can be destroyed.”

  “What happened to Tristan?”

  “Schism, but I’m not going to let him go dark if I can help it.”

  “Damnation,” Cecil answered. “A schism is tricky business. Do you know what you’re doing?”

  “Not really, but I figure I’m the best chance he has.”

  Silence.

  “Call Dex,” he said after a good twenty seconds of empty air. “There are things happening here that you need to know. He can help you with Tristan, as well.”

  “I will,” I said, intrigued. “In the meantime, I need a ride. Can you send Robert?”

  “Robert is away on a delivery,” he answered, and I heard him punching some keys. “I have your location. I’ll send one of the other drivers in one of our new experimental models—the LUMPS edition. We’ve had good results with it so far.”

  “LUMPS?” I asked, confused. “Do I even want to know?”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Is this driver any good?” I said, looking down the street. “We may have some nastiness after us.”

  “I would feel more confident about the vehicle returning intact, if he drove,” Cecil answered. “I think you’ll like him. He drives like you. Wear your seatbelt.”

  “Thanks, I think?”

  “Five minutes. Sit tight.”

  “Thanks, Cecil…really.”

  “You can thank me by helping Tristan,” Cecil answered. “Call Dex.”

  He hung up.

  SIXTEEN

  Five minutes later, a dark purple Lamborghini Urus screeched up to where we stood and stopped exactly where we were standing.

  A young man unlocked the doors and beckoned us to enter the vehicle. It was an exact replica of the one we destroyed in London. I say “destroyed,” but it was really a victim of circumstance. The circumstance was we were driving it—the demons attacking us preferred we were dead, so they blew it up.

  I want to say it was a misunderstanding, but we understood the intent pretty clearly. Cecil was livid with Monty for weeks after that. The fact that he sent me another Lamborghini only demonstrated how worried he was.

  The young man gave us a grin as we got in.

  “Nice ride,” I said, as the young man opened the doors. “I’ll ride shotgun. Jessikah, will you and…?”

  Ink was gone.

  “He’s close,” she said. “Don’t worry.”

  “Not worried,” I said, worried. “Just hope Peaches doesn’t start poofing off on his own.”

  “I don’t think hellhounds ‘poof’ anywhere,” Jessikah said, looking down at Peaches, who approached the back seat like he owned it. “They more or less whomp wherever they want, especially this one.”

  Peaches jumped into the back seat, but left some room for Jessikah. He was a Sprawlmeister with style, and yes, he did sort of whomp when he finally settled in. Jessikah sat next to him. He placed his enormous head on her lap, giving her the puppy-dog look and a nudge of her hand to get some head rubs. She looked down with a smile and obliged the ham. He gave off a low rumble of pleasure.

 

 

 

  < I think she’s scared of you.>

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  The driver was young, almost too young to be driving in the city, kind of young. His blondish brown hair was a mess under his black cap, which read Formula 1 for Life. This did not set me at ease.

  “You’re into racing?” I asked nonchalantly, as I started strapping myself in. “Formula 1?”

  “Quite,” he said, tou
ching the brim of his cap. “Oh, the cap. It was a gift from my uncle. Love F1. Currently following Hamilton, but love them all, past and present.”

  “Are you sure you have a license to drive?” I asked, concerned. “How old are you?”

  “In your years?”

  That question alone should’ve been enough to stop my line of questioning, but no, I kept going forward. I liked to live dangerously.

  “Yes, in my years,” I said, matching his tone. “You’re barely sprouting fuzz on your chin. So I’m thinking you’re barely old enough to get behind a wheel, especially the wheel of this vehicle. I don’t want Cecil blaming me for any scratches on this thing.”

  “Scratches? On a LUMPS? Impossible. Do you know what LUMPS stands for?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Uncle Cecil didn’t tell you?”

  “Uncle…Cecil?” I asked. “He’s your uncle?”

  “He’s everyone’s uncle,” the driver said with a wink. “Anyway, I thought he would’ve told you, of all people.”

  “I asked him not to, but now I’m not so sure about that,” I said warily. “Cecil has a knack for giving me heart attacks when he describes the runework he installs on vehicles.”

  “Do you want to know?” he asked. “It’s pretty boss.”

  “Sure. Does it define the state of my body when I leave this thing?”

  He laughed.

  “No,” he said, caressing the dash. “It stands for: Lamborghini Urus Montague Peaches Strong edition. This baby is a tank disguised as a jet, and he named it after you.”

  “I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted,” I said, shaking my head. “And you’re old enough and qualified to drive this tank-jet?”

  “True, I look young, but I do all the SuNaTran automotive stress testing,” he said with a wicked grin. “I’m Ayrton, by the way, and I’m about”—he scrunched his face up making the calculations—“about ninety-five of your years old .”

  He didn’t look a day over twenty.

  “Right,” I said, clearly taken by surprise. “Ayrton is it…like the F1 driver?”

  He nodded, and beamed with an infectious smile.

  “Where to, sir?”

  “Don’t ‘sir’ me,” I said with a smile. “You’re old enough to be my dad. The name is Simon, or call me Strong. We’re going to the Hellfire Club. Do you know where that is?”