Reaping Wind

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  “Can you fix it?”

  Monty nodded. “Battlemages learn field medicine as part of their training. These breaks are painful, but don’t require a medical facility,” he said. “I’d prefer not to cast runes in the middle of the street, though. Sooner or later, someone will stop and investigate.”

  Surprisingly, Japan was very much like New York City. No one paid us any attention as we stumbled along. We got a few concerned looks, but no one approached us. Then again, we were a ragged, bloody mess, and I wouldn’t have approached us either.

  “We need a doorway,” Monty said, pointing down one of the side streets. “Over there.”

  “It’s probably locked,” I said, not understanding why Monty needed a doorway. “Just how hard did you hit that wall?”

  “Hard enough to realize we underestimated Esti and the Blood Hunters,” Monty answered, leaning against the wall. “They took your creature?”

  “Yes,” I said after a pause. “I’m sorry I pressed the mark and slammed you into the wall. I wasn’t thinking. I saw them throw the lattice over him…and now he’s gone.”

  The side street was hidden in shadow. Monty took a second to catch his breath, gestured over his arm and grimaced. Golden runes fell over his body as he repaired the breaks. Battlemages learned the necessary skills to do what they did best—fight.

  “No apologies necessary,” Monty said. “As I said, we underestimated Esti and her group.”

  “Since when do Blood Hunters have sorceresses?” I asked, looking down the side street. “No one mentioned sorceresses. What was that sphere they formed?”

  “A nullification sphere,” Monty answered, holding up his arm as he tested the handiwork of the golden runes on his body. “Where they learned it is the problem. That is an advanced cast, even for an accomplished sorcerer.”

  “That’s why they didn’t get pounded to bits. The sphere neutralized the triggers. How’s the arm and leg?”

  “Stiff, but serviceable,” he said, approaching the door. “It would appear Esti bolstered her numbers with sorcery after our last run-in on Ellis Island. It was a serious, almost lethal miscalculation on my part.”

  “We need to get him back,” I said, letting the rage flow over me. “She’s going to hurt him.”

  “Remember what I told you,” Monty said as he began gesturing and red runes flowed into the door. “It’s nearly impossible to hurt a hellhound.”

  “She said she was going to starve and torture him, Monty.”

  “For your creature, those are probably one and the same,” Monty said, still focusing on the door. “We’ll get him back.”

  “If we don’t bring her Chi, she’s going to unleash him on the city,” I said quietly. “You know what they will do to him if he’s let loose on the city in that state.”

  Monty turned to me. “I know what they will try to do, but they will not succeed.”

  “Didn’t they see Wick?” I asked. “Don’t they know…you never touch the dog? That rule has to be taken to the nth degree when that dog is my hellhound.”

  “I’m afraid they didn’t get that memo,” Monty said, grabbing my shoulder. “You have to maintain control. If you become agitated, it will affect your creature. In his weakened state, it could strain your bond.”

  “Strain the bond?”

  “Which could cause his body to repeat what happened in London as a protective defense. Something you want to prevent right now.”

  “You mean he would go XL? Wouldn’t it be easier to find him if he was enormous?”

  “Not just for us, but for anyone,” Monty said. “Some of whom would attack first and ask questions later.”

  “The last thing we need right now is a Peaches XL,” I said, realizing the truth. “They would just see a monster and try to destroy him.”

  “The operative word there is try,” Monty added. “It would be best if we found him and dealt with the Blood Hunters.”

  “There’s only one way to deal with Esti and her group,” I said. “First, we need to find Chi.”

  “Agreed.” Monty released one more set of runes before the entire door flared red for a split second. “Can you feel the bond you share with him?”

  I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing. Nothing. The bond that connected me to Peaches was gone.

  “I can’t. I can’t feel anything,” I said as the worst case scenarios flashed through my mind. “It’s gone. He’s gone.”

  NINETEEN

  “Try again,” Monty said. “Feel for the bond.”

  “I just told you—” I started, frustrated.

  “Again,” Monty said with an edge. “You’re letting your worry and anger cloud your ability. Try again.”

  I closed my eyes and slowed my breath. I pushed all thoughts out of my mind and focused on Peaches. After what felt like a lifetime, I felt the bond. It was tenuous, but it was there.

  “I got it,” I said, almost whispering, as if raising my voice would sever the connection. “I can barely feel it, but it’s there. I can’t tell where he is, but I can sense him.”

  “You don’t have enough sensitivity to pick up on the bond,” Monty said. “We need to get you a signal boost.”

  “Can’t you—I don’t know…do a finger wiggle and hit me with a signal-boosting rune of deep sensing or something?”

  “First of all,” Monty said, slipping into wikimage mode, “no such rune exists. Second, we need something to boost your inherent ability. It has to be powerful and fast acting.”

  “Is there something like that?”

  “Yes. It’s almost impossible to find, highly illegal, and most certainly dangerous.”

  “Will it work? Will it make me strong enough to find Peaches?”

  “Yes, it will, but there are risks. I will try and minimize them, but we are taking a chance going this route.”

  “If it helps me find Peaches, I’ll take all the risks necessary. I can still feel the bond, but it’s faint.”

  “Good,” Monty said. “Let go. If you can barely feel it, they must be masking him.”

  “The lattice?” I asked. “Is that what they’re using to hide him?”

  “It would be a combination of the lattice and the sphere they cast over him. Let’s go.”

  “Where exactly are we going?” I asked, looking at the door with distrust. “Unless we’re entering an armory, I don’t see the point of this.”

  “We need to approach things differently,” Monty said.

  “By differently, I hope you mean non-explosively,” I said. “I’ve had enough of the blowing up today.”

  “Esti made a correct assessment,” Monty answered, grabbing the door handle. “We were out of our league and out of our depth. Clearly, she has learned how to face us since our last encounter. We need to get equipped.”

  “Oh, good, this door leads to a battalion of angry mages?”

  “Not quite,” he said. “You already have one angry battlemage on your side. You don’t need a battalion.”

  “So, what’s in here?”

  “Opportunity.”

  He turned the handle of the door. I expected to see the interior of someone’s home or business; instead, I was looking down a wide, brightly lit, empty hallway. In the center of the hallway stood a man dressed in standard mageiform—upscale black suit, white shirt, and gray tie. That’s where the similarities ended. His face was covered by a featureless white mask, giving off a serious Phantom of the Opera vibe.

  He held a silver, rune-covered six-foot staff in one hand, a short sword in the other, and both legs sported thigh holsters holding larger versions of Grim Whisper. Around him, softly glowing red orbs moved around his body in lazy orbits.

  “Who or what is that?” I asked as Monty entered the hallway. Stepping in behind him, I reflexively paused to let Peaches catch up when I remembered. A fresh pang of anger and grief squeezed my heart as I closed the door behind us. “Since when do mages carry an arsenal?”

  “That is not a mage,” Monty said. �
�That is one of the Janus—a Doorman.”

  “Dresses like a mage, uses a staff like a wizard, and has dual pistols—a magizard gunslinger?”

  “No, a Doorman. The Janus are gatekeepers. Powerful gatekeepers.”

  “He doesn’t look like any doorman I’ve ever seen,” I said, looking around and noticing the door behind us had vanished. “Tell me you don’t have to fight him.”

  “Doormen guard the emergency exits and entrances to certain locations,” Monty answered. “This is the Janus to the Moving Market.”

  “Moving Market as in Shadow Nick’s Moving Market?” I asked. “I thought it would be shut down after his death.”

  “The Moving Market is too important to be closed because of any one person. It is currently under new management: Director Tessa Wract.”

  Every community has a dark side—the face that’s kept hidden from the light, and from outsiders. It’s revealed in the shadows, when you’re out of options or looking to erase any trace. It’s the corner of dark alleys, whispers of promised vengeance, the impact of a life-ending round between your eyes, or a soul-stealing rune turning your body cold and lifeless before it hits the ground.

  The magical community was no exception, its dark side was only more dangerous because of the forces involved. The Moving Market dealt in lethality and the lost—and those wishing to remain that way. If you wanted to disappear, you slid into the Market. If you were taken there—the end result was the same. You were gone.

  Most of the items sold in the Market qualified as contraband: something to disintegrate a target on sight, a rune to control a person’s mind, or information you needed to destroy a rival. You could find it all in the Moving Market—for a price.

  “Mage Montague, you have requested emergency access to the Moving Market,” the Janus said, his voice reverberating in the hallway. “Identification, please.”

  “Of course.” Monty stepped close and stared at the mask. A golden light emanated from his eyes as the Janus nodded.

  “Tristan Montague, mage of the Golden Circle. Identification confirmed. You and your guest may proceed.”

  The Doorman stepped to one side and let us pass. At the other end of the corridor, behind the Janus, I saw a large rune-covered door.

  “What happens if you have the wrong ID?”

  “No one has ever gotten into the Moving Market without authorization,” Monty said, glancing back at the Janus. “There is no recorded instance of a Doorman being defeated while guarding a door. I’ve wondered if it’s even possible.”

  “I’m really glad we didn’t have to find out if it was,” I said, glancing back at the Janus. “He looks pretty high up in the ‘dispensing of an ass-whooping’ category.”

  “I’d say that is a fair assessment of his abilities,” Monty said, placing a hand on the door and pushing. “Remember the law of the Market and keep your wits about you.”

  TWENTY

  We stood in Market Central.

  They had made significant changes since the last time I was here. The entire market was arranged like a wheel formed of seven concentric circles. This building, which also doubled as the main base of operations, acted as the hub of the wheel. The rings were arranged in order of influence and power.

  The higher ranked magic-users inhabited the rings closest to the hub. The two outer rings were a no-man’s land and dead zone. If you found yourself on an outer ring, it was only a matter of time before someone or something tried to introduce you to the concept of dead zone—emphasis on dead.

  There was only one law in the Market: only the strong, cunning, or ruthless survived for any length of time. After losing Peaches, I was feeling particularly homicidal and made sure everyone around me felt the intention of my thoughts.

  We stood in a large reception area that resembled the lobby of a large hotel.

  “We need to see the new director before we get outfitted,” Monty said, waiting. “It should be any moment.”

  “Who is this new Director Tessa Wract?” I asked, looking around. “Is she a plane-weaver like Nick?”

  Plane-weavers could travel between planes with ease, allowing them to go literally anywhere with a thought. Nick took this a step further and transported a city block with him. He was good at what he did until he made the wrong enemies, got in over his head, and lost it—literally.

  “No,” Monty said, moving to the reception area. “Tessa is a mage with a focus on temporal discipline. A time-weaver. One of a handful, and the most powerful in time manipulation.”

  “Time-weaver?” I asked. “Is that a plane-weaver in a hurry?”

  “You’d better let me do the talking,” Monty answered. “ A time-weaver like Tessa dwarfs Nick’s abilities and power by several orders of magnitude. She keeps the Moving Market…moving. Not only does she slip it in-between planes, she’s also powerful enough to move it through time. Her first, second, and only concern after herself is the Market—remember that.”

  “Got it, scary lady mage with time powers, don’t piss her off right away.”

  “Don’t piss her off…at all,” Monty said with a sigh. “The Moving Market, despite its appearance, is hostile territory. Treat it as such.”

  “Monty, she moves a building around through spacetime. Isn’t that what Professor Ziller does? I don’t hear you describing him as the Zillerbogeyman.”

  “Before Tessa was assigned to running the Market, she’d had some unpleasant run-ins with mages working for the Dark Council.”

  “I’m liking her already.”

  “Tessa was considered an elder of the Dark Council,” Monty continued. “The last incident caused them to expel her from the Council.”

  “Now I’m really liking her,” I said. “She got herself kicked out of the Council? For what?”

  “The rumors were that she had temporally stranded a mage in a conscious time loop,” Monty said. “This was a mage much like someone I know who couldn’t control his verbal outbursts.”

  “Don’t know who you’re talking about,” I said. “Restraint is my new name, remember?”

  “The mage went too far and ended up insulting her,” Monty said, his voice serious. “She placed him in a contained interstitial time loop and forced the mage to repeat the same thirty seconds of his castration over and over.”

  “Oh, fuck,” I said under my breath. “Are you serious?”

  Monty nodded. “She kept him there until he went mad, and only then, when she was certain he could no longer be aware of the torture, did she kill him. After that, they offered her an option—erasure, or the Moving Market.”

  “She willingly chose the Market and you want to do business with this Tessa?”

  “We are out of options at this point,” Monty answered. “She carries what we need to be able to effectively deal with Esti and her hunters.”

  “She sounds worse than Esti. You sure this is our only option?”

  “Yes. Remember what I said: hostile territory. She is not our friend, and even sharks smile before they rip you to shreds.”

  “Wonderful. Are there any mages you know who aren’t skirting the edge of insanity?”

  “Of course,” Monty said, brushing off the sleeves of his ruined suit. “Plenty of mages have chosen to live a life of quiet solitude and study, perfecting their craft.”

  “Where are those mages? Because every mage or energy manipulator I’ve met so far has been on the far end of unstable.”

  “We are, by definition, an unstable group,” Monty said. “I could be living quietly in the Golden Circle, but I’m in New York City, working with a detective who is bonded to a hellhound, cursed alive by an angry goddess, somehow entwined with an ancient vampire, and who is currently being pursued by a group of vampire killers led by a deranged, vengeance-driven psychopath—that sounds like the definition of stability.”

  “When you put it that way—” I started as a short woman holding a clipboard approached us. She was dressed in a casual business suit and her name-tag read ‘Kathy.�
��

  “Welcome, Mage Montague,” Kathy said. “This way, please. Ms. Wract is waiting for you.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Kathy led us to the other end of the reception area.

  The space was done in minimalist art deco, with plenty of wood and stone surrounding the open area in the center. The subtle smell of citrus and fresh earth made me pause for a second until I noticed the vases filled with flowers on several of the wall stands.

  Standing in the reception area surrounded by several women dressed like Kathy, and fielding questions in rapid-fire fashion, stood who I could only assume was Tessa. She smiled when she saw us, motioning for Kathy to approach. She turned to the circle of assistants around her and, with a word, dispatched them.

  Tessa wore a black Armani pantsuit, which made her white hair seem to glow. She commanded the attention of those around her with a sense of ease and a subtle undercurrent of menace. She was slightly taller than I expected, standing nearly my height. She gave me a pleasant smile, and I remembered Monty’s words: even sharks smile before they rip you to shreds. Her piercing hazel eyes shimmered with violet power as we approached with Kathy in the lead.

  “Tristan Montague,” she said, her smile transforming to a tight scowl a second later as she gave Monty a disapproving shake of her head. “What kind of fashion statement is this? Nouveau bomb victim?” She turned. “Kathy, is it?”

  “Yes, ma’am?” Kathy answered as if she had been jolted.

  “We do not allow our guests to wander the premises looking like victims of an explosion—even if they were victims of an explosion. Please have a set of clothing sorted for each.”

  “Yes, ma’am, right away.”

  “Oh, and Kathy?” Tessa added as the woman started moving away rapidly.

  Kathy stopped in her tracks as if nailed to the floor. The actual maneuver was quite impressive—whatever material the soles of her shoes were made out of must have possessed traction beyond belief.

  “Yes, ma’am?” Kathy asked with a slight quiver in her voice. “Anything else, ma’am?”