“Don’t let this happen again,” Tessa said, allowing some of her energy to fill the reception area. The surge of power made everyone around us immediately step away. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Absolutely, ma’am,” Kathy said, her face ashen. The tremor in the clipboard she held matched the shakiness in her voice. “It won’t happen again.”
“Good. We’ll be in my office. Have the clothes delivered to the guest suite.”
“Monty,” I muttered. “Maybe this is a mistake.”
“Mr. Strong,” Tessa said. “There are no mistakes or coincidences. You are here because you are meant to be here. Come.”
TWENTY-TWO
We left the reception area as Tessa placed a hand on the wall.
A section slid back and we entered her office. Tessa’s office was a large, expansive area. Neat stacks of paper covered her behemoth Parnian desk, and set in front of it were two large leather chairs. The walls were bare, except for a large reproduction of Dali’s The Persistence of Memory. A smaller version of the same work sat on her desk.
“Is that the original?” I asked, pointing at the smaller version. “I thought it was in a museum?”
“You have a discerning eye, Mr. Strong,” Tessa said, sitting behind her desk. “That’s the original. Salva is a good friend and extended me this courtesy.”
“But he painted this in 1931,” I said, confused. “Are you saying you went back and had him—?”
“Like I said,” she said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Salva is a good friend. Please sit.”
I sat in one of the two large chairs facing her. Monty sat in the other. Upon closer inspection, I realized I was sitting in a Gio Ponti 1950’s armchair. Next to her behemoth of a desk stood another assistant though this one was dressed differently than Kathy and the crew outside. She wore a pantsuit almost identical to Tessa’s. She also held a large tablet and wore an earpiece.
“This is my personal assistant, Eileen,” Tessa said, motioning to the woman. “She will be taking your requisition.”
“Thank you, Tessa,” Monty said. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”
“You used an emergency locator, and from the looks of your suit, it was an emergency. Was that a runed Zegna?”
“It was,” Monty said, glancing down at what remained of his suit. “We encountered an overly prepared adversary while being unprepared ourselves.”
“How is Japan?” Tessa said, sitting back in her chair. “I hear the Blood Hunters are roaming the streets. This have anything to do with you two?”
“How did you—?” I started.
“Do you know what the most valuable item in the Moving Market is, Mr. Strong?”
“Information,” I said. “It can open doors that nothing else can open.”
She narrowed her eyes at me and nodded.
“Correct,” she said. “Tristan operated the emergency rune sequence from Osaka. We recently heard of a minor disturbance involving Blood Hunters, two unidentified males, and a”—she looked at Eileen, who looked down at her tablet—“what was it?”
“A dog of undetermined origin,” Eileen said, reading off her tablet. “Accounts are unclear what breed it was, and no photographic evidence exists as of this moment. We will check in with the tech department later.”
“That sound familiar?” Tessa asked. “Did you see a strange dog out there while fighting the Blood Hunters?”
I figured this was a test—Tessa didn’t seem like the kind to ask a question she didn’t have the answer to. Plus, if I lied to her, I had a feeling it would make getting what we needed from her harder.
I glanced at Monty, who nodded, disguising it in a short cough.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Would you happen to have some tea?”
“Of course,” Tessa replied. “Eileen, Earl Grey for Tristan, properly steeped, and Deathwish for Mr. Strong—the extra death version.”
Eileen pressed the surface of the tablet and nodded.
“Your beverages will be here shortly,” Eileen said.
“Well, Mr. Strong?” Tessa asked again. “Strange breed of dog?”
“Yes,” I said. “That strange breed is my hellhound, Peaches.”
Tessa looked at Eileen who quietly left the room.
“Thank you for your candor,” Tessa said. “Do the Blood Hunters know they have captured a hellhound?”
“Yes,” I said. “They took him to make a trade.”
“A trade? Really? What do they want for the hellhound? What do you have?”
“They want my blade, and a particular vampire I know.”
“Michiko Nakatomi,” Tessa answered. “Recently arrived in Japan. Last known whereabouts, Hokkaido. May I see the blade?”
I unsheathed Ebonsoul and placed it on her desk.
“You don’t want to get cut by it.”
“I would imagine not,” Tessa said, admiring Ebonsoul. “And Ms. Nakatomi gave you this?”
“She did, along with the death threats that are part of the package.”
“This is what a god-killer looks like,” Tessa said, not touching it. “And it’s a seraph? How did you manage that?”
“You tell me,” I said, semi-frustrated and completely surprised she could know so much. “You seem to be incredibly well-informed.”
“Touché,” she said with a smile. “As you said, information demands the highest price. What do you need, Tristan?”
“Daystrider armor, entropy rounds, and safe passage in and out of the seventh ring,” Monty said. “I need to speak to him.”
“Are you mad?” Tessa asked. “Were you in the center of the explosion?”
“I would imagine the Director of the Moving Market has absolute control,” Monty said, leaning back. “Was I mistaken?”
“Do not pretend to goad me, Tristan,” Tessa said, her voice laced with anger. “Daystrider armor and entropy rounds are child’s play. I have no love for the Blood Hunters. Consider their acquisition a gift, courtesy of the Market.”
“The seventh ring?”
“Is suicide, Tristan,” Tessa snapped. “I will not be the one to explain to your uncle why you are a pile of bloody dust. No.”
“I need to meet with Roque.”
Tessa stared at Monty for close to twenty seconds before letting out a sigh.
“I see,” Tessa said. “You’ve come to the Moving Market to die.”
“Not if I can help it,” Monty said. “He has what we need.”
“What you need is to get out of my Market before I have you forcibly ejected,” Tessa said. “Roque will kill you as soon as he lays eyes on you. What could he possibly have that I can’t provide?”
“Dragon’s blood,” Monty said quietly. “We need it. He has it.”
“I don’t know where you heard—” Tessa started, holding up a hand.
“Don’t,” Monty said, his voice slicing through the quiet office. “Do not lie to me.”
“Tristan,” Tessa said. “Have you gone dark? You know the dangers of dragon’s blood. You know how volatile it is.”
“It’s not for me,” Monty said, glancing at me. “It’s for him.”
“Are you trying to kill him?” Tessa almost yelled. “I don’t care if he’s the ‘Chosen of Kali’ and every other goddess in creation. Dragon’s blood will end him.”
“Safe passage in and out of the seventh ring,” Monty said, undeterred. “And a meeting with Roque, by tonight.”
I could see Tessa get herself under control in stages. She finally managed to let out a deep breath, then rested both arms on her chair and steepled her fingers.
“Very well,” Tessa said. “I will send the word. I will also inform your uncle of this madness.”
“Feel free to do as you wish,” Monty said.
“I’m so pleased I have your permission. You need to rethink this. Going to see him will end badly—for you.”
“Please let me know the cost of the armor, the ammunition, and the arrangement.”<
br />
“The armor and ammunition is a gift. The arrangement may be more than either of you can afford.”
Eileen came back with the coffee and tea. Monty grabbed the cup of Earl Grey and held the tray out in front of me.
“No sense refusing our host’s excellent hospitality,” he said, moving the tray in front of me until I took the cup of Deathwish. “Thank you again, Tessa.”
Tessa scowled and placed a hand on her desk. A section glowed violet, and then across the office, the exit opened.
“Don’t thank me,” she snapped. “Now, get out while I arrange your funeral.”
Monty raised his cup in her direction and headed out of the office and into the reception area. I turned and saw a fuming Tessa.
“Thank you, I guess?” I said, holding up the mug of Deathwish. “I appreciate the help, really, and this coffee…excellent.”
Tessa’s eyes glowed violet as she stared at me.
“Get out…now.”
I followed Monty out of the office before she decided to help by blasting me out of existence.
TWENTY-THREE
“What did you just do?” I asked, catching up to Monty. “She is pissed.”
“Not here,” Monty said in between sips. “Too exposed.”
We left the reception area and headed out another door into the street. Behind us, I could see some of the women dressed like Kathy trying to hover close to us. I imagined they had been given instructions to eavesdrop or at the very least keep an eye on us.
The main hub of the Market reminded me of the Village in New York. It was made up of small streets that criss-crossed one another with no rhyme or reason or suddenly ended without warning. Most people thought the Village was quaint, giving the city an old-world feel. I preferred to think of it as a maze of infernal design.
“We need to lose them,” I said, walking down the street. “They wouldn’t be following us if we had Peaches.”
“I think they’d fear Tessa more than your hellhound.” He pointed. “Over there—they won’t follow us inside.”
Since we were in the main hub, this part of the Market also housed the most upscale stores with the most expensive and exotic items. Monty entered a small bookstore named, Accursed Verse, which reminded me of every old bookstore I had spent some time in. Cramped aisles brimming with books made up the bulk of the store, and at its front they had created a special display labeled First Editions.
The musty smell of paper mixed with the scent of coffee gave me a feeling of literary comfort and familiarity. I had the overwhelming desire to take the books with me—all of the books. Monty traced a rune, and the feeling of getting books immediately subsided.
As we passed the entrance and front display, I read some of the titles and realized I was looking at first editions of some of the most well-known books in history.
“Are the books up front all—?”
“Yes,” Monty said with an appraising nod. “First editions in pristine condition.”
“And they sell them for how much?” I asked, looking around in awe. “This is a fortune in books.”
“Tessa charges a small fortune for each,” Monty answered, his expression dark. “Exorbitant is the starting price point.”
“If people buy them knowing the price is inflated, it’s not her fault. It’s like paying three thousand dollars for the full experience of Tieguanyin. It’s just oolong tea.”
“I have no issue with a free market system, but we are not in a ‘free market’ here.”
“What’s the issue, then?” I asked. “The books explode?”
“The problem is that the current owner of a recently purchased book from this shop never lasts long enough to enjoy their purchase,” Monty answered, leading us to the back rows where the books didn’t seem as interesting.
“Excuse me? Are you saying Tessa goes out and eliminates the customers?”
“No,” Monty said, gesturing. “It’s nothing as sinister as that. All of the books in this shop are cursed.”
“Oh, that’s all?” I said, stepping away from the shelves. “The books are cursed?”
“Yes. You felt the first part, the desire to take them with you,” Monty said, running a finger down a spine. “Some say these books are almost sentient.”
“Taking books home isn’t a curse. You like reading, but these books aren’t calling out to you.”
“We are currently standing in the philatelic section.”
“This is the porn section?” I said, looking around and trying to glance at the titles without really looking at them. Some of the titles made me wonder. Don’t Lick Them sat next to Stamp It Like You Mean It!, which sat next to Squeeze it Gently—A Guide to Expert Tweezing.
“I said philatelic, not fellat—nevermind. In any case, even in this section of stamp collecting they exert a pull. I make it a point to avoid the magical tome and grimoire section.”
“Oh, stamp collecting…are you sure? Some of these titles…Just saying,” I said. “And all the books are cursed?”
“Yes, it’s a gradual escalation curse. First, things start breaking around the house, items go missing—then it moves on to physical harm.”
“Physical harm? Really?”
“Yes. It’ll start with something innocuous, like a stubbed toe. Then it will proceed to something more serious like spilling boiling water, or a semi-serious cut while preparing food.”
“Does it get worse?”
“I would assume so, but no one has kept a book long enough to find out. The books are paid for, and if you want to return one, you need to pay a refund fee to have the books removed from your home.”
“Let me get this straight, you buy the book, and then you have to pay a fee to have the book removed?”
“Only if you want the curse lifted,” Monty said. “Imagine a book from this store used as a weapon. Send someone you don’t like a book from here and—”
“That’s wrong on so many levels,” I said. “Can’t we do anything?”
“Right now we have bigger problems to deal with,” Monty said with one last gesture. “There—we have some privacy.”
He had created a sphere of silence around us. The air around me grew pressurized, and my ears popped as I forced a yawn to regulate the pressure in my head.
“Let’s start with who this Rocky is,” I said. “He sounds dangerous. Why does he want to kill you?”
“Roque. He is dangerous,” Monty said. “He was a Golden Circle mage who had his abilities erased by the elders of the Circle for the abuse and usage of blood magic to take a life. It was actually many lives.”
“Why does he hate you? You were never an elder.”
“I wasn’t, but my father and uncle both were,” Monty said. “They were the ones who erased him.”
“So what’s the issue? He has no abilities,” I said. “How can he hurt you?”
“He reacquired his abilities, but something was wrong. They had mutated somehow—he had mutated.”
“He’s a mutant?”
“I didn’t say he was a mutant, only that he changed after the erasure.”
“What happened to him? Why is he in the Moving Market?”
“He managed to find a natural source of drake’s blood,” Monty said. “I don’t know where or how. He drank the blood and undid the erasure, but the blood was too potent. His body couldn’t withstand the infusion of power. It destroyed him and altered his mind, driving him insane.”
“No wonder he wants to kill you,” I said. “He blames your family.”
“Yes, he does. But we aren’t going to see him.”
“You told Tessa you needed to meet with him,” I said. “We aren’t?”
“Are you insane? He’s a mage who wants nothing more than to destroy the Montagues. Of course we aren’t going to meet him—we just need the dragon’s blood.”
“Without seeing him?”
“If we can help it,” Monty said. “Tessa sending out the word will set things in motion and give us a wi
ndow of opportunity.”
“Why is he in the Moving Market? Why isn’t he in some cell or at the Golden Circle?”
“The Market gives him freedom,” Monty said. “He inhabits part of the seventh ring and is left alone. Outside of the Market, he would be hunted and killed. I doubt any cell could hold him for long.”
“I’m not drinking dragon’s blood,” I said, quickly. “That stuff sounds beyond dangerous. I’m going to pass.”
“Do you want to get your creature back?”
“Of course I want to get Peaches back. You know this.”
“Dragon’s blood can help us do that, and stop the Blood Hunters.”
“That sounds too good to be true,” I said. “What’s the catch?”
“There is no ‘catch.’ You have to drink the blood.”
“I’m not drinking dragon’s blood,” I said. “Tessa was right. You’ve lost your mind.”
“The dragon’s blood, in minute doses, can enhance the magical ability of the subject. Roque’s error was greed—he drank too much too soon, and it undid him.”
“No one else has this dragon’s blood?” I asked. “I mean, we’re in the Moving Market. They have everything…this is the equivalent of an illegal, magical, Wal-Mart, complete with the lethal ‘blow your enemies away’ sections.”
“They don’t just carry dragon’s blood,” Monty replied. “No one does, due to its danger and volatility.”
“But Rocky does?”
“Roake or Row-kay,” Monty emphasized the name phonetically. “If you ever meet him, do not call him ‘Rocky’—and yes, he keeps large quantities of it.”
“Synthesize it. Has that been tried?”
“With less than optimal results. Everyone who drank synthetic dragon’s blood went blind the first few days right before trying to kill anyone who approached. The last phase of synthetic consumption…the subject would lose all sense of reality and tragically take their own lives.”
“This is not encouraging me in the least.”
“The natural blood has no such side effects.”
“As long as it’s taken in small doses,” I said, hating this idea. “Do you know how much is too much?”
Reaping Wind Page 10
