Dark Glass: A Montague and Strong Detective Agency Novel

by Sanchez, Orlando A.

  My best Zilleresque guess, after giving it some thought, was that Katz’s Deli and Ezra’s Place shared the same inter-dimensional space, but on parallel planes. You entered the one appropriate to your power level when you crossed the threshold. I was cursed alive, Monty wielded insane amounts of energy, and Peaches was…well, Peaches, I doubted we would ever enter the ‘real’ Katz’s Deli when we crossed the entrance to the deli.

  We got out of the Dark Goat. I placed a hand on it, causing the runes along its surface to flash orange as the sound of anvils being struck clanged, activating the locks, and securing it in place.

  “Why does Cecil bother placing locks on his vehicles? Especially this vehicle.”

  “Pardon?” Monty said. “Locks are a prudent deterrent from theft.”

  “If someone—or, in the Dark Goat’s case—something, was tampering with it, I don’t think the locks are going to be our main concern. Getting away in one piece would probably be the priority in that situation.”

  Monty paused to look at the Dark Goat and nodded.

  “Agreed,” he said. “In this case, it’s probably to prevent mishap to an unsuspecting car thief.”

  “That would be a bad day. Try and break into the Dark Goat, get your brain fried by a car. Are we certain it’s not sentient?”

  “The last thing I want to consider is a sentient mode of transportation,” Monty said, stepping away from the Dark Goat. “Especially this mode.”

  “Just saying, with all those runes Cecil added, I’m surprised he hasn’t transformed it into some kind of Dark Goat being of destruction. Although, that would be badass.”

  Monty stared at me for a second.

  “Actually, no. It wouldn’t.”

  “It totally would, but then we’d probably need to destroy it,” I said, lightly tapping the hood of the Dark Goat. “Better if she’s just a car. A very scary car.”

  “Indeed. Let’s go see Ezra. We’re on a schedule.”

  The runes along the threshold to the deli flared orange as we stepped inside.

  The first thing I noticed was the noise. Ezra’s was a chaotic jumble of conversation, clanging dinnerware and yelled out orders from the front counter to the kitchen in the back. It was a small sample of the energy of the city, just this side of full blown madness.

  I loved it.

  For all intents and purposes, this was Katz’s, with the exception that the patrons were a mix of mages and beings of incredible power.

  Some I could sense right away; others, like Fate, felt like pockets of emptiness, a void within the space of excess energy. I made sure to keep an eye on those, and gave them space as we made our way to Ezra’s table in the corner.

  Some of them gazed in my direction with a disinterested air. The same way I would look at a spider crawling on the wall. Vaguely interesting…capable of being crushed with a swipe if need be.

  Walking into Ezra’s always filled me with a sense of the familiar. That, no matter what happened in my currently chaos filled life, this place would never change. The energy of the deli was vibrant, with servers moving between tables, taking orders with speed and efficiency.

  The decor hadn’t changed in the slightest. Photos of celebrities covered the walls. Small tables, which sat four, filled most of the floor space. Some of the tables were occupied with patrons either eating or having lively conversations. A large wooden counter ran across one wall with men, who were serving food and drinks, behind it. I noticed that some of the photos were unfamiliar.

  We weaved around the servers and patrons, making it to the corner where Ezra usually sat. I thought about how to frame a request for half a bowl of pastrami, knowing there was a good chance he would veto my request.

  I had a feeling Ezra belonged to the school of oversized portions of food. We never discussed current situations without eating, and we never left his place without extra food to go. A half bowl of pastrami could be seen as an insult if I asked the wrong way.

  We made it to the corner of the deli and I stopped suddenly, surprised. I looked around to make sure we were in the right corner.

  Ezra’s table was empty.

  SIXTEEN

  “He’s not here?” I asked, looking around, confused. “Since when does Ezra leave this place?”

  “I’m certain he must from time to time,” Monty said, glancing behind the counter and raising a hand. “This must be one of those times.”

  “To do what? Check out a book from the library?”

  “I doubt any of the books he reads would be found in a local library, or any library for that matter,” Monty said as a server approached us. “I’m sure he is powerful enough to materialize any book he needs.”

  “True,” I said, “but what would need his actual presence? This feels wrong.”

  “This way, please,” the server said. “The Miss will be with you in a second.”

  It took my brain a second to process the word that sounded like ‘meese’. Once it did, I realized he meant ‘Miss’. His thick accent, was more at home in Piero’s than Ezra’s. With a gesture, he directed us to a table.

  “The Miss?” I muttered to Monty as we followed the server. “Who’s the Miss?”

  The server led us through the maze of tables and patrons, with the practiced expertise of flawless navigation, and sat us at Ezra’s table. It felt strange sitting there without Ezra. I was used to seeing him sitting at the table, reading a book and beckoning us to take a seat as he chastised us for not eating enough.

  “What would you like?” the server asked as we sat at the table. “The usual?”

  “Huh? Yes please, the usual,” I said, still shocked at Ezra’s absence. “Only half a bowl of pastrami for Peaches.”

  “This is not the usual,” the server said with a huff. “The boss said to always give the puppy a full bowl”—the server glanced down at Peaches—“half a bowl and he will leave hungry. This is not acceptable. A hungry hellhound is a dangerous hellhound.”

  “Excuse me?” I said. “What’s your name?”

  “My name is Anton, Mr. Strong.”

  He said Anton with emphasis, making the second half of the name sound like ‘tone’ for a full effect of ‘Ahntone’. The French accent clashed with the context of the deli, but this was Ezra’s. Anything was possible.

  “Okay, Anton,” I said with the same intonation. “You must be new here, but—”

  “No sir, I have been in the employ of this establishment since the Blitzkrieg,” Anton said. “The boss left specific instructions regarding the portions allocated to Monsieur Pêches.”

  “What’s a peshis?” I asked, looking at Monty who was doing his best to ignore me. “His name is—”

  “Pêches,” Anton answered. “Your companion, excuse me… his name is Peaches.”

  I glared at Monty, who was deliberately looking away and suppressing a smile, before turning my attention back to Anton.

  “The Blitzkrieg?” I asked. “You don’t look a day over thirty.”

  “Merci,” Anton said with a short bow. “I must insist on a full bowl, along with your pastrami on rye with an egg cream.”

  I looked down at my ever-hungry hellhound. He was doing his best puppy eyes and terrifying grin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  “Sir?” Anton asked, interrupting my thoughts. “Full bowl, yes?”

  “It’s just that he’s putting on the pounds and—”

  “Anton does make sense,” Monty said, cutting me off. “Perhaps you could alter your creature’s diet later on, when we aren’t facing more pressing matters?”


  “The only matter that’s pressing will be Peaches when he doesn’t fit in the Dark Goat.”

  “You do realize he can alter his size?”

  “I’ve only seen normal and XL, and his normal is slowly becoming XL.”

  “Please take a moment,” Anton interjected, looking at Monty. “Salad as always, sir?”

  Monty nodded.

  “Yes, please, thank you.”

  I realized this wasn’t a battle I could win or was willing to fight. If I insisted, and word got back to Ezra, he would accuse me of trying to starve my hellhound. I would never hear the end of it.

  “Sir?” Anton said, looking at me again. “The usual?”

  “Fine, the usual. Do you have healthy pastrami?”

  Anton raised an eyebrow and gave me a look that said ‘clearly you must have smacked your head on the door coming in’ before shaking his head slowly.

  “We have pastrami and pastrami,” he said. “All our pastrami is good for you and healthy. I will bring you all the usual.”

  He gave us another short bow, stepped back and headed away.

  “Why did I even bother to ask?” I asked, as Anton sped away before I could make another request. “He’s as bad as Ezra.”

  “I don’t believe there is a healthy alternative to pastrami,” Monty said. “At least not here.”

  “Sure there is,” I countered. “Didn’t you hear Anton? There’s pastrami and pastrami. Everything is healthy.”

  “I believe that’s called sarcasm,” Monty said. “Besides, Ezra won’t allow you to change ‘the usual’ in his absence.”

  “Or in his presence,” I said. “He always tells us what we need to eat when we visit.”

  “Because in many cases he knows you better than you know yourself,” a voice said from behind us. “He is, after all, Death.”

  It was Mori.

  Mori, Death’s PA, grabbed a chair and joined us at the table, stretching out her long legs. She was tall, and dressed in what I imagined was the combat-casual version of Ezra’s outfit. Her dual shoulder holsters, which usually held two hand cannons, were missing.

  She still wore the black Kevlar vest minus the magazines of extra ammo. Under the vest, she wore a starched, white, dragonscale dress shirt, black pants, and finished off the ensemble with a pair of black Dr. Martens steel-toed Hynines.

  “You’re unarmed?” I asked. “Is this the new manager look?”

  “I’m never unarmed. The guns”—she said, extending a hand, materializing one of her handcannons, and placing it on the table—“make some of the customers nervous, or so I’m told.”

  “Got it,” I said, eyeing the large weapon. “This is combat casual, then. Where’s Ezra?”

  “I apologize for not greeting you when you entered,” Mori said. “We had an issue in the kitchen. Never fails when the old man steps out.”

  “Steps out?” I asked. “Since when does Ezra ‘step out’?”

  She pushed up the pair of glasses on the bridge of her nose and stared at me.

  “Do you really think he spends every moment in here?” Mori asked, narrowing her eyes at me. “What did you do?”

  “What do you mean? I didn’t do anything.”

  “Your energy”—she waved a hand in my direction—“is all over the place. You’re even more of a chaotic mess than usual. No offense.”

  “None taken. We need to find Kali,” I said. “Can you help us?”

  “Have you grown tired of living?” Mori asked. “Because that has to be one of the worst ideas I’ve heard today.”

  Below us, Peaches rumbled at Mori.

  Mori looked down and rubbed his head.

  “Have you been a good boy?” she singsonged to him. “Did you learn your lessons? Have you eaten?”

  “I don’t think any of his lessons stuck, really,” I said. “None that mattered anyway.”

  “Sure they did,” Mori said, still rubbing Peaches’ head. “He hasn’t turned enormous and tried to destroy the city. I’d call that a win with a hellhound.”

  “Anton insisted on a full bowl of meat for him.”

  “Those are the instructions,” Mori said serious. “No one is going to do otherwise while Ezra is away.”

  “Or while he’s here.”

  “True. The old man is kind of set in his ways,” Mori said after a pause, and looked down at Peaches again. “Besides, he’s still a puppy and he needs his meat. He’s a growing boy.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  “Where did Ezra go?” Monty asked. “We have an urgent matter to discuss with him.”

  SEVENTEEN

  “He’s out,” Mori said. “I can’t say more than that.”

  “That’s pretty vague,” I said. “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Both,” Mori replied, reabsorbing the gun from the table into into her hand. “Maybe I can help you?”

  “We need to locate and contact Kali,” Monty said. “It’s urgent.”

  “It better be if you’re reaching out to her,” Mori said, looking at me. “Does this have to do with his messy energy signature?”

  “Yes,” Monty said. “It would seem Simon has managed to discover a method to disrupt causality.”

  “Whoa,” I said, raising a hand. “This isn’t something I ‘managed’ to do. This was a side effect.”

  “Your side effect is breaking reality?” Mori asked. “A side effect of what?”

  “Being exposed to too much runic energy,” I said. “At least that’s the best guess according to Monty.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Mori said. “You’ve barely been exposed to any serious amounts of energy. Trust me on this.”

  “I’ve dealt with a fair amount of gods and creatures,” I said. “Isn’t that exposure?”

  “You’ve dealt with these gods and creatures in a form that kept your brain from melting, not in their true forms. That would be overexposure.”

  “Then how am I breaking reality?” I asked, turning to Monty. “How am I ‘upsetting the balance’?”

  “A good question,” Monty said. “Your signature is quite off, but it’s possible there may be another cause for the disturbance.”

  “The Force?”

  Monty gave me a two on the glare-o-meter.

  “What force?” Mori asked. “There’s a force?”

  “No, there isn’t,” Monty answered before I could expound. “There is no force.”

  “Why would she lie?” I asked. “Something smells off.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
r />  

  “I’m missing something. Why do you want to see Kali then?” Mori asked. “Just find a way to not break reality. I know…not breaking something may be an alien concept for you two, but it’s possible. One second, who lied?”

  Monty explained the meeting with Fate, and Mori’s face darkened.

  “Are you sure it was Fate?” Mori asked, placing both hands on the table and staring at me. “How do you do this?”

  “Do what?”

  “Get the attention of these nasty beings of power,” Mori said. “Did you make sure it was Fate?”

  “No, I didn’t make sure,” I snapped. “It’s not like she walked around with a name tag or ID. She said she was Fate, managed to be inside our office, past our heavy duty security and gave off a serious void vibe. It’s not like I’ve met Fate before.”

  “Tristan?” Mori asked. “Your impression?”

  “She was powerful, whoever she was,” Monty said, steepling his fingers and resting his elbows on the table. “Like Simon said, she bypassed our security and exuded a considerable amount of power. At least on par with Hades.”

  “She wanted you to become mortal again?” Mori asked. “To supposedly restore balance to—?”

  “Everything?” I said. “She was big on the whole balance thing, and how it was my fault everything was out of whack.”

  “This doesn’t make sense,” Mori said, tapping her lip with a finger. “Fate has no reason to visit you. Your immortality was a surprise, but not something that would upset causality, especially not from runic exposure.”

  “Are you saying she was lying?” I asked, suddenly angry at being played. “She wasn’t really Fate?”

  “I don’t know who or what she was, but think about this. Why would Fate need you to restore balance? Fate is powerful enough to be close to the old man’s league. Why would she need your help?”

  “Because of my condition?” I said. “I am cursed alive, you know.”

  “Hate to burst your bubble, O immortal one,” Mori said with a small chuckle. “Even the gods give her space. She isn’t infallible, and she isn’t inevitable like the old man, but beings of power give her a wide berth. Why reach out to you?”