Blood Is Thicker A Montague & Strong Detective Novel (Montague & Strong Case Files Book 3)

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  I slipped my arms under the still unconscious Chi, and lifted her slowly off the Chesterfield. She was surprisingly heavy despite her small frame. Being careful not to jostle her, I placed her gently on the waiting gurney. I stepped back as they strapped her in and waited for Roxanne.

  “Can you keep her safe? I need you to keep her safe,” I said as Roxanne approached the gurney.

  “The Unit is runed inside and out,” she responded, placing her hand on my arm. “She’ll be safe. I’ll ride in the back with her. I may not be Tristan, but I’m no pushover.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I said, touching the side of the gurney. “I’ll make sure to call Ken.”

  “That would be a good idea,” Roxanne said, nodding and looking at our doorway. “Maybe a more secure door would be in order as well. This one seems to be a bit—flimsy. Don’t you have Cecil’s number, Tristan?”

  “I do,” he said, stepping close to her. “I’ll give him a call.”

  “I’m sure he could design something for you.” She motioned to the assistants and they wheeled Chi down the hall. She paused to touch Monty’s cheek. “It’s good of you to keep the Hansen clean. I need that bullet in Haven by the time the NYTF comes to speak to me.”

  Tristan turned crimson and nodded. She smiled and caught up to the gurney. Peaches and I followed her downstairs and to the waiting Unit. Once they were on their way, I came back upstairs in time to see Monty raising the door and placing it over the entrance.

  FIVE

  I CALLED KEN and it went straight to voicemail. This meant he was either busy, or avoiding me. He and I didn’t get along much, but when it came to his sister, he was fierce—and scary—in his loyalty.

  I had just fastened the last hinge on the door, when I heard a soft knock. Peaches sniffed the air and rumbled. I patted him on the head and rubbed his ears.

  “Settle down, at least this threat has the courtesy to knock before exploding the door in my face,” I said, stepping back and resting my hand on Grim Whisper.

  “Simon, the door,” Piero said, followed by another knock. I knew it was Piero because he always pronounced my name “see-mon” instead of the usual “sigh-mon.”

  “One second.” I grabbed Peaches by the scruff. “I need to put you on a diet.” He resisted my pull and focused on the door. Even I could smell the food.

 

  “This food will go to waste if cold,” Piero said in his clipped English. “Aprire la porta—presto, presto.”

  I quickly opened the door and Piero entered without incident—or anything in his hands. Peaches expressed his disappointment as a low rumble escaped him.

  Piero was dressed in a simple black Armani two-piece suit, and a bone-white shirt. As usual, his ensemble lacked any kind of neckwear. I had shared the bond with Piero shortly after taking Peaches to Roselli’s a few weeks ago. Taking a hellhound to an upscale supernatural restaurant wasn’t the best of ideas, and could be the reason he was making a house call.

  Piero stood by the entrance and clapped twice.

  A young woman came to the door. Her hands were trembling slightly as she held a large steel bowl. Inside the bowl, I counted no less than five oversized pieces of filet mignon. The smell wafted over, and Peaches looked at me and whined.

  “You can’t bite the brave young woman who is bringing you the meat,” I said, making sure I had a firm grip on his scruff. “Got it?”

  He rumbled in response.

 

  “Please, place the bowl over there. The kitchen,” Piero instructed. “Away from the door. Thank you.”

  The young woman did as he asked, never taking her eyes off Peaches.

  “Only the bowl,” I warned as I let him go. He ran over with a singular focus, and began devouring the food.

  The young woman backed out of the office quickly, as Piero clapped again. A cadre of white-clad servers entered the office next. They rolled in a serving table and an assortment of trays. They quickly placed a setting for two on the Kahiko dining table, which elicited a nod of approval from Piero as he pointed and coordinated.

  Ten minutes later the servers were gone, and we sat down before a magnificent dinner. Wagyu beef and white truffle covered my plate, and Monty had his signature salad. Piero stood by the table. If I closed my eyes and went by smell alone, I could almost imagine we were in Roselli’s.

  “Who did you leave at Roselli’s?” I asked, grabbing my utensils. “Who’s running the shift tonight?”

  Piero waved my questions away. “Roselli’s is where I am. Tonight”—he waved his hand around with flair—“this is Roselli’s,” he said.

  “Piero, you said you needed to speak with us,” Monty said as he began to eat. “When are you leaving?”

  “Tonight,” Piero said after a brief pause. “After this meal, Roselli’s will be closed until I return.”

  “Leaving? Why are you leaving? And where?” I said around a bite of the wagyu that melted in my mouth and made me pause. “This is incredible.”

  Piero nodded sagely. “Some old enemies have come to the city. I will leave to keep my people and my business safe. We will go somewhere safe.”

  I made the connection. “You’re talking about the Blood Hunters. Why would they be after you?” I asked, looking at Monty as he reached in his pocket.

  “Non capisco,” Piero said. “This city is campo neutro. We don’t attack and we are left alone. This has changed.”

  Monty placed the LIT round on the table, and Piero narrowed his eyes at it. “Do you recognize this ammunition?” Monty asked.

  Piero flexed his jaw as he nodded slowly. “Those are the bullets of the ones who kill my kind—cacciatori di sangue,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Blood Hunters. This is why I came to speak to you. When you told me about the attack on the Concilio Negro, I knew they were here.”

  “You knew they were coming?” I said.

  “Rumors, whispers in the night, but nothing certain,” he said with a short nod. “Many of the old ones didn’t believe me. ‘The Blood Hunters are gone,’ they said. ‘You worry for nothing. Cacciatori are a myth, ghosts from a different time. They are all dead.’”

  “Looks like they aren’t all dead,” I said, looking at the round on the table. “One of these Blood Hunters tried to kill Michiko.”

  “They are not all gone,” Piero whispered, and shook his head. “The Cacciatori are looking for something. Something powerful enough to risk a challenge to the Concilio Negro, but I do not know what.”

  “We need to go see Nicholas,” Monty said as he grabbed the round.

  SIX

  PIERO SAID HIS goodbyes and left after we ate. He confirmed that if we wanted to find out who made the LIT round, the black market was the best place to look.

  Every community has a dark side—the face that’s kept hidden from outsiders and revealed only at night when you’re reckless, desperate, or both. It’s the face of dark alleys, whispered promises, and cold steel inserted slowly between your ribs as your life spills out into the street.

  The magical community was no exception. The only difference was that this black market dealt in unchecked lust, lethality, and magic. If you needed a spell to fry an enemy on the spot, or some runes to make yourself irresistible, you could find it in the Moving Market.

  The hard part was finding the Moving Market itself.

  Nicholas Casimir ran the Moving Market. Everyone knew him as Shadow Nick because he was a plane-weaver. As a mage, he was probably-low to mid-level in power. As a plane-weaver, he was off-the-charts incredible. His ability allowed him to displace an entire city block and move it in the interstices, the spaces in-between moments of reality.

  Monty said it was similar to what I did with my mark, but on a scale that would melt my brain if he tried to explain it to me. The Moving Market was never in one place for too long. You h
ad to find it by going to where it was going to be and entering a space it would occupy. After ten minutes, the entrance would disappear again.

  We grabbed our gear and headed downstairs. Peaches padded silently next to me. Andrei saw us coming and backed away from the door while muttering something I couldn’t catch. Olga towered behind the reception desk.

  Olga Gabriella Rodensky Etrechenko was the reason the term ‘ice queen’ was invented. She looked down at me with her imperial gaze and gave me a brief nod, barely acknowledging my existence. She wore a dress that screamed ‘obscenely expensive’ and that highlighted the curves of her statuesque figure. Monty kept walking and stepped outside to wait for the Goat.

  “Stronk, you want to speak to me?” she said, never able to manage the ‘g’ at the end of my name. “What is wrong with neighbor?”

  “We need more space for the office and I never see them open. Can you ask them if they would be willing to give us more floor space?” I asked, looking into her glacial blue eyes. “We’re willing to pay the increase in rent, obviously.”

  She shook her head slowly. “They are very important lawyer firm, and your detective agency”—she wobbled her hand palm-down, indicating instability—“ is slabyy, very shaky,” she replied while looking at Peaches, who returned the gaze unflinchingly. “That is hellhound Andrei speaks of?”

  “Yes. His name is Peaches and he’s a good dog. Not a hellhound.” I gave Andrei a sidelong glance. I reached into my coat pocket to remove an envelope, and placed it on the desk in front of her. “This month and the next two. I would appreciate it if you could ask them.”

  No one cheated Olga and survived long enough to talk about it. I wasn’t certain about what she was, but I knew she wasn’t entirely human.

  “Persiki,” she said, still looking at Peaches and taking the envelope from the desk. She nodded and broke eye contact with him, looking up to stare at me. “He is good dog, Stronk, special. I will ask the lawyers if they give you more space.”

  “Thank you, Olga.” I headed to the entrance and slowed my pace as we drew near the door, just to give Andrei an extra second or two next to Peaches. I was considerate that way. Monty was outside standing next to the Goat. “Why don’t you ever speak to her?”

  “Because I have grown rather fond of our offices and would prefer to avoid not leveling the building,” he said as I grabbed the door handle and the surface of the Goat flared orange. The engine unlocked to hammer on anvil sounds as we got inside and I started the car. The engine roared and settled into a thrumming purr as Monty closed his eyes and made a gesture. Runes came to life inside the car.

  “What do you mean ‘not leveling the building’? Not that I want you to level the building.”

  “There is only one way a prolonged conversation between your landlady and I can end,” Monty said with a sigh. “Which is why we don’t speak. Now, do you want me to go speak to her and unleash havoc, or do we go find the Moving Market?”

  “I prefer the non-havoc option,” I said, throwing the car in gear. “Where to?”

  “The Highline near the Hudson Yards,” he said, opening his eyes. “The market should be there in an hour, which gives us plenty of time.”

  An orange moon raced behind us as we sped up the Westside Highway to meet Shadow Nick and his Moving Market.

  SEVEN

  IF MASTER YAT had one saying, it would be—“The blow you don’t see coming hurts the most.”

  This was followed with a few whacks of his stick, which lit up every pain receptor in my body.

  “See, you didn’t expect that, and so the pain is exquisite, isn’t it?”

  “That’s one way to describe it,” I said, gasping for breath.

  A few more strikes, too fast to detect or prepare for, introduced me to deeper levels of agony.

  “Smartass remarks will bring you new and much deserved pain. Run the drill again.”

  These words rushed back to me as the Westside Highway suddenly went from flat road to ramp beneath us.

  “This…is not good,” I said. The world tilted as we launched into the air, barrel-rolling. In the distance, I managed to glimpse a figure off to the right, but it was too far away to get any details. Whoever had attacked us had opted for targeting the road and not the car. “Monty—a little help?”

  Behind us, I could hear Peaches rumble his displeasure.

  Monty gestured as we turned. The Goat righted itself and descended, cutting the arc of the jump short. We landed hard enough to bounce once and slide several feet.

  “I don’t want to get on that ride again,” I said as I shook my head. In the distance, I saw the figure, dressed in the dark, hooded robe with a large golden circle on the chest. “Your Envoy buddy doesn’t know when to quit.”

  I drew Grim Whisper and took aim.

  “Don’t shoot him—yet,” Monty said as the figure approached. “He may listen to reason.”

  I pointed to the asphalt ramp we’d just Evel Knieveled. “Reason? I have a few reasons he can listen to, while I shoot his ass for launching me into space.” I put one bullet in the chamber.

  Monty looked at me. “Let me speak with him. I’ve known him since he was a boy.”

  I lowered Grim Whisper, and Peaches rumbled in the back. “Go ahead.” I waved him forward. “He so much as moves a finger to pick his nose, that big gold circle on his chest becomes target practice.”

 

  “Monty wants to try and reason with the mage who just tried to kill us, boy,” I said, rubbing Peaches’ head. “Let them talk it out, but be ready to shred Tall, Dark, and Spooky.”

 

  “No, you need to lay off the pastrami. Didn’t you just eat filet? Where did that go? I swear you have a black hole instead of a stomach.”

  We got out of the car. Monty walked several feet away and stopped. He pulled on the sleeves of his jacket, as the robed figure closed the distance.

  “You think your shift makes you immune to the mandate of the elders?” Gideon asked, pushing the hood back. “You think you’re untouchable, beyond reproach? I know your history. You’re—”

  “…Getting aggravated,” Monty said, extending an arm to the side. “You need to go home, Gideon.”

  Gideon formed two orbs of flame in his hands. I glanced to the side, but it looked like Gideon was riding solo on this mission. That was a mistake. At least with his friends around to distract Monty, it would take a few moments before he got to pounding on Gideon. All alone meant he had all of Monty’s attention.

  “Listen to what he’s telling you and go home,” I yelled from where I stood, next to the Goat. Monty held up a hand and I shut up. I stepped to the other side of the car just in case some debris or a young mage flew my way.

  “You don’t get to tell me what to do,” Gideon answered, releasing the orbs. They floated in front of him, bobbing slowly in the night. “You’re not even a mage—you’re some kind of freak.”

  “Ouch, no need for insults,” I said, raising Grim Whisper. “You don’t see me saying anything about you wandering my city in your oversized dressing gown with a big golden target on your chest.” Peaches shifted into ‘pounce and maim’ mode.

  “Gideon, it’s time for you to leave,” Monty whispered into the night as he stepped closer to him. “I would rather it be without pain, but we are quite pressed for time.”

  “Pressed for time? Pressed for time!” Gideon yelled, and brought forth several more orbs of fire. “I’m so sorry to inconvenience you, oh battle mage Montague. Allow me to send you promptly to your death!”

  Gideon thrust both hands forward, unleashing the group of orbs at Monty. I kept my hand near the main bead on my mala, in case one of the orbs veered off course and decided to pay me a visit. “Monty?” I said, stepping behind him. “That’s a buttloa—bunch of orbs coming your way. You got this?”

  “Of course, but you may want to step back,” he said as he
traced a rune in the air before him. Blue trails followed his fingers as they moved through the air. I took several steps back. The racing orbs streaked through the darkness and then slowed down, stopping a few feet away from Monty.

  Clearly, this didn’t impress Gideon, who reached in his robe and pulled out a shotgun. I saw the surfaces of the barrels were covered with nasty, angry-looking runes.

  “Those runes don’t look pleasant, Monty. What kind of Mary Poppins pockets does that robe have?” I asked, moving back. “Tell me it isn’t one of those ‘time and relative dimensions in space’ things you mages love to carry.”

  “This would be a good time to shoot,” Monty said, waving his hand forward and reversing the orbs back at Gideon and moving back with me. “Try not to get shot by those rounds.”

  Gideon slid to the right and shot at the orbs. A latticework of white energy erupted in front of them. It surrounded and dissolved the orbs before disappearing. I fired at the large golden circle on his chest. It was dark and I was moving, so I missed my shots.

  “When I said shoot, I meant at him,” Monty said, waving a hand and forming a pair of shields around him. “Or were those warning shots?”

  “It’s not easy hitting a moving target while running at night, on uneven terrain, and taking fire,” I said indignantly. “It’s not as easy as I make it look.”

  I managed to slide across the hood of the Goat, just as another one of those lattice rounds slammed into the car. Peaches ran at Gideon, and blinked out on the way there.

  “Gideon, stop this while you still can,” Monty said, forming another shield. “Acting alone to apprehend a rogue mage is an unsanctioned act for an Envoy. I’d hate to see you demoted back to apprentice.”

  “You always were an arrogant bastard, Tristan. I’m going to enjoy humiliating you,” Gideon said, tossing the shotgun to one side. He waved both arms up and then swung them down. The street behind Monty rose like a wave. It crested above him close to thirty feet high, and came crashing down as Monty pressed his hands together.