The shields around Monty slammed together, sandwiching him. At the same time, Peaches reappeared in front of Gideon mid-pounce.
The asphalt wave crashed around Monty, leaving him unharmed and without a speck of dust on his suit. He made a grabbing motion with his hands, and formed two spheres of asphalt the size of bowling balls, which he launched at Gideon.
Peaches tucked his head and dog-pedoed Gideon, before disappearing again. Gideon tried to dodge the canine battering ram and failed. He took the hit in his abdomen and doubled over. As the spheres flew toward him, he lifted his arms, covering his body.
The two asphalt bowling balls barreled through his block. He screamed in pain as the bones of his forearms shattered with an audible snap.
Monty approached Gideon, who was now hunched over and groaning. He crouched down to look at Gideon’s arms, gently talking hold of each one.
“I warned you,” Monty said. “Pointing out the error of your current course of action is hardly a demonstration of arrogance.” Gideon’s screams echoed into the night as Monty tightened his grip on the broken limbs. “The radius and ulna are fractured in both arms, and need medical attention. Are you ready to go home now?”
“Leave his arms alone, boy,” I whispered, rubbing Peaches behind the ears as he rumbled contentedly. “You did good.”
“I will stop you, Tristan,” Gideon gasped through clenched teeth, tears of pain streaming down his face. “I’m an Envoy, and I will bring you to justice.”
“Gideon,” Monty said softly, “maybe one day you will stop me, but that day is not today. Haven or the Sanctuary?”
“The Sanctuary. I will not be treated and placed in a cell by your dark sorceress,” Gideon said, spitting out the last words. “Yet another reason to bring you in. You defile yourself with the dark arts, mage.”
I held my breath in anticipation of the incineration of Gideon—clueless Envoy of the Golden Circle, who met his demise by opening his mouth one time too many and insulting someone with enough power to erase him. It was a major error in judgment. I should know: it was a neighborhood I visited often.
Monty’s jaw flexed, and for a second I thought he really was going to blast the helpless idiot on the floor who had just had both his arms snapped like chopsticks. Instead of a searing fireball, though, Monty smiled and nodded.
“You’re right, Gideon. I am defiled. If you ever slander any of the people I care about again, I promise you I won’t be so courteous. Do you understand?” Monty grabbed one of Gideon’s forearms and squeezed. More screams. “I’m going to take that as a yes.”
Gideon nodded mutely as Monty gestured and formed a large rune under him.
“Monty, isn’t that a teleportation circle?” I asked, as Gideon’s eyes opened wide and he started shaking his head.
“Very observant, Simon. It is a teleportation circle. How else do you propose I get him back to the Sanctuary—carry him?” Monty said, looking at me and pointing at Gideon.
“Just saying, those things have some nasty after effects,” I said, looking down at Gideon. “The ones at Hellfire twisted my intestines and gut-punched me, and I only traveled a short distance. I heard that the effect is based on how far it sends you.”
Monty gave me a very slow smile and nodded. “The effect of intra-abdominal pressure and discomfort you experienced is a direct correlation to the distance traversed through magical deconstruction and reconstruction—or teleportation, as you call it.” He turned to Gideon and gestured. “This is going to hurt quite a bit. I hope you had a light dinner.”
“No, wait, don’t—” Gideon said, as Monty touched the circle. Gideon convulsed for a few seconds and disappeared.
“You didn’t have to go all magicsciencey on me. A simple yes would’ve worked.” I looked at the fading circle. “Is he going to survive that trip?”
“It will feel like his intestines are being ripped out—with a dull butter knife, but he will survive.” Monty headed to the Goat. “We don’t have all night, so let’s go.”
“Have I told you how scary you are?” I opened the back door and let Peaches into the car. I slid into my seat, as he rocked the suspension while settling into his backseat sprawl.
“Repeatedly and in great detail,” Monty said, pulling out the bullet again and examining it. “I’d say it’s a bit hypocritical coming from a time-stopping immortal who’s bonded to a hellhound that regularly winks in and out of existence, trying to gnaw on whatever it can get its jaws on. But who am I to judge?”
“My point exactly,” I said as we sped uptown. “You’re definitely scarier than that.”
EIGHT
“HOW DO YOU do it…remember them all?” I asked as we raced up the Westside Highway. “The gestures. How do you keep them straight? My fingers would be pretzeled if I had to do that all the time.”
“The gestures are a physical manifestation of—”
“Oh no, more magicscience. Can you do this in plain English?” I groaned. “A description I don’t need a degree in advanced quantum magical theory to understand?”
Monty sighed and rubbed his chin, then held up the bullet he was examining.
“You see this bullet?”
“No. I’m focusing on the road at the moment.”
“It was a rhetorical question,” he said. “The runes on this bullet are a physical manifestation designed to cause the most harm to vampires. When I trace a rune in the air, it’s not only a physical act, but a measure of my will placed in the act.”
“This is why you can trace the runes back to who inscribed them?” I asked, giving him a quick glance. “But how do you keep them all straight? You must know hundreds of runes. I heard the wizard in Chicago has a wikiskull. It holds all of the hard-to-remember knowledge—and it talks.”
“A wikiskull—typical for a wizard. Most of them are slightly unhinged, after all,” Monty said with an air of disdain. “The last wizard I spoke to—what was his name?—Mincemeat or Rindwince? In any case, he was completely round the twist.”
“I’m going to guess that means mentally unwell?” I said, swerving around traffic and keeping an eye out for any more Envoys.
“He kept going on about how he discovered some ancient tome that described the world as a large disc, sitting on the back of four elephants, which in turn stood on the back of a giant turtle.”
“What? Really? He thought the Earth was flat?”
“Not flat—the world was a disc, according to him. When I asked him for this supposed tome, do you know what his response was?”
“I don’t know, but he sounds like a lot of fun,” I said, trying not to burst into laughter. Monty took his mageness very seriously. “What did he say?”
“He said the librarian has it.”
“That makes sense. Old tome kind of goes with librarian.”
“I proceeded to ask to speak to said librarian. He told me I needed to bring bananas because the librarian in question loves them,” Monty said, putting the bullet in a pocket.
“Sounds like a healthy librarian,” I said, smiling. “We can all stand to eat better—in fact, I’m getting hungry.”
“No, you black hole. You just ate a little while ago,” I said, shooting Peaches a glance in the rear-view mirror.
“Then he tells me the librarian is an orangutan,” Monty said, deadpanned. “He is an actual Pongo pygmaeus.”
“Hey, I know you don’t like wizards, but insults?” I said, giving him another look. “Wait, he’s a real mon—?”
“Never use that word.” Monty glanced at me sharply. “The correct term is ape.”
“Ape? Really?” I barely held it together.
Monty nodded and looked out his window. It took all of three seconds before I burst out laughing.
“This is why wizards and their ilk are unstable. All those years buried in books addles their brains—which is wh
y they need wikiskulls,” he said, making a gesture. “We have about fifteen minutes.”
“So how do mages remember?” I said, stifling another laugh. “Don’t you have a ton of things to remember and recall? What do you have? An elephant?”
“Droll,” he said, reaching for a powerbar. “Mages have an elegant solution to recall. We use the ‘method of loci’ or mind palace.”
“And that works?” I asked, incredulous. “You create little rooms and remember everything?”
“It’s better than a talking skull since it can’t be misplaced.”
“Unless you lose your mind,” I whispered as the Hudson Yards came into view. “Same entrance?”
Monty nodded as we left the car parked outside the station. I locked the Goat and Peaches nudged my leg. We walked into the newest addition of the MTA’s 7 line. I gripped the handrail as we stepped onto the escalator. The steepness of the angle made me feel like I was going to fall forward at any moment. Monty looked at his watch, completely unperturbed. “Three minutes,” he said as we stepped off the vertigo-inducing moving stairway.
We walked to the far side of the floor and headed to a maintenance door. The sign read “electrical closet.” Several minutes later, a bright light flooded the doorframe. Monty grabbed the handle and opened the door. We entered a small foyer, where a man stood at the far end with his back turned to us.
“I still think this is a bad idea,” I whispered as Monty closed the door behind us. “This guy is about as trustworthy as Peaches is with pastrami.”
“Nicholas Casimir provides a necessary—if overpriced—service to the magic-user community,” Monty whispered back. “He has a habit of stranding people ‘in-between’ planes. Don’t anger him. Remember, we go wisely and slowly. Those who rush, stumble and fall.”
“Did you just ‘Bard’ me?” I said, noticing Shadow Nick turning at the sound of my voice. He gave us a smile as he approached. “Head’s up—something slimy this way comes.”
NINE
“TRISTAN, SIMON, AND—companion,” Nick said, looking at Peaches. He said my name with the same tone I used when my milk went bad—transforming to old, smelly, and chunky yogurt. I got that reaction often from magic-users. It’s mostly because I’m immune to magic and they aren’t immune to bullets. “Welcome to the Market. This is truly a pleasure. What kind of animal is that?”
“His name is Peaches,” I said, placing a hand on Peaches’ head.
“Of course it is,” Nick answered with his shark smile. “He is quite wonderful. Are you here to sell him?”
Nicholas Casimir was unassuming. He had black hair, cut short in the back, long on the top and tied into a man-bun. It made him look like an urban samurai minus the swords—and any sense of honor. He stood about average height, and opted for dressing in what I called ‘hipster casual’—jeans with a pair of brown oxfords, and a light gray dress shirt with the tails outside the pants. Piero would have a fit if he saw him, and would immediately try to fix the shirt while insulting his lack of fashion sense.
The look was intentional. He was an average mage, but an incredibly powerful plane-weaver. Plane-weavers could travel between planes with ease. It allowed them to go literally anywhere with a thought. Nick took this a step further and transported a city block with him.
“Peaches isn’t for sale—ever,” I said, resting my hand lightly on Grim Whisper. “Are we clear? Or is this going to be a problem?”
“Crystal,” Nick said, the smile vanishing. “How can I expedite your visit?”
“Are you rushing us, Nick?” I looked around the foyer. “I was thinking we could visit some of the shops, maybe even have dinner.”
We stood in Market Central. The entire market was arranged like a wheel formed of seven concentric circles. This building, which also doubled as Nick’s 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. If you found yourself on an outer ring, it was only a matter of time before someone or something tried to relieve you of your ability to breathe. The only law in the market was the law of the jungle: only the strong or clever survived.
“Rush you? Never,” Nick answered with feigned surprise, holding his hands up in surrender. “I just prefer my buildings intact and, well, you two have a reputation for demolition. Now, how can I help you?”
Monty reached into his pocket for the bullet, and I saw Nick tense up. His eyes darted behind us and to the right. Like I said, slimy as hell. I walked over to the wall and stood to the right of the entrance to the foyer. I put my back to the wall and my hand on Grim Whisper. Peaches sat on his haunches next to me, his eyes fixed on Nick.
“He probably tastes horrible,” I whispered, bending over to rub his chest. “Keep your eyes on him though.”
Peaches rumbled in response and moved to his relaxed ‘pounce and shred’ stance as I stood up.
Monty held the bullet up for Nick to see. A shadow crossed Nick’s face, but he regained his composure immediately.
“I have need of your particular expertise, Nicholas,” Monty said, handing Nick the bullet. “I need to know who runed this.”
“I am humbled and honored to be of service,” Nick replied with a short bow, looking at the bullet. I wanted to hand him a shovel since he was really piling it on. “I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for you. I don’t even know what kind of ammunition this is.”
“He’s lying, Monty,” I said, and pushed off the wall. “You know exactly what kind of round that is.”
“Nicholas, that is a LIT round,” Monty said. “I’m not asking if you sold it. Because we both know you wouldn’t truck in illegal, banned, and unsanctioned munitions that would bring several sects, mine included, knocking on your respectable door.”
“Quite right,” Nick said, giving me a stink-eye and turning the bullet over in his fingers. “I’m respectable and wouldn’t deal in such things.”
“But,” Monty said with an edge that made Nick step back, “that round was used in an attempted murder. If you don’t provide me with a name, someone is going to assume you had something to do with that attack.”
“Me? I don’t deal with LIT rounds. Taking out Dark Council vamps is bad business for everyone,” Nick said quickly, holding a hand up. Peaches rumbled and sprawled his forelegs ever so slightly.
Monty nodded and formed an orb of white flame in his hand. “Except—I never mentioned the Dark Council or vampires,” Monty whispered as he released the orb and let it float next to him. “The name?”
“You won’t find him,” Nick said with a sigh. “He’s on ring seven. I only know the name he goes by.”
“And what name is that?” I asked, already dreading the trip to the outermost ring. “What do you call him?”
“I don’t call him anything,” Nick said defiantly. “His people gave him the name—they call him Wraith.”
TEN
NICK ESCORTED US to the Ringrail Station—the main method of travel between the rings in the Market.
“They’re automated,” Nick said, pointing to the rail car. “Once you pass ring five, only a Station Master can retrieve them. Here, you’ll need this.”
He handed Monty a small piece of blue plastic the size of a credit card. It contained the Market logo, of seven concentric circles surrounding a stylized NC. It was a travel pass, authorizing us to travel outward.
“Will that get us to ring seven?” I asked, looking at the card. “What about the return trip?”
“It will give you access outward. If you can make it back to the ring-five station, it will provide you access,” Nick said, adjusting his shirt. “The outer rings are dangerous, with the seventh being the worst. Be careful.”
We stepped on the rail car, and it slowly rolled away from the station and down the tracks.
“Am I suppo
sed to believe he’s suddenly concerned about our safety?” I looked down the tunnel. “Did you notice how he said, ‘if we can make it back’? That means he doesn’t plan on us making it back.”
“More likely he will announce our arrival to this Wraith,” Monty said, sitting on one of the benches that were bolted into the floor. “There is a good chance we may be ambushed en route.”
“Glad you’re looking at this optimistically,” I muttered as I sat next to him and rested my hand on Grim Whisper.
Travel between the rings was managed through transportation passages. Similar to subway tunnels, but shorter, with automated open-air rail cars that could go from ring to ring. Each station between rings one through five required a stop at a checkpoint.
From ring five to six, the tunnel was sealed, with a large blast door that only opened with Nick’s authorization and a travel pass. We had both. We rolled to a stop as Station Master Five approached. He wore a nametag that read “Grant” on the left side of his uniform. I saw the runes glowing faintly on the large blast door. Even though I couldn’t read them, I had a basic idea of what they meant.
Once you pass this door, you’re monumentally screwed. Enjoy what’s left of your life—all thirty minutes of it.
When we indicated we were going outward, the Station Master only shook his head. “Your funeral,” Grant said. “Don’t try coming back this way. Once that door is closed, only Mr. Casimir can ask us to open it.”
“We have his authorization,” I said, pointing at the travel pass Monty held. “This says we can go outward and return.”
“To go outward, yes—ring seven, if I understand correctly,” Grant said, barely looking at the pass. “That’s a one-way trip—in more ways than one.”
He circled a finger around and over his head, and the station workers opened the blast door. We lurched forward as the rail car continued into the darkened tunnel. Monty formed an orb of light as we continued into the gloom. The tunnel was dark and empty, with Monty providing the only source of light.
Blood Is Thicker A Montague & Strong Detective Novel (Montague & Strong Case Files Book 3) Page 4
