“Catastrophic wounds?” she asked and looked past us at The Den. After a few seconds, she set her jaw and nodded. She had just convinced herself to run into a building inhabited by rabid Werewolves. Clearly, her synapses were misfiring, but I gave her points for badassery. Wolverine would be proud.
“Lieutenant, you don’t have to do this,” I said, getting her attention. “This is some nasty shit and you may not walk out of there.”
“I signed up for the nasty shit, Simon, and no one here is going to stop me from taking down those Werewolves.” She stepped close and then stopped suddenly as Peaches gave off a low growl. He gave her a look and a low rumble that said ‘Please try and attack him so I can remove your legs’ and she warily stepped back a few paces.
“Actually, I can stop you,” Ramirez said, and gestured to the command vehicle. “You’ll be monitoring the breach from in there. Surrounded by steel, and agents with guns.”
“I can be more helpful inside—” she started.
“Inside the CV,” Ramirez continued. “You can provide all kinds of help. These two will be dealing with the threat inside.”
She stalked off and headed to the command vehicle. Once inside, she slammed the door hard enough to shake the entire truck.
“Follow me,” Ramirez said with a tired sigh. “We have a secondary CV stationed around the corner.”
“Who did you piss off to get her as a lieutenant?” I asked as we followed him to an identical truck.
“Remember the black site we discovered a while back?”
I nodded. The Ferryman, Charon had been trapped in a cell in the detention wing of Haven. We had uncovered a hidden sub-level, which led to a black site. Ramirez reported it to his superiors. Those who were implicated with the secret location were terminated—some permanently. In one stroke, he had single-handedly caused a purge of the NYTF and increased his enemies ten-fold. It catapulted him to director and painted a bullseye on his back.
“Her father is a prick but he’s solid,” he said as he opened the vehicle doors. “He made sure I came out of that situation intact.”
“Director is more than intact; you’re running the NYTF,” I said following him in with Monty and Peaches behind me. “Now you owe him. This explains your new lieutenant, but active field duty?”
“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him, so in gratitude I offered to place his daughter in a nice, safe, position behind a desk. Then she went and applied for active field duty. Since then my life is all rainbows and unicorns ever since.”
I had to ask. “Why didn’t you say no?”
“Have you met my new lieutenant? She was ready to breach a club full of deranged Werewolves—with just her gun and attitude.”
“Tell her dad this is a bad idea. Get her reassigned before she gets dead,” I said, looking around. The vehicle was full of maps and architectural plans spread out on several small tables.
“Tried that. He’s the real old-school type. Pisses acid and spits fire. Got kind of jumpy when your name came up in conversation, by the way.” He gave me a strange look that I ignored. He paused a second. When I didn’t answer, he continued. “Anyway, he says field duty will be good for her—toughen her up, burn off the dross, and forge her into a real agent. You may know him—George Rott? They called him ‘the Rottweiler.’”
It explained a lot about the lieutenant. George ‘Rottweiler’ Rott was one of the best special ops team leaders. Meticulous and flexible. His missions were still being studied in the NYTF academy.
“She’s her father’s daughter then—my condolences. Are these the plans to the club?” I said, trying to change the subject. My time and what I did in the NYTF had been erased from every record for good reason. No one outside of Monty knew what I did when I’d served there. I planned to keep it that way. It didn’t stop Ramirez from trying to figure it out, though.
Ramirez nodded and shuffled some of the large rolls off the table. He unrolled one set of plans and pointed to a set of tunnels that ran under the club.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I leaned closer, studying the plans. Monty leaned in too and then stepped back with a look of disgust.
“I need some tea if you’re having us breach through sewers, treading through that foul stench,” Monty muttered as he stepped away from the table and sat in one of the large desk chairs.
Ramirez looked at me. “Is he serious? He wants tea—now? It’s the middle of the night,” he said in disbelief.
“He never jokes about tea time, and any time is tea time—trust me on this, just get the tea. Earl Grey, no sugar, make sure it’s brewed well.”
Ramirez nodded to one of the agents, who exited the command vehicle in search of tea, and then he smoothed out the plans on the table. “It’s not a sewer line. These are old smuggler tunnels that lead from the club directly to the pier.”
“How do we access them?” I asked, following the plans. “It looks like they come up in the center of the club?”
“The basement of the building next door leads you to the club’s basement,” Ramirez said, tracing the tunnel with a finger. “It brings you up in the middle, but you shouldn’t be seen it’s been sealed for decades.”
A few minutes later, the agent returned carrying a steaming cup, which he handed to Monty. He nodded his thanks, then leaned back and inhaled the aroma for a moment before taking a sip, closing his eyes, and groaning in satisfaction.
“He really enjoys his tea,” Ramirez said, glancing at Monty.
“He’s English. It’s in his DNA and it’s obscene. Any agents coming with us, or is this just Monty and me?”
“I can’t spare any more men on a frontal assault, but I can give you backup. Once you get inside and engage the Werewolves, we’ll breach through the back and try to catch them off-guard.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “So we’re the distraction and bait? For a moment I thought you didn’t care. I want dinner at Kurumazushi, forget Luger’s. And it’d better be the omakase experience, Director.”
“You take care of this without me losing any more men, or vehicles, and I’ll get you a seat at Masa, on me,” Ramirez said, his face serious. I don’t know what impressed me more—that he knew about Masa or that he offered to buy me a dinner that cost upwards of four hundred dollars. “I called you because you two are the best at this.”
Monty stood up and walked to the doors. “Now that the menu is settled, can we go see about these Werewolves?” he said and left the command vehicle.
“Is he in a bad mood or something?” Ramirez asked.
“He doesn’t do good moods. I think he breaks out in a rash when he tries to smile. A good mood may put him in the hospital,” I said following Monty out of the vehicle. Peaches trailed behind me. I crouched down and rubbed behind his ears. “You stay here and guard Ramirez. I’ll be back soon.”
He gave me a low growl and a bump with his head that was just this side of rib-cracking. I caught my breath, stood up and headed over to the entrance of the abandoned warehouse that connected to the club. I checked Grim Whisper, tightened my thigh sheath, holding Ebonsoul, and made sure the mala was accessible. I gave Monty a quick look. He nodded and I pushed open the door.
SEVENTEEN
A MUSTY SMELL rushed to greet us as we entered the darkness of the warehouse. Monty cast a spell and an orb of light floated above us, illuminating the space. It tracked with us as we crossed the large open area to the stairs going down. Puddles of stagnant water dotted the floor. The hairs on the nape of my neck stood on end and I turned quickly to look behind me. For a second it felt like someone was staring at me.
“What is it?” Monty asked at my sudden movement.
“Nothing,” I peered into the darkness, still feeling uneasy. “I thought I felt someone behind me—staring.”
“Where? Show me where the feeling came from.”
“Monty, it’s just nerves. We’re about to face a group of angry psycho Werewolves. My common sense is just freaking out a bit—
okay, a lot.”
“Show me where,” he repeated, his voice tight.
I pointed to the wall behind us and to the right. He stepped close to the wall and gestured. Runes flared in the air before him. “Shite,” he muttered under his breath and crossed the floor back to my side. “That gobshite, Beck, summoned a Lurk.”
“Which is…?” I looked back at the wall where I felt the presence.
“Think of it as magical surveillance. Lurks live in the shadows. They watch and report back to the caster whatever the target is doing and saying.”
“Why is it watching me? Isn’t Beck after you?”
“I would have sensed it earlier. Actually, I’m surprised you felt it. Your magical ability is growing,” he said, approaching the stairs.
“No thanks. I don’t want extra magical ability. I don’t want any magical ability.” I looked back up quickly as we descended the stairs. “Aren’t you going to, you know, cast some Lurk-remover or something?”
“They are notoriously difficult to eliminate. I really don’t want to waste the energy on it, but let me know if you feel that sensation of being watched again,” he said, and then pointed. “Over there.”
At the other end of the basement, I could just make out a steel door. As we approached, I could tell from the dust and cobwebs that no one had been down here in years.
“That door hasn’t been used in decades, from the look of it. Maybe we should get some of the NYTF down here?”
“Too noisy. We’ll lose the element of surprise.” He shook out his hands, closed his eyes and rubbed his hands together slowly, keeping the fingers extended. Twenty seconds later, he separated them and a thin disc of water floated in front of him. He rotated his hands and the disc turned on its side. With a word whispered under his breath, the disc turned and became a blur. He walked close to the door hinges and released it.
The disc cut silently through the hinges in seconds, reminding me of a high-pressure water jet in action. He turned it to follow the doorframe and the door began to fall forward. With another gesture, a cushion of air caught the door and gently eased it down before it hit the floor.
“Have I told you how scary you can be?” I whispered, looking at the door on the ground in amazement.
“Says the man who is immortal, can stop time, and speaks to the embodiment of causality on a regular basis,” he said, turning to me with a rare smile. He gestured to the tunnel, and added, “Shall we?”
“Monty, wait.” I pulled out the crystal Roxanne had given me. It was still clear as I held it between my thumb and forefinger. “Roxanne gave me this because your energy signature is jacked. She thinks you may have gone dark, or are on your way.”
“I know.” He looked at me with the hint of another rare smile. “Thank you for telling me. She means well, but she has no idea what’s going on.”
“What do you mean? Wait, you knew? We were in a sphere of silence and you were checking on Jimmy. How could you know?”
He cocked his head to one side. “She gave you a crystal designed to track and monitor my magical wellbeing. How do you think it does that?”
“Shit, it draws on your power, doesn’t it?” I said, holding the crystal and examining it. I decided not to mention Roxanne’s suggestions about the restraints, or putting entropy bullets into him if he got out of control.
He nodded. “Every few seconds it does a ‘pull’ on me. It’s not a siphon, but I feel it the same way you’d feel an ant crawling on your arm. Sensing energy pulls is one of the first things we are trained in as mages,” he said glancing at me. “But that’s not your real question, is it?”
I shook my head slowly and looked into his eyes. “Have you gone dark?” I asked, letting my hand rest on Grim Whisper. “I need to know you have whatever this is under control. I saw the black circle around your energy.”
“What you saw was a timed-release erasure,” he said with a sigh. “If it were an accurate representation, my energy orb should be diminishing. It looks similar to when a mage goes dark, except black invades the orb.”
“The explosion—Beck,” I said, realizing what he meant when he said his work was done. “Wait, Beck said he saw something off with your signature, before the explosion, and so did Roxanne the last time we went to Haven. She said she couldn’t sense your signature.”
He nodded and entered the tunnel. “I’ve been masking my presence for some time now.” He stepped around some of the puddles. “It makes me hard to read or locate, like scrambling a GPS. Masking, however, left me vulnerable to the erasure.”
I followed him in and drew Grim Whisper. He cast another orb of light and it floated in front of us.
“Should you be doing that—using magic?”
“Do you have a flashlight?”
“No, not with me,” I said, remembering I did have one back in the Goat. “I left it in the bag.”
“Then I need to use magic if you want to see. Unless you prefer wandering around this tunnel in the dark?”
“No, thank you. How long before you’re erased?” The question seemed absurd.
“There’s a way to reverse this, but for that I’m going to need William or a mage at his level. He’s better at masking than I ever was. This means we need to find Davros. I’m certain William is tracking him to prevent the Permutation.”
“You need to find your brother, who you thought was dead, but isn’t, to stop Davros, who seems to be deranged? Well, this just gets better by the second. You never answered my question. How long before you’re ‘Monty the magic-less mage’?”
“That’s not even remotely funny,” he said while brushing some hair out of his face. “I don’t know. If that crystal goes opaque, the erasure has begun. If it turns red I may have anywhere from a few hours to a few days.”
“She said if it goes black it’s too late,” I said, looking down the tunnel and seeing the door to the Werewolf club. “We’re here.”
“If it goes black, my power and abilities are gone.” He placed his hand on the steel surface. Frowning, he added, “This door has been used recently.”
“How recently?”
“I can’t tell. Something is blocking it, maybe the containment. Are you ready?”
I drew Ebonsoul, heaved a breath, and nodded. “Let’s shut this down.”
He pushed the door and we stepped into the basement of The Den. The orb illuminated the space, which appeared to be empty. The door to the tunnel slammed closed behind us. Runes around the doorframe flared a bright red, sealing us in.
“Time to die, humans,” said a voice echoing all around us.
“I thought you said we had the element of surprise? He doesn’t sound surprised,” I whispered, trying to get a bead on where the voice was coming from.
“It’s obvious they were expecting some kind of assault,” Monty said forming an orb of fire in his hand. “Did Ramirez say how many Werewolves were in the club?”
“He said he was dealing with three of them. Why?”
Monty closed his eyes for a second. “There are a lot more than three Werewolves in this club.”
“How many more?” I said, looking around the basement.
“Enough to make this a bad idea. Did you pack the runed silver ammo?”
“Yes, and brought some of the entropy in case we run into any more of your friends. The only exit just sealed itself, didn’t it?”
He nodded. “We’ll have to use one of the other exits upstairs if we want to get out of here.”
“So much for the element of surprise,” I said as a werewolf shimmered into view. “Fuck, what did we just walk into? Since when do they camouflage?”
“It’s the Permutation. It’s changing their abilities.”
I checked Grim Whisper, making sure the rounds were in it. “Have I told you how much mages suck?” I paused, looking over at him. “Present company excluded.”
“You may have mentioned it once or twice,” he said as he created another orb of white-hot flame. “I can’t say I dis
agree right now.”
The Werewolf growled and then laughed.
“Tristan, it really has been too long.” Its voice was unnervingly normal sounding, making it difficult for me to reconcile what I was hearing with what I was seeing.
“Friend of yours?” I asked, looking at Monty.
“Davros,” Monty said, ignoring me. “Not long enough. How are you controlling it? The Permutation is not complete.”
“I don’t need a full Permutation to control these stupid aberrations. Once transformed, their minds are reduced to simple impulses of killing and feeding—impulses I intend to exploit.”
“You were erased and placed under observation. How did you escape?”
“Observation? Is that what you’re calling it now? Stripping me of my power and incarcerating me? Me? Your sect brother! We fought side-by-side, Tristan!”
“You became unstable. What you did…We had no choice,” Monty whispered. “Your powers had to be erased.”
“Speaking of erased,” —Davros narrowed his eyes—“how are you feeling? From the looks of things you don’t have much time.”
“Enough time to deal with you.”
Davros laughed again, the sound bouncing off the stone walls and amplifying.
“You don’t understand. This club is full of Werewolves under my control. I let that incompetent outside think he was dealing with only three of them. There’s ten times that amount upstairs. You aren’t leaving here alive.”
“Why are you doing this, Davros?”
“I would tell you to ask your brother, but you won’t live long enough for that. Goodbye, Tristan.”
The Werewolf fell to the floor and convulsed.
“I’m going to take a wild guess that whoever was controlling it—this Davros—isn’t a fan of yours,” I said, looking at the Werewolf writhe and twist on the floor.
“His mind is gone, but the rage remains. Always a bad sign.”
The Werewolf flipped from side to side. Blood began flowing from its eyes, ears, and mouth.
“That…doesn’t look normal, Monty. What the hell?”
“Davros is leaving the body and giving up control. Once he leaves it completely, the Werewolf will attack.”
Montague & Strong Detective Novels Box Set: Montague & Strong Detective Novels Books, 1 through 3 (Montague & Strong Case Files) Page 27
