Montague & Strong Detective Novels Box Set: Montague & Strong Detective Novels Books, 1 through 3 (Montague & Strong Case Files)

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  I checked Grim Whisper again and made sure I still had a round in the chamber.

  “Can’t I just shoot it now while it’s busy on the floor doing…whatever it is that it’s doing?” I took aim. “Would save us the whole avoiding being ‘slashed in two’ thing.”

  Monty shook his head and began tracing runes. “If you shoot it while transitioning, the rounds will be ineffective. The Permutation makes them resistant to the effects of magic and silver. Once Davros leaves, it should be vulnerable.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Dealing with more than thirty Werewolves without killing them.”

  “I hope this method involves our staying alive,” I said looking at the runes float into the wall. “Is that like a magical flea spell? Something to keep them occupied while we escape?”

  “We have to stop Davros before he decimates the Werewolves.” His hands were moving too fast for me to follow. “His xenophobia thrived during the war. He’s motivated by a blind rage against anything not human.”

  “And you called this guy your friend?”

  Monty paused for a second and looked at me.

  “He wasn’t always that way. The war twisted him. He lost everything…everyone,” he whispered and resumed sending runes out. “We have to protect the Werewolves.”

  “Because we love Werewolves so much?”

  “Because imbalances in the power structure will destabilize the Council. The other supernaturals will sense their vulnerability and move in to capitalize on their weakness.”

  “A supernatural civil war—shit. That would be bad.”

  “Quite, since it wouldn’t remain confined to the supernatural population for long.”

  “How do we stop this? Can you sense Davros?”

  He pointed at the Werewolf. “I think we have more pressing matters at the moment.” It had stopped convulsing and was now on all fours.

  It stood slowly, and it looked angry.

  “This is where the ‘mindless killing machine’ kicks in, isn’t it?”

  Monty nodded and formed orbs of white-hot flame in his hands. “We can’t save him. The Permutation has destroyed his mind. He’s dead as soon as he transforms back.”

  “And the ones upstairs?” I said raising Grim Whisper.

  “We can still save those, if they’re not too far gone.”

  This Werewolf was a promise of death. It crouched down, every muscle coiled and ready to strike. Drool mixed with blood trickled down from its fangs. It shook its head and raked a claw against the stone wall, causing sparks to shower to the floor. It looked around, confused, as it sniffed the air. Once it caught our scent, it howled.

  This wasn’t the howl you heard on those nature specials, either, where it seems the wolves are simply homesick and are calling out to their pack in a soulful yearning. This was the ‘freeze your blood to subzero, your ass is dead, you may as well make peace with your maker’ howl. I’d never been scared shitless until that moment.

  Several howls answered in a chorus of impending death and maiming. I heard the footfalls of the Werewolves upstairs crash onto the floor above us.

  The Werewolf roared and lunged at us as Monty released the orbs.

  EIGHTEEN

  WEREWOLVES WERE KILLING machines. Razor-sharp claws, lightning-fast reflexes, heightened senses, and a mouth full of fangs gave them a few options on how they could tear you to shreds. Add to that the denser skin and a high tolerance for pain, and you’re looking at a very bad moment with a short life expectancy.

  All of that pales, though, in comparison to a pissed-off mage.

  One orb hit the Werewolf square in the chest and reacted like napalm. The fire spread as the Werewolf landed and swiped at Monty. He leaped to the side and unleashed the other orb. It engulfed the Werewolf in flames.

  “This would be a good time to use your weapon,” Monty said as he ducked under another swipe, placing a hand on the floor. Blue lines of power raced toward the Werewolf as I unloaded the rounds from Grim Whisper into its chest. It staggered back, regained its balance, and snarled.

  “Silver rounds are doing squat, even the runed ones. I’m open to ideas, Monty.” I rolled away from a slash meant to remove my midsection. “I could switch out for entropy rounds but that means it gets messy.”

  “Too dangerous inside this containment dome. Plus, I don’t know if traces of the Permutation will affect the rounds adversely, creating a singularity and swallowing us all.”

  “No entropy rounds—got it,” I said quickly as I pushed off the wall and slid across the floor, away from a series of slashes. “That fire isn’t slowing him down.”

  He formed another orb of flame and used it to block the Werewolf’s path. “You need to use the blade. It will work against it.”

  “I knew you were going to say that,” I said, shaking my head as I stood back up. “You know I hate using the blade.”

  “My magic is having little effect outside of angering it further,” he said as the Werewolf approached. “If you don’t want to use your blade, maybe you could have a conversation using stern language, like the way you speak to your creature?”

  “His name is Peaches and your humor never ceases to inspire,” I holstered Grim Whisper and switched Ebonsoul to my other hand. I held the main bead of the mala between my fingers.

  “Just remember what Yat taught you and you should come out of this mostly whole. Cover your eyes,” Monty said, releasing the orb. It slammed into the Werewolf’s face and flashed.

  Master Yat’s words rushed into the forefront of my mind as I entered a defensive stance against my impending dismemberment.

  “When using a weapon, make no distinction where the weapon begins and you end. Become one.”

  “Sounds like something I would read in a fortune cookie. Followed by: my lucky numbers are 11, 34, 65 etc.,” I managed to say, right before his stick peppered my ribs with several strikes, lighting up my world in a wonderful spectrum of pain.

  “See? Weapon and wielder are one. Intention and action are the same. How do your ribs feel?” he asked with a smile.

  “Battered, bruised, and beaten,” I said, gasping through the pain.

  “Good. That is called an object lesson. I used this object”—he held up his stick—“to teach you a lesson. Begin the drill again.”

  I held Ebonsoul in a reverse grip with the blade out and leaped forward. Above us, I could hear a muffled explosion. Ramirez was starting his breach. We needed to move fast. The NYTF agents would be shredded when they realized that “three” was really over thirty Werewolves in the club.

  Twisting away from a rake meant to remove my throat, I stepped close—closer than I wanted—and pressed the bead on the mala. It slammed the Werewolf against the wall with enough force to shatter some of the stone. I followed with a slash of my own, slicing through the Werewolf’s neck and nearly removing its head. The effect was immediate. It fell back, grabbing its throat as it transformed to human form. The body twitched for a few seconds and then went still.

  Ebonsoul siphoned the energy to me, and my vision tunneled in. I ran up the stairs with Monty right behind me.

  The door at the top of the stairs and blew off its hinges as I charged through. Three Werewolves surrounded me as I slid into the main floor. I could smell many more all around me. They needed to die. I wanted them to die. I saw a figure run in front of me and slam a hand into the floor. Blue light filled the room and the world disappeared.

  NINETEEN

  THE PAIN CRUSHED me, and I gasped as I opened my eyes to the blinding light. My brain felt like it was trying to crawl out of my skull and was succeeding. I opened my mouth to say something and instantly regretted it. My jaw hurt and my stomach did flip-flops as a wave of nausea vise-gripped me. Every part of my body ached. I saw Monty standing off to the side, talking to one of the NYTF agents, as EMTe workers fussed over me.

  “EMTe” stood for EMT elite. The NYTF used these paramedics whenever they encountered some kind of supernat
ural disaster, or when Monty was allowed to run rampant, which was pretty much the same thing. They all wore dark red uniforms and drove around in extra-large blue ambulances.

  They were the Navy Seals of the paramedics. Tough as two-day-old steak, and willing to risk their lives no matter the situation. Some of them had magical healing ability, and they all possessed a certain ‘sensitivity’ to supernatural phenomena.

  I had become a widely discussed topic among the EMTe community given my peculiar ‘condition.’ Most of them took it in stride, giving me space and time to let my body heal itself. Others, the rookies, always tried to help me, only to be shocked when I recuperated before their eyes from something that should have killed me.

  It was a small group and I knew most of them.

  “How bad is it, Frank?” I croaked, my throat raw.

  Frank defined grizzled older, mid-sixties, built like a wall and probably as tough. He was the oldest EMTe still in the field and was affectionately known as the OG. I thought it meant “old gangsta,” but one of the other EMTe told me it meant “original geezer.”

  “You got second-degree burns all over your body, which is probably why you feel like hell,” he said around the unlit cigar in his mouth. “Your head should feel like it was used for soccer practice and your stomach should be twisted up in knots.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, what the hell hit me? I remember coming through the door, being surrounded by Werewolves, and then a blue flash.”

  “Surprised you remember anything at all,” he said packing up his bag. “You were hit with an electrical charge large enough to fry an elephant. I’m going to guess that was Tristan, who, by the way, refused to let me examine him.”

  “He’ll be fine, just give him a few minutes,” Monty said and brushed the hair out of his face before looking at me. “Feeling chipper, are we?”

  Frank shook his head as he headed out of the club. “Don’t know why I bother with you two. Try to keep it to one disaster tonight. I don’t want to see your faces for a few days, if possible.”

  “You look like shit,” Ramirez said, crouching into my field of vision.

  Monty was pulled off to the side again, into another conversation with an NYTF agent. I could see some of the agents loading the Werewolves onto gurneys, assisted by more of the EMTe.

  “Feel like it, too,” I croaked as I tried to sit up.

  Another EMTe rested a hand on my chest and shook his head. “A few more minutes, Mr. Strong.”

  “I don’t know how he did it,” Ramirez whispered, sneaking a glance at Monty. “He stopped them all. But he looks almost as bad as you do. You’d better get him checked out. He didn’t let Frank look at him and he won’t listen to me.”

  I looked over to where Monty stood. I fished in my pocket for the crystal. It had turned a smoky gray. He saw me and gave me an almost imperceptible shake of the head before returning to his conversation.

  “Shit,” I said and moved again to sit up. The EMTe closed in to stop me and I gave him my best glare. Behind me, I heard a familiar growl and I smiled. “If you don’t want my puppy to use your hand as a chew-toy, I wouldn’t do that.”

  He backed off. “Puppy? That thing is a puppy?” He packed his things and moved quickly after Frank.

  “He’s not a thing,” I called out after him. “His name is Peaches.” I turned and rubbed his head for a few seconds before I wobbled to my feet. “Good boy. Thanks for keeping an eye on Ramirez.”

 

  I turned my head sharply, wincing in pain as my skull felt squeezed and my vision tunneled, and tried to focus on Ramirez.

  “What did you say?” I asked, surprised, since Ramirez didn’t speak with an English accent and Monty was still speaking to the agent.

  “I didn’t say anything,” Ramirez said giving me a concerned look. “Maybe you should lie down. Especially if you’re hearing voices.”

  I looked down at Peaches, who cocked his head to one side.

  “No, we need to get out of here. I’ll take Monty to Haven and make sure he gets looked at.”

  I looked over at Monty and caught his eye. With a gentler motion of my head, I let him know we needed to leave.

  Ramirez grabbed my hand. “Hey, Strong, thanks for the assist. If you guys hadn’t come through—I would have lost more agents. Masa, on me, as soon as you stop hearing voices and act normal.”

  “You’d better believe I’m taking you up on that,” I said while heading for the front door. Blocking it stood an angry Cassandra. I let Peaches get ahead of me and she stepped to the side. “Excuse me, Lieutenant.”

  My body was recovering and the aches were fading with each step. She glared at me but kept her distance.

  “A fake CV,” she said and rested her hand on her holster, looking down at Peaches. “Ramirez thinks he’s funny, but I will get in the field. He can’t keep me out of the action forever.”

  I turned to her, suddenly angry. “You’re so busy rushing into the action that you don’t see he’s just trying to keep you alive.”

  The Den was a hive of activity. I looked around at the NYTF and EMTe moving back and forth and securing the site. By daybreak they would be gone, as if nothing had happened.

  “You got out okay,” she said defiantly. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

  “It wasn’t that bad, if you overlook the fact that I should be dead,” I said, leaving her fuming at the entrance of the club.

  Monty caught up with me when I got to the car. I was feeling better, but still achy. I placed my hand on the Goat, and it opened with a clang. I opened the back door, and Peaches bounded into the back and sprawled. I slid into the driver’s side and closed my eyes. Monty reached for a power bar.

  “How bad is it?” I asked without opening my eyes. “How far along?”

  He looked away. “I’m fine. I may have overextended myself a bit, but I’ll be fine. I just need rest.”

  “Overextended? Damn it, Monty, you fried the entire club! How the hell did you even do that?”

  “I tapped into the containment dome, and reworked its properties to emit a large pulse when I activated it. Similar to a magical EMP.”

  “That was the blue flash,” I said, pulling out the crystal. It was still a smoky gray. “This doesn’t look good, Monty. I need to get you to Roxanne.”

  “We don’t have time. We need to find Davros before he infects more Werewolves. If he managed to infect so many at once, he is close to completing the Permutation. We can’t let that happen.”

  “The crystal is gray, do you see this?” I held it up in front of his face. “It’s gray. It was clear and now it’s gray. Gray is bad.”

  “As long as I don’t over-use my abilities I will be fine. Let’s go investigate this ‘island of siblings’ the drake spoke about. The sooner we stop Davros the better. Head uptown. Take the FDR.”

  “Where is this island?” I swerved the Goat around as we drove down to 42nd Street to cross the city. “I’ve never heard of any ‘sibling island’ in New York, and I’ve lived here my entire life.”

  “Don’t you think it’s time you fed your creature? I don’t relish the thought of a hungry hellhound running loose, much less in the back of the car.” He looked back at Peaches. “You didn’t bring dog food?”

  “You know he doesn’t eat dog food, despite what Hades said. You don’t remember the last time I tried to give him dog food?”

  “Wasn’t that a stainless steel bowl?”

  I nodded. “He bit right through it and then spit out the pieces at me.”

 

  I swerved to one side and almost lost control of the Goat.

  “What’s wrong?” Monty said, alarmed.

  “You didn’t hear that?”

  Monty raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Hear what?” he said, slowly looking around. “What did you hear?”

  “That voice,
it sounded like you, only less refined. It sounded like that guy from that movie, Lock, Stock, and a Barrel of Monkeys?”

  “You mean, Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels?”

  “That one! The scary guy who smashed the head into the car—him.”

  “You’re hearing Vinnie Jones in your head? Maybe we do need to go to Haven. It’s clear you have a concussion.”

  “I know what I heard. Last time it mentioned being hungry. I’m not imagining it.”

  “Last time? How many times have you heard Vinnie Jones? Is he appearing to you in your sleep? Do you see him now?” He looked in the back again. Peaches rumbled and I swear it sounded like laughter.

  “Oh, hilarious. I never said I saw him, just heard his voice, and I know what I heard and—oh shit.” I saw a fireball racing down the street chasing us.

  TWENTY

  “MONTY, CAN WE do something about the large fireball coming this way? You know, the inferno chasing us?”

  “I wonder…” he said, rubbing his chin. “Do you think Vinnie Jones cast that fireball at us?”

  “So not funny!” I said as I swerved. The fireball changed direction to track us. It was closing even as I stepped on the gas.

  He stuck his head out the window and looked behind us. “Don’t bother trying to outrun it, Simon. It’s moving too fast.”

  “What do you suggest? I let it hit us?” I asked feeling a little panicked. Images of being barbequed in the Goat flashed before my eyes. It wasn’t pretty.

  “Actually, yes.” He shook out his hands. “Stop the car. She’s been following us since The Den.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, stop the car but don’t get out,” He said his voice tight. “And keep your creature inside as well. I’m going to have to convince her to leave the city—or dispatch her.”

  I stopped the Goat and kept my eyes on the rear-view mirror. The fireball’s flames increased in size as it got closer. It punched into us, and the interior of the Goat flashed orange as the flames washed over the surface of the car. They dissipated a few seconds later as runes floated through the car.