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

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  “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 why 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 supposed 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.

 

  “Me either, boy. We’ll get something to eat soon, promise,” I said as we picked up speed.

  We rolled into Station Six a few minutes later. Monty gestured and the orb vanished. There was a distinct difference between Station Five and Station Six. There was no Station Master to greet us. Papers and trash covered parts of the platform. The walls were dingy and gray, and some of the light fixtures were broken. I noticed there was no blast door between Station Six and Seven. The rail car came to a stop in the center of the platform. A display on the railcar began counting down five minutes.

  “You know this is a trap, right?” I said, rubbing Peaches’ head as we waited. I looked forward into the darkness of the next tunnel. “There probably is no Wraith, and Nick will try and kill you and banish me. Or vice-versa.”

  “Most likely the latter,” Monty said with a nod. “He probably knows of your immunity to magic.”

  “Do we even know where to find this Wraith? It’s not like this place is small,” I said as the railcar lurched forward into another dark tunnel. Monty produced another light orb, and I could see this tunnel was in a greater state of disrepair than the one joining Station Five to Six. A few minutes later, we approached Station Seven.

  “Somehow I don’t think that’s going to be much of a problem,” Monty said as we entered the station. “It seems we are expected.”

  He let go of the orb, and it floated high above us into the vaulted ceiling. I looked at the station and realized we had a welcoming committee.

  “What are those?” I said under my breath as we rolled to a stop. My nose tried to crawl off my face as the stench hit me. Even Peaches snuffled a few times as he rumbled in the direction of the group standing on the platform. It appeared to be a large group of homeless tunnel dwellers. Most of their clothing was tattered and dirty. Their faces were covered with strips of cloth, making it hard to see any clear features. “A little bit of disinfectant would work wonders down here. Do you have a disinfectant spell?”

  “No, I don’t,” Monty whispered back as he narrowed his eyes at the group on the platform. “Some of these are accomplished mages. If you could manage not to anger them for at least three minutes—I would be grateful and surprised.”

  “Let me work my charm,” I said, and Monty groaned. “I’ll make sure to keep it civil and we can get this all sorted out. You should’ve seen how I handled Hel.”

  “Hel has a sense of humor—twisted as it is. I don’t think these mages have any reason to laugh,” Monty said,
stepping off the railcar and onto the platform. “Let me do the talking. At least that way when it goes awry I can see it coming.”

  “Don’t you mean ‘if it goes awry’?” I asked, standing next to him and opening my coat, making sure I had access to Ebonsoul.

  “With us it’s always a matter of when,” Monty said as the group fanned out into a defensive semi-circular formation.

  ELEVEN

  I COUNTED SIX on the welcoming committee. Two unleashed fireballs, which raced at us. They may have appeared to be homeless, but they moved with the precision of a trained fighting force. Monty slashed the air, and a glowing blue shield materialized in front of us. It deflected the fireballs into a wall.

  “I get the impression they don’t want to talk.” I drew Grim Whisper. “Maybe the Wraith is busy and this is his way of telling us to come back later?”

  “Don’t get too close to them, and keep him back,” Monty said, pointing at Peaches. “They have magic dampeners around this station.”

  “Which means?” I asked, looking around for the dampeners, without a clue what they looked like. “You just made a shield. Your magic is fine.”

  “I should have been able to absorb those fireballs. That shield took entirely too much energy,” Monty said, wiping sweat from his brow in between breaths. “It means—”

  “Bullets and blades. My kind of conversation,” I said, taking a step forward and reversing direction quickly as four of the tunnel dwellers whipped out guns of their own.

  “Theirs too, it seems,” Monty said as we backpedaled. “It looks like they have a larger vocabulary as well.”

  The rifles they held were large, mean-looking things, but it was hard to tell what they were carrying when we were busy jumping off the platform and onto the tracks, avoiding several more orbs followed by gunfire.