Requiem: A Montague & Strong Detective Novel (Montague & Strong Case Files Book 13)

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  Mostly.

  “It’s been my experience that those who have to assure others of their state of mind,” I said, “are usually entering batshit crazy territory.” I looked around. “Tell me, Monty, are we entering batshit country?”

  “Not in the least,” he said, pointing ahead again. “Trust me, we need to do this and then you can make your call. We have a good fifteen minutes, correct?”

  “Yes, give or take a few seconds. Though I doubt I’ll get any reception down here at the Twilight Zone station.”

  “We’ll relocate somewhere better suited for your call,” Monty said and started walking again. “It should be just a little farther.”

  “Would be great to know where exactly we’re going.”

  “This way,” he said, leading me down the tracks to a figure I could barely make out, hunched over in the darkness. “Let me do the talking.”

  “You want to have a conversation with a homeless person?” I asked. “Of course, why would I want to interrupt such an important conversation? Please go chat.”

  I motioned with my hand for him to keep going.

  “Precisely,” Monty said as we approached the old woman. When we were close, he crouched down and faced the figure. “Hello, Grandmother.”

  SEVEN

  “Mage,” the old woman said, waving her cane in his direction. “You’ve grown.”

  “You’ve grown?” I said under my breath as I kept my distance. “How long have you known her?”

  Monty gave me a look that said shut it, so I shut it and kept quiet—until she turned to face me. She smiled when she saw me and waved me closer with her cane. She could have been anyone’s grandmother, actually. I realized Monty used the title to refer to her age, not his actual relation to her. This was an old, bordering on ancient, woman wrapped in too many layers to be comfortable in the heat of the subway.

  The wrinkles on her face were pronounced and she had achieved that state where her skin looked more like worn leather than actual skin. Despite all that, her gaze was soft and welcoming. I felt safe around her. Even though the amount of power she radiated was immense, I didn’t feel threatened by it.

  Her energy signature was a warm blanket on a cold day, a cup of hot coffee during a winter storm, and I could swear I smelled freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.

  “Kali’s Chosen. Come let me look at you. Let me look at you both,” she said, her voice sounding surprisingly young for someone who appeared to be just this side of a thousand. “Step closer. There is nothing to fear here.”

  Monty stepped closer, but I hesitated. At this point, I was pretty sure that whoever sat huddled in front of us wasn’t human. It could have been me, or the fact that her eyes were giving off a soft, golden glow.

  “Who are you?” I asked as I took a step forward. “What are you?”

  “Simon,” Monty hissed under his breath. “A bit of decorum would be appropriate at this moment.”

  “Rubbish,” she said. “He has asked the right question. The long explanation would hurt your brain; the short explanation is that I’m a Transporter.”

  “You’re like FedEx or UPS?”

  She laughed as Monty glared at me.

  “What?” I asked. “She said she was a transporter.”

  “Not quite like that,” she said. “I transport locations to you, instead of the other way around.”

  “What? How can you transport locations? Is that even possible?”

  “Transporters are similar to the most advanced teleporters in our reality,” Monty said, entering lecturing mode. “They don’t teleport, exactly; they shift.”

  “They shift? Like a mage shift in power level?”

  “No, completely different,” Monty continued. “This is a shift along the dimensions of space-time. Rather than teleporting you where you want to go, a Transporter warps time, space, and gravity around you so that the place you wanted to go ends up aligned to your location.”

  “That sounds like severe gastrointestinal distress for me.”

  “Not in the least,” Monty said. “Aside from your new energy signature helping you, when transported, you are aligned.”

  “Aligned to what?” I asked.

  “Good question,” the Transporter chimed in, but Monty had entered full lecture mode and couldn’t be stopped. “Once aligned, she will give you the equivalent of a runic kick and send you down the bridge she created.”

  “So she’s not teleporting but creating space-time bridges? Wormholes?”

  “That’s an oversimplification, but the concept is similar.”

  “Isn’t that what mages do with their teleportation circles?”

  Monty shook his head.

  “No mage in history has been able to teleport using a Transporter’s method,” Monty answered. “This is why we are here.”

  “We’re here so you can give a dissertation on the difference between transporting and teleporting?” I asked. “I could’ve called Ziller and had him melt my brain for that, without visiting an abandoned subway.”

  “We’re here,” Monty answered with a barely contained sigh, “to procure a shift for each of us.”

  “Excuse me? A shift where?”

  “Do you know what you ask?” the Transporter said. “I will need to read you.”

  “Wait a second,” I said, holding up a hand. “Let’s slow down for a moment. Where are we shifting exactly?”

  “We’ll be shifting back.”

  “Right, because that makes perfect sense,” I said. “What’s this about reading us?”

  “In order to shift us properly, she needs to read our runic signatures,” Monty answered. “The shift we need requires a deeper reading. She needs to be able to locate us wherever we are.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” I admitted. “This is like, what, a deep scan?”

  “Something like that,” Monty said. “Except your deepest emotions will be exposed and raw. It’s not pleasant.”

  “So, let me see if I get this straight,” I said, taking a step back. “You want me to let this old”—I then decided to err on the side of not pissing off some supernatural being of space-time and of staying alive—“this elderly being do a runic scan on me and expose my deepest emotions, just so she can be some kind of runic GPS system in case we have to shift back from some place we haven’t gone? That about right?”

  “It’s missing some of the details, but yes, it’s accurate.”

  “Oh, is that all?” I asked. “That’s simple…No. Let me be extra clear…Hell no.”

  “Simon, you don’t understand,” Monty answered. “I know what Shadow Company wants you for.”

  “How? How could you?” I asked, upset. “I’ve been off their radar for years. I can guess what they want, but I haven’t been in direct contact with them for some time.”

  “They’re hunting dragons,” Monty said quietly. “I received information about this some time ago, before we went after your vampire. Other matters seemed more pressing at the time.”

  “Dragons?” I asked. “They must be looking to exit life. Why would they need me?”

  “You tell me,” Monty said. “Did the call sound urgent?”

  “It wasn’t a call to catch up, that’s for sure. The call was deliberate. They wanted me to know.”

  Monty nodded.

  “They wanted you to know they can reach out and touch not only you, but those close to you.”

  “Violently if needed,” I said. “Shadow Company doesn’t do invitations or suggestions. If I don’t make this meet, they will convince me it was a mistake.”

  Monty turned to glance at the Transporter.

  “Sounds like you need insurance, don’t you think?”

  “Is this going to hurt?” I asked. “It’s too early for agony, and I haven’t had my coffee.”

  “Not in the way you think,” Monty said. “You’ll be fine.”

  “Those sound like famous last words.”

  EIGHT

  “Do you have som
ething for me?” the Transporter asked.

  “Why would I have anything for her?” I asked, confused. “I didn’t even know we were coming down here.”

  “She’s addressing me,” Monty said and gestured. “Will this be sufficient?”

  A large brown and gold box appeared in his hand. It was wrapped with a red ribbon that easily came undone as the Transporter removed it. I could tell it had some heft to it, as he needed both hands to hold it in front of the Transporter. She clapped her hands together like a small child and took the box from Monty.

  She opened it slowly and took a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of the contents. Even I could smell what it was…chocolate. Not just any chocolate; this was the most chocolate-smelling chocolate I had ever smelled in my life.

  “What is that?” I asked as I did my best to keep from drooling. “More importantly, can I have some?”

  “That is a box of Teuscher Select chocolates. Dolf is known as the best chocolatier in the world,” Monty answered. “This box is their special Aztec blend of cacao, not available to the public. Dolf makes these boxes exclusively for the mage sects. The answer to your second question is no, you can’t. This is her payment.”

  The Transporter squealed with delight as she took a small piece of chocolate out of the box and ate it. She took out another small piece and held it, as the box disappeared into her coat somewhere. It moved too fast for me to follow.

  “You’re paying for our insurance in chocolate?” I asked, incredulous. “Seriously?”

  “Yes,” Monty said with a short nod. “I don’t make the rules. Transporters expect chocolate as their preferred form of payment. The more difficult the request, the higher caliber chocolate needed.”

  “So I just can’t give her a Snickers and expect a shift?”

  “Precisely,” Monty said. “That would be viewed as an insult. She would probably shift you to Antarctica.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Without clothing.”

  “Whoa, she takes her chocolate seriously,” I said. “I’ll keep that in mind if I ever need a chocoshift.”

  The Transporter still held the small piece of chocolate in her hand. At this rate it was going to be a chocolate mess if she didn’t eat it soon. She turned to me and held out the small piece of chocolate.

  “Bloody hell,” Monty said under his breath. “This is…unprecedented.”

  “Is she offering me a piece of chocolate?”

  “What does it look like?” Monty asked, semi-exasperated and completely flustered. “I’d suggest you take it.”

  I extended a hand and she placed the piece of chocolate in my hand. I looked down at the chocolate confused.

  “What do I do now?” I said. “Is there a Transporter chocolate protocol?”

  “You eat it,” she said with a chuckle. “It will make the next part easier.”

  Monty gave me a look that said, Eat the chocolate…now.

  I quickly put the piece of chocolate in my mouth. The flavors exploded across my tongue and overwhelmed my senses. It was absolutely the best chocolate I had ever tasted. The Transporter came over to me and nodded.

  “Good, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “The absolute best,” I answered around the flavor explosion in my mouth. “Is it always this good?”

  “Not always,” she answered with a small wink. “I may have added a little something to make it special. Now, hold still.”

  “Hold still?”

  “This will be over before you know it,” she said with a nod, and then put a finger to her lips.“Ready?”

  “Ready? For what?”

  The Transporter slowly removed the finger from her lips, pulled her hand back, and formed a fist. It seemed to be happening in slow motion. I turned to look at Monty, who nodded at me.

  “Brace yourself,” he said. At least I thought that was what he said—his words were stretched out and distorted, sounding more like, “Brayyyce yourrrsellf.”

  The Transporter’s fist began to glow with golden light and I found myself transfixed by the energy coming from her hand. I still tasted the chocolate in my mouth and wondered at how that could be. It was a small piece; it shouldn’t have lasted this long.

  I was about to ask Monty, when the Transporter slammed me in the chest with her glowing fist. A rush of emotions washed over me. It ran the gamut from grief to elation and back to grief in the span of milliseconds.

  Every happy memory flooded my brain followed by every moment of sadness. This was chased away by moments of rage, anger, and regret. One moment I was laughing with joy; the next, tears of anguish were streaming down my face.

  As soon as it began, it was over. I felt drained, spent and in need of a long nap.

  “I have him,” she said as I staggered back. I would’ve fallen if Monty hadn’t grabbed me by the arm. “Your signature is known to me, mage. Do you wish another reading?”

  “No, Grandmother,” Monty said. “My mental state is a bit…fragile at the moment. One of your readings would be contraindicated.”

  She nodded.

  “You have stepped into darkness. It pulls at you. Have you balanced?”

  “Yes,” Monty said after a pause. “Yes, I have.”

  “Very well,” she said. “Remember, there is always the cost.”

  “I shall.”

  “The scion of Cerberus is to be read?” she asked, glancing down at Peaches.

  “Yes, he possesses abilities of planewalking, but not powerful enough to transport us to where we will need to go.”

  “Understood,” she said, and placed a hand on Peaches’ head. “He is still young, and bonded to Kali’s Chosen. This is a good bond.”

  Peaches rumbled as his eyes began to glow. A moment later, he barked, shattering most of the concrete around us. We stood untouched in the epicenter of his sonic blast. The Transporter patted Peaches on the head.

  “I have him,” she said. “I will be able to bring you all back safely. Do you know the request?”

  Monty let me go and I stood unsteadily on my own. He traced a violet rune I had never seen in the air and the Transporter nodded.

  “Thank you, Grandmother,” Monty said, forming a large, green teleportation circle beneath us. “I am in your debt.”

  “Your payment covers your debt,” she said. “Come visit me when you are finished. We will see if you have truly found balance.”

  “I shall,” Monty said, gently maneuvering me into the circle. “May your paths always be clear.”

  “May your casts be ever true,” she replied.

  "We're ready," Monty said.

  "Not yet," she answered, "but you will be."

  The last thing I saw was her reaching again into the large box which floated gently in front of her. She reached in and pulled out another piece of chocolate. With a smile and another wink, she waved an arm in our direction.

  The subway twisted and disappeared.

  NINE

  “Make the call,” Monty said when I opened my eyes. “You have very little time.”

  I had five minutes left before the number Ramirez gave me would be useless. I pulled out my phone and looked around. It took a few moments for me to realize we were standing in the main room of an empty Randy Rump.

  “Why are we—?” I asked, looking around. “Where’s Jimmy?”

  Monty pointed to the phone in my hand and made a speaking gesture, insisting I get on with it. I saw him pull out his phone as he stepped away.

  I dialed the number and waited for the call to connect.

  Three rings later, a gruff voice answered.

  “Strong, I thought I was going to have to convince you further.”

  It was Peter ‘Pitbull’ Douglas.

  The voice brought back a flood of memories. Douglas was the commander of Shadow Company. He was an ex-military officer who believed the means, no matter how horrific, justified the ends. He was the primary reason I had been “asked” to leave Shadow Company.

  We didn’t exactly s
ee eye to eye on who deserved death. I drew the line at non-combatants; he drew the line where he damned well pleased, and I had crossed it one time too many.

  “Douglas,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “Convince me for what?”

  “We have a mission,” he growled, his voice a rough baritone of glass and sandpaper. “We need one more.”

  “You have a mission, I don’t.”

  “This one is off the books,” Douglas continued, ignoring my answer. “FODS from the top.”

  FODS stood for ‘Fully Operational Disavowal Status’. It meant that Shadow Company could do whatever it needed to do to complete the mission, except get caught doing it. If discovered, they would be disavowed—basically, abandoned.

  If this mission came from the top, it usually meant someone or something powerful needed to be eliminated. With Shadow Company, it was usually someone non-human.

  “All Company missions are off the books,” I said warily. “What makes this one special?”

  “The targets, or specifically the target,” Douglas answered. “Balfour.”

  “What’s a balfour?”

  I noticed Monty had turned in my direction at the mention of the name. His expression was one of concern, mixed with curiosity.

  “Not what, who,” Douglas said, gruffly. “That’s as much as I’m willing to share over this line. Not that I don’t trust you…”

  “You don’t.”

  “Damn straight I don’t. Let’s meet to discuss the details.”

  “Pass,” I said, actually shaking my head. “I’m not Shadow Company. Not anymore.”

  Douglas gave me a short, rough chuckle. I could practically see the unlit cigar in his mouth as he shifted the phone around.

  “Bullshit,” he replied, calmly. “Once Shadow Company, always Shadow Company. You’re part of the family. Besides, I’m not the one asking.”

  “Who is?” I asked. “Who wants an incompetent, trembly handed, blind dead-eye on a FODS mission?”

  I wasn’t holding a grudge, but I still remembered Douglas’ words when I was asked to leave Shadow Company. They’d stung then, and they stung now.