Silver Clouds Dirty Sky A Montague and Strong Detective Novel (Montague & Strong Case Files Book 4)

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  I was about to call out Peaches’ name when I remembered what Delane had done. I took a step toward him and Monty shoved me into the rift. I came out on the outer ward. We were behind Waterloo Block, the building that housed the Crown Jewels. A black carpet of feathers covered the grounds.

  “Uncle Dex, talk to her,” Monty said with urgency. “I will not be held responsible for the destruction of the Tower of London.”

  “We’re going to need a way to contain the explosion,” Dex answered. “Nothing I can cast is going to stop this many bloody feathers going off.”

  “Help is coming.” Monty closed his eyes and sat on the ground. “Go talk to her before she wipes us off the map. Take Simon with you, this is his fault.”

  Dex grabbed me and we ran to where we’d left Delane.

  “Why are we headed back to the crazy Arch Mage?”

  “Because you called the crazier death goddess,” Dex hissed. “And if you tell her I said that, I’ll blast you.”

  We turned the corner to see the Morrigan standing in the midst of a sea of raven feathers. Delane sent a blast of white runes at her, which she waved away with one hand.

  “You can’t stop me, bitch.” Delane gestured and the Fomor advanced toward us. “I’ll destroy you all.”

  “Dex,” I said, pointing at the Fomor.

  “Bollocks, stay away from the beams,” he said. “Mo, you can’t do this.”

  “My unkindness has been unleashed,” she said with a voice that contained more menace than usual. “Its mandate must be fulfilled. You know this, Dexter. Make your peace.”

  “Wait, Mo,” Dex pleaded. “Just wait.”

  “Make your peace,” she repeated. This time her voice carried a note of sadness.

  “What is she talking about?” I asked, dodging a pair of yellow beams from the nearest Fomor. “What mandate?”

  “I can’t believe she gave you a feather,” he said. “What was she thinking giving you a feather?”

  “Dex, what mandate?”

  Delane was moving away as the Fomor closed on the Morrigan. Yellow beams of energy pinned us down.

  “If an unkindness of the Morrigan is unleashed, she will destroy everything on the battlefield where her feather was destroyed,” he said. “It’s a last-ditch maneuver.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Stop that arsehole of a mage,” he said. “I’ll try to stop her.”

  Delane was running to the rear side of the Tower. The Fomor ignored me as I chased him. Delane was still an Arch Mage, so I kept my distance.

  He turned and traced runes in the air. White symbols raced at me, slamming into my body with no effect. He looked at his fingers in surprise and sent another group of runes with the same outcome.

  I understood now. He had been cut off.

  “Did they promise you power?” I asked as I closed the distance. “A seat at the table? You were going to be an Arch Mage?”

  “You stay back,” he said, fear tinging his voice. “I still control the Fomor.”

  “Call them.” I stood still and waited. Nothing happened. “My guess is whatever demon you made a deal with just took a pair of scissors to your credit card of power.”

  I made a cutting motion with my fingers.

  “I’m still a mage!” he screamed.

  “Yes, but only a mage,” I said, drawing Grim Whisper.

  “I’ll kill you!” He rushed at me, hands trailing white energy.

  “You killed my dog, you fuck.” I raised Grim Whisper and fired, showing him a mercy he didn’t deserve. His lifeless body fell to the ground and slid across the stones, coming to a stop in front of me.

  I looked back and saw the Fomor still going. Whatever was controlling them wanted them out of the Tower and in London proper. The only thing in their way was us.

  Dex had cast several lattices to block the exit when I reached him. The Fomor were straining against them and pushing them to their breaking point.

  “You have to let her unleash it, Dex.”

  I saw Monty racing to our side. “Where’s Delane?”

  I pointed to the body and Monty raced over. He turned him over and searched through his pockets. After a few seconds, he pulled out a small red crystal.

  Monty raced back to where Dex and I stood. “We’re ready, Father Tafwys,” he said, gesturing. “Keep us in your embrace.”

  “You didn’t?” Dex croaked in awe. “The devastation.”

  “If those Fomor enter the city proper, London is gone.”

  Dex clenched his jaw and nodded. “You’re right,” he said with a dark laugh. “Besides, no one lives forever.”

  I figured I’d been hit so many times in the head that I was starting to hallucinate. A large hand formed in the middle of the Thames and the water changed course.

  A blue light danced over the surface and the river crashed into the Tower of London as the Thames escaped its banks, diverting into the innermost ward and making it a large swimming pool. The cold water crashed into us and rose quickly. In seconds, we would be submerged.

  “Bloody hell,” Dex said. “Do it, Mo.”

  She gave him a small nod, closed her eyes, and extended her arms. Green light burst from every feather, joining the light from the raven’s eyes as the Morrigan brought her hands together and unleashed death and destruction.

  THIRTY-THREE

  I WAS LYING in a bed in what appeared to be a guest room, again.

  “Monty…Peaches,” I whispered as I held my head. “Shit. The Fomor.”

  I made to get up and my body screamed at me. I lay back down and waited for the room to stop spinning before opening my eyes again. I recognized the room. I was back with the Wordweavers.

  I heard the soft footsteps and felt the undercurrent of power as she came into the room. It was the first time I sensed someone that way.

  “Hello, Simon.” She sat in the chair by my bed. “It’s good to see you alive.”

  I opened my eyes to look at Dahvina again. She wore her boots, jeans and a black T-shirt that read: Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup-The Dive.

  Her hair was loose and she looked at me over her glasses. She sat in the only chair with her legs crossed, drinking from a large mug. The smell of javambrosia saturated the room.

  “I don’t feel so alive,” I groaned. “Where’s Monty? Dex?”

  I didn’t want to say Peaches because I knew what her answer would be. The lump in my throat at even thinking about him right now made it hard to speak.

  “The BPD,” she started, when I looked confused. “The British Paranormal Division would like you and Tristan drawn, quartered, and then immolated for good measure.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “You will heal,” she said with a quick shake of her head. “London may never recover from your visit.”

  “What are we facing?” I asked. “Do they understand what the Consortium was up to?”

  She waved my words away and looked at me over the brim of her cup, took a long sip, and smiled. “How is New York still standing with you two in it?”

  “We try not to destroy the important parts.”

  “Inspector Mathers, Director of the BPD, has given you all forty-eight hours—under Weaver supervision—to get your affairs in order and leave the island,” she said. “He added some colorful words there at the end, but you get the idea. I’ll be your escort. None of the Weavers wanted this assignment. Can’t say I blame them.”

  “Monty? Dex?”

  “Tristan is waiting for you outside,” she answered. “Stubborn mage wouldn’t leave your side. Alaric—or Dex as you know him—wasn’t at the White Tower. We were only able to recover you and Tristan once the waters receded.”

  I couldn’t believe Dex was gone too. Dahvina uncrossed her legs and stood. The gray light spilling into the room matched my mood, and all I wanted was to leave this goddamned city behind.

  Anger, sadness, and regret hit me all at once. The curse had don
e its work and healed my body. There was no healing for losing those closest to you.

  “Give it some time,” she said, patting my leg. “The pain becomes an old friend.”

  “I don’t need any more friends.”

  I nodded as Monty stepped into the room. Dahvina passed him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be outside,” she said. The smell of coffee still filled the room and I noticed the steaming mug on the table. My flask of Valhalla Java sat beside it.

  She raised her cup and gave me a nod as she stepped outside. I poured a small amount of liquid into the mug and savored the smell of the coffee before taking a sip.

  “The Consortium is being restructured.” He sat in the chair, crossed his legs, and tugged on his shirt cuff. “Delane had some powerful backers.”

  He pulled out the small red crystal he’d removed from Delane’s corpse. I noticed the small cracks along its face. Shaped like a dodecahedron, it reminded me of my gaming days.

  “And that is?”

  “A demonic key stone,” he answered. “A binding contract between a human and a high-level demon.”

  “They broke the contract,” I said. “Back at the Tower, he tried to hit me with something and it didn’t work. It was right after he…”

  “As far as I can determine, he was supposed to give the demons London in exchange for becoming an Arch Mage.”

  “He got caught up with becoming an Arch Mage and didn’t deliver.”

  “Demons, especially the more powerful ones, do not enjoy being played,” Monty replied. “Delane never intended to give them London. He was going to wipe out the other factions and take it for himself—for a start.”

  “They cut him loose and changed the plan.”

  “The two Fomor were Anderson and Rothford,” Monty added. “Apparently they had contracts as well. I couldn’t locate them afterwards.”

  “I’m done with London,” I said with venom. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “I agree, but we have a few stops to make first.”

  I got dressed while he waited outside. We stepped through the Corridors of Chaos with Dahvina leading the way. Outside in the gray street, Monty pointed.

  “That’s our vehicle.”

  I looked across the street and only saw a small red Vauxhall Astra.

  “Where?” I asked, looking around confused. “That?”

  He walked over and held the door open for Dahvina, who rode shotgun. I jumped in the back. A fresh wave of loss hit me when I realized there wasn’t even enough room for a proper sprawl. Peaches would’ve hated this car.

  “Let’s just say Cecil is less than pleased with us right now.” He got behind the wheel and pulled away. “It seems the Urus was an experimental model.”

  “What was the experiment?” I asked. “To see if it could withstand us?”

  “I need to have a conversation with him,” Monty said, driving through the narrow streets. “He’s just angry.”

  “No kidding.” I looked around the cramped interior. “I’m surprised he didn’t send a real goat.”

  We drove to the Tower Bridge and stopped. A fleet of sleek black vehicles cordoned off the Tower of London. No one was allowed on the promenade in either direction near it. We parked on St. Katherine’s Way and walked down to the Bridge. Dahvina had to speak to several of the men around the bridge to get us access.

  We walked past a Starbucks and turned right into a secured area under the North Tower of the bridge. Two large rune-covered doors stood before us. Monty placed a hand on the stone next to the doors, causing the runes to shift and rearrange.

  “We need to see someone here,” Monty said. “Dahvina, a moment.”

  “Be quick about this, Tristan,” she said with a tight smile. “They will grow suspicious.”

  Monty nodded and motioned for me to follow him when the doors opened with a push. A sign on the wall let me know this was the Dead Man’s Hole. We stepped inside a large alcove that led to the Thames. It was covered in white tile and had a small platform jutting out into the river. On one of the walls hung a long pole with a hook at the end. Sitting on the platform with his feet dangling over the edge was an old man.

  “Great, Monty.” I looked around the empty space. “You came to show me the Tower Bridge homeless hangout?”

  “Talk to him.” Monty pointed at the old man. “He has something for you.”

  “Are you kidding? He has something for me?” I snapped as my voice echoed off the tiles around us. “All I want to do is get out of this city, not speak to the locals, or do some walk of ‘hidden London’ like a goddamned tourist. I’m not interested in anything he has to say.”

  “Go talk to him.”

  He gave me his ‘stop being a pain in my ass’ face and crossed his arms.

  “If I talk to him, can we get out of here?” I asked, seeing Monty wasn’t going to let this go.

  Monty nodded and gestured. A sphere of silence filled the space and muffled the sounds of my footsteps as I approached the old man. I braced myself for the unpleasant aroma living on the streets can cause. The smell of fresh water and beaches greeted me.

  “You lost someone,” the old man said, his voice surprisingly clear despite the sphere of silence around us. He kept dangling his feet over the river. “Someone close to you?”

  I nodded and hunched down, looking out over the Thames. Down here, under the bridge, you could see the devastation our visit had caused. None of that mattered to me because somewhere in that river lay the body of my hellhound.

  I tried to look closely at the old man but his features kept shifting and changing. “Yes, my dog. Fell in here not long ago.” I didn’t feel like explaining about Peaches being a hellhound.

  “Tough thing, that,” he replied. “Losing a companion like that.”

  “Who are you?” I asked, glancing at him. He wore old clothes and looked completely soaked as if he had just stepped out of the river. He stood and the waters around the stone dock began to churn.

  “A friend of a friend,” he said and looked back at Monty. “You did good here, Simon Strong. Despite what anyone says, many lives were saved by your actions. Thank you.”

  “Some were lost too,” I said, thinking of Peaches and Dex.

  “True,” he said and waved his hand over the water. The body of my hellhound floated above the surface and landed gently on the stone. “But not this one. This one is special and belongs with you.”

  I stared in shock at seeing Peaches lying on the stone. He was breathing. “Hey, boy, hey.” I stepped over to his side and gently rubbed his side while wiping away a stray tear that had escaped down my cheek. “Welcome back.”

 

  I burst out in laughter and hugged my black hole of a hellhound. I turned to thank the old man, but he was gone. Peaches got to his feet and shook his body, drenching me and I didn’t care.

  “Time to go,” Monty said, removing the sphere.

  “How did—? Who was—?”

  “Not now,” he said as we stepped out of the alcove into a semicircle of ten armed and angry-looking men. They were dressed in black combat gear and carried large rifles in their hands. I noticed handguns strapped to their thighs. I could pick up the faint energy signatures coming off each of them. Their body armor was covered in subtle orange and red runes that pulsed. They reminded me of the ECU I met in the Tate, lower on the magical spectrum, higher in the twitchy factor.

  Dahvina sat next to us at one of the tables situated outside the Starbucks and nodded. She sipped from a venti cup, looking uninterested as she gazed over the Thames.

  “He wants a word,” she said, pointing to the center of the group. “He promised it would be civil.”

  In the center of the semi-circle of testosterone stood a man about a head taller than the rest. He gave off a high-energy signature, but nowhere near Monty or Dahvina. I could see a tiny vein in the center of his forehead throb slightly every few seconds.

  “Tristan.” He said the na
me like a curse. “I should have known after the Tate that you were in the city.”

  “Oh bollocks,” Monty said under his breath. “Hello, Matthew.”

  “Who’s that?” I asked from behind Monty. “He looks constipated.”

  “BPD-London Office. Think NYTF,” Monty answered quietly, “only more uptight and with manners. The tall one is Inspector Mathers.”

  “Shit,” I whispered, nudging Peaches to one side. “They must be pissed.”

  “I get the impression you’re not pleased to see me, Tristan.” Mathers looked around at the men who seemed to be on the verge of opening fire on us. “Here I thought we could sit by the river and have a spot of tea.”

  “I could use a coffee, but not from over there,” I said, stepping from behind Monty. I looked over at Starbucks and shook my head. “Not like back home.”

  “Home?” Mathers glared at me and reached for his pistol. The men around him all shifted at once, raising their rifles. Mathers breathed out slowly and raised his hand. The men lowered their rifles reluctantly.

  “I can appreciate your anger—” Monty started and stopped at Mather’s expression.

  “Anger? Oh, I left anger after the Tate.” Mathers clenched a fist. “I’ve now gotten intimate with white-hot blinding rage, Montague. Would you like the list?”

  “That won’t be necessary, Matthew,” Monty said. “I’m well aware of—”

  “Inspector Mathers,” he answered through clenched teeth. “The name is Inspector Mathers. You will respect that since you have no respect for my city.”

  I looked down the Thames and could see the damage. The London Eye was in the river. Every bridge from here to Westminster lay in ruins. I was glad we hadn’t destroyed Tower Bridge. The Tate Modern was a crater, which in my opinion was an improvement, but I didn’t share that. The Globe had a fistprint in the roof. Must’ve been from the Fomor working his way up the river. The Bard would be displeased.

  I let my eyes scan across the river and onto the north side. Big Ben—the clocks, not the bell—was a blasted-out hulk with all four clock faces shattered.

  St. James’ Park looked like it had been blitzkrieged and, from what I’d heard on the radio, the Tube in central London had been out of service due to extensive structural damage.