The Golem: A Montague & Strong Detective Novel (Montague & Strong Case Files Book 10)

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  The New York Task Force, or NYTF, was a quasi-military police force, created to deal with any supernatural event occurring in New York City.

  If anyone had any idea about the golem, it would be them or the Dark Council. But without Chi currently leading the Dark Council I was reluctant to reach out to them on account of they actively had plans to kill me and Peaches, and Monty.

  On our visit to Japan, Chi had told me it was mostly a bluff. The small army that had descended on our location downtown said otherwise. Someone in the Dark Council wanted to retire the Montague and Strong Detective Agency—permanently.

  The NYTF were paid to deal with the things that couldn’t be explained to the general public without causing mass hysteria. They were led by Angel Ramirez, who was one of the best directors the NYTF had ever had, and still, surprisingly, my friend. We had a history. Most of it good, some of it bad, and a small amount classified. It was keeping Angel in the dark about that last part that kept him safe—and alive.

  Since our skirmish downtown with the Dark Council Enforcers, and then an emergency trip to Japan, Angel and I hadn’t spoken. I didn’t look forward to the call. He was usually pissed—with good reason. Although this time, we had nothing to do with this golem.

  “Good idea,” I said. “Right after a cup of Deathwish to fuel my brain.”

  “For once, you’ve made a sensible suggestion.”

  “You’re going to drink coffee?” I asked, surprised. “You’ve finally come to your senses. Took you long enough.”

  Monty looked up, and glared.

  “Don’t be daft,” he snapped. “Kindly put the kettle on to boil. I could use a strong cuppa.”

  I headed to the kitchen when my phone rang.

  “Speaking of the NYTF,” I said, looking down at the number and wincing. “Ramirez.”

  “Perfect,” Monty said, his face buried in a book again. “See what he wants. Maybe he has a location for this creature. That would save us time.”

  I connected the call.

  “Angel,” I said, keeping my voice light. “How are you?”

  “How am I? How am I?” Angel answered, his voice escalating with every syllable. “I’ll tell you how I am!”

  I put the phone on speaker to prevent him from blowing out my eardrum.

  “Take a breath, Director.”

  “Don’t ‘take a breath’ me, Strong. Do not…tell me…to take a breath.”

  “Fine, stop breathing. Don’t blame me when you pass out.”

  “Just out of curiosity,” Angel asked, “when did you two get back?”

  “What makes you think we were away?”

  “The peace and quiet that descends on my city whenever you, your mage, and that oversized canine you call a pet are away, makes me think that has been the case.”

  “Whatever it is,” I started, “we don’t have anything—”

  “Somehow you’re connected. Don’t try to bullshit me, Strong. I have reports of a large stone creature destroying everything in its path…in my city.”

  “Like I said, we don’t have—”

  “And then just out of pure coincidence I call to see if your detective agency is in the city, and what do you know? You’re open for business! Imagine the odds.”

  “Did you say a large stone creature?” I asked, ignoring the mostly baselessly accusatory tone of his voice. “Are the attacks arbitrary?”

  “Actually, no,” Angel said, after releasing a long sigh. “That’s just the general press release. So far it’s only attacking at night; we’re mixing that with gas leaks and faulty wiring where we can, and deflecting everywhere else.”

  “That won’t last very long.”

  “Word on the magical street is that your mage summoned this thing.”

  “What do you think?” I asked, letting my voice get hard. “Is that what you think?”

  “I think it’s dangerous to my city and the people in it. Your mage has done some crazy shit in the past, but nothing this crazy.”

  “Monty didn’t summon it.”

  “Does he know who did?”

  “We have some leads we are following. I’ll definitely keep you in the loop.”

  Ramirez groaned on the other end, and I could picture him rubbing his hand down his face.

  “You do that, Strong,” Ramirez said. “Before the city is on the verge of destruction, not after you’ve blown half of it to bits.”

  “Will do,” I said, having no intention of getting Ramirez or the NYTF involved in facing a golem. “Can you get me a list of the areas attacked or destroyed?”

  “Sure,” he said, hitting some keys on his computer. “Maybe you’ll have better luck than we did. My analysts can’t make heads or tails out of the locations being targeted.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  “Oh, one more thing,” Ramirez said, and I braced myself for another ranting scream fest. “Maybe you can shed some light on a pair of new players in the city”—I heard the clicking of keys again—“Boogers and Mush…That can’t be right. They claim to be paranormal investigators, or something like that.”

  “Bangers and Mash, and they’re mostly harmless, except for the insane amount of C4 they carry around.”

  “What the hell kind of name is Bangers and Mash—wait seriously? Did you say C4?”

  “Yes. They drive around in an orange VW Bus, and I’m guessing it’s loaded with ordnance,” I said. “One or both must be sensitive and have some minor ability.”

  “Did you happen to get a license plate?”

  “It’s BNGRMSH. I kid you not.”

  “Right,” Ramirez answered. “I’ll have my people pick them up, confiscate the explosives and run the paranormal investigator license interview on them. That should scare them out of the city.”

  “That’s cruel and devious,” I said, suppressing a laugh. “Have fun.”

  “Strong, stop this moving mountain from breaking my city. My men are powerless against it. If you can’t do anything, I’m going to have to speak to Ken over at the Dark Council.”

  “I understand, Angel. You do what you feel is necessary, but don’t trust them.”

  “I don’t. I barely trust you, but you get results.”

  “Thanks. I’ll give you a call as soon as I know anything.”

  EIGHTEEN

  “I can’t believe he threatened me with going to the Dark Council,” I said after ending the call. “They don’t care about this city.”

  “I’m sure they could say the same thing about him working with us, considering your destructive track record.”

  “My destructive track record? What?”

  “What exactly is a paranormal investigative license interview?” Monty asked. “I don’t recall Ramirez ever requiring us to go through this process.”

  “It’s basically a non-existent interview process where Ramirez vets rookie sensitives who take it upon themselves to go out and ‘save the city’ from all threats.”

  “I take it not many pass this interview?”

  “None, so far,” I said with a grin. “But, I’m sure Angel has saved dozens of lives with it. Most of these rookies know just enough to get themselves killed.”

  “I’m going to contact Professor Ziller,” Monty said, still holding the book. “I’d be interested in seeing that list of destroyed properties.”

  “You think it’s connected?”

  “I do,” Monty said. “I’m certain the Professor will have more insight, though.”

  He stepped over to the closet near the door, looked inside, and closed the door again with a satisfied nod.

  “You’re checking to make sure the closet door works properly?” I asked. “We do have maintenance people for that sort of thing. Unless you’re taking up home improvement now.”

  “The seal needs to be precise. This door is adequate.”

  “I recall Jen was bouncing me around in the secret garden; I just don’t recall you suffering a head injury lately. What are you talking about?”


  “I need a properly closing door in order to call the Professor.”

  Monty traced golden symbols on the closet door, which glowed brightly and faded after a few seconds.

  “Well, that was pretty,” I said. “Maybe we can rent you out for kids’ birthday parties?”

  Monty lifted a finger and glared at me.

  “Patience. Professor Ziller will be here shortly.”

  The edges of the closet door blazed with golden light as the door shuddered in place. I took a few steps back as the shuddering increased and then suddenly stopped. The door opened, and a figure emerged from the closet.

  He was dressed pretty much the same way I remembered when I last saw him. He wore librarian casual—jeans, a long-sleeve white shirt and construction boots. His sandy-brown hair was a little thinner on top, and he sported a goatee and what appeared to be a rune-covered monocle—which was new.

  He held a nearly transparent orb in his hand as he squinted at us. Light blue arcs traveled around his body in random patterns. They reminded me of TK and her black and green energy; only, these arcs felt more in the “keep away or I’ll blast you” department, unlike TK’s, which resided squarely in the “breathe in a way that displeases me, and I’ll reduce you to a memory” category of energy.

  He tossed the orb up and it floated next to his head, following as he moved forward into our reception area, carrying with him the smell of old books. Behind him, in what used to be our closet, I could see rows and rows of books and hear the sounds of rustling paper.

  “That’s like the Moving Market,” I said, looking in awe at the Living Library’s book repository, now occupying our closet. “Hello, Professor Z.”

  “It is a pleasure to see you both again,” Ziller said, looking at us and sitting on the large reception sofa partially occupied by a snoring hellhound. This reception sofa sat opposite what I liked to call Roxanne’s sofa—the Hansen.

  The Hansen sofa had been a gift from Roxanne to Monty, and it was the most expensive item in our reception area. No one was allowed to sit on it, except Roxanne on her infrequent visits. Even Peaches respected the boundary set by Roxanne. He was a smart hellhound.

  “Welcome, Professor Ziller,” Monty said. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Thank you,” Ziller answered with a slight cough. “Could I trouble you for a spot of tea? I’m terribly parched.”

  “Of course,” Monty said, heading to the kitchen. “I’m sure we have some digestive biscuits laying about.”

  “That would be exceptional,” Ziller said. “Thank you.”

  Monty headed into the kitchen while I busied myself with the inner workings of the closet, now library.

  “Professor, I’m not seeing the biscuits,” Monty called from the kitchen and glancing my way. “How much time do you have? I’m sure we can get some. I could have sworn we still had some—Simon?”

  Yes, I ate the digestive things he called biscuits. To me, they looked liked big cookies. The taste could have been better, but they were great with coffee. Like every person living with a large animal, and looking to dodge blame, I confessed Peaches’ crime for him.

  “Peaches must have gotten into them,” I said, paying extra attention to the enormous library currently occupying the space of our closet. “I’ll have a word with him when he wakes up.”

  “Really?” Monty said. “I’m surprised he could ingest anything other than meat. It must have been quite difficult for him to reach the top shelf of the cupboard, what with having no opposable thumbs and all.”

  “Hellhounds…crazy resourceful,” I said with a shrug. “What can I say?”

  “I understand you may be pressed for time, Professor. Will the tea suffice?”

  “The tea is fine, thank you. Time is such a fluid concept, Tristan,” Ziller answered after a pause. “The digestives can wait for another visit—but did you inquire about time?”

  That pause—which I figured was the moment Professor Z took to process all the permutations of where he was in the time-space continuum, in relation to all the other Zillers on all the other parallel realities—was the start of my brain-melting headache.

  “Here we go,” I muttered under my breath. “Once he gets going…”

  “Are you referring to the indefinite, continued progress of events that occur in what is apparently an irreversible succession from the past, through the present, and to the future?”

  “Do you see what you started?” I asked, glaring at Monty. “You know where this is headed.”

  “Or were you referring to time on the quantum level, where it is posited that past, present, and future occur simultaneously?”

  Monty gave Ziller a quick glance before answering.

  “Yes,” Monty said, pouring hot water and doing what I thought impossible. He made Professor Ziller pause long enough in his train of thought, to create an opening. Monty swept in deftly, like a master of Quantum Ziller wordfu, and asked a question.“What do you know about the Earth’s Breath?”

  “The Red Mountain sect artifact?” Ziller answered, getting completely sidetracked. “The war weapon?”

  “The same,” Monty answered, bringing over a cup of tea. “Properties, abilities, and weaknesses.”

  “Tristan, that is a dangerous artifact. One you do not want to manipulate.”

  “We may not have a choice,” I said. “It’s been stolen from the Red Mountain.”

  “Stolen?” Ziller said, before taking a sip of tea. “I hadn’t heard of this, but it may be possible I’m on a different timeline. Moving the Library gets complex at times.”

  “I can only imagine,” I said, not understanding it all. “I have no idea how you keep it all straight.”

  “Practice, mostly.”

  “Professor, we’re under a bit of time pressure ourselves,” Monty said. “The Earth’s Breath?”

  “Right, right,” Ziller said, placing the cup down on the table and reaching for his orb. “I should have it right here…one second. You do understand that time is an illusory construct?”

  “I remember the lessons,” Monty said. “Time is an artificial construct and as such only exists in very limited contexts.”

  “You always were a good student—ah, here it goes.”

  Ziller pressed the surface of the orb and an image of a turquoise cube gently rotated above the table. The polished cube hung from a golden chain. Each surface of the cube was inscribed with a golden rune I couldn’t understand.

  “Is that it?” I asked, looking at the simple cube. “It looks so…unassuming.”

  Ziller lifted the monocle to his eye as the runes on it’s surface glowed softly. He peered at the image closely and nodded.

  “That’s the Earth’s Breath in its dormant state,” Ziller said, pointing. “One of several artifacts classified as vampiric essences.”

  “Vampiric essences?”

  “The Earth’s Breath, like all artifacts of this classification, requires life-force to execute its functions. In the case of this artifact, the vampiric quality is transferred to the object of its creation—the golem.”

  “Which are?” Monty asked. “What are the main functions?”

  “This is a war weapon, created at the height of the Supernatural War. Its main function is to create an army of indestructible soldiers—golems. These golems can be controlled by one mage, specifically an elemental mage.”

  “Weaknesses?” I asked. “How do you stop it?”

  “Several ways,” Ziller answered. “Kill the mage wielding it, very difficult; deny the artifact the life-force it needs to function, also near impossible since it’s always in a state of siphoning once activated; or destroy the golem or golems created by it. The last act will send the artifact into a state of short dormancy.”

  “How long?” Monty asked. “How long will the artifact be dormant?”

  “Three to five days, depending on how many golems were created. The more golems created, the longer the dormancy period. It is never shorter than three days, ho
wever.”

  “What happens after three days?” I asked. “Does it reboot?”

  “Something similar,” Ziller answered, before standing and making his way back to the closet. “If there is a power source nearby, the artifact can be reactivated. Without a golem it will draw energy from the nearest source—a mage.”

  “Wonderful,” I said. “Anything else we should know?”

  “A few. An artifact this powerful needs an enormous amount of energy to activate. This city with its hubs would be ideal for that.”

  “Hubs?” I asked. “What hubs?”

  “Several of the nexus points in this city act as hubs, amazing reservoirs of power. If an elemental mage attained the Earth’s Breath and wanted to use it alone, these hubs would be ideal without sacrificing their own life-force.”

  “The attacks,” I said, remembering Ramirez’s words. “The golem is attacking hubs. That’s why Toson came here first.”

  “If I were this mage, I would have come here first,” Ziller agreed. “The hubs in this city are incredibly powerful. It must be the concentration of energy. I’ll have to write a paper on that one day.”

  “Professor,” Monty said, getting his attention again. “Anything else?”

  “This is a war weapon. If he has created a golem he will have to be close to it,” Ziller said. “This is not a fire-and-forget weapon. The risk of out-of-control golems was too great. Limiters were introduced into its creation.”

  “Such as?” Monty asked. “What are the constraints?”

  “Proximity and line-of-sight control. The wielder must be no more than three hundred yards away and maintain sight with the golem.”

  “And the siphon?” Monty asked. “Where does it originate?”

  “The siphoning aspect switches from the artifact to the golem once the golem is created, making it impossible for a mage to approach an active golem.”

  “What happens if those conditions are altered?” I asked. “Three hundred yards is still far.”

  “If either of those conditions are changed,” Ziller continued, “the golem ceases to function. It becomes, in effect, a very large, if potentially lethal, sculpture.”