“How far out from the station do we need to control?” Ramirez asked. “More importantly, will my people be in danger?”
“The moment you see us, pull your people back at least two blocks,” Monty said. “That should keep them safe. We’ll control the area near the station.”
“Is that rock thing showing up again tonight?”
“Yes,” Monty said. “But this is New York. No one gets fazed in this city…right?”
“Got that right. You need to keep any and all damage centralized. If you two renovate Times Square, you better look for another city to call home.”
“Understood,” Monty and I said in unison. “See you tonight.”
“We need to go prepare the area,” Monty said, looking at his watch, which caught my eye. “Let’s head to Times Square.”
“You stopped wearing the Patek?” I asked curiously. “Since when?”
“Since an orb of energy cracked the case, followed by the movement deciding to take an extended leave of absence.”
“What is that now? It looks decidedly non-Montague like. Functional and ugly.”
“This is a Lemania 5100,” Monty said, holding up his wrist. “It’s not aesthetic, but it works and has the added bonus of being the only watch Cecil was able to rune against massive damage.”
“Now, all you need—is to do the same thing to your clothes.”
“Cecil refuses to rune my wardrobe,” Monty said, irritated. “Said it would be a bloody waste of time and clothing.”
“I’m going to go with Cecil on this one.”
“Can you park near Bryant Park? We can walk from there to the central hub.”
“What do you need at Bryant Park?”
“Insurance,” Monty said and went silent, gazing out of the window. “The kind I hope we don’t need.”
THIRTY-FOUR
We arrived at Bryant Park.
I parked and locked the Dark Goat. Peaches climbed the steps to the library next to me as passersby gave us a wide berth. I wanted to imagine it was my subtle vibe of rugged danger, but it was most likely the large hellhound walking by my side, not wearing a leash.
I left the Dark Goat on Fifth Avenue in front of the New York Public Library. The lions—Patience and Fortitude, named by Mayor LaGuardia—looked down at us as we headed past the library and to the large lawn situated behind it. I had a feeling we would need both of them tonight.
“You plan on getting some leisure time in?” I asked, walking past New Yorkers lounging in the sun, enjoying a slice of nature in the center of the concrete jungle I called home. “Maybe a spot of tea on the grass before we fight for our lives tonight?”
“I don’t do leisure time in the grass,” Monty answered and cut right, onto the sidewalk. “This way.”
Monty headed down a stairway on 42nd Street that seemed to lead to the subway, but actually led to a closed door. He looked behind him to make sure we were behind him.
“Stay close to me,” Monty said. “If you don’t enter with me, you will remain outside.”
“What is this? Where does it lead?”
“This leads to the Stacks—the old magical storage beneath the park.”
“Wait, I thought the Milstein Stacks were part of the library. They’re for storing books.”
“They are. I never said the Milstein Stacks. Those do exist for book storage. The stacks I’m referring to, the Arcanum Obscura, are much deeper, starting at one hundred feet below the park.
“The Arcanum? Didn’t you say it was sealed?” I said, looking at the plain black door. “Was it opened recently?”
“Not really,” Monty answered, cryptically. “At least, not officially.”
“‘Not officially’ sounds like we’re breaking in.”
“‘Not officially’ means it doesn’t actually exist to break into,” Monty said, pressing certain sections of the door. “We can’t break into a place that doesn’t exist, can we?”
“Right,” I said as the door opened slowly inward. “This is us not breaking into a place that doesn’t exist—perfect. Now, I’m starting to sound like Ziller.”
“This way,” Monty said, moving fast. “We mustn’t dawdle.”
“Dawdle? The last thing I want to do in this place, is dawdle,” I said, looking around, dawdling. “This place is enormous.”
“Yes, it is,” Monty hissed. “Stay close.”
The Arcanum was setup in the typical warehouse style on a massive scale. If Home Depot and Costco had a baby, they would give birth to the Arcanum. I tried looking down the corridors to see the other end, and couldn’t. Huge didn’t begin to describe it. This place was large enough to require its own zip code.
“Helloooo!” I yelled and waited for my echo. My voice came back to me a few seconds later. “Wow, that is immense.”
“Did you forget the part where I mentioned the Arcanum is guarded?” Monty asked, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of sight and into one of the corridors off the main passageway. A large iron man, like some renegade from Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, appeared a few seconds later, making absolutely no noise as it walked by.
“What is that?” I asked when the guardian had walked out of sight.
“That is an Arcanum guardian,” Monty said, peeking around the corner. “Think magical null to the nth degree. No magical, and very few conventional, weapons work against those things.”
“How can they still be functioning?”
“Do you really want to find out?”
“Not really,” I said, realizing I’d like to exit the Arcanum as soon as possible after seeing that thing. “Are we trespassing?”
“What do you think?” Monty asked, before raising a hand and pulling out a small notebook. “Be silent and give me a second. I need to orient myself”—he looked down at his book—“locate the item, and get us out of here. I can’t do that if you keep asking me questions.”
“Can I ask you one more question?” I said. “I’m curious about something.”
“What is it now?” Monty snapped. “I just told you I needed to focus on—”
“How fast do they move?” I asked, looking behind Monty at the tall iron man staring blankly at us. “Just asking for a friend.”
Monty turned slowly and looked up at the guardian, who had frozen in place.
“Simon, stay absolutely still,” Monty said, passing me his open notebook. “They track runic energy signatures. Right now, it’s assessing the threat I pose. Do you see the item in my book?”
I glanced down at the book and saw a vial of dark liquid under the words Mors Tenebris—Dark Death.
“I see it,” I said, quietly. “What is this?”
“I’ll explain later,” Monty answered, keeping his voice low. “I’m going to run behind you and get its attention. Wait until you can no longer see or hear me, then you need to go ten aisles left and three sections right. Did you get that?”
“Wait until you’re gone. Ten aisles left, three sections right. Will I be able to see such a small vial?”
“You won’t be able to miss it. It will be a small b
lack case and feel like death has gripped you. Once you find it, use your creature to get out. You will never find the door without me. Ready?”
“Stop asking me that. I’m never ready. This is insane.”
“We’ve done worse. Remember, wait until I’m gone before you move.”
He slowly turned away from the guardian and bolted behind me.
The guardian followed silently several seconds later.
THIRTY-FIVE
I waited until Monty was gone from sight and moved fast. Ten aisles left, I turned right and headed down for three sections when a wave of darkness filled my thoughts.
I searched the shelves until the feeling of oppression and sadness grew stronger. There, sitting on the shelf, around eye-level, sat a small black box. Beneath it, on the shelf was a small tag that read: Mors Tenebris—Dark Death.
Honestly, it didn’t need the tag. I took the box and grabbed Peaches by the scruff.
The Arcanum Obscura disappeared from sight and the bright green of Bryant Park rushed up to greet my face, as I landed on the lawn as gracefully as a cinder block. Several of the people closest to me looked up from their tablets and electronics, made a mental note that I must have appeared from somewhere above, and went back to their electronics.
I got shakily to my feet and started heading off the lawn to the 42nd Street side. There, at the stairwell leading to the Arcanum Obscura, stood Monty. He extended a hand, and I gave him the box of death. I noticed he was banged up with facial scratches and some bruises. The rear of his jacket had a long tear down the center.
“Your jacket—” I started.
“I know,” he snapped as we started heading west to Times Square.
“It’s really shredded.”
“I’m aware of its condition.”
“Do we have a spare in the Dark Goat?”
“This is the spare from the car.”
“Oh,” I said, at a loss. “Those guardians really hit hard, don’t they?”
“You don’t say?” Monty said, shrugging off the jacket. He tore it in two and dropped the pieces in a nearby wastebasket as he stared at me. “Whatever gave you that impression?”
“What is Dark Death?” I asked. “The real answer, not the classic magespeak response.”
“It accelerates a transformation into darkness,” Monty said, fixing me with his gaze. “For a mage of a certain skill, it pushes the level of power into Archmage territory for a short time, if he uses blood magic.”
“What happens after that ‘short time’ is up?”
“Don’t ask questions you know the answer to,” Monty snapped. “It’s insulting. The outcome is in the name.”
We walked in silence until we arrived at Times Square. By the time we arrived, I had grown certain of a few things. First among them—I wasn’t going to lose my family. Not to a psycho pair of earth mages nor to some toxic mage accelerant. Not today…not any day.
“You can’t use that thing,” I said when we got to the front of the precinct. “You can’t use the Dark Death.”
“I told you,” Monty said. “It’s insurance. Better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it.”
I outstretched my hand.
“Don’t make me ask again,” I said, keeping my arm extended. “I’ll hold it.”
“You can’t use it, Simon. What purpose would it serve if you held it?”
“Here’s the thing about that kind of insurance,” I said, my arm still out. “Somehow, someway, the occasion always comes up when it’s needed. I’ll hold it.”
He removed the box from his pocket and looked down at it, then handed it to me. I opened the box to make sure the vial of black liquid was inside.
“Whatever you do—do not ingest that liquid,” Monty said. “You’re not a mage. I don’t know what it will do to you.”
“Guess that means neither of us will find out what it does today.”
“You can be truly exasperating at times,” Monty said, rolling up his sleeves. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”
“Don’t you have runes to place around this area?” I asked, deflecting. “It’s almost time, and you still haven’t done your computational analysis.”
“Yes, mother, and it’s permutational persistence, get it right,” he said, observing the perimeter of the Square around the police station. “Can’t you remember the simplest things? You have a memory like a sieve.”
“That’s what I have you for, WikiMonty.”
He threw a hand up in the air and started walking the perimeter. Every so often, I would see him crouch and inscribe golden symbols into the ground that glowed brightly for a few seconds before fading.
I opened the box holding the Mors Tenebris and removed the vial. I opened my flask, walked over to a nearby trashcan and dumped out half of the javambrosia.
I proceeded to drink the rest. I had a feeling I was going to need the jolt it provided—and besides, dumping all of it just seemed…criminal. I opened the vial and poured the contents in my flask. It refilled daily with my javambrosia, but for now it would only hold Dark Death.
I stepped over to a vending machine with Peaches in tow and bought a Coke. I filled the vial with the soda, resealed it, and placed it in the box. An officer from the precinct stepped over to me.
“Excuse me, sir,” the officer said, keeping one hand on the butt of his gun. “I’m afraid you can’t have your…dog…in such a populated area without a leash.”
“I understand,” I said, flashing my ID, which usually resolved these issues. He wasn’t impressed. “Tell you what, we’re going to do a shoot this afternoon”—I looked at his name tag—“Officer Brown. How about I get you an autograph?”
“What are you filming?”
“Mission Impossible: StoneStrike,” I said, improvising on the spot. “Mr. Cruise’s people will be here shortly. Do you want to meet him?”
“Nah, I’m done with Cruise,” Brown said. “Who’s the female lead?”
“None other than the Black Widow herself, Scarlet Johansson. Maybe I can arrange a meet with her?”
“Saw her in that Marvel flick, the Revengers—end of the game, the one where she bites it—wasn’t impressed.”
New Yorkers—tough crowd. I opted for reverse psychology.
“Who are you a fan of?” I asked. “Anyone you want to meet?”
“That Matrix guy—John Kwik,” Brown said, full of conviction. “Him.”
“Mr. Reeves?”
“Yeah, him!” Brown said, snapping his fingers. “Is he in this one?”
“I was just about to say his name,” I said with a laugh. “You must have read my mind.”
“No shit, really?” Brown said with a chuckle. “You think I can get a selfie with him? Now that guy is badass. You never touch the dog.”
“I agree,” I said, glancing at Peaches. “He is a badass.”
“Can I meet him ?”
“As soon as he gets on set, I’ll have his people look for you,” I said, squinting at his name tag. “Officer Brown, right?”
“That’s me,” he said. “I’ll be just inside.”
“Do I still need to—?” I asked, pointing at Peaches. “He’s really well-trained.”
“Look”—he looked to the side—“as long as you can keep him close to you, and maybe you stand over there, away from the precinct? That way my supervisors don’t see you, know what I mean? Then it should be good.”
“Got it,” I said as we shook hands, and I moved off to the side. “Thanks.”
I looked across the street from where I stood in front of the station. Catty-corner to where I was, I saw the Hard Rock Cafe Restaurant. On the other side of the precinct, from 43rd Street to 44th Street, the sidewalk had been converted into a broad pedestrian walkway to deal with the influx of tourists and pedestrian traffic.
The precinct itself stood sandwiched between 7th Avenue and Broadway. Ursula wasn’t joking about it being fortified. I could feel the undercurrent of hub energy of the nexus point behind me. The officers in the precinct gave off a particular energy signature that delivered a subtle message—“Come try us, so we can end you”—in a concentrated dose.
Behind me and the precinct stood One Times Square, the building where the Tiffany crystal ball dropped every December 31st, ushering in the new year. I looked at the many clocks around the Square. We had a few hours to go.
The name Times Square was deceptive. The area was known as the crossroads of the world with good reason. Everyone wanted to be here, but it wasn’t exactly a square. It was shaped like a skewed hourglass where several streets intersected, creating an intersection of humanity and barely controlled chaos.
Monty circled back to the front of the precinct, saw me, and walked over to where I stood. He held an actual china cup of Earl Grey.
“Where did you get that?” I asked. “They let you walk out with the cup?”
“Apparently, I have charms,” Monty said. “The barista nearly swooned when she saw me. Kept calling me Tom Middlestrom or some such. I was afraid for her safety. In any case, she prepared this excellent cuppa of Earl Grey and allowed me to walk off with the cup—free of charge.”
The Golem: A Montague & Strong Detective Novel (Montague & Strong Case Files Book 10) Page 16