Dragons & Demigods: A Montague & Strong Detective Novel (Montague & Strong Case Files Book 6)

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  “Why do you insist on torturing him?”

  “It’s not torture. I’m helping Andrei grow by encouraging him to face his fears.”

  “Oh, this is character building? I thought you were just trying to scare him witless every time your creature walked past.”

  “C’mon, Monty, you know me. Would I do something like that to poor Andrei?”

  “I’m going to assume that’s a rhetorical question. Let’s go. Cecil will deliver the new vehicle to the Rump.”

  “Is it a Goat? Tell me it’s a Goat.”

  “He wouldn’t say.”

  “Is it magically meltproof?”

  “I informed him of your request for it to be covered in super runes and be magically meltproof.”

  “And?”

  “He assured me that it would last longer than the Lamborghini Urus he loaned us in London, provided we don’t strap a magical melting bomb to its chassis.”

  “He sounds upset. Did you explain that we didn’t destroy the last Goat or the Urus? That it wasn’t our fault?”

  He nodded as we crossed the street. People usually gave us a wide berth when we walked on the block. Most of that was the reaction to Peaches.

  “His response was, and I quote: ‘Things have a way of blowing up around you two. Buildings and cars especially. I’m sure you had nothing to do with it, other than being in proximity.’ End quote.”

  “You two? What does he mean you two? Most of the destruction is the result of your spells or one of your friends.”

  “And yet, it’s surprising how many of our destructive episodes involve your presence. Coincidence? Unlikely.”

  “Unlikely? I’m not the one dealing with magical forces.” I moved my fingers to mimic his gestures. “All that destruction is you and your casting.”

  “Except for the Strix. That was all you.”

  “That was your insane uncle getting me to create an orb in a pressurized environment.”

  “In any case, Cecil requested I purchase this vehicle. This isn’t a loaner from SuNaTran. I used the agency account, so we own whatever it is he’s sending over.”

  “Wonderful,” I groaned. “With our luck it’ll be a Prius or a Gremlin.”

  “As long as it’s magically meltproof,” Monty said. “With super runes, of course.”

  I glared at him. It was a solid three on my glare-o-meter. He didn’t flinch.

  “Your sense of humor knows no bounds. Maybe you can start a mage comedy group with your uncle?”

  The Randy Rump was a block away from the Moscow and stayed open all night, only closing for a few hours in the early morning. It catered to the early evening and nighttime clientele—which was most of the supernatural community. The Rump had also become a popular meeting place since the Dark Council had declared its neutral status. It had gone from “butcher shop” to “butcher shop, restaurant, and meeting hall” in a few short weeks.

  Jimmy stood behind the counter and gave me a nod as he took care of some customers. His long gray hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He wore an apron over a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. It was the suit he had on during the Reckoning. His massive arms, which were easily the size of my legs, were covered with thick hair.

  I looked around and realized that he had redone the seating area again. What used to be a single display case was now a set of two display cases, and the counter had been redone in marble and had been extended.

  Tables and chairs filled the remaining floor space. Even in the middle of the afternoon, most of the tables were occupied with patrons who were eating and drinking.

  Jimmy finished with the customer and came out from behind the counter. He had hired some help, and they took over serving the line while he stepped away. He wiped his hands on his apron, and motioned for us to follow him into his office.

  A few of the patrons gave us looks as we followed Jimmy to the back. Most of them were focused on Monty and Peaches. They could tell he was a powerful magic-user, and Peaches, from what Monty told me, was covered in runes, even though I still couldn’t see most of them.

  Jimmy opened the door and let us enter first. A few seconds later, one of his employees came in with a large titanium bowl filled with meat. Peaches was one of Jimmy’s favorite customers.

  “I got him a new bowl.” Jimmy looked down at the slobbering black hole that was my hellhound. “This one is a Grade five titanium alloy. Should be Peaches-proof.”

  The employee gave Jimmy the bowl and backed out of the office, keeping a wary eye on Peaches as he did so. Jimmy put the bowl on the floor next to his desk. I saw the bowl contained some excellent cuts of meat and large sausages.

  “You need to stop spoiling him. He’s going to get fat.”

  “He’s a hellhound.” Jimmy rubbed Peaches’ head. “He needs to keep his strength up.”

 

 

 

 

 

  He proceeded to bury his face in the bowl and devour the meal.

  “Keep his strength up? Does he look weak or sickly to you?”

  “No, he doesn’t,” Jimmy answered, rubbing Peaches’ flanks. “And we’re going to make sure he stays large and strong.”

  I never worried about Jimmy keeping his arms attached to his body with Peaches. My hellhound was smart enough not to shred the hands that fed him. It also helped that Jimmy was a werebear, and I was sure, on some level, Peaches smelled or sensed the animal in him. The black hole known as Peaches inhaled the meat in seconds.

  “You’ve made some changes,” I said, looking around at the new office.

  “The last one didn’t survive your last visit, so I figured I’d make some changes to the space with the renovations. You’re not expecting any violent friends…are you?”

  “I only have one violent friend.” I glanced over at Monty, who pointed at Peaches. “Well, two.”

  “It’s just that every time you visit…”

  “That was one time. That wasn’t even us.”

  “Anyway… this is the new office.” Jimmy motioned with one large hand, Vanna White style. “I’d like it to stay this way, if possible.”

  A large desk sat against the far wall, opposite the door. To the right of the desk and along the wall sat a large brown sofa. On the other side of the desk, against the left wall, I saw two tall, black filing cabinets.

  His desk was neat, with several piles of papers in organized stacks along the surface. An industrial-sized computer monitor took up almost half the desk.

  Even though the office was spacious, it still felt slightly cramped because Jimmy was just this side of enormous. I wondered if all werebears were on the large size. He was the only one I knew. He sat in the chair behind the desk and leaned back.

  On the back wall, I noticed something else.

  “That’s new.” I pointed to a wooden door.

  “I had it installed recently with the last of the renovations,” Jimmy answered. “I didn’t want to open the main door every time we needed the backroom.”

  “Is Ramirez here yet?”

  “He got here about five minutes ago. He’s inside waiting for you. You can go through there.”

  The door was a smaller version of the main door in the butcher shop securing the entrance to the backroom. The door and frame were made of Australian Buloke ironwood. I narrowed my eyes and saw that it was magically inscribed with runes on every inch of its surface. It stood six feet tall and half as wide. I was sure Jimmy had to stoop to get in that way.

  “This leads to the backroom?”

  Jimmy nodded. “Same sequence too.”

  Monty gave Jimmy a short bow. “Thank you for being part
of my Triad this morning. I do appreciate your response on such short notice.”

  Jimmy waved Monty’s words away. “The honor was mine. I’ve never been to a Reckoning before. We settle things a little more violently in my sleuth. Whoever walks away, wins.”

  “I don’t expect to experience another Reckoning in my lifetime.” Monty stepped to the wooden door. “Same sequence, you said?”

  Jimmy nodded. “After that Negomancer took the Rump apart, I thought you mages were dangerous. After seeing TK in action, whoa…she’s scary and dangerous. I wouldn’t want to face her, even in my other form.”

  “She is quite formidable.” Monty nodded and pressed the runes on the door in sequence. “That should do it.”

  The door was over a foot thick. Opening it was surprisingly easy if you knew the rune sequence. If you didn’t, you’d need the equivalent of a magical nuke, and that would probably just scratch the surface. Once closed, it remained closed. Period.

  It swung open easily and I peeked inside. The backroom of the Rump was considerably smaller than the front area. It consisted of one large room with three tables. Two of them, placed along the north and south walls, were long and rectangular. The third table in the center, was round. Each of them had seating for seven. Each table was heavy, dark oak, inscribed with runes along their surface.

  Ramirez sat at the large, round table. In front of him, I saw a folder and a large pot of coffee. The aroma of coffee filled my lungs and all of a sudden, everything was right with the world. Coffee had that effect on me. I searched the inside pockets of my jacket and found my flask.

  “Would you like a London Fog, Tristan?” Jimmy asked. “One of my guys is English and swears it’s amazing. I haven’t had one myself.”

  “No, thank you. As enticing as that sounds, I’ll take Earl Grey with lemon and steeped for four minutes, if you please.”

  “I’ll have it brought in.”

  Ramirez looked up when we entered the backroom. I heard the door lock behind us. I turned and saw the runes in the door flare bright orange for a brief second.

  I filled a cup with coffee, opened my flask, and poured in a spoonful of Valhalla Javambrosia. I brought the cup to my lips, closed my eyes, and took a moment to inhale the aroma. Only after enough of the fragrance had filled my lungs did I allow myself to take a long sip, savoring the absolute caffeine goodness. Ramirez stared at me throughout my process.

  “You need help.” Ramirez shook his head. “Clearly, you’re not getting out enough.”

  “You think I’m bad? Wait four minutes and watch him drink tea,” I said, pointing at Monty. “How are you, Angel?”

  “How am I? How do you think I am? Stressed and dealing with more shit than I can handle.”

  “So, the usual then?”

  He gave me a tight smile and a nod. “The usual, yeah.”

  “Are we good?” The last time we had spoken, really spoken, was when we had lost Lieutenant Cassandra. The conversation had been loud and angry, so was he.

  Peaches padded over and plopped down on the floor near my feet with a chuff.

  “Is your dog okay?” Ramirez looked down at Peaches warily. “Did you get him a new collar?”

  “He just stuffed his face. He’s good. What about us?”

  He paused for a moment, rubbed his face, and took a sip of coffee from his cup. “We’re good. This, however,”—he slid the folder across the table to me—“is not.”

  I opened the folder and saw a picture of George ‘Rottweiler’ Rott staring back at me.

  TEN

  THE PICTURE LOOKED recent.

  “When was this picture taken?” I looked down into the aged face of George ‘Rottweiler’ Rott, one of the best black ops team leaders. Meticulous and flexible. His missions were still being studied in the NYTF academy.

  “A few weeks ago.” Ramirez took another sip. “He’s gone underground. We haven’t been able to locate him since.”

  “And you won’t unless he wants you to.”

  “That’s why I’m here talking to you.”

  I looked at the picture again. He still wore a screaming-eagle cut and the years were showing, not that I would tell him that to his face. The eyes were the same. Fierce, intense, and approaching insanity. The most dangerous individuals I’d faced were those who had nothing to lose. George had the look of someone who had lost it all.

  I flipped through the pages of the file. Many of them had redacted sections. In fact, most of them were redacted. I looked through the dates; there was at least a decade of activity before I’d joined. Shadow Company had been busy doing things best kept secret.

  “Not much info here.” I pointed to the file. “Most of this has been purged or expunged. Pretty useless.”

  “Turn to the back.” Ramirez motioned with a hand. “I think you’ll find something useful there.”

  “You and your cryptic comments. You should’ve been a spy.”

  “I missed my calling.”

  I flipped the pages and saw another, thinner file. This file was stamped RED—Retired Extremely Dangerous.

  It was my file.

  There was one page. A picture of a younger me from my Company days and a list of dates with redacted information next to each entry.

  “Where did you get this?” I held up the sheet. “This isn’t supposed to exist.”

  Ramirez nodded and took another sip of coffee.

  “May I?” Monty held out a hand. I passed him the sheet. He began scanning it. “If you combine the two files, you can glean a good amount of information on Simon’s past, with his file acting as the key, providing the dates for cross reference.”

  “That’s the only copy anywhere, and it was a bitch to get a hold of,” Ramirez said. “I wasn’t specifically looking for Strong’s info, it just came attached with Rott’s”

  “Where did you get it?” I asked. “That information isn’t supposed to be documented. Period.”

  “Like I told you, I’ve been doing some research in my spare time.”

  “Spare time?” I asked, incredulous. “Since when do you have spare time?”

  “Ever since I lost a lieutenant to a dragon.”

  The words hung in the air between us for a few seconds.

  “Shit, Angel…”

  He held up a hand and shook his head. “I said we’re good. But he isn’t.” He pointed at George’s picture. “Lieutenant Cassandra went down in the line of duty. She knew the risks, we all do. Doesn’t make it any easier for any of us, but he’s not coming at this like an officer. He’s dealing with this as a father who lost his only child. That makes him dangerous and volatile.”

  “I don’t know why she was out there. She was good, but she wasn’t NYTF ready.” I shook my head, remembering Cassandra’s adaptation period. The NYTF was trained to deal with the supernatural. They had extensive psych evals to help them cope with things they encountered that were supposed to be impossible.

  Because of George’s influence, Cassandra bypassed all of that and went into the field unprepared. If the dragon hadn’t ended her, it was only a matter time before something else just as lethal had. George, the black ops leader, knew this, but George, the father, could never accept that.

  Ramirez reached into a bag and pulled out another file. “This file doesn’t exist. You never saw it.”

  Monty put down my sheet and raised an eyebrow at the new file.

  “Whose is it?” I asked.

  “When we started getting energy spikes downtown, I assigned Jhon and his crew to measure the spikes’ origin points.”

  “What did they find?” Monty asked. “Were they able to determine the nature of the energy?”

  “I asked them to measure the spikes and to make note of any persons of interest.” Ramirez slid the file to me. “They came back with this.”

  I opened the file and my blood froze. I looked into the tan face of a young man in his mid-twenties. A riot of black hair that had never seen a brush covered his head. It was the eyes tha
t stopped me, though. I had seen eyes like that before. If George was approaching insanity, whoever this was had embraced it and wore it like a favorite suit.

  I slid the file over to Monty in silence. He looked at the picture and flexed his jaw. I felt the shift in energy immediately.

  “You two know who this is?” Ramirez asked, pointing at the picture. “If you do, I need that information. I lost four men getting this.”

  “I don’t know who that is, but I recognize the eyes.”

  Monty nodded and sipped his tea. “Would it be possible to keep this photo?”

  “Normally I’d say no, but I have nothing on this guy. No databases, not even facial recognition.” Ramirez rubbed his face. “Go ahead. On the condition that any info you get comes to me first.”

  Monty took the photo and placed it in front of him on the table next to my file sheet.

  “I’ll make sure Simon keeps you informed.”

  “What were you saying about the eyes, Strong?”

  I took a long pull of coffee. “The last time I saw eyes that off, I was facing an angry goddess.”

  “An angry what?”

  “Kali, the Hindu goddess of death and violence,” I said quietly. “Your guy has the same eyes.”

  “Well, shit. Is this guy a god?”

  “Don’t know. I hope not. That would truly suck if he’s the one responsible for Jhon’s team. Gods are hard to apprehend.”

  “Wow, no wonder you’re a detective.” Ramirez stared at me. “That observation was amazing.”

  “All of a sudden, everyone has a sense of humor.” I put my cup down. “If he’s a god, I hope you know the NYTF won’t be able to deal with him.”

  “Leave that to me. We have a few things in R&D.”

  “A few things in R&D? Are you kidding? You have something that can stop a god?”

  “Like I said, you call me when you find out anything about Crazy Eyes or George.”

  Ramirez grabbed his bag and put the files away. He held his hand out for the sheet from my file. Monty began handing it over when it burst into flame, turning to ash seconds later.