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

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  “Contrary to his assessment of ‘cursed over evil,’ the car is a danger to everyone but the driver, it seems.”

  “Why not blast it to small Beast pieces?”

  “I’ve tried everything,” Cecil said with a sigh. “The thing is indestructible.”

  “He’s counting on us getting this vehicle destroyed.” Monty looked at the new Goat. “And solve the issue he has with the abomination he created.”

  “You don’t understand.” Cecil held up a hand. “It’s not like that at all.”

  “Tell me,” Monty said, his voice low with an edge of menace. “How exactly is it?”

  “You owe me,” Cecil started. “Because of you two…SuNaTran’s name, my name, is getting tarnished.”

  “Tarnished? Really?” Monty replied.

  “Here’s a request I received yesterday.” Cecil pulled out his phone and scrolled through his text messages. “‘Could you provide me with a vehicle? Preferably the non-exploding or melting model. Thank you.’”

  “That’s harsh,” I said, suppressing a giggle as I turned away. “Funny…but harsh.”

  “I’m so glad this amuses you.” Cecil held up the phone and pointed at Monty. “I get more and more messages like this every day.”

  “And you want us to do what exactly?” Monty brushed some strands of hair out of his face.

  “I need you to conduct your business using this car, showing the supernatural community that my cars will keep them safe. Not explode or melt on them.”

  “He does have a point,” I said, composing myself. “We, meaning you, are the reason the cars seem unsafe.”

  Cecil nodded. “It has very little to do with the Beast.” His face grew dark. “I don’t think there’s a way to destroy that thing.”

  “I’m still not driving it.” Monty headed over to the passenger side. “We will discuss this later.”

  “It’s keyed to have a primary and secondary driver, no valet driving,” Cecil added with a nod. “If one of you isn’t driving, it’s not moving. Mr. Strong, you first.”

  “That seems shortsighted.” I approached the Goat and placed my hand on the door handle. The entire car flared bright orange for several seconds. I saw runes race along its surface and slowly fade away. The metal binding rune in my hand turned to dust.

  “Not shortsighted, safe.” Cecil motioned to Monty. “Now you, Tristan.”

  Monty grabbed the handle on the passenger side and the same effects repeated themselves.

  “Unlock it,” Cecil said. “I’ve provided you with a SuNaTran emblem allowing for parking anywhere in the city. It’s etched into the Lexan windshield.”

  I turned the handle and heard the familiar metal clang as the doors unlocked. Something that sounded like a hammer striking an anvil came from under the hood. An orange glow flashed over the Goat and faded slowly.

  I opened the back door and Peaches bounded in, rocking the Goat and demonstrating his professional sprawling ability. The suicide doors were a nice touch. I was fairly certain 1967 Pontiac GTOs were standard with two doors. The added doors allowed Peaches easy access to his backseat sprawlfest.

 

 

  I was about to answer when I realized it was a good question. What was unsafe for a hellhound?

  I could see the smoke wafting up from the surface of the Goat. The color fluctuated from deep purple to black, leaning more to black.

  “At least it’s not a grape anymore. Thank you, I like this color better.”

  “Yes, it goes by the exotic name of…black. I tried painting it with the Byzantium.” Cecil shook his head. “It burned most of it off. This is all that remained.”

  “Are you saying this is a Beast Goat now?” I asked. “A zombie Goat? An Undying Goat?”

  “Is he always this way?” Cecil asked Monty.

  “Only when he’s awake.”

  “One more: The Goat from Beyond?”

  “Do you think you can just get in and start it, please?” Cecil asked, stepping away from the car. “Let me know if you feel anything odd.”

  I placed my hands on the wheel, and red runes came to life along the dashboard. They pulsed for thirty seconds and then disappeared. I held my breath and started making choking noises.

  Cecil ran over to my side, his face full of concern. Monty slid into the passenger side and adjusted his seatbelt while I convulsed behind the wheel. I placed both hands around my neck and clawed at my throat, trying to catch a breath. Monty slowly examined the glove compartment.

  “Are you okay?” Cecil asked worriedly, fumbling at my seatbelt, trying to get it loose. “What’s wrong? Tristan, what’s wrong with him?”

  “There aren’t enough hours in the day to explain what’s wrong with him.”

  “No…no new car smell,” I said and fell back in my seat with a gasp. “You couldn’t spring for a pine tree?”

  Cecil stopped pulling at my belt, clenched his hand into a fist, and for a brief second I thought he was going punch me in the face.

  “That’s not funny…not funny at all.”

  “I disagree. Ask Monty.”

  Cecil looked over to where Monty sat carefully ignoring me.

  “Positively side-splitting.” Monty closed the glove compartment. “I can barely contain myself from the hilarity.”

  Cecil glared at us. “There’s something wrong with the both of you.” He looked into the back seat and saw Peaches on his back in superior sprawl position taking up all the available space in his seat. “The three of you. Even your hound is mental.”

  “His name is Peaches,” I said seriously. “Not hound, thank you very much.”

  “Peaches? Who names a hellhound Peaches?”

  “That’s his name, because—like a peach—he is soft, sweet, and slobbery.”

  “Thank you for the vehicle, Cecil,” Monty said. “If anything should arise, like Simon’s spontaneous demise, I’ll make sure to give you a call.”

  I adjusted my seatbelt. I placed a finger on the dash panel near the steering wheel. The engine roared and settled into a purr, vibrating in my gut. I closed my eyes and basked in the sensation and sound for a few seconds.

  “The runic biometrics are a nice touch.” I opened my eyes. “Really, thank you, Big C. If we explode, melt, or otherwise trash this wonderful vehicle, you’ll be the first person I call.”

  “Big C?” Cecil stepped back. “Where are you going?”

  “The Hybrid.”

  “The Hybrid? Have you grown tired of living? Neither of you are demigods. That place is suicide for you.”

  “We need to go uptown and ask some questions. Do you need a ride? I’m sure we can drop you somewhere.”

  Cecil looked in the back seat again. Peaches hadn’t budged and didn’t look like he was going to anytime soon. At least not without a large amount of sausage.

  “No, thanks,” Cecil answered. “I’d hate to keep you from your date with death. I’ll call Robert to pick me up. He should be done by now. Please call me if you survive your visit or if anything happens with the car.”

  “Will do,” I said.

  “Remember, don’t let anyone else try and drive it. I’m serious.”

  “No one but Monty and me can drive the Dark Goat, got it.”

  He stepped back as I revved the engine.

  “It’s not called the…Nevermind. This is such a mistake,” I heard him say as I pulled away.

  FOURTEEN

  “WHERE IS THIS place?” I asked.

  “Hybrid is located at 1 East 60th Street.”

  I jumped on the West Side Highway and sped uptown, weaving around the evening traffic.

  “What are we walking into? Why did TK have to make a call? Why did Cecil say it was suicide?”

  “This is a private establishment.”

  “I thought it was a hotel? It’s a private hotel?”

  Monty nodded as I avoided the yellow hazards known as New York C
ity taxicabs.

  “Hybrid has two wings, a large one for normals, consisting usually of the entourage, assistants, and servants of the demigods.”

  “And the other?”

  “The smaller, more secure wing, is for the demigods and the occasional deity who happens to be in town.”

  “So I can’t just walk in and get a room?”

  “All reservations go through Pollux. He’s been known to turn guests away, normal and demigod alike. His word, like his brother Castor’s, is absolute within Hybrid.”

  “Isn’t this Pollux the prick who Dex told us to avoid?”

  Monty pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

  “Pollux is a powerful demigod. Do you think you can refrain from using that title around him?”

  “Monty, this is me,” I said. “I know what tact is.”

  “Sometimes, I wonder.”

  “Doesn’t sound so dangerous. Why was Cecil so freaked?”

  “Because Hybrid is dangerous to non-demigods. People have been known to go missing inside its walls.”

  I cut across the city, east on 58th Street to Madison Avenue and made a left on 60th Street. A block later, I stopped in front of what used to be the Metropolitan Club. From the looks of things, the place was designed as an impenetrable fortress. The twelve foot wrought-iron fence covered in runes told me Hybrid served an exclusive and select clientele who valued privacy above all else.

  The valet stood in front of the Hybrid and gave me a nod when I stopped. He looked at the SuNaTran emblem and pointed a little farther up the block. I parked the Dark Goat in one of the reserved spots and stepped out. Monty looked down the block and narrowed his eyes. I held open the back door and my hellhound unsprawled, shaking his body once outside.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  I nudged Peaches over to the side. He moved about two inches before I felt the strain on my knee. Somehow, my hellhound had discovered Zen through the process of devouring ungodly amounts of meat. He’d be asking me the sound of one sausage falling soon.

  “Make sure you keep to the designated path, Simon.”

  “Why?” I asked, holding the handle of the Goat until I heard the anvil locking sound. “Will I get lost in the dark forest?”

  “No, you will step into the abundance of oblivion circles around the property, placed there to dissuade intruders from attempting the fence.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  “Oblivion circles, that would be bad,” I said, keeping to the path designated with faintly glowing runes.

  “Indeed.” Monty adjusted his sleeve and followed the door attendant inside. I opened my jacket and made sure I had access to Grim Whisper and Ebonsoul. “Make sure your creature doesn’t step in one as well.”

  “Taken care of. Do you think they have meat inside?”

  “For you or your creature?” Monty said with a slight smile.

  “Oh, ha ha. Yes, because I usually go around craving meat. For him, of course.”

  “This is not a local deli or butcher shop. I doubt they have slabs of meat hanging about waiting for the transient hellhound. Is this going to be a problem?”

  “No, let’s just do this. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  The Hybrid had kept the original lobby of the Metropolitan Club when they acquired the property. A grand double staircase led to an arcade on the second level, overlooking the reception area. A large, rust-colored Bokhara Persian rug dominated the center of the floor.

  Spaced evenly around the rug were clusters of wingbacks grouped in threes, providing little capsules of privacy for some of the guests. The impressive wood ceiling fit right in with the abundant use of gold-leaf and marble. The only word that fit the building was palatial.

  It whispered old money and extravagance and I was sure J.P. Morgan would be proud to see it had been maintained in the same condition as the Metropolitan Club. Opposite the grand staircase, a marble fireplace large enough to burn a small forest held a raging fire.

  Places like this usually made me upset. It smacked of elitism and privilege. The people who used these places only did so because they belonged to a certain group. In this case—demigods. It wasn’t through any merit on their part. I don’t know what pissed me off more, the fact that they acted superior to normals or that normals actually believed they were superior.

  After a few recent encounters with gods, my overall impression of deities, full or half, was that power drove them round the bend on a straight road. The ones that appeared sane were actually scarier than the ones that were batshit out of their minds.

  I stopped in the center of the reception area and looked around at the old-world opulence, impressed they had kept the building in such good shape. One cluster of wingbacks was occupied by a couple—a young man, and woman. I walked by and overheard a snippet of the conversation.

  “And I told him to get with the times,” the man said. “Email is a real thing now. Why do I have to keep delivering messages? Do you know what he said?”

  “I can imagine,” the woman answered. “You know he’s set in his ways.”

  “He goes: ‘Hermes, it’s your job, it’s what you do. You deliver messages. Aren’t you faster than this email?”

  “He actually asked if you were faster than email?” the woman inquired with a short laugh. “He’s never going to embrace technology, you know.”

  “Don’t remind me. I swear it makes me want to go Roman.”

  I kept walking around reception until Monty coughed and caught my attention. He stood at the front desk speaking to an older woman.

  The woman gave me a cursory glance and then focused on Monty again. Her nametag read Erin F. Uries, and she gave me a tight smile when I stepped close to the large desk. Her brown eyes glimmered violet for a moment, and I felt the energy surrounding her.

  She glanced down at Peaches and then focused on Monty again.

  “Name, please?” She looked down at the monitor in front of her.

  “Montague—Tristan Montague.”

  “Purpose of stay?”

  “We’re not staying. I’m here to see Castor.”

  She glanced at Monty again. “Did someone arrange this meeting?”

  “TK Tush.”

  “Thank you.” Erin nodded and entered some data into her computer with a quick tapping of keys. “Mr. Castor will be with you shortly. You can wait in the bar or reception.” She motioned to the wingbacks.

  “I could use a cuppa,” Monty said, heading to the bar.

  We sat at the bar, and Monty requested a cup of Earl Grey. He was looking a bit worn out, and I wondered if the Reckoning had taken a higher toll than I imagined. What we needed was a vacation. A non-magical, non-monster-trying-to-kill-us vacation.

  “For a second I thought you were going to say a martini—shaken, not stirred. What was that with the name?”

  He waved my words away a
nd subtly looked around the room. The bar was on one side of the hotel restaurant. Empty tables filled the floor, but I saw activity in the kitchen area on the far side of the room.

  “Simon, you need to stay alert.” Monty sipped his tea and grimaced. “They call this tea?”

  “I am alert. I mean as—”

  “We aren’t demigods.”

  “No kidding, really? What was your first clue? What are you talking about? Of course we aren’t demigods.”

  “This entire establishment was created to cater to demigods and their appetites. If we handle this questioning poorly, we’ll have to deal with a hotel full of upset half-deities. Is that a scenario you want to entertain?”

  “How many demigods are we talking about?”

  “Are you insane?” He stared at me as if I had sprouted another head.

  “What? It’s purely an academic question. Do we think our Mr. Crazy Eyes is here?”

  “There’s a good chance. If not, Castor may know how to find him.”

  “And he would share that information? With us?”

  “There’s always a cost.” Monty nodded and took another sip. “We still need to ask.”

  “Do you think he will answer?”

  “Depends on the question,” a voice said from behind us.

  FIFTEEN

  “HELLO, CASTOR.” MONTY sipped more of his tea and turned to face the man behind us. “Your Earl Grey needs considerable work.”

  “I’ll make sure to look into it,” Castor said with a raised eyebrow. “I heard about Connor. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Castor was dressed in a gray suit and managed to look as if he had just left a photoshoot for the latest men’s magazine. I wondered if gods had the equivalent of a divine High Street where they all shopped. If I remembered my mythology correctly, both Castor and Pollux were immortal, after Pollux shared his immortality with his brother.

  His gray hair was carefully cut and coiffed. He looked at us with an expression of mild amusement and curiosity. He gave Peaches a wide berth and moved to stand next to Monty.

  “Thank you.” Monty placed the cup on the bar. “How is Pollux?”

  “You know him, busily up to something as usual. TK said you would be visiting. Is it true you two had a Reckoning?”