“We are Blood Hunters,” Esti replied, the hint of a smile crossing her face. “Vampires are of no consequence to us.” She continued stepping to her right and, frankly, it was making me nervous.
“Why did you attack her?” I asked, shifting to the side and stepping closer to the immense fireplace.
“You care about her?” Esti sniffed the air again. “Do you—love her?” she asked derisively.
“We have an—understanding,” I said, suddenly uncomfortable discussing my feelings. I could feel Monty gathering power, which made no sense. Julien would blast us to unrecognizable little bits if we disregarded his warning.
“An understanding?” Esti scoffed with a short laugh. “You understand nothing. She is a vampire. You are a meal to her, nothing more.”
“You’re wrong,” I whispered. “Michiko would never feed off me.”
“Am I?” Esti flicked her wrists and two long runed blades materialized in her hands. I recognized the runes as the same ones on the blood arrows. Getting stabbed by one of those would end badly. “Do you think your understanding will prevent her instincts from taking you? Where are the blades?”
“This is why I hate these conversations, Monty,” I said, reaching slowly for the flask of Valhalla Java. “No one wants to just converse anymore.” I took a long pull from the flask. The skulls on the surface coruscated with blue energy as I felt the liquid burn on the way down. My heart raced and my vision tunneled as a roar filled my ears. This may have been a bad idea.
“Conversation is a lost art,” Monty said and formed an orb of air in his hand.
“And this one is over,” Esti said as she flicked her wrists and sent her blades at me.
The Valhalla Java, aside from being the best coffee I’ve ever tasted on this planet, enhanced my reflexes, strength, and vitality for a short time. I hadn’t had a chance to test all of its properties. Since it was a gift from Hel, the Norse goddess of the underworld, I was certain there were some nasty side effects to drinking too much of it—like spontaneous explosion or rapid disintegration.
I dived over the table, causing her to miss, and slid in front of the fireplace. The blades sailed across the room right at Monty. He deflected them with a blast of air, burying them in the far wall. Esti extended her arms and two more blades materialized in her hands. I stood and noticed that the wall above the fireplace began bulging; never a good sign.
I took a few steps back from the expanding fireplace. I shook my head, trying to clear the image of the ballooning wall. Maybe the Valhalla Java had destroyed some brain cells and this was the result. I stood there, transfixed, as the wall got closer. I felt the pressure on my arm and looked down as Monty yanked me to the side. The wall, fireplace, and half the floor exploded into the sitting room.
TWENTY-TWO
“OH SHIT, JULIEN is going to be so pissed,” I muttered as I brushed off the debris from the destruction. I looked out of the gaping hole and onto Fifth Avenue. The fireplace was gone. I turned to see Monty tracing runes in the air. I pointed at the wall. “Did you do that?”
His face was tight with concentration. “We need to vacate the premises,” Monty said, his voice grim. “This should buy us some time.”
Orange energy blossomed, covering the doors and windows. I searched the room for the Blood Hunter, but she was gone. The door to the sitting room vanished, revealing a scowling Julien with a smiling Claude next to him. Julien placed a hand on the orange wall of energy and cursed. If he was angry at his newly ventilated sitting room, the energy wall pushed him into livid territory.
Another explosion outside focused our attention on the hole. “Ordaurum Montague,” a voice bellowed from beyond the hole. “By order of the Tribunal of the Golden Circle, you are hereby instructed to surrender yourself to my custody.”
“Bollocks,” Monty whispered. “They would send him.”
“That doesn’t sound like your pal Gideon,” I said, noticing Julien tracing a rune at the doorway. “We can’t get out the way we came, and whoever is outside sounds less than friendly. How do you suggest we vacate these premises?”
Monty looked in the direction of the large smoldering hole. “That way.” He pointed. “Fastest egress.”
“You must be kidding.” I looked out of the hole at the morning traffic racing down Fifth. “We’re forty feet off the ground. I’m willing to risk my digestive system for a teleportation circle, because I don’t fly.”
“No time,” Monty said, forming orbs of air. “Julien will disable the barrier at the door at any moment and the Arbiter outside won’t remain outside for long. I would prefer to avoid close-quarter runic combat. He’s showing Julien a modicum of respect by not attacking us in here, but he’s never been known for his patience. Julien, on the other hand, will attempt to erase us once he enters.”
“Arbiter?” I groaned and looked at the door. The barrier in front of Julien became fainter by the second. “Couldn’t you have just sent the Sanctuary an apology memo promising no more vortex practice in the city?”
“Time to go,” Monty said with a quick smile. “Besides, you’ll probably only suffer multiple compound fractures—it’s not like you’re about to plummet to your death.”
“Your motivational speeches truly suck, Monty,” I said as I ran toward the hole. I leaped out into open space forty feet above the extremely hard New York City sidewalk. An orb of air caught me halfway down and dumped me on the street. I rolled for a few feet before coming to a stop next to the Goat. I scrambled to open the car as a figure landed up the street, cratering the sidewalk.
“You may want to get your weapons now,” Monty said from the other side of the Goat as he opened the car door. “This conversation is going to be violent.”
I jumped into the Goat, grabbing both the Grim Whisper and Ebonsoul. I slid out of the passenger side as the Arbiter walked up the street. I sheathed Ebonsoul and checked Grim Whisper, making sure I had one in the chamber.
“You know him?” I asked as another explosion rocked the top level of the Foundry. “What was that?”
“That was Julien disabling the barriers, and yes, I know him,” Monty said, shaking out his hands. “His name is Ian Macintyre and we have—history.”
The Arbiter casually walked up the street. Where the Envoys looked like renegade wizards escaping a local Ren faire, Arbiters could give Ken a run for his money in the black-on-black wardrobe department. Ian wore a black suit over a black shirt accented by pale gold tie. A small gold circle rested over his left breast. He tapped a walking stick every other step as he approached.
“Gideon is still in intensive care after you shunted him back,” Ian said, stopping in the middle of the street. “They say he won’t be able to eat solid food for months.”
“I did warn him,” Monty said, stepping into the street. “You should go back, Ian.”
“Warning me now, are you?” Ian replied as he rested both hands on top of his walking stick. He stood with his legs slightly apart and narrowed his eyes at me. “Tell your friend that if he interferes, I’ll kill him—repeatedly.”
“Stay back, Simon,” Monty said as he flexed his fingers. “He’s dangerous.”
Across from Monty on the other side of the street slept a homeless man. He was dressed in old rags and what appeared to be a coat of black feathers. He clutched a long thick gnarled branch in his hands. It surprised me that I didn’t notice him earlier, but I guess jumping out of a building away from an angry Arch Mage has a way of focusing your attention.
Something about the homeless man set off my radar. I was about to cross the street and tell him to find a safer street to crash in when Ian hit the street with his walking stick. I felt the tremor as it raced toward us. I saw Ian nod and several fireballs blazed down the street at us. Monty threw up a shield and deflected them to either side. One of the fireballs nearly hit the homeless man, who kept on snoring, blissfully ignorant of his impending incineration.
“How did he manage casting without the finger wi
ggle?” I asked Monty as another wave of fireballs crashed into his shield. “Seems like a useful skill.”
“He’s powerful, he’s old, and he cheats,” Monty said, throwing up another shield. “He uses a runed staff to channel additional power as a reserve. It allows him to cast spells without energy manipulation. It makes him fast, unpredictable, and deadly.”
“Gideon’s mistake was that he wanted to take you back alive,” Ian said as he pointed his stick and a chunk the size of the Goat tore free from the sidewalk. It floated lazily just above his head. “He underestimated you—an error I won’t repeat.”
“You should leave now before I hurt you, Ian,” Monty said over the roar of another wave of fireballs. “Tell them you couldn’t find me.”
“You know I can’t do that, Tristan,” Ian said and waved the stick forward, hurling the large slab of concrete at us. “In fact, this will be easier if you just let me kill you and bring back your body. We can always train another Ordaurum.”
Monty pulled me back and placed a hand on my chest, blasting me with a gust of air and launching me behind the Goat. The concrete slab slammed into and passed his shield. Monty backpedaled and threw up another shield when the slab burst into a dust cloud. I rolled into a ready position with Grim Whisper drawn. I saw the look of surprise on Monty’s face, and a matching expression of shock on Ian’s.
Julien was walking down the street with a grinning Claude in tow. Black orbs of energy floated in his hands and he looked displeased. I looked across the street but the homeless man was gone. I ran for the Goat.
“I think this is a good time for a strategic retreat,” I said as I scrambled into the Goat with Monty pausing to deflect another fireball.
“Agreed,” Monty answered as he placed his hands together. When he pulled them apart, a latticework of orange energy formed between his fingers and expanded as it floated down the street. He jumped in the passenger side. “It would be in our best interests if we were far away when that net reaches them.”
I floored the gas pedal and raced the Goat down the street and away from the Foundry as an explosion roared behind us. Flames and runic energy filled the rear-view mirror as I glanced behind us. There was nothing else to see besides devastation.
“Did you kill them?” I asked, keeping my foot glued to the floor. “What did you send at them?”
“Something I’m sure Claude will appreciate,” Monty said with a sigh and put his head back in the seat. “I need to go to the Sanctuary.”
“What?” I said, nearly losing control of the car. “Aren’t they the ones trying to kill you?”
“There is a way we can do it, but we need to go downtown,” Monty said, grabbing one of his mage powerbars. “We need to go to the Hellfire.”
I was about to answer with a choice string of curses, when my phone rang. It took me a few seconds to process the number as I put it on speakerphone.
“Shit,” I whispered when I realized who the number belonged to. “This is not good.”
“Who is it?” Monty asked, looking at the number, and then he shook his head. “It’s for you.”
It was Ken.
“Ohayo gozaimasu, isn’t it a little late for you to be up—sun being out and all?” I said as I swerved around traffic.
“Cut the shit, Simon,” Ken said with an unnatural calm, which scared me more than his usual irritation. “We need to meet.”
“Sorry, did you mean meet with me in the same physical space?” I answered, trying to deflect what I knew was coming. “Aren’t you concerned Monty may destroy whatever building we’ll be occupying?”
“I know you know about the Blood Hunters and my sister.”
So much for keeping him out of the loop. An angry Ken was a homicidal Ken. A vindictive Ken meant no one and nothing was safe. No one touched his sister and walked away unscathed. They didn’t walk away—period. This was going to be all sorts of bad.
“Where?” I said after a pause. No sense in denying it.
“Neutral ground,” he said quietly. “The butcher shop you recently redecorated.”
“That wasn’t us,” I corrected. “Beck wanted to show Monty how powerful he was and it blew up in his face—literally.”
No answer, except quiet breathing. For him to suggest neutral ground meant we had skated past ‘this is a bad situation’ into ‘we’re fucked’ territory. I saw Monty clench his jaw and nod as I took another breath.
“When?” I said after a few seconds.
“Now. Bring your mage,” Ken said before hanging up.
TWENTY-THREE
THE RANDY RUMP butcher shop-restaurant was owned and operated by a werebear named Jimmy the Cleaver. The last time we were in his shop, we had a conversation with a Negomancer named Beck. He attacked us—in violation of neutral ground protocols—causing massive destruction of the storefront.
The Dark Council had since repaired and renovated The Randy Rump along with its runic defenses. According to Monty, a magic-user attempting to cast inside of its walls now would be rendered unconscious immediately and lose their ability to cast for twenty-four hours. Something about Ziller’s metaphysical law of runic backlash. I never paid attention when Monty started with his magicscience explanations. The last time I tried, I had a migraine that lasted three days.
I parked the Goat outside of the Rump next to a blood-red Ecosse Spirit crotch-rocket that belonged to Ken. The street was deserted. For an early morning, there was a disturbing lack of activity. There were no cars or pedestrian traffic to be seen anywhere.
“You think Jimmy cordoned off the Rump?” I asked as I looked into the empty shop. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
“Really?” Monty said with a sigh as he stepped out of the car. “Let’s go see what he wants.”
“I could’ve said I feel like a redshirt being told to check out that ridge in the distance, but I refrained,” I said, joining Monty in front of the Rump.
“Your restraint is astounding,” Monty answered as he opened the door. “I don’t know how you manage.”
We walked in, and behind the counter stood a large man with long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. He wore an apron over a T-shirt and jeans. His massive arms, which were easily the size of my legs, were covered with thick hair. His mouth was set in a tight line as he cleaned some glasses. He gave me a short nod and pointed to the back corner. The door to the back room was sealed and I breathed a little easier. If Ken had wanted to meet in there, it meant one of us wasn’t walking out.
“Did you invoke a cordon?” I asked as I walked up to the counter and took in the shop. Only one person sat at a back table. “It’s pretty empty in here.”
“I didn’t,” Jimmy said, looking over his shoulder. “He did. Says he has to give you something and shut down the area. Mentioned Blood Hunters.”
A cordon shutdown an area of a square block around a neutral location was usually reserved for high-level meetings between warring factions or powerful enemies. The Dark Council tried to avoid them when they could, due to the area of effect they produced.
It was similar to what Nick did with his plane-weaving but without actually moving the block. Mass disorientation and insane amounts of snarled traffic were always the result of a cordon. If the Dark Council allowed Ken to invoke this one, they were aware of the situation with Michiko.
I took a seat opposite Ken. He wore the usual black-on-black ensemble, a black trench coat over black jeans topped by a black turtleneck sweater. His long hair, hands, neck, and face were covered with a lightweight UV sensitive polymer that hardened when exposed to sunlight.
It allowed vampires to roam the streets during the day without the risk of catching a fatal tan. I called them vajamas, a cross between stylish armor and vampire long-johns. Neither Chi nor Ken approved of my name for their armor. Occasionally, creative genius must go unrecognized.
On the floor next to Ken sat a long narrow case. It matched the smaller one sitting on the table between us. He pressed the side of his
neck and a section of the vampire armor receded from his face.
“Strong, mage,” Ken said, grabbing the larger case and placing it carefully on the table. “I need you to get my sister back.”
“Why isn’t the Dark Council doing something about this?” I asked, pointing at him and raising my voice. “She’s the leader and they’re just going to do what—let the Blood Hunters kill her?”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “In order to understand the Council, you must understand supernaturals.”
“Rule of strength and power governs the supernatural community,” Monty replied after a pause. “She wasn’t voted in. She fought her way to the leadership position.”
Ken nodded. “Any sign of weakness and her position can be contested.” He opened the large case on the table and I saw the katana Ken usually wore across his back. Its black blade glistened in the low light, threatening to cut me just for looking at it. “She leads the Council because they fear her. Now her enemies see an opportunity.”
“Kokutan no ken?” I said, admiring the faintly glowing runes along its blade. I’d never seen it unsheathed. A few of the runes matched the ones on Ebonsoul. “This is the dark blade, but they said blades.”
“This is one of them, the other is kokutan no tamashi,” Ken said, looking at me. “The blade you are bonded to.”
“Wait, what?” I said, pushing my chair back. “What do you mean bonded?”
“I’ve never used this blade as a weapon,” Ken said, closing the case and pushing it closer to me. “My sister gave it to me to safeguard. I’m only its keeper. You, on the other hand—I have seen you use and be used by your blade.”
“You can’t bond with it, can you?” Monty asked, rubbing his chin. “You would be undone.”
Ken shook his head. “Perceptive, mage,” Ken said and pulled out a sheet of paper from his coat. “No supernatural can bond with these blades. It would negate their existence if they tried. They were created to destroy us.”
Blood Is Thicker A Montague & Strong Detective Novel (Montague & Strong Case Files Book 3) Page 10