Montague & Strong Detective Novels Box Set: Montague & Strong Detective Novels Books, 1 through 3 (Montague & Strong Case Files)

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  “No, but I’m sure he’ll make an exception,” I said, leaning into her field of vision. “I’m a huge fan.”

  Monty nudged me gently in the side with an elbow and almost cracked a rib.

  “Tristan Montague, Esquire,” Monty said, introducing himself with an extended hand that she shook. “Please inform your employer that it’s of the utmost importance that we speak with him.”

  “One moment,” she said with a brief smile as we stepped several paces away from the desk. She pressed some more keys and picked up the phone next to her.

  “Esquire? Since when? Are you some kind of English noble?” I whispered.

  “Since now, and shut it,” he whispered back. “Do you want to speak to him or not?”

  “Yes, we need to. He’s our best and only lead right now.”

  “Then let me do this, or I swear I’ll hold you down and let the angry Valkyrie behind the desk swat you,” he said while staring straight ahead.

  “Monty, you kinky dog you,” I said. “Now that you mention it, she does look a bit Nordic.”

  “Mr. Montague?” she said with another smile as we approached the desk. “Your escort will arrive shortly. Please have a seat. Would you care for some refreshments while you wait?”

  She handed back our wallets and pointed to the large waiting area comprised of dark leather sofas, an oversized Persian rug, and several idle laptop stations.

  “Yes, thank you. Tea—Earl Grey, no sugar,” he said and headed off to the waiting area.

  “I would love a coffee, grande white mocha, please, hold the whipped cream,” I said. “Can you make sure they stir the mocha? If not it just gunks up on the bottom and then it just tastes like sludge.”

  “Of…course,” she said and picked up the phone. “Two teas, Earl Grey, no sugar, and hold the whipped cream.”

  She stared daggers at me and it was clear I had won her over. Another victim to the Strong charm. I sighed and then walked over to the waiting area and sat across from Monty.

  “It’s clear they need to work on their people skills,” I said, “but I can tell she’s crushing hard on me.”

  “Is there a lack of oxygen in this reality called Simon’s universe? The real question is: Why would Hades have a Valkyrie in his employ?”

  “Wait, you’re serious? She’s a real Valkyrie?”

  He nodded absentmindedly. “This could be a result of Charon’s disappearance,” he said and remained silent as the tea arrived. The server could’ve been a twin to the woman behind the desk. I noticed my cup was mysteriously absent. He continued speaking once she left. “They are known as the choosers of the slain and if Hades is shorthanded, they could be acting as surrogate psychopomps. It still doesn’t explain how that sorcerer became enthralled, though.”

  He drank his tea, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

  “This fixation you have with tea is like some weird porn. Why don’t you move over to a real drink and try coffee? Put some hair on your chest. You could even sound sophisticated and call it café noir.”

  He stared at me for a few seconds before taking another sip.

  “Because my palate is accustomed to eating my beans, not roasting, grinding, and then drinking them,” he said and put his cup down. “When you’re ready to join civilization, I’ll introduce you to tea.”

  I was about to ask him once again what a psychopomp was when another tall blonde glided over to where we sat. When I saw her, it started to give Monty’s Valkyrie theory some weight. She stood several inches over my six feet and looked like she could bench press me without breaking a sweat. She wore a dark blue business suit with matching heels. From my experience with Piero, I could tell it wasn’t off-the-rack. It almost looked like fine chainmail. She gave me a cursory glance and focused on Monty.

  “If you would follow me, please,” she said and headed back the way she came.

  I walked next to her and noticed her gait. If she was a personal assistant, I was a ballerina. I could see the extensive training in every step and shift of bodyweight. No motion was wasted as we walked. This woman was a warrior.

  We stepped into the elevator and I touched her arm lightly. She looked down at my hand and shifted her eyes to my face with a smile that said she would be happy to remove my arm if I had grown tired of having two.

  “Can I ask?” I said, and sensed Monty get in rib-striking range. “What are you?”

  “Of course you can ask,” she said and kept that smile on her face.

  I saw Monty roll his eyes and shake his head.

  “You must excuse him,” he said, giving me a stare. “He has an acute case of stupidity.”

  She nodded and turned to face me. Her eyes went from cool blue to black with red pupils.

  “I choose the slain on the battlefield,” she said softly and moved a few inches closer. “Maybe one day I will choose you.”

  The temperature in the elevator dropped by about twenty degrees and I could see my breath on every exhalation. I took a step back to admire the effect. I mistakenly thought my encounters with Karma had prepared me for these transformations; I was wrong. I kept a calm façade while my heart was trying to climb out of my ribcage.

  “No, thanks,” I said with a slight tremble in my voice. “I’m spoken for and she doesn’t like to share.”

  This time Monty really did slam me in the ribs and I had to cough to catch my breath. The elevator reached the top floor and the doors slid apart, revealing a long hallway. Set on the wall opposite the elevator was the Terra Sur logo. A T intersected an S in a gothic font, with the bottom of the T ending in a drill bit. In the center, where the letters met, was a diamond half the size of my fist.

  She exited and led the way down the hallway to a set of large double doors.

  “Do not antagonize Hades,” Monty whispered as we followed. “We need his help.”

  She stopped at the doors, opened one for us, and held it as we approached the cavernous office.

  “Your friend gives you good advice. Heed it,” she said with a short nod. “Your words will cause you immeasurable grief one day.”

  I gave her a short bow. “It’s a gift,” I said as I followed Monty into the hangar-sized office. At the far end was another redwood-sized desk. On both walls to either side of the desk were large screens broken up into several dozen displays.

  The desk itself held two clusters of monitors made up of six screens each. The fourth wall, behind the desk, was made up of one massive window-wall. The afternoon sunlight bathed the room in a warm haze. Another Terra Sur logo adorned the right wall, complete with an unbelievable diamond.

  “Are those things real?” I said as I pointed to the apple-sized stone in the middle of the logo. This one was larger than the one in the hallway, and it refracted the sunlight that washed over the logo.

  Monty ignored me as we trekked across another large Persian rug. This one dwarfed the one in the lobby and covered the floor of the office from wall to wall. My feet sank into it as we walked. By the time we were close to the desk, my calves burned from the exertion. It was like walking on sand.

  Behind the massive desk sat Hades. There was no smoke or lightning surrounding him, much to my disappointment. He wore a black bespoke suit that probably cost more than all my suits combined. His gray shirt had a hint of rose in it and was complemented by the pastel rose-colored tie.

  He sported a goatee where I expected a Fu Manchu beard. His moderately long hair rested against his shoulders. He looked like any other successful CEO of a large multinational corporation.

  Behind Hades stood Corbel Nwobon, his head of Cerberus Security. The file The Hack had given me on him was thin. He was a ghost. He was an averaged-sized man with an above-average intellect, if the rumors were true. Wherever Hades was, Corbel was always nearby.

  I didn’t think Hades needed any kind of security, though. No one was insane enough to try to attack him directly. Corbel’s reputation as the ‘Hound of Hades’ was fearsome enough to be an additional det
errent, though.

  I could see him ticking off a mental checklist about our threat level when I opened my coat. He dismissed me after a few seconds and gave Monty a longer glance before looking away. We must have rated high on the ‘insignificant motes of dust’ scale.

  “Tristan, Simon, please have a seat,” Hades said, placing a steaming cup of coffee on the desk. His voice, a deep bass, resonated throughout the office. For a second, I thought James Earl Jones had entered behind us, and I almost turned around.

  He sat with his fingers steepled and elbows resting lightly on the arms of his chair. In front of his desk sat three large wingback chairs upholstered in rich, dark brown leather. Monty and I avoided the center chair.

  “Are these Harrisons?” Monty asked, running his hands over the leather. “They must be.”

  It was my turn to roll my eyes. Monty always lost it around anything remotely English.

  Hades nodded and smiled. “You know your chairs,” he said, taking a sip from his cup full of caffeinated ambrosia. “I had them imported from the UK direct. But I assume you didn’t come here to discuss interior design. So, how can I help you?”

  “Actually we’re here to help you,” Monty said while removing some lint from his sleeve. “We understand you are having an issue regarding the Ferryman?”

  “What are you referring to?”

  My bullshitometer was pinging all over the place. Red flags were flying left and right. Any time a god answered your question with a question and feigned ignorance, it usually signaled imminent death.

  I opened my jacket just in case I needed to access the Ebonsoul. I didn’t know if it would have any effect on him, but if I was going down it was going to be swinging.

  “How many Ferrymen do you know escort dead souls?” I asked.

  “Simon,” he said, grabbing my attention, “how is Kali doing these days? Is she still upset with you?”

  The mark on my hand itched at the mention of her name.

  “She has a long memory,” I said, rubbing my hand against the chair. “I haven’t seen her in five years. We don’t really talk much.”

  “That’s a shame,” Hades said as he shook his head. “You should really keep in touch with those who hold a special place in your life.”

  “Since when did Odin lend you the Valkyries?” Monty asked.

  “Pardon?” Hades said with a slight edge. He made a gesture with his hand and Corbel headed for the door. He gave me a look as he crossed the floor and I returned it with my best Clint Eastwood stare. He seemed unfazed, looked at Hades, and gave him a short nod as he opened the door and stepped out of the office.

  I turned back to Hades.

  “You heard him,” I said as I leaned back. “The Valkyries. Why are they here?”

  “Because I requested them,” he said, and the voice in the back of my head that was warning me earlier began yelling now about getting out now while I still could.

  The only thing worse than evasion from a god was their blunt honesty.

  “I didn’t realize you guys cross-pantheoned,” I said. “I mean, Odin and the Valkyries are Norse, and you’re Greek. I thought there were strict rules about all of you, you know, speaking?”

  “The depth of your ignorance is nearly fathomless,” Hades said, and took another sip. His eyes followed mine. “Would you like some? It’s an excellent blend from the South—guaranteed to give you that much needed jolt.”

  That little voice broke out the megaphone and began screaming—NO. Then I remembered something about accepting food from Hades being a bad idea.

  “No, thanks. I’ll pass,” I said reluctantly.

  “To answer your pantheon question, we don’t conform to any rules imposed on us by humans, supernatural or otherwise.”

  “We just came from the morgue,” Monty said, unwavering. “And a credible source told us that Charon is missing.”

  “Your credible source was at the morgue?” Hades asked with a smile. “I thought only I spoke with the dead.”

  “Karma,” I said, and let the word just hang there.

  “I’m familiar with the concept, yes,” he said and pulled off a genuine stare that put mine to shame. “Are you threatening me?”

  In that second, wrapped up in the briefest of moments, I saw the chink in his armor as his façade slipped about a hair’s breadth. Monty noticed the opening, shifted in his expensive English chair, and pounced.

  “Who would be insane enough to threaten you?” Monty asked. “I mean besides Simon.”

  I smiled at Hades, but I felt the power emanating from him. It took every ounce of will I possessed not to run out of the office in fear. The voice clawing in the back of my brain had stopped yelling and was now curled up and sobbing about how I was going to die for pissing off a god.

  “Your blade is useless against me,” Hades said, fixing me with his gaze. “You are an ant attempting to attack an elephant.”

  “A swarm of ants can bring down just about anything,” I replied, returning his stare. “Even an elephant.”

  “True,” he said, pushing back from his desk and standing. He turned his back on us and looked out the window-wall. “But you aren’t a swarm of anything, except perhaps annoyance. I only see the two of you.”

  He had a point.

  “Karma, with a capital K, told me Charon is missing,” I said, undeterred. “Are you in the habit of giving your employees vacations?”

  “Karma. The one we can’t escape,” he said, tugging on his goatee. “Why would she bother with you? Ah, your mark—Kali was clever.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, and sat up suddenly curious. “What did Kali do?”

  “You’ll have to ask her. Maybe you should look her up? I can give you her last known location, if you like.”

  “No, thanks,” I said. “Trying to focus on your missing Ferryman.”

  “Charon was recently tasked with a very unique role,” Hades said after a pause. “As the oldest, he was the only one strong enough to gather a special group of souls.”

  “He was collecting the souls of sorcerers,” Monty whispered. “Powerful ones.”

  Hades nodded. “Your reputation as detectives is well earned,” he said and turned to face us.

  “Why would you have Charon collect the souls of sorcerers? What makes them special?” I asked.

  “Not only sorcerers. Those magic-users with a special affinity for magic at a certain caliber.”

  “Why would he abandon his post, though?” Monty asked. “Is it possible one of these souls overpowered him?”

  “He, like you, Simon, is immune to magic-based attacks,” Hades answered, revealing he knew more about me than I thought. “And he would never abandon his post.”

  “But he’s missing. And we just came from the morgue where one of your highly calibrated souls tried to end us—after he was dead,” I said leaning forward.

  “Are you certain he was dead?” Hades asked. “Death, like life, can be a tricky thing.”

  “He wore a rune of negation created by the Golden Circle and managed to reanimate upon its removal, even after it was on his body for a prolonged period,” Monty replied. “If he wasn’t dead before its placement, he should’ve been once it rested on him.”

  “A Golden Circle rune, you say?” Hades replied as he drummed his fingers on the desk. “Isn’t that your sect, Tristan? Was he in possession of his faculties?”

  “Was my sect. Initially, yes, he was lucid,” Monty said. “Right up until the attack. Then he appeared enthralled.”

  “Appeared?” I said. “He was a puppet. Someone or something was pulling the strings, and it was pissed.”

  “This changes things,” Hades said and gestured again.

  Behind us, the door opened and I saw Corbel standing just inside the entrance.

  “Yes, sir?” he said. “How may I serve?”

  “The situation has escalated. Take them to Thanatos.”

  “Wait, isn’t Thanatos… death?”

  “That
would be Death with a capital D,” he said. “I’m sensing apprehension from you, Simon. Why should that concern you?”

  “I just heard he wasn’t all that friendly,” I answered. “As in, he hates humans.”

  “He isn’t, but don’t worry, he hates gods with the same intensity he hates humans.”

  “So you don’t know where Charon is?” I asked. “Why not just say so and save us time?”

  “Bloody hell, Simon,” Monty whispered under his breath. “Let’s refrain from angering the god, shall we?”

  “My offer still stands, Simon,” Hades said and flashed me a predatory smile while he sat back down. “I would enjoy nothing more than to spend a day or two with you—testing the limits of your gift. Consider my invitation a standing one. Corbel, you may take them.”

  He turned his chair to face the window and we were effectively dismissed.

  “Yes, sir,” Corbel said. “With me, please.”

  “Thank you for your time,” Monty said and headed for the door.

  “Tristan,” Hades said as we crossed the ocean of carpet, “you asked if anyone would be insane enough to threaten me or my position.”

  “Yes, I did,” Monty answered, pausing for a moment to look at him. “But I figured it’s a rhetorical question. You’re the Zeus of the underworld.”

  “It’s not rhetorical,” Hades answered with a tight smile. “Speak to Thanatos.”

  ELEVEN

  CORBEL LED US out of the office. Monty was deep in thought as we headed to the elevator.

  “Why is he sending us to Thanatos?” I asked. “Doesn’t he rule the underworld?”

  “Charon reports directly to Thanatos,” Corbel replied as he walked past the elevator bank to a door at the far end of the hall. “Thanatos reports to Hades as a personification of death.”

  The door we came to was made of a dark wood. On it rested a diamond-shaped brass plaque. In the center of the plaque, in bas-relief, was a large letter A with a winged man beneath it. On the upper sides of the diamond, I could read Arkangel Industries.

  Corbel pointed to the door. “This is as far as I go,” he said and took a step back. “A word of advice: Thanatos doesn’t like visitors, even those announced by Hades. He especially dislikes long-lived ones. Feels you’re gaming the system. If you want to walk out of there again, let the mage do the talking.”