EIGHTEEN
“MONTY? PEACHES?” I croaked as I opened my eyes and took in the scene. “Where are they?”
I was lying in a hospital bed, which meant I was still in Haven. There was a bustle of EMTe and hospital personnel activity around me, but I didn’t see Monty or Peaches. I tried sitting up and a rough hand pushed me back down in the bed. I looked up and saw an EMTe patch.
“EMTe” stood for EMT elite. The NYTF used these paramedics whenever they encountered some kind of supernatural disaster, or when Monty was allowed to run rampant, which was pretty much the same thing. They all wore dark red uniforms and drove around in extra-large blue ambulances.
“Strong, how the hell do you two manage to destroy so much property in such a short time?” said a voice from the head of the bed. “Can you answer that?”
I recognized the rough voice of sandpaper over gravel. He could easily give Sam Elliot a run for his money with that voice.
“Hey, Frank,” I said as he came into view. “I don’t do the destruction. You need to speak to Monty, the mage of demolition, for an answer.”
Frank defined grizzled. Older, in his mid-sixties, built like a wall and probably as tough. He was the oldest EMTe still in the field and was affectionately known as the OG. I thought it meant “old gangsta,” but one of the other EMTe told me it meant “original geezer.”
“The Morphology wing is gone,” Frank answered and pointed at me with his unlit cigar before putting it back in his mouth and chewing. “The entire wing.”
“What do you mean it’s gone?” I asked, propping myself up on my elbows and regretting it immediately as the room tilted. “The explosion wasn’t that bad—was it?”
“What used to be the Morphology wing is now a crater, so you tell me if it was bad,” he said and did a brief check of my vitals. “You seem to be, as usual, a freak of nature and intact.”
“Trust me, Frank, it’s a curse not a blessing,” I said, taking a chance and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. “I need to find Monty and Peaches.”
“You know what’s a curse?” he asked as I grabbed my jacket. The flask with Valhalla Java was still in the inside pocket and I considered taking a sip. I reconsidered when I realized Frank was staring at me.
“What?” I said, snapping back to focus on him. “I really need to go, OG.”
“The curse is the amount of paperwork you two create for me and my people,” he said as he headed for the door. “Why don’t you take a vacation somewhere nice—like Antarctica? Not much to blow up or demolish down there. No collateral damage either.”
I put on my jacket and headed to the door. “I’ll make sure to schedule it in,” I said to his back as he walked away. “Right after we deal with our current situation.”
He stopped midstride.
“What current situation?” He turned, chewing on his cigar. “You need to be specific.”
I didn’t know how much to share with him. The EMTe was an independent group that worked closely with the NYTF and Haven. If I said too much, it could end up putting him in danger.
“I don’t know if I should be—” I started.
He held up a hand, interrupting me. “Do you mean the situation where the vampire leader of the Dark Council was taken from this facility?” he said as he pointed at me again with the cigar. “Or the one where we have vampires getting harvested for their blood around the city? Maybe you mean the situation where Redrum is on the streets like never before and racking up a body count faster than we can get to them?”
“Shit,” I said, grabbing my phone. “This is getting bad.”
“Getting?” Frank replied with a snort. “Getting was days ago, boy. This is officially a shitstorm. You’d best find your partner and go do whatever it is you two do. He’s probably in the ICU with that large beast you call a dog.”
“ICU?” I pressed the speed dial for Monty as my stomach clenched. “Why would they be in the ICU?” I heard the phone go to voice mail and I hung up.
“You were in a room flooded with neurotoxins,” Frank replied, switching the cigar from one side of his mouth to the other. “By all rights you should be a paralyzed basket case right now, not walking around talking to me. Took us hours to vent what was left of Morphology. Knowing you, I’m sure your partner and beast are still around, so go find them.”
“I’m on it, Frank,” I said, pressing another button on the phone. “Thanks again.”
Frank started walking off. “Don’t thank me,” he said, waving my words away. “Just try not to destroy any more buildings. I’m getting too old for this shit.”
I called Ramirez. He picked up on the third ring.
“Strong, where the hell have you been?” he nearly yelled. “I’ve got the brass, some angry vampire named Ken, and the Dark Council all trying to chew me a new one.”
I smiled despite myself. For all his griping, Angel Ramirez was one of the best directors the NYTF had ever had. We recently had a falling out over his last lieutenant, Cassandra, who was killed in the line of duty.
Ramirez did not take losing people well. I didn’t blame him. I just gave him the space he needed to process the loss. Eventually we mended our differences, because that’s what family does.
“I’m at Haven,” I said, trying to get my bearings. I looked around the corridor and realized I didn’t know where I was. “Blood Hunters are paying NYC a visit.”
A string of Spanish curses followed as he yelled. I held the phone away from my ear until he calmed down. “What the hell are Blood Hunters doing in my city?” Ramirez said, his voice on edge. “Did you bring them here? It’s not like I don’t have enough to deal with.”
“They attacked Chi, but I don’t know why,” I said, grabbing a wandering nurse. “And no, I didn’t bring them here. How would I bring them here?”
“This, coming from the person who tangled with the god of chaos?” Ramirez said with a sigh. “I don’t know how you bring them here. I only know you attract disaster like shit and flies.”
“Give me a sec, Angel,” I said, covering the phone and looking at the nurse. “Where would I find ICU?”
“ICU,” the nurse answered and pointed down the corridor. I oriented myself, and headed for intensive care.
“Thank you for that wonderful analogy, Ramirez,” I said, returning the phone to my ear. “I feel so much better now.”
“I have a flood of Redrum hitting the streets like it’s on tap,” he answered as I heard his radio squawk in the background. “Do you know how Redrum is produced, Strong?”
“Vampires,” I whispered as I walked down the corridor. “They get it from vampire blood.”
“Who said you weren’t sharp?” he answered. “I have the Dark Council pressuring the brass. They’re asking me what I’m going to do about vampires being harvested.”
“You think the Blood Hunters are behind this?” I asked, checking out another one of the hospital maps—an Escheresque design with the sole purpose of getting people lost to the point of insanity. “It doesn’t make sense. Why flood the streets with Redrum?”
“Their entire purpose is to do what?” he snapped back. “They’re called Blood Hunters for a reason. We find them, we find the Redrum supplier.”
His logic did make sense, but something felt off.
“I think I know where the Blood Hunters are,” I said, finding the signs that pointed me to the ICU and picking up the pace. “At least one of them. They want something called the dark blades.”
“Grab your mage partner, meet them, and find out where this Redrum is coming from,” Ramirez said over the squawking of his radio again. “Where are you meeting them and what the hell are dark blades?”
“Don’t know,” I said, looking for the card given to me by the Blood Hunters. “Never heard of them before, but I’m going to find out. Can you tell me where this is?”
I gave him the coordinates from the back of the card. I heard the keyboard keys click for a few seconds, followed by a low whistle.
“Someone is playing hardball,” he said after a pause. “These guys did their homework.”
“Where is it?” I said as I approached ICU. “Where do they want to meet?”
“NYTF can’t go in with you, officially,” he answered, angry. “We even set foot in there, we’ll have an incident—an ugly one.”
“Just tell me where it is,” I said, dreading the answer because I knew it could only be one place.
“The Foundry,” Ramirez said, his voice tight. “Give me a few days. Let me call in a few favors. Unofficially, I’m sure I can swing a warrant to go in with you.”
“Angel,” I said, my voice thick, “they took Chi. I don’t have a few days. I have to go.”
“Strong, I’m sorry they took her,” Ramirez said quickly. “Listen to me, don’t go in there without backup and I mean without an army of backup. Not your mage and that thing you call a dog. I know what she means to you, but you can’t—”
“If you know what she means to me then you know I’m not going to wait days,” I said, looking into the ICU room and seeing Peaches on a hospital bed. “I have to go.”
“Strong, goddammit, Strong—”were the last words I heard before I hung up on him.
Monty and Roxanne were standing next to the bed. Peaches was still and barely breathing. Runes encircled his body, glowing faintly with every shallow breath he took.
“How is he?” I said as the words choked my throat. “Is he—?”
Monty placed a hand on my shoulder. “He’s stable, but the neurotoxin hit him hard,” he whispered, squeezing my arm. “Roxanne did everything she could. The rest is up to him now.”
I stepped close to the hospital bed and placed a hand on Peaches’ side. His chest rose and fell slowly with each breath. I looked at Roxanne.
“We’ll do our best to keep him stable, but we’ve never treated this species before,” Roxanne said gently. “He is quite unique.”
I nodded. “I need you to keep him safe, Roxanne,” I said, looking down at Peaches. “I don’t care if you need to post someone on him round the clock. Keep him safe.”
I stared at her and she stared right back, unwavering. “He will be safe, Simon,” she said, her voice firm. “I have information for you both.”
“The keepsaker?” Monty said, following Roxanne out of the room. I took one look back at Peaches’ sprawled body before one of the nurses blocked my view. “Did you speak to the Smiths?”
Roxanne nodded. “First the blood,” she said and produced the ornate lapis lazuli box, handing it to Monty. “It belongs to several ancient vampires and is incredibly potent. Each vial is a mixture of their blood and some chemical agent. This blood can’t fall into the wrong hands.”
“Do we know who these vampires are?” I looked at the vials filled with the dark liquid. “Can you tell when the blood was taken?”
She shook her head slowly. “That’s all we can tell for now,” she said and crossed her arms. “I’ll have that information for you in a day or so. The blood in those vials is lethal to humans.”
“Redrum,” I whispered. “Goddamn poison.”
Monty took out all of the vials except one and handed them to Roxanne. “We don’t need to carry it all with us.” He closed the box and gestured. I saw the runes on the surface of the box flare. “The Smiths?”
Roxanne tightened her lips. “Aria agreed to see you, but you have to bring her the keepsaker,” she said, clearly bothered. “I don’t trust her, Tristan. The Smiths are dangerous.”
“We don’t have a choice.” Monty put the keepsaker in a pocket. “She can tell us who requested the box for the blood.”
“I have to coordinate the cleanup here, now that we no longer have an MRI machine or a Morphology department,” Roxanne said, looking pointedly at Monty. “I swear your visits here can be taxing and destructive. Perhaps a call next time?”
“I’ll make sure the scanner is replaced and I’ll cover the cost of the damages, but first things first,” Monty said with a nod of his head while looking at me. “We need to locate your vampire. Let’s go speak to the Blood Hunters and find out what they want badly enough to risk an all-out war with the Council.”
“It’s the Foundry,” I said with an edge in my voice. “We have no backup.”
A sharp intake of breath from Roxanne made us turn. “The Foundry?” she whispered. “You’re going alone?”
“No one is insane enough to accompany us,” Monty answered, rubbing his chin before the slight hint of a smile crossed his lips. “What else is new?”
NINETEEN
THE FOUNDRY WAS a neutral ground, of sorts, in the sense that most of the people who entered its doors were neutralized and vanished from existence.
Located at 2 E. 91st Street, the Foundry had purchased the property once known as the Cooper Hewitt Museum and created a meeting space and home for the elite criminal magic-user. It boasted state-of-the-art security along with nasty runic defenses designed to erase anyone suicidal enough to attempt an unscheduled visit.
The NYTF never set foot in the Foundry. It had no jurisdiction within its walls. The Dark Council acknowledged its presence but chose not to interfere with its activities. Probably had something to do with the fact that a few members of the Council were also members of the Foundry.
The Foundry, like the Vatican, existed as a de facto sovereign state within the city. Similar to the Vatican, it was controlled by an absolute monarch. In this case an Arch Mage.
I got on Madison Avenue and headed uptown. The Goat’s engine purred and rumbled as we raced to 91st Street. I could see the first rays of light bounce off some of the tallest buildings.
“What are the odds of us getting out of there alive without destroying the building in the process?” I asked as Monty reached for one of his mage powerbars. “I really would like to avoid pissing off Julien.”
“We’re going there with an invitation,” Monty said after a few chews. “I could use a good strong cuppa. These bars taste like the bottom of a hamster cage. See if we can get one over there?”
“The invitation means squat, you know that,” I said, pulling off to the side in front of a small restaurant catering to the early morning crowd. “I thought sawdust was the main ingredient in those things?”
“If I tried to explain what is in these things, your brain really would melt,” Monty said, pointing at me with the half-eaten powerbar as he stepped out of the car. “The usual?”
I nodded as he went to get my coffee and his Earl Grey. I looked in the rear-view mirror, expecting to see Peaches sprawled in the back, before I remembered where he was. My stomach clenched for a second and I promised myself to repay the Blood Hunters in kind for skewering my leg with a blood arrow.
Monty came back a few minutes later, handing me my cup. I pulled out the flask from my jacket, pouring about a spoonful of the Valhalla Java in my coffee. It flared blue as it mixed with the liquid. I took a moment to savor the aroma of the enhanced coffee and then sipped the liquid ambrosia.
“And you talk about my fixation with tea?” Monty said, staring at me. “Have you seen yourself drinking coffee? It’s practically pornographic.”
“This is different. This”—I held up my cup—“this is the coffee of the gods—Valhalla Java,” I said, taking another sip before pulling the Goat off the curb. “You’re just drinking a bunch of boiled leaves. And you didn’t answer my question.”
Monty’s jaw flexed and I could tell the idea of going into the Foundry concerned him. “We need to speak to this Blood Hunter,” he said after sipping his tea. “If the Foundry was given as the meeting place, Julien knows. Nothing occurs within the walls of his domain without his approval. Implicit or not.”
I glanced sideways quickly. “Are you as strong as he is?” I asked. “I mean, you did level up so maybe you’re at his level?”
“It’s called a power shift, not leveling up,” Monty said, finishing his bar. “This isn’t a video game, and the answer is no. Julien is a few centuries older t
han I am and we are entering his home. A mage is always strongest in his home.”
“Can’t you just—I don’t know—tap into more power or hold some in reserve just in case you need it?”
He gave me the ‘are you really that dense?’ look and shook his head. “It’s a matter of resonance and energy alignment. Plus he probably has power modifiers and dampeners spread throughout the property,” Monty answered, pulling out the keepsaker.
I pulled up to the entrance of the Foundry and turned off the car. “Which means we’re screwed if this goes sideways,” I said, removing Grim Whisper and Ebonsoul. I placed my hand on the center panel between the seats and it slid back, revealing a large storage space. Monty placed the keepsaker in the space. I placed my weapons next to it.
No one entered the Foundry armed. If I brought both weapons I would have to leave them at the door with Claude. Since I didn’t trust Julien, Claude, or the Foundry, this was the best solution. I took a deep breath and stepped out of the car, followed by Monty. He pressed his hand on the Goat and it locked with a clang and orange flare.
“Let’s go talk to a Blood Hunter,” I said, stepping to the front gate.
TWENTY
CLAUDE STOOD AT the entrance of a large black iron fence.
“Fils de pute,” Claude spat when he saw us. “What do you want? We just finished renovations.”
“Look, Monty,” I said, pointing at Claude, “he sounds so happy to see us. My French is rusty, but that didn’t sound polite. Were you being rude?”
Claude glared at me and crossed his arms. He was a small man with piercing eyes who used his stature to his advantage. An accomplished mage and world-class assassin trained personally by Julien, no one underestimated Claude twice—if they survived the first encounter. We didn’t like each other much.
“Is Julien in?” Monty quietly asked, and I could feel the power coming off him. Claude must have sensed it too because I saw him stiffen and place his hand on his holster. “We need to have a word.”
Montague & Strong Detective Novels Box Set: Montague & Strong Detective Novels Books, 1 through 3 (Montague & Strong Case Files) Page 45