Requiem: A Montague & Strong Detective Novel (Montague & Strong Case Files Book 13)

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  “How can I help you?” the man asked, his voice gruff.

  “Earl Grey and coffee, black and potent for my associate,” Monty said looking around the place as I took the stool next to him. “We’re looking for someone.”

  “Aren’t we all?” the bartender said as he prepared our drinks. “This someone have a name?”

  “Gant,” I said. “Heard of him?”

  The energy of the room shifted slightly. What I took for a lack of attention earlier was actually a subtle shift in the attention of the room. Not everyone was watching us, but those who were were trying to be subtle about it and failing.

  The bartender placed the cups of tea and coffee in front of us. The coffee smelled amazing, and was nearly Deathwish level. Monty’s tea smelled like it always smelled—something close to boiled grass.

  Monty hummed in approval as he let his cup sit a moment longer. I took a sip from my cup and felt the initial jolt as my coffee cracked its knuckles and hit me in the jaw with a right cross of coffee goodness.

  I stared at the bartender in surprise as he nodded in my direction.

  “I know, it’s that good,” he said. “Special house blend. What do you want with this Gant?”

  “Sorry, but we were instructed to only speak to him,” I said. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” the bartender said. “People who ask for me usually shoot first, then get to the questions. This is a nice change.”

  “You’re Gant?” I asked incredulous. “Seriously?”

  “What were you expecting?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” I said. “With a name like Gant—tall, dark, and dangerous?”

  “Two out of three isn’t bad,” Gant said, smiling and winked. “I happen to be height challenged. On the plus side, being this tall means it’s easier to kneecap the idiots who equate my height with a lack of intelligence.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Gant,” Monty said. “The tea is exquisite.”

  “At your service,” Gant said with a short nod. “Now, how can I help you?”

  I had no way of proving or disproving this was the Gant we needed to speak to. For all I knew, he could be trying to get information out of the two clueless tourists who managed to walk into his place.

  It was thin, but possible. I looked at Monty who nodded.

  “I hear Magnus would like a word with me.”

  Gant’s expression changed immediately at the mention of Magnus. He narrowed his eyes at me and nodded.

  “You’re on the wrong floor,” he said curtly before pressing his hand to a section of the bar. A second later, runes on the corner of the bar he had touched glowed a deep red then faded to nothing. “Third floor. Now.”

  Gant pointed to a set of stairs at the other end of the bar. I glanced over and saw that each of the stairs was covered in softly glowing orange runes.

  “Now?” I asked, grabbing my cup of coffee delight. “Can I just finish...?”

  “No. Now,” Gant said. “Make sure to take the stairs and don’t speak to anyone here. Go. Now.”

  Gant stepped to the other end of the bar and went to the back. Monty placed a hand on my forearm and shook his head.

  “Let’s go,” Monty said, leaving his tea and heading for the stairs. “It would be prudent to head upstairs now. Most of these patrons only appear to be human.”

  I looked around the restaurant. We now had the attention of several of the tables. Some of the looks were disinterested, but a few looked angry. None of them were welcoming.

  “Good idea,” I said, following Monty. “Let’s go, boy.”

  Peaches stayed close to me as we climbed the stairs and let out a low rumble as we left the ground floor. The second floor was only a bar—no tables for sitting, just stools in front of a long, L-shaped bar. Sitting at the bar was one person who glanced our way, then ignored us as we kept climbing.

  The energy signature on the second floor was impressive. The person read like a sorcerer, but more. We kept climbing and came to a large rune-covered door. Gant opened it from the inside and motioned for us to come in.

  The third floor seemed reserved for private events. It was arranged as a lounge with large sofas and comfortable chairs spread out around the floor. A small bar sat on one side of the space, with another large wooden door dominating the opposite wall. The floors were the same wood as the doors and covered in runes.

  The space felt familiar, like the Randy Rump.

  “This is a neutral zone?” I asked taking in the space when I smelled the coffee from downstairs. I focused on the small bar and saw my mug waiting for me. “That my coffee?”

  Gant nodded.

  “This level is part of the Balfour estate,” Gant said heading to the bar. “You said Magnus wants a word with you?”

  “Yes,” I said, before taking another sip of coffee heaven. “Can I get a bag of this to go?”

  “You can’t drink more than that,” Gant said. “Not unless you’re a dragon.”

  “Are you a dragon?” I asked. “You certainly seem to get along well with them.”

  “No, I’m not,” Gant said, narrowing his eyes at me. “For the record, no one gets along well with dragons. You either follow their instructions or suffer their wrath. There’s no in between with them.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re not exactly human, but you’re not a dragon, either. What are you?”

  “Complicated,” I said. “I’m not a dragon, at least not the last time I checked.”

  “Only way you can drink that”—he pointed to my mug—“and survive, is to have some dragon in you. So, I’m going to ask again, who are you?”

  “My name is Simon Strong,” I said. “This is—”

  “I know who he is,” Gant said. “Mage Montague, responsible for the regular destruction of buildings in this city.”

  Monty narrowed his eyes at Gant but remained silent.

  “Finally,” I said, throwing up a hand. “Someone who speaks the truth.”

  “I didn’t say he blew up the city alone,” Gant replied. “You’re just as dangerous to property as he is, especially with your hound.”

  “I’m just as dangerous?” I said, offended. “How is it that I can be just as dangerous as a mage who considers blowing up buildings just another Tuesday? This makes no sense.”

  Monty glanced at me, ignoring my rant.

  “You are a gatekeeper,” Monty said, looking around. “This is…?”

  “I’m the Head Gatekeeper,” Gant said. “This place is the entrance to the Balfour estate on this plane,” Gant said. “At least one of them. Magnus will be here shortly.”

  “Magnus?” I asked, alarmed as my focus returned to Gant. “The dragon Magnus?”

  “Do you know another Magnus?” Gant asked. “Relax. If you were here with the intent to do harm, the stairs would’ve stopped you. If he says he wants to talk, he wants to talk. At least until you piss him off.”

  “Talking is good, as long as you can walk away from the conversation.”

  “Trust me,” Gant said, “if he wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have gotten past the first floor.”

  “The patrons on the first floor?” Monty asked. “Are they all…?”

  “Dragons? Yes,” Gant said. “Some of them are part of the Balfour Enclave, but most of them are looking to join. They come here to be seen in the right place at the right time, by the right people.”

  “Who was the man on the second floor?” I asked. “He was drinking alone.”

  “Basic black, looked angry, felt powerful?”

  I nodded.

  “Looked like he was having a bad day.”

  “That’s Rell,” Gant said. “Balfour lead enforcer. He’s not having a bad day, he’s having a bad century. If you value keeping your limbs attached to your body, stay away from him.”

  “Copy that,” I said. “Stay away from the angry, limb-ripping dragon.”

  “That puppy of yours trained?” Gant asked, looking down at Peaches. “Our hellhound insurance is
basic and doesn’t cover extensive property damage.”

  “There’s such a thing as hellhound insurance?”

  “There is, and it’s pricey,” Gant said. “Keep him under control. I don’t feel like renovating this place. Too damn expensive.”

  “He’s trained and well-behaved, mostly,” I said, glancing at my amazing hellhound. “You have any sausage in this place?”

  “You don’t carry meat with you?” Gant asked. “How long since he fed?”

 

 

 

  “Not that long ago,” I said. “About two hours.”

  “Two hours?” Gant said. “You realize hellhound puppies are eating machines?”

  “It has come up once or twice,” I said. “That, and he has a black hole for a stomach.”

  “He’s not a dog,” Gant said. “Hellhounds have insane metabolisms. Two hours will feel like a lifetime for him. Let me see what I can scrounge up.”

  Gant crouched down behind the bar and resurfaced a few minutes later with a large metal bowl filled with sausage.

  “Is that regular aluminum?” I asked, looking down at the bowl.

  “No, this bowl is carbon steel,” Gant said. “Aluminum wouldn’t last ten seconds with this puppy.”

  “Thanks, really, but you don’t have to go through all…”

  “This isn’t for your benefit,” Gant interrupted, setting the bowl in front of Peaches. “If you let him get too hungry, that would be a bad thing. For you, and more importantly, for me and my place.”

  Peaches gave me the imploring puppy-dog eyes. I nodded and he proceeded to vacuum in the sausages. Each time, it never ceased to amaze. I really was beginning to think his stomach existed in another plane.

  “I thought you said this was the Balfour’s place?”

  “This place is a TINY,” Gant said, crouching down again, out of sight. “You know what that is?”

  “Yes, kind of a portal that leads to another place.”

  “Exactly,” Gant said. “This place is like the front door to a larger place located elsewhere. In this case, the Balfour Estate, which is not on this plane. As Head Gatekeeper, I select the location of transition, while Magnus makes the bridge.”

  “Isn’t that a bit complicated?” I asked. “I mean, wouldn’t it just be easier to have a place on this plane?”

  “Last time they tried that, someone tried to kill an enclave leader,” Gant said. “Needless to say, there were plenty of unhappy dragons ready to rip through one another. Magnus came up with this solution.”

  “It’s complicated and clunky.”

  “It’s supposed to be,” Gant said, standing up again with a small turquoise crystal in his hand. He handed me the crystal. “This is an emulator. If you carry meat, you can use this crystal to create more. Hellhounds should never, and I mean never, go hungry.”

  “The last time I tried to create meat, it didn’t go well.”

  “You’re not a mage. Why would you try to create meat?” Gant asked. “Use the emulator. I’m sure the mage can explain it to you.”

  “What would happen if he did go hungry?” I asked, curious. “I mean, I would never let him go hungry, but it doesn’t seem like he can ever get enough.”

  “Hellhounds,” Gant said with a nod. “Bottomless pits of hunger. If it ever happens, you need to—”

  The large wooden door slid to the side, revealing a balcony behind it. On the balcony stood a man dressed in a dark suit with his back to us. He beckoned to Gant without turning to face us.

  “Magnus?” I asked.

  Gant nodded.

  “One moment,” Gant said, raising a finger. “I need to let him know your status before he comes in here. Standard protocol.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Gant slid the balcony door closed and began speaking to Magnus.

  “Our status?” I asked as I observed the conversation between Magnus and Gant. “What does that mean?”

  “I would imagine it’s a security concern,” Monty said, sipping his tea. “He would want to know if we took the stairs, as well as if we passed the other security measures I’m sure are in place.”

  “I was under the impression dragons were beings of magic.”

  “That doesn’t mean they can’t be harmed,” Monty said. “His energy signature, even in this place, is considerable. I would not welcome a confrontation.”

  “I second that,” I said. “He’s a dragon; he doesn’t need to be scared of us, so why all the precautions?”

  “It would seem our reputation precedes us,” Monty said. “He obviously knows about Slif. I wouldn’t doubt he knows about the Kragzimik as well.”

  “Well, shit,” I said. “Not the best way to start a conversation: ‘Hello, I go around killing your kind, you said you wanted to chat?’”

  “In your defense, both instances were self-defense,” Monty said after taking another sip of tea. “Slif had a lethal agenda, and the Kragzimik—well, he wanted to eradicate us all.”

  “I’m starting to sense a theme, here,” I said. “How long has Magnus been the enclave leader?”

  “I’m not certain. I do know he’s an old dragon,” Monty said. “That doesn’t happen by coincidence. He has remained alive this long because he’s careful. Even though this is a neutral zone, Magnus understands the wisdom in taking precautions. James’ establishment is proof of that.”

  “True,” I said, “but now Jimmy has Grohn, too. The Randy Rump is super secure as a neutral zone these days.”

  “Every security measure can be countered,” Monty said. “Even powerful runic, or in this case, trollgre, ones. All it takes is patience and power.”

  “I doubt this Magnus is out there worrying about me, or any of us,” I said, glancing at Monty. “He’s a dragon. I’m surprised he even wants to speak to me.”

  “This exercise is called assessing the enemy,” Monty said. “Don’t misconstrue civility for friendliness. Magnus is not an ally, not even one of convenience. He is here to determine how much of a threat we pose.”

  “As long as he doesn’t lose his mind and go ballistic, I’m good,” I said. “I’m not in the mood to fight another one of his kind. Those fights usually end up with body counts and massive destruction.”

  “This is a neutral zone,” Monty said, looking around. “A formidable one. My abilities are greatly diminished in this place. The same will happen to him once he crosses the threshold. He will not attack us here. Even dragons abide the rules of neutral zones.”

  “I seem to recall a similar speech when you described the Randy Rump,” I said. “Then it got blown up several times. You’ll excuse me if I keep my weapons close.”

  “The fact that we were allowed to keep our weapons speaks volumes,” Monty said. “Do not forget, we are his guests. Try to refrain from shooting him, or at him.”

  “It pays to be safe,” I said, tapping Grim Whisper with a slight nod. “He may be powerful, but he isn’t invulnerable.”

  Monty gave me a look.

  “Fine, I won’t shoot unless absolutely necessary,” I said. “How much do you want to share with him? I mean, there’s a highly trained group of assassins gunning for him. You think he knows?”

  “I’m certain he’s cognizant of this fact,” Monty said. “That, and you also belonged to said group.”

  “Long ago and lifetimes away,” I said, looking at the balcony door as it slid open. “Let’s see what he has to say.”

  Magnus came into the space first. The runes at the threshold shone a brilliant white for a few seconds as he crossed the balcony door. He was followed by Gant, who caused the runes to turn a brilliant mix of green and gold.

  Magnus must have shopped in the same place as Hades. His suit was an impeccable Amosu Vanquish bespoke item. The black fabric shimmered with a subtle silver line pattern. Underneath the jacket, he wore a crisp white shirt and a rose tie, which mat
ched the exterior of the building. His shoes were a pair of black Tom Ford customs by Arasheben that gave me pause.

  Anyone who would wear a seven-figure pair of shoes crossed excessive and sailed right into pretentious. Everything about him was meticulous. He could have been the poster boy for mages around the world, with his own tagline. Dragons: when nothing short of pompous will do.

  He had rugged good looks and reminded me of a young Pierce Brosnan, right around the Bond years, and he definitely had the suave look down. He didn’t look a day over thirty, which I knew was a lie. If Monty said he was old, Magnus was counting birthdays in centuries at this point.

  He smiled as he approached and that’s when the facade slipped. His smile was about as warm as an arctic wind and I could sense the wave of anger and contempt directed at me.

  Peaches gave off a low rumble, and I agreed. We did not like Magnus.

  Gant moved off to the side and headed to the small bar. Magnus stood in the center of the floor and gazed at us each in turn, before looking at me again. Soft classical music began to play, and Magnus nodded.

  “Perfect,” Magnus said. “Do you know this piece?”

  “Sounds a little somber if you ask me,” I said, recognizing the Mozart piece. “I prefer a good Coleman if you want to go for sad and meaningful. This is just people yelling in a language I don’t understand.”

  “Mozart, Requiem in D minor, K626,” Monty said. “An interesting choice.”

  “You killed Slif,” Magnus said in a soft baritone. Not a question, just a simple statement of fact. “Did you manage this alone?”

  “I’m never alone,” I said. “She started it.”

  “I’m sure she did,” Magnus said, walking over to one of the large chairs and sitting. “Shall we discuss how to rectify this situation?” He motioned to another set of chairs. “Please sit. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Right, that was like wearing a bloody steak and comfortably swimming in shark-infested waters. Everything about Magnus set off alarms in my head. I took a seat and Peaches sat next to me. I could tell he was ready to pounce. Monty, his expression grim, sat in a chair close to me and opposite Magnus.