“I’m neither a demonologist nor a dark mage.” Monty looked at Bart pointedly. “Magical demonology is a specific branch of magic few mages study. If I recall, Nigel is the resident demon expert in London.”
“You know Mage Warrenton?” Bart asked, surprised.
“I know of him,” Monty said. “He spent a few years at the Sanctuary, and we spoke briefly a few times. Bright mage with a singular focus on the netherworld.”
“And he lives here now?” I asked. “Maybe we can ask him what’s going on?”
“Lived,” Bart said quietly. “Mage Warrenton was found murdered in his flat last night.”
“Are you sure it’s murder?” I asked. “How old was he?”
“They found his body inside a circle of summoning—minus the head.”
“I think murder is a fair assessment,” I said, leaning back and rubbing Peaches again. “Well, that explains why a gaggle of mages showed up. Do you have any other demon experts in London?”
“They’ve called in Mage Rafael,” Bart said. “He’s the resident expert now.”
Monty groaned and looked out the window again.
“What?”
“Thomas Rafael is not the usual mage,” Monty answered without looking. “I’m surprised they called him.”
“What does that mean—he has a sense of humor?”
“Let’s just meet these Elders and get back home. You don’t want to get involved with demons.”
“Worse than dragons?”
“A dragon is forthright about trying to incinerate, eviscerate, or generally erase you,” Monty said. “A demon will do all of the same—but make you believe it’s your friend first. Never trust a demon.”
FOUR
TWO VEHICLES STOPPED at Lobos so we could get Peaches some much needed meat. The other vehicles continued to the Tate. Bart refused to let us out of his sight and came inside with us.
I ordered five pounds of black pudding and was assured that it was edible by the butcher behind the counter. I asked him to cut it into sections. They looked like large hockey pucks with flecks of white material in the center. It didn’t look remotely edible.
“Do you have a metal bowl?” I asked. “Titanium would be better.”
“You plan on eating five pounds of black pudding from a titanium bowl?” the butcher asked incredulously.
“Not me.” I pointed down at the eager Peaches. “Him.”
The butcher looked over the counter and whistled. “That’s a fine creature. Give me a moment.”
He came back with a large bowl made from a section of steel bent into a loose square shape. I dropped the five pounds of meat into the square bowl, and Peaches promptly buried his face in it.
“Maybe you want to taste it before inhaling it?”
Bart took a step back looking on with both disgust and disapproval etched on his face. Monty just sighed and stood by the door.
“Nice bowl,” I said, as it withstood the onslaught of Peaches chomping on the pudding.
“That’s a section of a Heavy Churchill,” the butcher said, with pride and a chuckle. “If your dog manages to chew through that, he’s welcome here anytime. Meat on the house.”
“That’s just steel, right?” I asked, shaking my head. “Hope you’re well stocked.”
“Not just steel.” The butcher looked down at Peaches. “English steel.”
The screeching sound of tearing metal filled the butcher shop as Peaches ripped off a section of the bowl. The butcher leaned over the counter, disbelief in his eyes. Peaches spit out the section and proceeded to lick what was left of the bowl.
“How did he—?” the butcher started.
“I’ll take five more pounds—to go. Thank you.”
The butcher packed the bag and kept looking at Peaches in shock. His hand trembled slightly as he passed me the bag.
“On the—on the house.” He crossed himself and stepped back and away from the counter. “That thing’s not normal.”
“His name is Peaches,” I said with a smile and held up the bag. “Thank you for the pudding.”
Bart moved out of the way, surprise combined with a large helping of fear replacing the disgust. “Demon,” Bart muttered under his breath, along with some curses I didn’t catch.
I headed to the door and looked down at Peaches. “You’re not going to say thank you?” I caught Monty wincing as he opened the door and stepped outside. “Not too loud,” I whispered.
Peaches spread his legs, faced the butcher, and barked. It wasn’t one of his loudest, but it shattered most of the jars behind the counter. The butcher crossed himself again and ran to the back. Bart, who just happened to be in the line of fire—I must have forgotten to warn him—had lost all the surprise, and was just showing fear now.
“Perfect.” I rubbed his neck.
“No, you may not.” I opened the door, but Bart was still frozen in place. “Are you coming?”
Bart stepped quickly out of the shop, into the waiting Range Rover, and slammed the door. Monty and I were left to take the other one. For some reason it appeared that we no longer required a mage escort.
“The driver knows where to go,” Bart said, right before he locked the door. “I think it’s best you travel with your demon hound on your own.”
“You think it was too much?” I jumped into the other Range Rover, and Peaches bounded in after me. He rocked the suspension as he settled into the seat he had to himself and sprawled.
“Who? You or the creature?” Monty asked. “Can you refrain from frightening the Elders of the Consortium?”
“Peaches is a good boy, he’ll behave and not munch on any scared old mages.” I rubbed his head and tugged on his neck.
“My relief knows no bounds,” Monty said, and settled into his seat.
We had made the right turn onto Southwark Street, when Bart’s Range Rover catapulted into the air. It hung there for a few seconds before ungracefully slamming into the street. It rolled several times, then ground to a halt, in the middle of the road.
FIVE
OUR DRIVER SLAMMED on the brakes as we screeched to a stop, nearly slamming into Bart’s overturned Rover ahead. He rushed out of the vehicle to help Bart and the other mages as they spilled out of the destroyed vehicle.
I looked behind us and saw what appeared to be a man on fire.
“Demon?” I pointed to the figure behind us.
“The flames appear to be supernatural in origin.” Monty narrowed his eyes as he looked. “Maybe we should investigate?”
“Investigate sounds like you think we should get closer,” I said, drawing Grim Whisper as I stepped out of the Range Rover with Peaches in tow. “I think we should put more distance between us.”
“We should ascertain the reason for the attack,” Monty said. “I highly doubt this has to do with us. More than likely it is another summoning. There may be more mages involved.”
“I can load persuaders if we’re going to be dealing with twitchy, paranoid mages.”
“Might be a good idea,” Monty said. “I don’t think the English magical community would appreciate you leaving a trail of bodies on your visit here.”
“Why do you keep acting like I’m the destructive one?”
“We may need some assistance—just in case.” Monty gestured. An orb shot off into the sky, followed by a wall of energy rising between the human flame-thrower and us. A fireball exploded against the barricade, and the demon roared at us.
“No way,” I said. “Did you just fire a bat-signal orb? Who’s coming?”
“That wasn’t a bat-signal anything,” Monty said with a shake of his head. “You really need to let go of your fixations.”
“My fixations make life interesting,” I said, looking at the demon. “Is that barrier going to hold?”
“That wil
l keep it busy for a short while.” Monty walked to the totaled Range Rover. “At the very least, let’s check on our escort.”
“How wide is that barricade?” I kept looking back to make sure the demon didn’t find a way around the wall of energy. Every time it tried to get around it, the energy shifted to block its path. I holstered Grim Whisper before Bart and his friends got the wrong idea.
“This—this is all your fault,” Bart said, pointing at me with eyes wide in fear. “You’re the one with that—that demon spawn.”
I was about to answer, when Peaches rumbled next to me.
“What is it, boy?” I grabbed the scruff of his neck, but he didn’t move when I pulled. I let go. “What’s wrong?”
The fact that I could ask that question with a demon trying to charbroil us explained my life in a nutshell.
“Monty, you sense something other than Johnny Blaze over there trying to barbecue us?”
Monty closed his eyes for a few seconds. “The gate runes are interfering with…Bloody hell,” he said, looking in the direction of the energy barricade. “We need to relocate the injured. Now.”
“They can use the Range Rover,” I said, pulling out Grim Whisper. “What is it?”
“I don’t know.” He began gesturing. “Whatever it is makes that thing over there look harmless.”
I looked down the street and saw the barricade flex and bulge. It buckled and burst into nothingness, as another figure appeared behind the demon. I turned to Bart and the other mages, who were looking on in shock.
“Get in the Range Rover and get out of here,” I said, checking Grim Whisper for entropy rounds. The mages were locked in a rictus of fear. “Now!”
They stumbled to their feet and jumped in the Range Rover. Those who couldn’t walk were carried. Bart hesitated a moment and looked at me. I waved him off. Eventually they all piled in and closed the doors.
“Let’s go,” Bart said urgently, as the driver floored the gas pedal. The Range Rover sped down Southwark. The second figure plunged a hand into the demon and absorbed it in a matter of seconds, as it roared and howled. The sound of footsteps filled the street as the figure approached.
“Have you faced demons before, Monty?” I asked. “Please say yes. Because I don’t think persuaders are going to do anything to that except piss it off.”
“Somewhat,” he said under his breath. “Control your beast and let me handle this.”
Peaches was rumbling like a throaty engine with a distinct pounce-and-rip-to-shreds stance. I grabbed him by the scruff and shoved him back. He moved a whole three inches.
“No, boy. He probably tastes like rotting meat.” I kept a firm grip of his scruff. I doubted I could hold him if he lunged. “Let Monty deal with him.”
“Mage,” the figure said. “You are not my target. Step aside. Do not throw your life away.”
“Who are you?” Monty asked as I glanced at him. He really was going to start a conversation with the demon absorber.
“You want to know my name?” the man said with a smile that really made me wish I had jumped in the Range Rover with Bart.
“No,” Monty said immediately. “I wish to know your hierarchy.”
“You are versed in my world, Mage.” I felt the wave of energy around the man. It was a dark and cold undercurrent of fear. Primal and irrational—the fear that seized your breath and laughed as you suffocated.
“I’m familiar.” Monty nodded. “Your hierarchy?”
“You do not possess the power to compel me, Mage,” the stranger said. “Step aside or perish.”
“He doesn’t, but I do,” another voice said with a slight accent. “Hello, Tristan. I apologize for the delay.”
“You bloody well took your time,” Monty said, looking to the side. “Do you think you can handle this, Thomas?”
A short man dressed in a black robe walked towards us. He pushed back the large hood, revealing a boyish face, short black hair and day-old stubble.
“Is this Batmage?” I asked, looking him over. “I was expecting the Bale version. This is closer to the West version. Can he deal with whatever that thing is?”
“I can,” Thomas said as he stepped into the street. “If my faith sustains me.”
“Is he going to start praying now?” I whispered. “Because he”—I pointed at tall, dark, and scary—“doesn’t look too impressed by Friar Tuck here.”
Monty held up a hand, and I shut up. I took a few steps back and made sure I could reach my mala bracelet. If things went south, I could throw up my shield immediately. Peaches stayed next to me in full pounce-and-tear mode.
“You have no power over me,” the demon said. “Step aside.”
“Only that which is loaned to me, Cinder of the Seventh.”
“You know my name?” Cinder said, surprise etched into his voice. “Then you know my power.”
“I do,” Thomas said, and gestured. “All power can be transformed. Energy can never be destroyed—only changed.”
White runes materialized around Cinder and penetrated his body. His face tightened as his skin began to bubble and peel. “We are only the beginning,” he gasped, falling to his knees. “There will be more, stronger than me.” His voice rasped as pain started to overtake him. “There are powers and principalities you will never dispatch with a wave and a whisper.”
“I will be waiting,” Thomas said calmly while making a fist. Cinder screamed as the runes exploded and white light filled the street, obliterating the body and blinding me in the process. Cinder was gone.
“Who are you?” I asked, impressed. I stuck out my hand. “I’m Simon—Simon Strong. This is Peaches.”
Thomas shook my hand and then crouched down, rubbing Peaches behind the ears. “He’s delightful,” Thomas said, somehow managing to keep all of his limbs attached. “How did you manage to get one of Cerberus’ pups?”
“Hades?” I stepped to the side, amazed that Peaches would let a stranger manhandle him this way. “That’s pretty amazing.”
“He’s always been this way.” Monty tugged on the cuffs of his shirt and sniffed. “Every stray fell in love with him. The Sanctuary was a zoo while he stayed there.”
Thomas petted Peaches once more and stood. “Hades must think highly of you to gift one of his pups.” He brushed off his robes and extended his hand. “Peaches is an excellent name. Mine is Thomas. Thomas Rafael.”
“Are you a mage?” I asked. “Because what you did back there with the demon—impressive.”
“You had to ask,” Monty said with a groan, and threw up a hand. “Thomas, the short version please, not a dissertation.”
“I see he’s still as cheerful as ever.” We headed to the Tate, which was visible in the distance. “I’m just a regular person, like you.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Regular people don’t go around casting and throwing runes at people. That’s more mages and wizards, those types.”
“Mage and wizard are just titles for the same thing,” Thomas said with a smile as he glanced over at Monty.
“They are not the same thing,” Monty said. “And you know this. In fact, you spent fifty years learning the difference.”
“Still touchy about the whole ‘mage-wizard’ thing, I see?”
“You have no idea,” I muttered. Monty shot me a stink-eye. “But you were saying?”
“I’m not a mage or a wizard,” Thomas said, clasping his hands in front of him. “I’m just a person who can manipulate energy that comes from a higher power—a source, if you will.”
“That sounds really close to what a religious person would say, but you use magic.” I glanced over at Thomas, who nodded. “At least when you explain it, I understand some of it.”
“That way of thinking and speaking forced the Elders to cast him out of the Sanctuary,” Monty said. “I told you to have any thought you want, just keep it to yourself.”
“They asked, and I answered.” Thomas shrugged and smiled. “They knew my arguments were sound, proven and more importantly, replicable. But maintaining their antiquated customs was deemed more important.”
“You taught others to use magic?” I asked. “Non-mages?”
“To manipulate energy, yes, and it scared the Elders shitless,” Thomas said with a laugh. “What took them decades to master, I was showing the novices in years, sometimes months. They never appreciated my powers of observation.”
“You would have thrown the entire magical community into an upheaval, a revoluti—” Monty started.
“A renaissance, Tristan,” Thomas interrupted, his voice on edge. “And you know it. Only, my ideas were too radical. Teach anyone to wield this power? Blasphemy!”
“I know,” Monty said in a low voice. “Thank you for coming tonight. Your assistance was appreciated.”
“You didn’t need me for that demon.” Thomas narrowed his eyes at Monty. “Especially with your recent shift. Are you masking?”
“You can say that,” Monty answered. “We’re here to see the Consortium, and I would rather they not know about the extent of my abilities just yet.”
Monty looked off in the distance and motioned with his chin. I saw the Range Rover with Bart and his group.
“I’m afraid this little interaction will pose a problem,” Thomas said. “They’re quite anti-demon these days.”
“It doesn’t help that most of Nigel was found in the center of a demonic summoning circle,” Monty answered. “Convincing the Consortium of our innocence in this matter will be near impossible.”
Thomas rested a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll find that mages, wizards, and most magic-users are very much fixed in their ways,” he said. “Don’t bother trying to change their minds. Especially now with the demons roaming London, everyone is a ‘dark mage.’ Ooh, beware.”
I snuck a glance at Monty, and Thomas laughed.
“What happened to Nigel?” Monty asked. “They said a demon killed him. If I recall his power level, a demon would have had a difficult time with him.”
Silver Clouds Dirty Sky A Montague and Strong Detective Novel (Montague & Strong Case Files Book 4) Page 2