Silver Clouds Dirty Sky A Montague and Strong Detective Novel (Montague & Strong Case Files Book 4)

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  We climbed the stairs in silence. I looked down at Peaches.

  No biting in here, boy. Monty will get upset and cook us.

 

  I was getting used to the Vulcan mind-meld with my hellhound. We weren’t going to be discussing philosophy unless he was the size of a house, but we could always have a culinary conversation, as long as it revolved around meat.

 

  I stifled a laugh behind a cough as Monty bounced a glare between Peaches and me. We reached the next level and faced another pair of open ironwood doors. These were designed to reinforce the fact that you were being allowed to enter. Each one was two-feet thick and stood at least twenty feet tall.

  “Don’t think anyone will be storming the Wordweavers anytime soon,” I said, walking past the immense doors.

  We crossed the threshold into a large, airy chamber filled with sunlight. One side of the immense room was covered in books, scrolls, parchments, and what appeared to be skins with some kind of writing on them.

  The books were arranged on shelves that ran floor to ceiling with several rolling ladders situated in front of them. The rest of the materials sat on desks scattered on that side of the room.

  The other side of the room was the definition of minimalism. One large mahogany desk, about twelve feet wide, dominated the space. Five wingbacks were spaced in front of it, and they still looked small compared to the redwood posing as furniture. No one sat behind the desk.

  I looked around and noticed movement. Perched high above us was a woman dressed in jeans, boots, and a black T-shirt, dangling precariously off the rolling ladder as she reached for a book. Her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and glasses were on the verge of sliding off her nose as she read the spine of the book she had just grabbed. I tapped Monty on the shoulder and pointed.

  “Maybe the book assistant can help us find Her Highness the Dahvina?”

  He looked up, narrowed his eyes, and then opened them in shock. “That’s the—”

  “Um, excuse me?” I yelled. She was high up, and I wasn’t sure my voice would reach her all the way up there. “We’re looking for the Dahvina?”

  Monty groaned next to me.

  “What?” I said. “I’m getting us help.” I looked back up at the woman who smiled and started climbing down the ladder, book in hand. “Maybe she’s an intern? Do Wordweavers have those? You know, like junior Weavers. Maybe wordknitters?”

  “She is the Dahvina,” Monty said, quietly and bowed as the woman approached us.

  I looked at the woman as she got closer. “Are you sure?” I asked. “Is that proper Dahvina attire? I expected something a little more robey, maybe with gleaming runes of power. Not casual Starbucks attire.”

  The short woman pushed the glasses up her nose and peered up at us. Her black shirt had the image of a thorny dragon and some place called The Dive. It read, be discreet or be delicious.

  “I apologize for your reception, but one of my students requested a volume and needed it right away.”

  She whispered a word and the book in her hand vanished.

  “No apologies necessary,” I said. “What do I call you? Your Highness? Your Weaverness?”

  “Dahvina will suffice,” she said with a smile. “Welcome, Tristan, Simon, and”—she crouched down to give Peaches a scratch behind the ears—“Peaches, I believe is his name?”

  I liked her right away. “Yes, his name is Peaches. How did you know?”

  She walked over to her behemoth of a desk and sat down behind it.

  “Names, words, symbols,” she said with a nod, “are what you may call—my area of expertise.”

  “I don’t understand,” Monty said with a perplexed expression. “Hades said you were—”

  “Let me guess, ‘Wordweavers are very proper and stand on protocol’ or something to that effect?” she asked, doing an impressive imitation of the god. “Probably told you to behave and watch your speech around me?”

  Monty nodded mutely, clearly taken aback. Dahvina whispered again and her clothes transformed into a golden robe with red brocade. Runes glimmered in the fabric of the robe.

  “That looks more Wordweaverish,” I said, nodding.” I did like the shirt, though.”

  “Thank you. It’s a collectible.”

  “I just didn’t expect…” Monty was clearly in shock.

  She looked at Monty and a wave of violet power flashed across her eyes. “I wouldn’t believe everything a god tells you, especially that one.” She removed her glasses and placed them on the desk. “Do you have something for me?”

  Monty tapped his jacket and then looked at me, motioning with his head.

  “Please give her the key.”

  “What key?” I asked, patting my jacket and feeling the large key in my pocket. “Oh, this one.”

  I placed the key on the table as Dahvina scrutinized me.

  “How long have you had Kali’s mark?” she asked, and caught me off guard.

  “Not long,” I said, glancing at the endless knot inscribed into my hand. “Too long.”

  She nodded. “Bonds can be like that.” She lifted the key and pointed at Monty with it. “What do you need, Mage?”

  Monty reached behind his back and drew the Sorrows as they materialized in his hands. “I need to create seraphs.” He placed the blades on her desk.

  “Two?”

  “Three,” he said, and pointed at Ebonsoul. “I’m certain that blade will prove the most difficult.”

  She extended a hand as she looked at me. I unsheathed Ebonsoul and placed it next to the Sorrows. She whispered something under her breath and changed back into her earlier ensemble, except the shirt had different text. This time it read: Drink in peace or leave in pieces.

  “These two,”—she pointed at the Sorrows—“require runing which is difficult but not impossible.”

  “And his?”

  She narrowed her eyes at me and shook her head. “Not since Arthur have I seen a thrice-bound so entangled.”

  “Thrice-bound?” I asked, confused.

  “Arthur was bound body, mind, and spirit,” she said, holding up three fingers. “Guinevere, Merlin, and Excalibur. He was a royal mess. Literally.”

  “I don’t have three bonds,” I said, looking at Peaches. “Just one, with the incredible black hole over there.”

  “Wrong.” She pointed at me. “Hellhound, Kali, and this blade. You’re thrice-bound and two of your bonds are so intertwined, I don’t know if they can be separated.”

  “Wait, you knew Arthur and Merlin?”

  “Can it be done?” Monty asked. “Considering London is facing an onslaught of demons and, surprisingly, seraphs are in short supply.”

  “Not surprising,” she said. “In order for this blade”—she ran a finger along the length of Ebonsoul—“to acquire the properties of a seraph, the bond must be unraveled.”

  “That sounds painful,” I said, remembering my recent scorching with Peaches.

  “Excruciating, and possibly fatal—even for you, with Kali’s curse.”

  “Pass,” I said, reaching for Ebonsoul. “One barbecuing per day is my quota, thanks.”

  “Simon…” Monty started.

  “She said possibly fatal,” I snapped. “As in dead?”

  “That is usually what fatal means,” she answered, resting her hands on her desk. “However, I did say possibly.”

  “Well, now I’m really enthusiastic,” I said, sheathing Ebonsoul. “I’ve grown attached to breathing, thanks.”

  “Your blade is ineffective against demons,” Monty said, giving me the ‘don’t be dense’ look I’d learned to ignore. “Your gun, even with entropy rounds, had no effect on a minor-level demon. Have you thought this through?”

  “Clearly, he hasn’t,” she said. “Facing a demon unarmed is foolish.”

  I was about to give her one of my Eastwoods, but my brai
n quickly flashed the memo that she was the most powerful Wordweaver on the planet. Pissing her off would be a bad idea, even by accident. I glared at Monty instead.

  “Have you thought this through?” I looked at Monty. “What if, and that’s a huge if, I do this and the untangling thing she wants to do goes south. Are you going to deal with Planet Peaches?”

  “There is that to consider.” Monty looked at her. “If the bond with his creature is severed, it will transform into a true hellhound. Of the larger variety.”

  “Then it will have to be dealt with before it turns,” she stated matter-of-factly. “I can’t have a menace running through the premises.”

  “Why is his process ‘difficult but not impossible’ and mine is potentially fatal?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “Is this a mage thing?”

  “He will receive the rune he requires and perform the casting.” She pointed to Monty. “It will exact a high cost, and if successful, he will possess the blades he desires.”

  “Just give me the rune and the instruction manual, and I’ll take it from there,” I said. “Follow the step-by-step directions, hold the agony.”

  She shook her head and smiled sadly. “You aren’t a mage. Frankly, I’m surprised you survived dealing with one bond. If you attempt this on your own, it will certainly kill you.”

  “It’s a mage thing,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Yes, in a way—Tristan isn’t bound to his swords,” she said, lifting one of the Sorrows. “For him these are tools to channel energy through, but they aren’t a part of him. Your blade is different. You know this, don’t you?”

  “I do.” I looked away, remembering the last time I used Ebonsoul. I remembered how the energy siphoned into my body and filled me with power and rage.

  “We’re trapped on this island, defenseless,” Monty said, calmly. “We both know Thomas will be after us once he discovers we banished his demon. How will you face whatever he sends next, stern words? What if you have to face a demon alone?”

  “Alone?” I looked at him. “You planning a vacation I don’t know about?”

  “I’m planning for every eventuality,” he said, his voice grim. “If I fall or can’t continue, one of us has to stop Thomas. Permanently.”

  I didn’t know what was worse, accepting the fact that agony was inevitable or hearing Monty talking about dying. I settled on the latter and nodded my head.

  “Fine, but you owe me dinner at Masa when we get back,” I said, taking off my jacket and pulling out my flask of Valhalla Java. I took a long swig and put it back. If I was going to face agony—coffee was essential.

  “If we get back intact, I’ll make sure to make the reservation myself,” he said with a nod. “I know they have you on the DNA list since your date.”

  “I swear it was Ken who put me on the Do Not Admit list, but I can’t prove it, and Chi just tells me to go somewhere else.”

  He nodded. “Masa it is.”

  Dahvina picked up the Sorrows as a Wordweaver entered the room silently and waited by the door. She handed them to Monty and together they walked to the waiting Weaver. Dahvina whispered something to him I couldn’t catch. Monty nodded and followed the Wordweaver out of the room.

  With a word and a gesture, she closed the massive doors and turned to face me.

  “Let’s have a conversation,” she said, approaching me.

  TWENTY

  IT WAS MY experience that the mage definition for conversation always involved pain of some kind. So I was wary when those were the words she used.

  “Before we start, I need to place your hound in the proper state.”

  “Proper state?”

  “He shares a bond with you.” She walked over to where Peaches lay. “Once we get started, he will think I’m attacking you—which is correct in a loose sense—at least it will feel that way to him, and you.”

  “I can hardly wait,” I said, not meaning a word. “I’d like a proper state, too, unconsciousness would be good.”

  “I would be concerned if you didn’t feel some fear,” she said, gesturing as golden trails flowed from her fingers. “This will put him in a stasis in case the worst should occur.”

  She placed a hand on Peaches’ head, and he sprawled out and closed his eyes. A few seconds later, his legs moved jerkily as he woofed.

  “Probably dreaming of chasing huge sausages.” I watched for a few seconds, took a deep breath, and drew Ebonsoul, handing it to her hilt first. She pushed it back to me gently.

  “We need to discuss the cost first.”

  “You mean besides the agony and probably dying?”

  “Yes, that’s not the cost,” she said. “One is certain, and the other is probable. Neither factor into the cost of this.”

  She stepped close to me. Her hands still trailed golden light as she moved them.

  “I understand.”

  “Not yet, you don’t.” Her hands grew bright and the trails more pronounced. “Today you will pay the ultimate price, but that is not the cost of my assistance.”

  “Wait a second,” I said, holding up my hand. “That sounds a lot like dy—”

  She slammed both palms into my chest and set my body ablaze with energy. Golden light cascaded around me as searing heat suffused and burned my body. The heat was so intense it took a few seconds for my brain to register the pain. When it did, it shut down immediately as my body went into shock. I felt the warmth of my curse trying to deal with the trauma, but it couldn’t keep up. The heat from the energy overwhelmed and engulfed it. I tried to speak, but no words formed.

  “Dying, yes.” Those were the last words I heard as I collapsed forward and fell into an inferno, losing consciousness.

  I opened my eyes and looked into Dahvina’s upside-down face.

  “Welcome back,” she said, tapping me on the forehead. “It would seem you really are immortal, or I’m losing my touch with old age.”

  “You…you killed me?” I touched my face and chest—unconvinced this wasn’t some Inception move on her part. Maybe I was dreaming inside a dream.

  “Only temporarily,” she said, sipping from a cup. “I needed to get to the spirit strand. I’m going to leave Kali’s curse alone, that thing is a mess.”

  I was lying in a bed in what appeared to be a guest room. I tried to sit up, and she shook her head. I understood why a few seconds later as every nerve in my body fired, stealing my breath with the pain.

  “What the hell?” I groaned as every muscle in my body seized and contracted, arching my body on the bed. It passed after about ten seconds that felt far more like a lifetime. It was clear I wasn’t dreaming.

  “No sudden movements,” she said. “At least not until you heal.”

  “You killed me?” I asked in disbelief. “I didn’t think it was possible.”

  “Yes. Would you have agreed if I had led with ‘well, I’m probably going to kill you, followed by intense agony as your body heals’?”

  “Probably not,” I answered, my voice hoarse. “How did you do it?”

  “I interrupted your curse and stopped your heart,” she said, with a tight smile. “It’s not very complicated if you know what to look for. Just takes about five-hundred years of obscure knowledge.”

  “How long was I gone?”

  “You mean dead?” she asked. “Not long. I was able to interrupt the process, but Kali’s curse is quite strong. It kept undoing my casting.”

  I nodded. “How long?”

  “About three.” She held up a thumb, index, and middle finger. “After that I couldn’t stop her curse from bringing you back. Do you recall anything?”

  “Days? I was dead for three days?”

  “Hours—you were only gone for three hours,” she corrected. “Your body and mind were in stasis, similar to your hound, but your spirit—was occupied. This gave me just enough time to deal with the bond and help you rune the blade.”

  “The blade, where is it?” I looked around the room, which was bare except for the
bed and a small table to one side. I saw the sheath on the table, but no Ebonsoul.

  “You have it,” she said, and turned to look at the door. “Don’t look for it right now. You’ll only hurt yourself.”

  “Don’t look for it? Where did it go?”

  A Wordweaver waited for her at the entrance. Dahvina placed a hand on my chest. “Focus on healing,” she said, and walked over to the Weaver at the door.

  I closed my eyes and tried to listen to the conversation taking place at the door. I felt the energy of the room and noticed, for the first time, the runes inscribed on every surface. Floors, walls, and even the ceiling glimmered with softly glowing runes.

  Judging from her body language, the Weaver at the door was worried about something. The fact that she crossed her arms and kept looking over at me was also a clue. I hoped Peaches hadn’t eaten a wandering Weaver. She left after a few more seconds of hushed speaking, and Dahvina came over.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, when she got closer. “That looked like a situation. Where’s Peaches? Did he revert to ginormous again?”

  “Your hound is currently with Tristan and normal sized.”

  “Did he chomp on a weaver or two?” I asked with a wince. “He has the appetite of a black hole.”

  “Apparently, you have some very powerful enemies in low places.” She gestured, and the golden runes in the room grew brighter. “That should help accelerate your healing.”

  She was right. A flush of warmth filled my body, and the pain started receding. My head began clearing, and it didn’t feel like I had ice picks shoved into each ear; now they were just long spiked nails. What I needed was a cup of Valhalla Java, but my clothes were nowhere to be seen.

  “My clothes?”

  “Will arrive shortly.”

  “Was that the cost—my life?”

  “You tell me,” she said, hovering her hand above my chest. Soft golden light fell from her fingers.

  I thought about what she had said and the whole process. “You said I would pay the ultimate price, but it wasn’t the cost of your assistance.”

  “At least you were paying attention,” she said, removing her hand. “That’s right. Dying and the agony you’ve experienced is not the cost.”