CHAPTER ONE
A biting wind cut across the water as we landed on North Brother Island. We stepped off the ferry and onto the slick, deserted dock. The dawn rain pelted my face until Monty gestured and formed a shield around us, stopping the cold droplets from landing.
Peaches, fearing I might be too dry, shook the water off his body, drenching me, but somehow missing Monty.
“Really? Thank you,” I groaned, shaking off the water. “It’s not like I was soaked or anything.”
<This water is cold and I don’t like being wet.>
“You need to lay off the pastrami. Then you would have less surface area,” I said, looking down at him as we walked. He appeared to be a Cane Corso, but was really the offspring of Cerberus, minus the mythological two heads. He stepped close to me and kept pace, as we walked off the dock and onto a short boardwalk. The boards creaked under our weight as he padded by my side.
<Are you saying I’m getting fat?>
“There’s no getting about it. You sound like you’re going to break through the boardwalk. Maybe Ezra has a low-fat pastrami option.”
<Low–fat? Those words are sacrilege. Pastrami and all related meats are essential for my wellbeing and the safety of humankind. Speaking of which, are we going to eat soon?>
“I told you to stay home, but you wanted to come.” I ignored his nudge into my leg. “We’ll swing by Ezra’s on the way back—you can eat then.”
He responded with a low rumble as we kept walking.
“Are you talking to your creature again? You need to find a less overt method of communication.” Monty looked at me. “One that doesn’t make you appear as insane as you are.”
“Everyone talks to their dogs,” I said, patting Peaches on the head. “It’s even therapeutic and healing.”
“Everyone talks to their dogs not with, and that” —he glanced at Peaches—“barely qualifies as part of the dog species,” Monty said while peering farther inland. He narrowed his eyes, pointing with the small wooden box he was holding. “That way.”
“I didn’t even know these islands existed,” I said, pulling my coat tighter against the elements. Monty seemed unaffected by the cold. “Are you sure he’s here? She could have lied. Dragons aren’t known for their honesty.”
“We checked the South Island and his energy is in the vicinity. Check the device again.”
The Hack, after recovering from nearly losing Manhattan to a black hole, had finally answered my calls. I assured him the city wasn’t going to disappear in some cataclysm, and he’d grudgingly provided me with his latest ‘magical tech.’
He called it a runic filter. It looked like a smartphone, but thicker. According to the Hack, it was designed to detect spikes in magical energy and could distinguish between ambient and magical energy in any environment. When I pressed the screen, three blips showed up on the topographical map of the island.
“Monty, I think we have a problem,” I said, and showed him the screen. “Which one of those is your brother?”
“The dragon lied,” he said with a smile. He examined the filter closer. “This is actually good news.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I handed him the filter. “Do you think she even saw your brother or was it all smoke? And, excuse me, ‘good news’?”
He nodded and pushed some hair out of his face. “I don’t know the purpose of Slif’s deceit. What I do know is that these mages are quite powerful,” he said, closing his eyes. “They must have found a way to replicate William’s energy signature.”
“And this is good news because…?” I said, confused. “Wait, how do you know they’re mages?”
“It’s good news because there’s a possibility William is still alive. And I know what they are because I can sense them irrespective of this device” —he held up the runic filter—“and it seems we’re here to have a conversation.”
“Shit, can we just go back the way we came and avoid this conversation?” I said, shaking my head. “They never end well, mostly because they’re heavy on the fireballs and light on the actual conversing.”
“How did they mimic William’s energy signature?” he said, rubbing his chin and handing me back the filter. “They must possess something of his with a recent imprint. It’s the only way they could have recreated a signature so powerful.”
We arrived at the only standing structure on the island. It was a hospital erected at the turn of the nineteenth century to deal with a smallpox outbreak—but now long abandoned. The building was partially intact, but trees and undergrowth had reclaimed most of the property. In front of the hospital, a circle roughly fifty feet in diameter had been cleared away. Covered in runes, it held a small pulsing orb in the center.
“That looks recent,” I said, pointing at the circle before looking around into the trees. I pressed the runic filter again, but it came up blank. “Looks like they left. Maybe they got tired of waiting for you?”
“Unlikely,” he said, narrowing his eyes as he surveyed the area. “I still sense them. They must be close.”
Three figures materialized inside the cleared circle. They wore black robes with deep hoods that covered their faces. Each of the robes was trimmed in gold brocade. A large golden circle was embroidered on the chest of each.
Peaches dropped into a ‘pounce and maim’ posture and rumbled next to me. He lowered his head and spread his forepaws, the muscles of his back rippling with anticipation.
“Golden Circle police?” I asked as I opened my jacket to give me easier access to my weapons. “The ‘dark and ominous’ thing works well for them.”
“Envoys—messengers sent to escort rogue mages back to the Sanctuary,” Monty said, and shook out one hand. “Usually by force.”
The Envoy in the center stepped forward and pushed back his hood. A look of recognition crossed Monty’s face. The Envoy appeared to be in his mid-thirties, with long blond hair tied back in a ponytail. He gave me a cursory glance and let his dark eyes settle on Monty, with a look of disappointment.
“Friend of yours?” I asked, taking a step back and letting my hand rest on Grim Whisper. “I get the impression he doesn’t like what he sees.”
“Gideon, I see you’ve been made an Envoy,” Monty said with a nod. “When I left, you were still an apprentice. How are you?”
“Better than you,” Gideon answered and formed an orb of fire in his hand. The two Envoys next to him did the same.
“Why do mages always default to fireballs?” I whispered under my breath, drawing Grim Whisper. “They don’t seem in the conversing mood, Monty.”
Monty took a step forward. Gideon extended his other hand and formed a second fireball. “Don’t do this, Gideon,” Monty said, flexing his hands.
“Mage Tristan Montague, by order of the Tribunal of the Golden Circle, you are hereby instructed to surrender yourself to the custody of the Envoys,” Gideon said, the orbs he’d formed floating lazily in front of him. “You will be returned to the Sanctuary to await judgment for the crime of casting a forbidden spell—a void vortex—in a populated area.”
“And if I refuse?” Monty asked, keeping his eyes on Gideon, as he placed the small box he’d been carrying on the ground.
“Then we are authorized to use deadly force to carry out our mandate,” Gideon whispered and moved into a defensive stance. “Don’t make me hurt you, Tristan.”
