CHAPTER ONE
Michiko’s brother was in a foul mood.
“Where is she?” I asked, staring at the angry vampire sitting in front of me. I was aware that even though Ken looked human, he wasn’t. “As in where is she—now.”
“What do you mean: ‘where is she’?” he snapped. “You’re the detective agency—detect.”
I looked at Ken and refrained from making one of my usual remarks. He was known for spontaneous violence when irked. He had left irked long ago and had fully entered pissed off as waves of barely controlled anger emanated from his side of the room.
Peaches rumbled a warning under the table.
Ken took a deep breath and let it out. His usual shades of black ensemble was Armani and leaned more to the formal side. Tonight it was a black shirt with red accents and matching tie. The black suit was finished with lightly polished Zegnas—black, of course. All this rested under a black Loro Piana trench coat.
I guess he figured if you’re going to be an unstoppable, efficient, scary as hell killing machine, why not dress well? I noticed some of his hair had gone gray. The pressure of leadership and keeping the Dark Council from imploding must’ve been taking its toll. He smoothed the crinkles from his coat and placed his carefully manicured hands on the table. In my experience, vampire fastidiousness was only exceeded by mages.
We sat in Ezra’s basement which was a barely known de facto neutral zone and meeting area in the city. It was used when supernatural heavy-hitters disagreed on something—usually the wiping out of all enemies, and needed to have a meeting of the minds. Without blowing everything to particulate matter.
No one dared attack Ezra or move against his deli without looking to shorten their lifespan to immediately deceased. It helped that Ezra, short for Azrael, was the angel of Death, with a capital D. I appreciated that he was low-key about his deathiness.
I glanced at the end of the table where Ezra sat. He wore a pair of half moon glasses and peered at me over the lenses. He was dressed in his regular white shirt with black pants and a black vest. His rune-covered yarmulke gave off a faint violet glow, and he rested his hand over a thick book as usual. It was easy to confuse him with an elderly scholar and not the personification of Death.
The runes and defensive measures in Ezra’s made the Randy Rump look like an open air market. Everywhere I looked I saw symbols faintly glowing with a spectrum of colors. The energy in the room was palpable without being oppressive. A subtle reminder that enforced diplomacy.
Beneath the enormous conference table, Peaches was currently reducing the amount of meat in the world one chomp at a time. Ezra was one of the main reasons my hellhound puppy looked more like an industrial-sized kielbasa instead of a streamlined hellhound of destruction.
<The place is the best place in the world.>
<I’m noticing you’re enjoying yourself. How about leaving some meat for later?>
<Why would I do that when I’m here now? This is why you are so skinny. You leave your food for later. Eat it now.>
I shook my head. Peaches: Zen Meat Master.
We were sitting in Ezra’s because Monty was magus non grata in the city with the Dark Council, specifically with the DCE—Dark Council Enforcers. They wanted to have a brief and ultra-violent conversation with him for what they thought was his descent into darkness.
I didn’t currently have the Dark Council or any other enforcement agency after me, but I knew that would be short-lived. I worked with a perpetually angry mage and a hellhound with a bottomless stomach. It was only a matter of time, really.
“When we last spoke,” I said. “It wasn’t under the best of circumstances.”
“Are you talking about the small war you two started downtown?” Ken asked. “The kill order she placed on your creature, or the erasure she requested for your angry mage?”
“All of the above?”
“The problem is this entropy thing you three have going,” Ken said. “It’s real, destructive, and aggravating my and the Council’s life.”
“Entropy effect?” I asked. “Sounds contagious”—I glanced over at Monty—“He’s probably talking about you.”
“Chaos is the law of the universe,” Monty answered matter-of-factly. “Perhaps you can clarify?”
“Spoken like a mage,” Ken said. “You two”—he pointed at Monty then me—“are like a butterfly effect, except with massive destruction.”
“He definitely means you,” I said with a nod. “Butterfly effects sounds like that wiggling thing you do with your hands. I use bullets and blades…no butterflies.”
Monty glared at me. “Rubbish, there is no such effect. And if there were, it would be called the Strongpeaches effect.”
“I’m noticing the omission of a certain mage,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “It really should be called the Montaguepeaches effect.”
“I thought you’d appreciate the recognition and inclusion of your creature.”
“Oh, ha…ha,” I said. “British humor…got it.”
“Indeed. Not everyone can appreciate intelligent drollery.”
“Drollery? Did you just make that up?”
“Of course not,” Monty huffed. “I speak English, not American.”
“Are you two done?” Ken asked his voice laced with frustration. “We have a situation with the war you almost started.”
“War?” I scoffed. “That was more like a skirmish. Are they still upset about that?”
“Still upset?” Ken asked as the anger level ratcheted up a few notches. I have that effect on people. “Strong, that was only two weeks ago.”
“Huh, felt much longer,” I said, shaking my head. “Time flies.”
“The area is still runically unstable,” Ken said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Which reminds me, Ursula wants a word with the two—three of you.”
“Bloody hell,” Monty said under his breath. “Are you certain?”
“Ursula?” I asked confused. “Ursula who?”
“How do you think the damage your Agency causes gets repaired?” Ken asked. “Not even mages can fix the devastation left in your wake. The Council uses DAMNED.”
“You use the damned? That sounds a little dark even for the Council.”
“I didn’t say the damned,” Ken started. “I said—”
“Also that sounds like it violates a ton of labor laws. Do the damned have a union? Undead and Damned local one?”
Ken just stared at me. I saw him mentally stop himself from shredding me. It was an impressive display of restraint.
“Mage…your patience knows no bounds,” he said after a brief pause. “In any case, I’ll let the mage explain it to you. Do not miss that meeting.”
“You want Monty to explain something to me—right. That should be fun,” I said shaking my head. “So, is the Council still hunting us?”
“The Dark Council doesn’t forget—or forgive.”
“That right there,” I said, pointing a finger at Ken. “That attitude is the main cause of stress. They need to let it go.”
“They will,” Ken answered with a smile. “As soon as you’re dead, along with your Agency.”
