“Bangers and Mash, and they’re mostly harmless, except for the insane amount of C4 they carry around.”
“What the hell kind of name is Bangers and Mash—wait seriously? Did you say C4?”
“Yes. They drive around in an orange VW Bus, and I’m guessing it’s loaded with ordnance,” I said. “One or both must be sensitive and have some minor ability.”
“Did you happen to get a license plate?”
“It’s BNGRMSH. I kid you not.”
“Right,” Ramirez answered. “I’ll have my people pick them up, confiscate the explosives and run the paranormal investigator license interview on them. That should scare them out of the city.”
“That’s cruel and devious,” I said, suppressing a laugh. “Have fun.”
“Strong, stop this moving mountain from breaking my city. My men are powerless against it. If you can’t do anything, I’m going to have to speak to Ken over at the Dark Council.”
“I understand, Angel. You do what you feel is necessary, but don’t trust them.”
“I don’t. I barely trust you, but you get results.”
“Thanks. I’ll give you a call as soon as I know anything.”
EIGHTEEN
“I can’t believe he threatened me with going to the Dark Council,” I said after ending the call. “They don’t care about this city.”
“I’m sure they could say the same thing about him working with us, considering your destructive track record.”
“My destructive track record? What?”
“What exactly is a paranormal investigative license interview?” Monty asked. “I don’t recall Ramirez ever requiring us to go through this process.”
“It’s basically a non-existent interview process where Ramirez vets rookie sensitives who take it upon themselves to go out and ‘save the city’ from all threats.”
“I take it not many pass this interview?”
“None, so far,” I said with a grin. “But, I’m sure Angel has saved dozens of lives with it. Most of these rookies know just enough to get themselves killed.”
“I’m going to contact Professor Ziller,” Monty said, still holding the book. “I’d be interested in seeing that list of destroyed properties.”
“You think it’s connected?”
“I do,” Monty said. “I’m certain the Professor will have more insight, though.”
He stepped over to the closet near the door, looked inside, and closed the door again with a satisfied nod.
“You’re checking to make sure the closet door works properly?” I asked. “We do have maintenance people for that sort of thing. Unless you’re taking up home improvement now.”
“The seal needs to be precise. This door is adequate.”
“I recall Jen was bouncing me around in the secret garden; I just don’t recall you suffering a head injury lately. What are you talking about?”
“I need a properly closing door in order to call the Professor.”
Monty traced golden symbols on the closet door, which glowed brightly and faded after a few seconds.
“Well, that was pretty,” I said. “Maybe we can rent you out for kids’ birthday parties?”
Monty lifted a finger and glared at me.
“Patience. Professor Ziller will be here shortly.”
The edges of the closet door blazed with golden light as the door shuddered in place. I took a few steps back as the shuddering increased and then suddenly stopped. The door opened, and a figure emerged from the closet.
He was dressed pretty much the same way I remembered when I last saw him. He wore librarian casual—jeans, a long-sleeve white shirt and construction boots. His sandy-brown hair was a little thinner on top, and he sported a goatee and what appeared to be a rune-covered monocle—which was new.
He held a nearly transparent orb in his hand as he squinted at us. Light blue arcs traveled around his body in random patterns. They reminded me of TK and her black and green energy; only, these arcs felt more in the “keep away or I’ll blast you” department, unlike TK’s, which resided squarely in the “breathe in a way that displeases me, and I’ll reduce you to a memory” category of energy.
He tossed the orb up and it floated next to his head, following as he moved forward into our reception area, carrying with him the smell of old books. Behind him, in what used to be our closet, I could see rows and rows of books and hear the sounds of rustling paper.
“That’s like the Moving Market,” I said, looking in awe at the Living Library’s book repository, now occupying our closet. “Hello, Professor Z.”
“It is a pleasure to see you both again,” Ziller said, looking at us and sitting on the large reception sofa partially occupied by a snoring hellhound. This reception sofa sat opposite what I liked to call Roxanne’s sofa—the Hansen.
The Hansen sofa had been a gift from Roxanne to Monty, and it was the most expensive item in our reception area. No one was allowed to sit on it, except Roxanne on her infrequent visits. Even Peaches respected the boundary set by Roxanne. He was a smart hellhound.
“Welcome, Professor Ziller,” Monty said. “It’s good to see you.”
“Thank you,” Ziller answered with a slight cough. “Could I trouble you for a spot of tea? I’m terribly parched.”
“Of course,” Monty said, heading to the kitchen. “I’m sure we have some digestive biscuits laying about.”
“That would be exceptional,” Ziller said. “Thank you.”
Monty headed into the kitchen while I busied myself with the inner workings of the closet, now library.
“Professor, I’m not seeing the biscuits,” Monty called from the kitchen and glancing my way. “How much time do you have? I’m sure we can get some. I could have sworn we still had some—Simon?”
Yes, I ate the digestive things he called biscuits. To me, they looked liked big cookies. The taste could have been better, but they were great with coffee. Like every person living with a large animal, and looking to dodge blame, I confessed Peaches’ crime for him.
“Peaches must have gotten into them,” I said,
