“Can you park near Bryant Park? We can walk from there to the central hub.”
“What do you need at Bryant Park?”
“Insurance,” Monty said and went silent, gazing out of the window. “The kind I hope we don’t need.”
THIRTY-FOUR
We arrived at Bryant Park.
I parked and locked the Dark Goat. Peaches climbed the steps to the library next to me as passersby gave us a wide berth. I wanted to imagine it was my subtle vibe of rugged danger, but it was most likely the large hellhound walking by my side, not wearing a leash.
I left the Dark Goat on Fifth Avenue in front of the New York Public Library. The lions—Patience and Fortitude, named by Mayor LaGuardia—looked down at us as we headed past the library and to the large lawn situated behind it. I had a feeling we would need both of them tonight.
“You plan on getting some leisure time in?” I asked, walking past New Yorkers lounging in the sun, enjoying a slice of nature in the center of the concrete jungle I called home. “Maybe a spot of tea on the grass before we fight for our lives tonight?”
“I don’t do leisure time in the grass,” Monty answered and cut right, onto the sidewalk. “This way.”
<Can I go roll in the grass?>
<I’m trying to imagine a scenario where that doesn’t end in a mass panic of people running for their lives, out of the park.>
<Is that a no?>
<That…is a definite no.>
<You’re the one that said I needed exercise. If I roll in the grass and people run, I can chase them. That will be exercise. I won’t bite them.>
<That scenario will go from mass panic to a state of emergency. We’d probably have the National Guard surrounding the park in record time to deal with you.>
<That still sounds like a no.>
<Because it is a no. Besides, you need to ease into the exercise. You seemed a little tired after your XL adventure yesterday. Are you okay?>
<I was a little tired. I think I ate too much meat.>
<Is there such a thing? I’m shocked.>
<Me, too. But I’m working to do better.>
Monty headed down a stairway on 42nd Street that seemed to lead to the subway, but actually led to a closed door. He looked behind him to make sure we were behind him.
“Stay close to me,” Monty said. “If you don’t enter with me, you will remain outside.”
“What is this? Where does it lead?”
“This leads to the Stacks—the old magical storage beneath the park.”
“Wait, I thought the Milstein Stacks were part of the library. They’re for storing books.”
“They are. I never said the Milstein Stacks. Those do exist for book storage. The stacks I’m referring to, the Arcanum Obscura, are much deeper, starting at one hundred feet below the park.
“The Arcanum? Didn’t you say it was sealed?” I said, looking at the plain black door. “Was it opened recently?”
“Not really,” Monty answered, cryptically. “At least, not officially.”
“‘Not officially’ sounds like we’re breaking in.”
“‘Not officially’ means it doesn’t actually exist to break into,” Monty said, pressing certain sections of the door. “We can’t break into a place that doesn’t exist, can we?”
“Right,” I said as the door opened slowly inward. “This is us not breaking into a place that doesn’t exist—perfect. Now, I’m starting to sound like Ziller.”
“This way,” Monty said, moving fast. “We mustn’t dawdle.”
“Dawdle? The last thing I want to do in this place, is dawdle,” I said, looking around, dawdling. “This place is enormous.”
“Yes, it is,” Monty hissed. “Stay close.”
The Arcanum was setup in the typical warehouse style on a massive scale. If Home Depot and Costco had a baby, they would give birth to the Arcanum. I tried looking down the corridors to see the other end, and couldn’t. Huge didn’t begin to describe it. This place was large enough to require its own zip code.
“Helloooo!” I yelled and waited for my echo. My voice came back to me a few seconds later. “Wow, that is immense.”
“Did you forget the part where I mentioned the Arcanum is guarded?” Monty asked, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of sight and into one of the corridors off the main passageway. A large iron man, like some renegade from Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, appeared a few seconds later, making absolutely no noise as it walked by.
“What is that?” I asked when the guardian had walked out of sight.
“That is an Arcanum guardian,” Monty said, peeking around the corner. “Think magical null to the nth degree. No magical, and very few conventional, weapons work against those things.”
“How can they still be functioning?”
“Do you really want to find out?”
“Not really,” I said, realizing I’d like to exit the Arcanum as soon as possible after seeing that thing. “Are we trespassing?”
“What do you think?” Monty asked, before raising a hand and pulling out a small notebook. “Be silent and give me a second. I need to orient myself”—he looked down at his book—“locate the item, and get us out of here. I can’t do that if you keep asking me questions.”
“Can I ask you one more question?” I said. “I’m curious about something.”
“What is it now?” Monty snapped. “I just told you I needed to focus on—”
“How fast do they move?” I asked, looking behind Monty at the tall iron man staring blankly at us. “Just asking for a friend.”
Monty turned slowly and looked up at the guardian, who had frozen in place.
“Simon, stay absolutely still,” Monty said, passing me his open notebook. “They track runic energy signatures. Right now, it’s assessing the threat I pose. Do you see the item in my book?”
I glanced down at the book and saw a vial of dark liquid under the words Mors Tenebris—Dark Death.
“I see it,” I said, quietly. “What is this?”
“I’ll explain later,” Monty answered, keeping his voice low. “I’m going to run behind you and get its attention. Wait until you can no longer see or hear me, then you need to go ten aisles left and three sections
