I nodded.
“Ezra says see the angry dark mage. I see the angry dark mage.”
“You don’t sound overly enthused.”
“Because I’m not,” I said. “I’ll ask him questions, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“I can just tell this is going to go so well,” she answered, giving me a worried look. “Should I wait here? It seems like the safest alternative.”
“I would hate to deprive you of the singular experience that is The Dive,” I said, shaking my head. “Just remember, this is also neutral ground. Keep your badge and attitude in your pocket. We need help and he can provide it.”
“I don’t have a badge,” she huffed. “I am aware of the protocols of neutral sites.”
“Good,” I said, getting out and opening the door for Peaches, who bounded out as the Dark Goat groaned in relief. “Make sure you observe them.”
We headed to The Dive’s entrance.
TEN
The Dive sat in the center of a neighborhood that had radically changed over the years.
Aside from being an unofficial neutral location, The Dive attracted a distinct clientele, which differed from the Randy Rump. The supernatural community that frequented the Rump was mostly part of the Dark Council, or affiliated with it. They didn’t mind being seen there, and actually enjoyed frequenting the location.
With the Randy Rump, Jimmy had created a space that felt like the neighborhood bar. It was the kind of place that had regulars, and over time—and in between explosive renovations—had become a place where everyone knew your name. The Randy Rump was a restaurant-bar and butcher shop where you could sit down to a meal without worrying about being attacked for being supernatural. On most days.
The Dive was…different.
There were regulars at The Dive, too. These were the kind of regulars who didn’t want to know your name or care. If they did know your name, you were attracting the wrong kind of attention—the kind that paid you a visit in the middle of the night and ended you. The regulars at The Dive lived on the fringes of the supernatural community. They worked in the dark and enjoyed it.
As large as the Dark Council was, there were plenty of supernaturals and magic-users who preferred not to be associated with them. That’s where The Dive came in. On occasion, Grey would lend out the space to the Dark Council for non-official meets: allowing for a neutral place to hash out differences without blowing everything up. These meets took place between some of the powerhouses of the community—beings who would rather destroy one another, and the city, than have a civil conversation.
Grey facilitated these get-togethers with a minimal loss of life, or at least, he tried to. There were a few incidents where the talks went sideways. Fortunately, Grey was able to handle them, along with the Dark Council’s help.
Making The Dive an unofficial neutral zone also gave Grey some latitude regarding his Night Warden activities. It was true he was officially known as the last Night Warden—at least that’s what Monty told me—but I heard he was training an apprentice. I don’t know how the Dark Council felt about a new generation of Night Wardens, but I don’t think they, or anyone, could stop Grey.
In the end, it was good business. Loaning out The Dive kept the Dark Council out of his hair, while giving them the impression of keeping an eye on Grey and his dealings. I had done some research on The Dive over the years. Grey Stryder, or some proxy of his, had owned the converted carriage house for over a century.
He had converted the top two floors into a residence with sanctuary rooms, while turning the ground floor into a bar with a small kitchen. As far as I knew, The Dive didn’t turn a profit, but from my information, Grey was independently wealthy, owning the building and the property it stood on.
This was a typical story with many mages, at least those who were smarter, and older. They invested their money, or owned property that was worth a fortune compared to the initial sale price decades or centuries ago. I knew Monty had several holdings in the city and abroad, in London.
We never discussed details. It wasn’t the polite thing to do. But, the fact that he immediately replaced most of the expensive medical equipment in Haven, without so much as batting an eye, spoke to some small measure of his wealth.
I stood across the street from The Dive and sensed the energy around the place. It was covered in runes and wards; not just the building, but the entire block around it. The street felt charged with power. I wondered how Grey had managed to ward an entire block with the focus being the converted carriage house.
The building itself was located in what had once been called Alphabet City, on 4th Street between Avenue C and D. The neighborhood had changed recently into a cross between upscale and pretentious, with transplants coming in from other parts of the city and buying property to add a new flavor to Lower Manhattan.
The Dive was exactly that…a dive. It stood out like a sore thumb, defiantly reminding the residents of the origins of the neighborhood when it had been a hub for immigrants. I’m sure there were several community meetings held to get rid of the “eyesore” and replace it with something more upscale and aesthetic.
I’m certain every single one of those meetings failed. No one was going to get Grey or The Dive out of this neighborhood.
As I approached the door and looked down the street, a reflexive shudder raced through my body when I saw Grey’s vehicle—the Beast—parked several feet away. Even from this distance, I could feel the menace coming off of it in subtle waves. It radiated a subtle feeling of, Step a little closer and let me devour you.
If there ever was an evil vehicle, The Beast was it. The car itself was a work
