“Wow,” Grey said, looking at the remains of the bowl. “Is he okay?”
“He’ll be hungry again in five minutes,” I said, rubbing Peaches behind the ears. “His bowls need to be titanium, or they don’t last more than one feeding. Even the titanium ones get a mangling. They just last a little longer.”
Jessikah just stared from Peaches to me. Watching him eat took some getting used to, so I understood her shock.
“So, why are you here, Strong?” Grey asked, after sliding back behind the bar and grabbing his mug of coffee. “Don’t tell me it’s to harass Frank about his conversations with your hellhound.”
“I wouldn’t make a trip here just for that.”
“Good, that would be a waste of time. Besides, I don’t know how they communicate. Frank underwent some major changes when he became a dragon.”
“Is he stuck in that form?”
“Yes,” Grey said. “That’s not my story to tell, and he doesn’t like to talk about it.”
“It’s possible the effects of the transfiguration endowed him with the ability to communicate with your hellhound,” Jessikah offered. “He is a mage, after all.”
“You are well informed,” Grey said. “Yes, he’s still a mage…a powerful one. Even I wouldn’t want to face him in a confrontation. He fights dirty.”
“I just wondered if it was something like my bond with Peaches.”
“I doubt it, but who knows? I certainly don’t,” Grey said. “I’m not an animal whisperer. I just know he can talk to your hellhound. So, if that’s not the reason…what is?”
“Ezra sent me.”
Grey narrowed his eyes and looked at me, his expression dark—well, darker than usual.
“Say that again…slow.” He put his mug down and stared. “Who sent you?”
“Ezra,” I said again, my expression just as dark. “You know—the Ezra?”
I tried to give Grey a two on the glare-o-meter with a dash of the Clint Glint, but failed. Grey just had a natural mage scowl that couldn’t be beat. Dealing with Frank for so long must’ve transformed his expression into a perpetual look of anger and disgust.
“I know who Ezra is,” Grey snapped, slipping into full magegrouch mode as he rubbed a temple. “Why would he send you to me? What did you do? Does this have to do with your skewed signature?”
“Skewed signature?” Jessikah said, surprised. “What skewed signature?”
“Monty is in a schism,” I said, ignoring her for the moment. “A nasty trap by an old enemy who was supposed to be dead.”
“Those are the worst,” Grey answered, picking up his mug again. “Did Tea-and-Crumpets—Tristan—step across? Is he dark?”
“No. He’s not full Darth Monty…yet,” I said, glancing at Jessikah, “but he’s close.”
“That explains the Black Orchid agents,” Grey said, looking at Jessikah. “Why weren’t you here last night, with the rest of them?”
“They sent her alone. Against Monty.”
“What, like a forward observer?” Grey asked. “You were supposed to scout out his location and then report back to the team?”
“Not exactly,” Jessikah answered. “My mission was a bit more direct.”
“She was supposed to apprehend and erase Monty if necessary, alone.”
Grey looked at Jessikah for a few moments and then shook his head.
“That’s a death sentence, no offense,” Grey said, raising a hand. “You can’t face off against Tristan. He’s older, more powerful, more experienced…oh, and a war mage.”
“A war mage?” Jessikah asked. “He fought in the…?”
Grey nodded.
“He led a group in the Supernatural War,” Grey said. “Something covert. He and his uncle, from what I could tell. I never got more than that from him. He’s not exactly the chatty type.”
“Sounds like Monty,” I said. “How hard is it to be a war mage?”
“War mages are trained to stand and die,” Grey said, his voice low and grim. “It’s what battlemages are called after they’ve been blooded. Remind me again what the Black Orchids are trained in?”
“We’re trained to…well, not that,” Jessikah stammered. “Bloody hell. A war mage? Are you certain?”
Grey nodded before raising the mug to his lips again.
“She didn’t know, and I doubt any of them are truly prepared…not for Monty.”
“They sent her in blind?” Grey stared at Jessikah for a few seconds. A look of pity flitted across his face, replaced by something softer, like granite. “You’ve become a liability to someone and they want to dust you.”
“The rest of the team isn’t here to apprehend anyone,” I said. “At least not alive.”
“Didn’t think so,” Grey answered after a pause. “Wasn’t the impression I got from the team last night. They seemed…capable. Just not battle tested.”
“They want to eliminate Monty.”
“I’d say that was dangerous without the schism. Approaching him while he’s in it. Suicidal,” Grey said, slowly. “After helping your vampire…I’m tapped out on my quota of suicide missions for the foreseeable future.”
“You saw Chi?” I asked, surprised. “Where?”
“Last place I saw her was downtown. City Hall Park.”
My earlier conversation with Ramirez flashed in my memory.
“You guys are responsible for the crater downtown?” I asked, incredulous and somewhat relieved that, for once, someone else would get the blame for the destruction.
“What crater?”
“NYTF called me and informed me the park is now the City Hall crater. Was that you?”
“Not me,” Grey said. “That must have been her. She was carrying a dangerous amount of C4. Why would they call you?”
“We’re the default when things get exploded in this city.”
“Makes sense, especially with your track record,” Grey replied. “I’m surprised they haven’t locked you up yet.”
“Is she okay?”
“That’s sweet,” Grey said. “You actually think there’s something out there”—he waved his arm in front of him—“that can actually hurt her. She’s fine. Crazy as all get out, but fine.”
“I hope you didn’t say that to her face.”
“I’m insane, not stupid,” Grey said. “I only refer to her as Director. I hope I don’t have to see her or her rookie sidekick for a few years,
