“A school of battle magic, aye,” Dex said. “It’s past time we had one.”
“Can I feel sorry for the students now?”
“Aye,” he said. “The training will be brutal, as it should be.”
He narrowed his eyes at me.
“You’ve grown, boy,” Dex said. “But you still have a long road ahead. The enemies that will face you now…You must prepare.”
We sat in a comfortable silence for close to half a minute.
“How bad is it?” I asked finally. “Will he still be Monty?”
“Yes, I think so—thanks to you—but a schism leaves a scar, always,” Dex said with a nod. “His sorceress won’t release him until she is absolutely certain he can cast without danger.”
“I don’t think he’s going to argue with Roxanne,” I said with a smile of my own. “Not if he ever wants to leave Haven.”
“He will try, and he will fail,” Dex said. “It will be good for him.”
“I overheard Evers mention she wanted to take you out, too,” I said tentatively. “Why does she hate you?”
“She only hated me by extension,” Dex said. “She wanted Tristan dead. Ask him when he’s well. I’m certain he will tell you. He owes you that much. It’s his story to tell, not mine.”
“That’s what TK said.”
“She was right to do so,” Dex said. “If I were you, I’d catch up on much-needed shuteye. This all feels like the lull before a storm. Best to snatch it when you can.”
“Evers said something about…dragons.”
“Aye,” Dex said, his expression hard. “Enemies are moving. Powerful and old.”
“Are you going to swing by the office?”
“Not for a spell,” Dex said. “We’ll speak soon, and I’ll make sure Yat pays you a visit.”
I winced.
“Does he have to?” I asked. “He can just email. I’d be okay with that.”
“Evers cut you plenty,” Dex said, looking at my scars. “More than she should have. You need more training…more Yat.”
“More pain and more agony,” I said. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Dex said. “Visit Tristan in a few days. By then, his lass should’ve calmed down enough to allow visitors.”
“You think?”
“I’d call first, just to be safe,” Dex said. “She barely let me in.”
I stood and stretched out my sore parts. They were diminishing, but I wondered why I still felt sore. Normally, my curse would remove all traces of pain. I made a mental note to avoid all kamikiras in the future.
Dex gestured and another door formed on the opposite side of the bench.
“Where does that lead?”
“For you, home,” Dex said, standing. “Take it and get your rest.”
“You know what I’m going to do?” I said, heading for the new door. “I’m going to sleep for about a week. Then I’m going on a staycation away from anything runically enhanced.”
“Aye,” Dex said, stretching out on the bench, before standing and stepping to the first door we used. “Sounds like a grand fantasy. Enjoy it while it lasts. I’ll be returning to Haven for the next few days.”
I opened the door, and Peaches nudged me in the leg…an actual, gentle nudge which didn’t dislocate my hip.
<We can go to the place later. Can we go home now?>
<That’s the plan, boy. Let’s go.>
We stepped through the door and into the familiarity of the Moscow.
THIRTY-EIGHT
ONE DAY LATER
I stepped into the temporary NYTF HQ.
It was a squat, nondescript building, located downtown near the recent crater created by Chi and Grey. I walked past reception and headed up the stairs to the office at the rear of the floor.
I knocked on the door out of courtesy, not formality. Ramirez and I went way back. He called me in, and I sat in the oversized chair opposite his desk. Peaches rumbled and thumped to the ground near my feet.
Most of the furniture in the office looked straight out of the about-to-fall-apart discount store.
“Did you feed your animal?” Ramirez asked as I looked around.
“He’s good,” I said, rubbing my hellhound’s head. “He ate about an hour ago.”
“Just making sure,” Ramirez said. “Last thing I need is your “dog” chewing up my officers.”
“Well, he could always use a snack. Is anyone on your staff getting on your nerves?”
“Not funny,” Ramirez said, looking past me. “They’re out there soiling their underwear because of him.”
I turned to see some of the NYTF staff quickly leaving the office.
“Wow, when the NYTF says temporary, they aren’t joking,” I said, looking around again. “Where did you find this stuff? In the city dump?”
“Hilarious as a heart attack,” Ramirez answered. “I got a call.”
“Congratulations? Sounds impressive,” I said. Ramirez wasn’t smiling. “Don’t tell me you just upgraded to a new cell? I told you it was about time you got rid of that old flip-phone.”
“You know, most of the time, you being a smartass is an effective shield,” Ramirez said. “I chalk it up to you being scared or nervous—which is understandable, considering some of the things you and the mage have faced.”
“Most of the time?” I asked. “What about the other times?”
“Your idea of humor can be just like you.”
“Suave and charming?”
“A royal pain in my ass. This call I received—”
“We didn’t blow up or destroy it, whatever it was.”
“You’re right,” he said with a nod. “It wasn’t a call about your hobby of destruction.”
“I’m right? I mean, yes, I’m right.”
“Do you recall a group by the name of Shadow Company? Crazy black ops stuff?”
It took conscious effort to keep my face impassive.
“Never heard of them,” I lied. “I thought that was the stuff of myth.”
“You know that’s surprising, because I spoke to one of those myths today,” Ramirez answered. “A certain Peter ‘Pitbull’ Douglas. He has clearance so high up on the food chain it gave me a nose bleed.”
“I don’t see how this has anything to do with—”
“I’m getting to that,” Ramirez said. “See, this ‘myth,’ this Douglas, sure knows you. He says you were an operator with the Shadows. Imagine that.”
“He must have me confused with someone else,” I said, keeping my voice even. “Shadow Company is a myth. Someone is pranking you.”
Pitbull Douglas and George ‘Rottweiler’ Rott were better
