CENOTAPH

NEW MISSION FROM MONTREAL

QUINN

"You'll stay with me until you get your own place. End of discussion," Quinn said.

Veer opened his mouth, probably to come out with some lame excuse.

"I will hit you if you argue." Quinn closed his fist and showed it to Veer.

"Just stay with him for a bit, Singh. You shouldn't be alone for a couple of days." Russo patted Veer's back.

A rush of jealousy ran through Quinn. Damn it all. His obsession with Veer grew stronger by the second.

They were getting dressed after returning from 1938. Hollander pulled down a neon orange long-sleeved Henley. "Yeah, buddy. Fondant has the most decent place, but if you want to stay somewhere else, any of us will happily accommodate you."

Quinn didn't have time to scowl because his eyes were watering thanks to Hollander's blinding top. He wanted to growl, though. Veer wasn't going anywhere but to frigging Tarot Towers.

Veer nodded, apparently accepting defeat. "I'll stay with Fondant."

"Good boy." Jagger ruffled Veer's hair.

Where is my sword, where?

His teammates didn't need to be touching Veer. It drove Quinn crazy. What was Veer saying?

"...so I'll get my stuff at the hotel and meet you at your place later."

"Yeah, sure. I'll be there waiting for you."

"Thank you, guys," Veer said in the general direction of the other men and left the locker room.

"Have you noticed Fondant hasn't wielded his stupid non sequiturs since Singh arrived?" Jagger said, donning his canvas jacket.

"You're right!" Hollander punched Quinn in the shoulder. "Afraid Singh's gonna smack you?"

"Leave the man alone. Perhaps he's just rectifying his annoying ways after finding the light." Russo pulled the other two by their collars away from Quinn.

"Assholes," Quinn hissed between gritted teeth.

"Wishful thinking, babe. It's never gonna happen." Jagger blew a kiss in Quinn's direction as Russo tossed him out of the locker room along with Hollander. All three were laughing like obnoxious high schoolers.

"Don't think the team didn't notice the stiffy you got after my lap dance, you brute!" Quinn shouted. He hoped the others had heard him.

His wristwatch beeped. The screen read: INT CALL. Quinn tapped it. His grandfather, Iven Fondant, appeared. "Hi, Grandpa. What's up?" Quinn asked happily; he hadn't spoken with his father's father in ages. The old man was eighty-three but looked like he was sixty and in top physical condition— something expected after a life of kenjutsu and frugality.

Iven arched an eyebrow on the tiny screen.

Oh shit.

"What's going on, sensei?" Quinn was not going to say he was sorry for calling Iven "grandpa". His mentor needed to accept that he was ancient.

"We need to talk. I need you here ASAP."

"What? You know I can't just grab a hovercraft and spring to Canada."

"This is very important. Figure it out. Forty-eight hours. No more." Iven scowled really hard at Quinn and ended the call.

Quinn stared at the 1107 hours on his wristwatch. It wasn't even noon, and it was already another Hades Monday. Ramsey chose that moment to enter the locker room. Good. That way Quinn could ask for a LOA right away.

"The mission was a success. Bilodeau died in his early eighties, killed by his third wife after she found him with a lover."

"Well, we knew it was really improbable that man dying of just old age."

"True." Ramsey grimaced. "We saved a lot of lives."

"That makes me feel real nice inside, boss. By the way, I need a couple of days off."

"Shaken by what happened to you guys in Algiers?" Ramsey looked at Quinn quizzically.

The obnoxious persona he'd crafted around his teammates was incongruent with a man shaken by something that "almost" happened, especially to someone else. Something in the back of his mind told Quinn not to mention he would be visiting his grandfather either. "No." Quinn rolled his eyes to sell the lie. "One of my aunts just called and asked me to help her with some gang stuff."

"Doesn't Aurora PD exist for that kind of shit?"

"Hey, we Romani. We deal with that kind of shit ourselves." Quinn snorted inwardly; he almost sounded like one of his thug cousins.

"As long as you don't do anything illegal," Ramsey arched an eyebrow, "and I have to haul your ass out of jail..."

"I can only promise you a lack of dead bodies, but I'm not gonna hold on the blood."

"Fine. Just be sure to be back by Friday." Ramsey took off the robe he had been wearing since they arrived from 1938 and started to pick things out of his locker to change.

"Thanks. You're the best." Quinn turned around and exited the locker room, bringing his wristwatch to his mouth. "House."

"Hello, Quinn," the house computer answered.

"You still have Veer's fingerprints in your database, right?"

"Yes, I do."

"Perfect. Give him access to everything. He's staying for a while."

"Complete access granted, Quinn."

"All right. I'll be in touch."

"Good-bye, Quinn."

"Veer Singh," Quinn said and the connection was made thirty seconds later.

Veer appeared on the screen. "I haven't reached the hotel yet."

Is he annoyed?

"Uh, I'm just calling to let you know you have full access to the apartment. I'm aware I basically forced you to stay with me so you wouldn't be alone after 1938, but I have to go out of town for a few days to deal with a family situation."

"Oh. It's okay. See you when you get back then." What did Quinn expect? Veer begging not to be left by his lonesome it that tower of sorcerers? Before he could open his mouth to say good-bye, Veer spoke again. "Be careful."

Quinn grimaced. "I will. You too."

Veer nodded. His image dissolved.

Many hours later, Quinn walked into 1250 René-Lévesque in old downtown Montreal, the part of the city where buildings seem low compared to those built after the 350-meter height limit of 2035. He took the elevator up to the thirty-fifth floor. It was 2115 hours, but that was nothing when an office ran 24/7.

Hiromi, his grandfather's personal assistant, showed Quinn to the ample Asian-inspired office. He was glad the assistant didn't have nagagi and haori ready for him. His old man was known to be a little excessive in his love for everything Japanese. Well, Quinn was not going to grumble about that because all those swordsmanship teachings had saved him from more than one tight spot.

Swords from Grandpa. Firearms from the Marines.

His street smarts had been honed prior to his parents' divorce— before everything went to Hades and he got carted off to live with Iven Fondant.

His grandfather stared at the dark sky over sprawling Montreal, those old hands clasped behind his back. His short blond and white hair shone with reluctant intensity thanks to the reflection of the city lights in the floor-to-ceiling window. He was wearing a navy blue kimono, his sword hung from his waist as if waiting for a signal to draw blood.

"Hello, sensei," Quinn said, striding toward his silver fox of a grandfather. He really hoped he looked as hot when he reached the same age.

Iven turned to face him, brows furrowed. "Your next mission will be to kill a man. Be sure only that man gets killed."

****