Beast Master: A Novel in The Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Series (The Temple Chronicles Book 5)

by Shayne Silvers

  I would find out what Tomas had discovered later. Right now, I stared at the screen in front of me, reading up on Ganesh, eyes tired, but body wired. I was on borrowed time, and didn’t have time for sleep.

  Three days, and I had no more power.

  So, Ganesh.

  I had called Achilles, rather than going to the Fight Club and risk being tossed into the ring. I had expected to have to fight him to get the information, but Achilles had been surprisingly forthcoming. In fact, creepily forthcoming. Before I had even managed to ask about the elephant-headed god. I replayed the conversation in my head.

  Achilles picked up the phone. “Heel, speaking.” The bar in the background had sounded busy.

  “Hey. It’s me.”

  He hadn’t missed a beat in replying. “Right. You’ll find him at Forest Park at nine in the morning.”

  I had paused. “Well, that’s mighty precise. And I didn’t even tell you who I’m looking for, or that I was even looking for someone…” I had said, slightly alarmed.

  Achilles had chuckled. “Trunk-face asked about you, said you two needed to talk. Told me his travel plans. That you would be calling.”

  “Right. I guess I’ll go to the park then.”

  “You do that.” And then he had hung up.

  Which had set off all sorts of alarm bells in my head. Ganesh was looking for me, and knew I would be looking for him. Which kind of heavily implied that he would also know I intended to steal his belt. But how had he known? Baba Yaga had said his name out loud. Perhaps he could pick up on things like that. He did have big ears…

  Or maybe it was entirely coincidental.

  I chuckled mirthlessly. Right. Coincidence.

  So, I had decided to research him. Not knowing much about the Hindu pantheon, I had skipped the books and gone straight to the web. I had even found myself on Wikipedia trying to learn more about him. His origins were mixed, his stories were varied, and he had a billion different names. Some stories spoke of him having a broken tusk, some didn’t. And I read a few completely different stories about how he had broken his tusk. I read at least three stories about how he lost his head, and how he had received an elephant head transplant. From his dad. From a party guest. Or possibly from some random dude in the elephant-head-selling business. But I had also read that he had been born with an elephant head.

  Contradictory, to say the least.

  So far, here was what I believed to be true, whether it was or not was yet to be determined.

  Ganesh had the head of an elephant, and the body of a large pot-bellied man. His skin was likely a reddish hue, and he was known as being the Lord of Obstacles. I found stories where he assisted people in the removal of obstacles, and stories where he placed obstacles in the way of those who needed to be stopped. He was a Hindu God, son of Shiva and Parvati, and the stories about him were both varied, and wild. For example, he rode a mouse named Krauncha.

  Yep, that’s right. A large elephant-headed god riding a mouse.

  Don’t ask, because I have no idea how anyone could use a mouse as a getaway vehicle, let alone a huge, elephant-headed Hindu God. Why not a horse? Or a dragon. Supposedly, since mice could sneak into almost any crevice, Krauncha aided him in removing any and all obstacles by being able to get to any and all obstacles. I began reading a story on the screen about him beating his brother in a race. With his stupid mouse.

  I let out a frustrated breath, not finding anything particularly useful, or even particularly believable, and took a drink of the water on the table. I scowled at it for good measure, and poured myself a Macallan. I took a contented sip, and leaned back in my chair, swiveling so that I could stare out the giant window at the massive tree standing well over 100 feet tall. It had grown. Thickened up. The canopy filling out with more of the razor-sharp metallic leaves that seemed unaffected by the season. The Gateway, the sprites had called it.

  Whatever the hell that meant.

  It emitted a faint glow in the moonlight, an otherworldly glow, like those bioluminescent fish in the deepest parts of the ocean. Its silvery bone-like bark seemed to pulse stronger where moonbeams touched it, but it still glowed in other places, just not as strongly. It was the world’s tallest glow-stick.

  A silhouette dashed behind the trunk, only noticeable thanks to the glowing tree’s contrast.

  I grunted in shock, almost spilling my drink as I lunged to my feet to press my face up against the window, squinting out at the nighttime scene. The Dark Presence inside me growled territorially. I ignored him. Was I seeing things? After a few seconds of nothing, I began to calm down, convinced I was merely sleep deprived as I settled my drink down with a concerned thought. Maybe I had Made the thing appear without realizing it.

  Stranger things had happened. I really needed to further my training with Ichabod on my abilities. I was aces in a fight now, at least, but there was a whole world of finer points I needed to get a grip on. Or I would be liable to bring deadly creatures into this world that were a zero on the friendly scale.

  But then I saw the silhouette again. The Dark Presence inside of me instantly muted, which couldn’t be a good sign. The figure slunk back into view from behind the tree, and I could see it clearly for the first time. A pale albino humanoid figure, except much too tall, and limbs way too long. Like a scarecrow. It wore straps of a leather-like material crossing its chest, and large pirate-like boots, but that was all I could tell from this far away. It seemed to be searching for something.

  Then I saw another one. It slunk up to the first creature, leaned forward as if to exchange a few words, and then turned away, looking frustrated as it, too, began searching the grounds of my estate.

  I was bolting out the office door and tearing down the stairs before I consciously realized it. I nabbed up a sword from one of the cabinets, knocking over a vase – which brought Mallory stumbling out of the living room with his lightning spear, ready for a fight. He wore no shirt, only his tight-fitting slacks sans shoes. He took one look at me, my sword, and then followed as I turned to flee towards the front door. He didn’t say a word, but I could sense the violence building inside him as he chased me, ready to fight whatever the hell had me so on edge an hour before dawn. Rufus was safely locked away in the dungeon, his new temporary living quarters.

  I flung open the front door and raced towards the tree, Mallory hot on my heels. We neared the old Gardens, and I finally got an unobstructed view of the base of the tree. I skidded to a halt, eyes dancing about wildly for any motion, but there was nothing. A raven cawed in alarm at my sudden arrival, but other than that, the grounds looked like they always did.

  But other than the raven, still cawing angrily, the scene was deathly silent. It reminded me of a particularly bad ice storm in my youth. It had been so quiet that I had clearly heard trees groaning under the weight of the accumulating ice. From hundreds of yards away. But no sounds of life. Just death. And pain.

  But this time there wasn’t even that.

  Just.

  Silence.

  And us panting from our fast and furious sprint.

  No one was here. I raced over to where I had seen the creature, walking the circumference of the giant bone-colored trunk, shielding my eyes from the mild glow, searching for footprints or any sign of the creatures I had seen. Mallory was following me, not speaking, eyes vigilant.

  With no other ideas, I reached out to the Dark Presence inside me, hoping he had a comment.

  What was that thing?

  My question seemed to echo down a vast tunnel, and I received no response. But I could sense him watching through my eyes.

  Hello? I pressed. Still, it didn’t answer. Not so talkative now, are we… I muttered.

  I finally let out a growl. There was literally nothing to see, and my buddy didn’t – or wouldn’t – comment on the matter. I stared at the ground behind me and saw that my own feet had left footprints in the frosted grass, so it didn’t make sense to find no other tracks. There should be somethi
ng here, proving the existence of whatever monster had been lurking here.

  I turned to Mallory. “Something was here. Two somethings, to be precise.”

  He stared back at me, nodded, and then did a quick search himself of the grounds. I waited, staring up at the tree with a pensive frown for a moment. “Where are you?” I asked out loud, and then began aimlessly searching behind bushes, shrubs, and tiny rises and valleys in the grass, pretending I knew what I was doing. I knew exactly dick about tracking. But I could fake quite a lot, and right now, I could sense that my mental state was on the line as I caught a few considering glances from Mallory. I even searched for holes in the ground, or traces of magic. Perhaps they had Shadow Walked here, or something similar. An icy shiver shot down my spine. Hell, they could have been Fae hunters searching for Tory.

  Mallory approached me, eyes neutral. “Nothing here, and nothing’s been here in a good long while, Laddie. Trust me,” he said softly, almost with regretful tone at the risk of offending me. “What did ye see that sent ye off in a tizzy?”

  I described the creatures to him, hoping to hear a ye gad, Holmes! But his face remained blank. “Any idea what they were, or where they went?”

  He took a breath. “Ye sure ye saw anything?” he asked carefully.

  “Yes.” I looked around at our fruitless search. “Despite evidence to the contrary.” I looked at him, concern showing on my face. “Fae?” I asked.

  He glanced around, thinking. Then shrugged. “Dunno, Laddie. But I don’t think so.”

  I nodded, frowning at him. He was bare-chested, and covered in old, silvery scars. A lot of them. Some thick, some razor thin, but if I had to count, I’d say close to a hundred in total.

  Just on his chest.

  “Aren’t you cold?” I asked.

  He shook his head with a tired smile. “Fresh air in me beard. That’s all I need.”

  I stared at him in disbelief for a second before glancing down at my watch. “No way I’m getting any sleep after that. I need to go out. Keep an eye on,” I waved a hand at the grounds around us, “and Othello for me while I’m gone?” He nodded in answer to both questions. “Thanks,” I said as we began heading back to the Chateau, me following behind Mallory. After a few seconds, I spoke softly. “You believe me, right?”

  His response was a millisecond too late for my taste. “Aye, Laddie…” he murmured.

  I didn’t argue with him. But it hurt to hear the doubt in his voice. But I didn’t have time to get in touch with my wounded pride. I had seen something. And I would find out what it had been.

  The raven cawed again behind me, tickling my memory, but it drowned under the weight of my current concerns.

  It was time to go get cleaned up, eat, and go meet Ganesh.

  I ignored the sinking feeling in my chest about Ganesh wanting to speak with me, too. And how the hell was I going to get his damned belt? As I followed Mallory, I quickly analyzed what I knew about him. He liked wagers, to eat, to write, and… races.

  A mouse… My eyes widened as a thought hit me. Then I grinned, pumping my fist at the sky with a triumphant hoot. I raced past a startled Mallory, and headed up to my room. I pulled open the nightstand and withdrew something Indie had left behind. The black and red item glinted in the lamplight. I didn’t think she needed it anymore, not after her shift into a Grimm.

  But it could prove plenty useful to me. I also made a phone call, hoping my idea would work.

  Chapter 19

  Tory rubbed her tired eyes. “You woke me up at the crack of dawn to attend a so-called sausage party,” she grouched. I grinned from ear-to-ear. “So where is this glorious mecca of well-hung gentlemen?” she continued sarcastically, holding out her hands as if hoping to be showered with dongs.

  “I have to admit, you sounded surprisingly eager for someone interested in—”

  “Say it and die,” she snarled.

  I shook my head as we continued walking through the crowd of people towards a large tent staked into the frosty grass. Outdoor space heaters stood inside dozens of smaller tents, and open fire pits were never far from sight. Also, it wasn’t as cold as it had been lately. Coat weather, yes, but not below freezing or anything.

  Missouri, the bipolar weather location of America. It could go from seventy degrees to thirty degrees the next day. Or the same day. Even in November.

  Kegs, food trucks, loud speakers, and even a few carnival games dotted the gathering.

  I glanced at my phone. We were only a few minutes late, because parking had been hell. An Amber Alert had gone off on my way to pick up Tory, but it didn’t seem to be anything related to my current problems. Some relative accused of taking his own child over a custody debate.

  I hoped.

  We finally approached the largest tent and pulled the makeshift canvas door open to duck inside. A roar of chanting and applause rolled over us. We waved our wrist bands at a man behind a booth. He nodded back after a quick glance down at our hands. “They’re almost finished. Hurry on in before it’s over,” he urged, letting us pass. His eyes hesitated on me for a moment as I walked past, as if recognizing me, but he didn’t say anything. I was used to it. I had been a celebrity in the past, thanks to my parents’ company, Temple Industries. But it had closed down, and been sold to a German company, coincidentally right around the time the Brothers Grimm decided to ruin my life.

  It had upset many families with relatives who had worked there. Now, I was a celebrity for entirely different reasons. Something that rhymed with one of the most hated people in the city.

  Tory’s head darted back and forth at the screaming crowd, mouth open in disbelief as they finally tracked to the stage. We continued walking down the center aisle, rows of chairs extending to either side before us, leading up to the massive platform. It was standing room only now, every chair occupied. Still, it wasn’t difficult to navigate the center aisle because everyone was so focused on the event up front. We finally reached a bottleneck close to the action. “One minute remaining!” A voice bellowed from a cheap loud-speaker. The crowd exploded with renewed cheers and shouts as Tory and I watched the competition.

  Cheap plastic tables had been jammed together and covered with even cheaper tablecloths to stretch the entire width of the platform, and nine people sat behind the tables, heaps of steaming wieners resting on plastic platters before them.

  “Ever seen so many wieners in one place?” I yelled at Tory loud enough to be heard over the crowd’s cheers. “It’s just so beautiful!”

  She rolled her eyes with a faint smile.

  The people on stage were demolishing the hot dogs before them as fast as possible while a digital clock ticked down above their heads, showing less than a minute remaining.

  The contestants were doing an impressive job, especially a kid at the far end of the table, maybe ninety pounds soaking wet. Most of them were large, middle-aged men. But there was one young girl in the center, trying desperately to keep up with the machine of an eater beside her. Judging by the stack before her, she wasn’t even close to her competitor. This was the man the crowd was focused on.

  A tiny god in their local hot dog eating contest.

  Ah, irony.

  He was a young man of average build and Indian descent. He wore sweatpants, sandals, and a T-Shirt that said, Namaste, Bitches, with a depiction of Ganesh in his traditional meditative yoga-like pose. I could see this clearly, because where everyone else was leaning forward, eagerly shoving hot dogs into their mouths, he was leaning back in his chair, legs crossed beneath the table, looking about as unconcerned as a cow chewing grass. He was holding a platter of hot dogs in one hand, and using his other to literally shovel hot dogs – bun included – into his mouth at a remarkable speed, easily twice as fast as the girl beside him, who looked rather green at the gills. And he was doing this with only one hand. I was pretty sure that he had four hands when in traditional form.

  Because the man adored by the masses was Ganesh, Lord of Obstacles. />
  And, apparently, Lord of Hot Dog Eating Contests. But, wasn’t eating certain kinds of meat against their customs? I’d just have to ask him about it. You know, question a Hindu God about his own customs. Right.

  The crowd continued to roar, cheering, and encouraging everyone on for the last stretch, but the struggle was real. The contestants were exponentially slowing down, looking about to burst. The funny thing was, the Indian man didn’t look the slightest bit concerned. Or full. As if he could literally do this for hours. Days. Months. Centuries. In fact, he didn’t look like he was even trying that hard. If anything, he looked to be restraining himself.

  I pointed at the Indian dude, turning to Tory. “That’s our guy.” But Tory was already staring at him with a frown. As I looked back to the stage, I saw that the Indian man was staring directly back at me, still shoveling food down his throat, but more focused on watching me than eating. There was no question he would win. He could stop eating right now and still win. I nodded back politely, and he did the same.

  “Stop!” A voice on a loud-speaker announced. “Please give a big round of applause to today’s contestants.” Everyone did. The participants slowly climbed to their feet, some grinning, most looking nauseated. The tally was 63 for the Indian guy. The closest competitor was 47.

  I leaned toward one of the guys beside me. “How long was the competition?”

  He chuckled. “New to this?” I gave a guilty shrug. “Me too. Ten minutes. They have to eat the bun and all. Crazy, man. I don’t know how they do it.”

  I nodded, shaking my head. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. I was looking up the record, and I saw that it’s 69. Your friend could totally beat it with practice.”

  I frowned at his words, but answered politely. Maybe he had seen us exchange a nod. “If you say so. Take care,” and I turned back to Tory, only to find the Indian man holding her hand in his palm, and raising it to his lips for a polite kiss. I instantly grew alarmed that a Hindu God was touching Tory.