War Hammer: A Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Book 8 (The Temple Chronicles)

by Shayne Silvers

  “Suffice it to say that every single man in that room grew violently ill that very night,” he said with a nostalgic grin. “Except for the newest doctor… Me. I took them to a… retreat, high in the mountains. A cave, as a matter of fact. I didn’t need much room, of course, because hospitality wasn’t on the prescription list. I had a dozen patients to keep me company. And the last of them, my wife’s murderer, shared twenty very long years with me before finally succumbing to the exotic cocktail of poisons I fed him. Because I would always do my best to heal my patients, to see how close I could bring them to death before pulling them back. I lost count of how many times he apologized for what he had done to my wife, but I made sure to have him recite his list of crimes twice a day, in excruciating detail, as one would expect from a doctor. We must maintain our standards, after all.”

  Conquest met my eyes, and they were red-rimmed, but his shoulders looked lighter, as if a great weight had been lifted from them. I didn’t know what to say. Did I congratulate him? Apologize? Run screaming in horror? I kept my face blank, and gave him a firm nod.

  Because… I couldn’t quite say what I would have done in his shoes, and that troubled me greatly. Conquest didn’t ask me anything, simply turned back to the statues. My response must have been the right one.

  “I have never shared the details in full, not even with my brothers. Just the conclusion. That I poisoned her murderer and his associates. I don’t know why I shared the rest with you… Just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should,” he said, as if speaking to himself. Then he glanced at me. “One must be careful of temptation, of power, of obsessions. They usually smell of flowers and solve all your problems. But proper medicine always has a side effect, a price. Don’t be conned by sugar-coated drugs.”

  I swallowed, and then placed a hand on his shoulder. “Tell me about her beauty,” I said.

  He slowly turned to face me, a single tear falling down his perfect cheeks as he smiled and nodded one time. Then he grasped my hand and tugged me down to sit beside him at the edge of the fountain that held the jeweled Temple family tree.

  I listened for quite some time, giving him a brother’s love. The perfect medicine.

  When finished, Conquest finally cleared his throat, as if remembering why we were here in the first place. I sure as hell didn’t know. I was just along for the ride, so to speak, but my heart felt scrubbed raw at his story. Still, I felt I had helped him in a small way, and the light in his eyes now blocked the madness I knew lurked in the depths of his soul.

  “What I meant to say before I got sidetracked,” he began, “is that you should always keep a close eye on your loved ones. You never know what demons they may be hiding, and what effect it might have. Your vampire, for instance, is incredibly ill. Did you know this?”

  I flinched, staring up at him. “Alucard?” I asked incredulously. “What do you mean?”

  He waved a hand to calm me. “He’s spent too long trying to be something he is not. He is scared of his monster, and it’s eating him alive,” he said in a clinical tone.

  I blinked at him several times. “I… had no idea,” I admitted. “Well, I knew he was trying to be something better, not wanting to be a murderer, but I didn’t know it was hurting him…”

  Conquest shrugged. “You haven’t helped him. In fact, you may have harmed him.”

  I tensed, my mouth dropping open. “What? How?”

  The Horseman appraised me, eyes calculating. He finally sighed. “Everyone is so fucking scared of monsters. I just don’t get it. Who is supposed to fight the truly terrifying monsters if we don’t have monsters of our own?” He waved a hand, halting me from responding. “I digress. What I’m trying to say is that your friendship has made him feel he needs to become something he is not. To hide from his monster, rather than control it and put it to good use. While this sounds admirable, he is forgetting his nature. And one simply cannot forget their nature. They can evolve, but suffocating themselves is not medicine. Does this make sense?” I slowly nodded. Conquest sighed in relief. “Wow. Good. I thought I was going to have to fight you on this.”

  I grunted. “I could use some clarification. What I did to hurt, and what I can do to help…”

  “Vampires are… terribly emotional creatures,” Conquest said, as if that was an answer. Seeing the look on my face, he rolled his eyes. “You constantly nag at him, picking at him with your words, pranking him, yes?” I nodded.

  “I do that to all of my friends,” I argued, not understanding.

  “And how many vampire friends do you have?” he asked, leering at me.

  That cut me off short. “Point taken.”

  He nodded satisfactorily. “Consider also that he has been a monumental failure practically every time he has tried to be more… human.”

  I thought about that, and realized the Horseman was absolutely right. Alucard wasn’t remotely good at being human. I was curious how Conquest knew of all that, though.

  “So, what do I do?” I asked, feeling like a shit.

  He grunted. “You feed his monster, of course. Let him out of the cage. Leave a monster behind bars long enough, and pretty soon you will have an impotent creature, swamped in depression. Think about a zoo. All the animals do is eat, sleep, and occasionally procreate.”

  Before I could respond, Conquest suddenly stood, and resumed walking again, leaving me to either sit there or catch up.

  He held out his hands at the statues around us, changing the topic as I caught up to him. “The fallen always have lessons to impart, if one knows how to speak with the dead.”

  I glanced to the opposite side of Conquest to study the statues, seeing them differently. I also realized we were close to my parents’ section of the crypt. “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “The dead keep secrets…” he whispered, voice as soft and dry as a breeze. I looked up sharply, wondering why he sounded so odd all of a sudden.

  But he was gone.

  “Hey!” I shouted, my voice echoing off the walls. But he didn’t respond.

  It was just me.

  And a bunch of dead Temples.

  Chapter 17

  Growling, I wandered over to my parents’ section and sat down in the chair before the tall statues they had commissioned to portray their lives. I had never been approached on the details of their design, not being allowed to have an opinion. My parents had told me about this years ago, that it was the deceased’s will that mattered, not the survivors. I hadn’t yet designed my own statue, but it probably wasn’t a bad idea seeing how things were going lately. Still, I stubbornly wished I would have had some input in their statues.

  I don’t know why, but there it was.

  I finally steeled my resolve and stared up into my mother’s marble eyes. I felt the beginnings of tears forming and didn’t try to stop them. I let out a deep, shaking breath. “I miss you, mom. The real you. Not your spirit. You. I hate you guys for what you did to me. Giving me powers without ever telling me. Making deals with Pan behind my back and then dying before you could explain. Then, still not telling me about it in your death.”

  I sighed, still murmuring to myself, letting myself vent. This was the only time I could truly lower my guard. No one was around to see. No one was around to judge. It was just… me.

  And my parents.

  “Shut up, Dad. I know I could come visit you in the Underworld. Death probably has Charon on standby for just that. But… it’s not the same. And I feel guilty doing it. I need to cut those ties before they break me. Popping in every now and then to say hi would only weaken me. And I can’t afford to be weak right now. But you know all about that, don’t you?

  “And what’s up with our Crest? What does it all mean? Why are the ravens on it? Were you pals with Odin, too? What other secrets did you keep from me?” I shouted, my voice echoing off the walls. “Why? Why were you friends with these guys? Why is there so much crazy shit going on in Missouri?”

  After a few moment
s of silence, a faint smile tugged at my cheeks.

  “I’m not being a drama queen, mom. Even the Old Ones think things are crazy.”

  I sighed, staring down at my hand. The emblem branded into my palm was healed, leaving behind burned skin in a perfect rendition of my Crest, with full detail.

  “I killed Athena for fuck’s sake, dad… And my fiancée… Indie. She’s dead. Went crazy over there in Fae. But you guys wouldn’t know about that. You never went there,” I muttered. “Well, I’m going back. Maybe I’ll bring you a gift to leave here.”

  I looked back up at my mom, studying her statue as tears streamed down my face like acid. She was beautiful. Elegant. Noble. And had hidden dozens of dark secrets from me.

  I hated them both.

  And I loved them both.

  I stared at her hands, frowning distastefully at the pyramid-shaped stone in her palm. The stone copy of the Hand of God – what Indie had used to wake up Athena. I purposely avoided reaching into my pocket where I kept a small velvet bag with all that remained of the real thing – a pile of dust. Had even my mom’s statue been a hint of some kind? A warning?

  Had… they been prevented from sharing things with me for some reason?

  But if that was true, someone would have had to hold them accountable to it, which meant someone out there knew the truth. Their full story.

  Pan?

  One of the guests I had entertained tonight?

  If I ever found truth in that thought, I would make their last days a living nightmare.

  But another thought hit me. If the stone in her statue’s hands had been a long-distance message, what about the other thing in my dad’s hands? I stood, approaching his statue to inspect the hourglass. What was so special about it? And anyway, this was stone.

  For example, the pyramid in her hand hadn’t actually been the Hand of God – just a replica. The real one had been with the Elders – before Indie took it.

  So, was I supposed to scour the world for an hourglass? Or was it in my Armory with Pandora? Maybe I should ask.

  I reached up, inspecting it closer, wanting to get a feel for it so I could pester Pandora. I would take pictures, too, but getting a personal view of it was almost more important to Pandora, because she could read my mind. Touching it was effectively a video recording. I reached up to get a feel for its size, and any specific dimension it may have.

  Which meant I was caught totally by surprise when the fucking thing fell out of my dad’s hands, clanging to the marble floor. I froze, holding my hands up in the air on instinct, a universal I’m innocent gesture. Then I chuckled nervously, still staring down at it. I was alone here. No one was about to come yell at me for breaking something, especially not my parents.

  Still, her marble eyes bore into me as if she could do just that. Scoldings could happen across planes of existence – without a word spoken. Mothers were like cosmic supernovas in that regard. Supreme Beings.

  But, hell, I owned the freaking building.

  I stared down at the hourglass, wondering why the stone hadn’t broken, and why it had made such an odd sound. Like metal. I crouched down, picking it up with careful hands, hoping I hadn’t just desecrated my dad’s statue for no good reason. The object was cool in my hands, and I detected a faint hum of power – muted, as if…

  Encased behind stone.

  Holding my breath, I tapped it against the floor, and was shocked to see a thin layer of stone chip away, revealing the dull gleam of tarnished metal. Hard, strong metal. Not copper, bronze, or anything precious, but functional. Something that could withstand the tests of time, no matter what nature threw at it.

  I felt a small, eager smile cracking my cheeks, the motion creasing the salty residue from my tears. Then I began to tap in earnest at a few of the sturdier sections, and began to laugh as I watched more stone flake away in thin sheets.

  An hourglass hidden in stone.

  My parents had left me a gift.

  A new thought hit me. I had always wondered why my parents had upped the security on the Temple Mausoleum. It was just a crypt – a final resting place for the dead – so why add bulletproof glass, motion sensors, a bank-vault door, and cameras?

  Probably because they had hidden this thing here. I glanced up at the statues. Possibly other things, too. Curious, I reached up to the pyramid-shaped stone, and although hoping for it, was surprised when it simply lifted away, a separate piece from the rest of the statue, held in place by a thin layer of plaster that was easily cracked apart.

  But… if Indie had used the real Hand of God… what the hell was this?

  I needed to get back home. To clean these things off. Find out what they were. I realized I was staring out at the rest of the statues in the building, assessing everything. What else had they hidden here?

  And since they had been dead at the time, had the sculptors been in on the ruse? But that could wait. I had a trip tomorrow. I realized I was wearing the satchel Callie had sent me, so quickly shoved the two stone items inside, backing away from the statues, studying them with a thoughtful frown.

  “How long have these things been here?” I asked out loud. “Did you know, even years ago, that I would need this stuff? Or did you have a trusted friend add them after the fact. Pan?” I shook my head. “No, he would have told me. I’m sure of it.” I watched my dad’s statue, glaring at me as if disappointed. Now that I looked at him, I realized the sculptor had made his eyes look a little more savage than I remembered. “I think… I should double check,” I said, taking a step back from that glare. “But… if they’re so important, why didn’t you just tell me about them? You were in the Armory after you died. You had plenty of time. And what are they? Why are they important? It’s an hourglass and a Hand of God replica…” I trailed off, thinking furiously. Unless it was another Hand of God. But… that wouldn’t do me any good. The only two Makers alive were Matthias and Castor, and they both wanted to kill me. For different reasons.

  Then they could get back to trying to kill each other.

  I sighed, running a hand through my hair. I had cut it back to normal after my trip to the Fae, not a fan of the longer hair, or how I had gotten it.

  But I had kept my beard. Because I hadn’t ever been able to wear one. Not a real one. Just a patchy excuse for a face-blanket. And since stories had spread about my bearded mug during our war with the Greeks, I had decided to leave it as a reminder for anyone I ran into.

  I needed to get home and get cleaned up. I wanted to get someone I trusted to begin cleaning these items off, but I had a dinner with Callie planned, where I needed to thank her for my ridiculously expensive birthday present. Maybe find out why she had gotten me one in the first place.

  With my luck, it was probably just a bribe to convince me to do something I would rather not do. Still, I felt excitement at the prospect of uncovering the truth behind the stone.

  But I was acutely aware that I couldn’t be sharing details about it with anyone.

  Because someone hadn’t been playing me straight. My bet was Pan, but it could have been anyone. Hell, maybe it was one of the Horsemen. Maybe that was why Death had allowed my parents to come back, to remind them that they couldn’t tell me what I needed to know.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t trust anyone, but I was under no impression that these people valued my feelings over their prior obligations. I knew that War believed that sometimes unpleasant things needed to be done in order to accomplish a greater good. Nothing evil, but sometimes painful. A more benevolent form of the ends justified the means. How the phrase had been originally intended, not the way others had distorted it as an excuse or vehicle to achieve their goals.

  I was betting the other Horsemen agreed with him too, especially after talking to Conquest.

  I needed to find out for myself what was so important about these two not-stone items. I found it very odd that my parents had chosen to put them here rather than their Armory – where they housed every other dangerous supernatural art
ifact they had found over the years.

  Was that a subtle hint that they didn’t trust Pandora?

  Or just an added layer of security? Were these items more dangerous or less dangerous than the items in the Armory? Because their method of concealment could indicate either.

  Just to be sure, I walked up to the statues and rapped on them with a knuckle, making sure they weren’t hollow. I walked around them in a circle, checking all over for any levers or buttons that might reveal a hidden passageway of some kind. I even reached out with my magic, but was pretty sure they were solid, genuine statues. Nothing else was hidden on them. The only way to be one-hundred-percent sure was to break them into rubble.

  And I didn’t have the cojones to do that, or the required lack of concern for destroying the only remaining physical rendition of them. Sure, I had paintings and photographs, but there was something to be said about a statue.

  I frowned at them for good measure, and then left, my mind a wash of crazy ideas.

  And, over them all…

  Why had Conquest brought me here unless he knew about these items? Was it just for his cryptic advice? Or had he had several reasons to bring me here?

  Stupid, holy, donkey-riders, meddling in my fucking life all the time.

  One of these days, they were going to get what was coming to them. But I had a date. I patted my satchel happily, surprised to find that the items didn’t weigh very much. They actually felt like they weighed less than they should have, considering I had held them in my hands.

  It almost felt like my satchel was empty.

  I reached inside, not looking, searching for them, just to be sure. When my fingers brushed the two items, I let out a sigh. Just good balance on the bag, apparently.

  The chain strap didn’t even bother me, either.

  All in all, it was probably the coolest satchel – both in looks and design – I had ever owned.