Tiny Gods: A Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Book 6 (The Temple Chronicles)

by Shayne Silvers

  He nodded. “As long as you know it, it can no longer control you.”

  I nodded, turning to Dean and Mallory. “I’ll change the guest list so that the mansion knows she is no longer welcome. Under any circumstances. The Chateau will tear her to shreds unless she has my permission to be here.” Dean silently poured another glass, approached me with soft steps, and handed over the drink, frowning compassionately. His fingers briefly rested on the back of my wrist, and then he departed to dust the other bookshelf, no longer angry about the car.

  Which meant a lot. He knew how dangerous Indie could be. But he also knew how much it hurt me to admit this to myself. So, he understood how much it took from me to officially declare her an enemy. It was the right call.

  But it still sucked.

  Mallory piped up. “One other thing, Laddie. She kept muttering about her Brothers. She stopped by the tree on her way out. Spent a few minutes lurking ‘round, and then left.”

  Concern instantly hit me like a fist in the gut. The tree was where we had buried the Grimms that had attacked my home. “Why would she care about visiting their graves? We searched all the bodies. None of them had anything special on them,” I lied, hoping I sounded convincing.

  But in fact, I had taken several items from their corpses, not knowing what they were, but not wanting anyone else to ever find them. In case they were dangerous. Then another thought hit me. “Where was Carl during her visit to the tree, or at any point during her invasion?”

  Mallory shrugged. “I saw him after, but not during. He wasna’ present. Probably sharpening his blades somewhere.”

  I called out in my mind, summoning the bastard. He appeared in the doorway almost instantaneously. “Yes, Master Temple?” Death shot him a wary look out of the corner of his eye.

  I studied the Elder. I hardly knew him or his… friends.

  He resembled a tall, bipedal, albino lizard-man. He wore clothes made of crisscrossing strips of thick leather, and twin ivory blades hung at either hip, along with several more pale-bladed daggers tucked into the various folds of his clothing. His milky-white scales reflected the light so that he looked perpetually wet, and his beady glacier-like blue eyes tracked any and all movement in the room, even though he appeared to be giving me his full attention. The tips of his inky black fangs protruded from the thin lips of his elongated jaws, like he had bitten into a printing press on his way over, but that was just their normal color. The absolute opposite of his scaled body.

  “Where were you?”

  “Guarding the grounds, checking the perimeter. I never sensed danger from Chateau Falco.”

  “Maybe you shouldna’ rely on the house to point out the obvious,” Mallory spat acidly.

  Carl leered at him, as if welcoming a physical solution.

  “Enough. Play nice. I need a minute,” I said, standing with a groan of pain. I wandered over to my desk, staring out the floor-to-ceiling window at the gargantuan tree dominating my property. Indie’s temporary tombstone. A silver and gold-leaved white tree, that sometimes seemed to have a bioluminescent glow to it. I took a drink, thinking furiously.

  Ichabod Temple – a long lost relative of mine – had banished the Brothers Grimm hundreds of years ago. But a handful of them had found their way back – with Ichabod as their prisoner – hungry to kill the last surviving Temple. Indie had been murdered in the battle, the War, and some Fae had planted the pale tree on her grave. But Death had brought her back to life…

  As a Grimm. The last surviving Grimm in our world.

  She had left with Ichabod to master her new abilities after a run-in with Rumpelstiltskin, who wanted to use her powers to bring back the rest of the Grimms. Under the control of the Syndicate. Rumpelstiltskin was now serving a life sentence with the Mad Hatter, courtesy of me.

  I had later been cursed by a wizard, and in an effort to save myself, had given up the fledgling power of a Maker – a practically extinct brand of magic that involved sharing headspace with an immortal, all-powerful Beast. This constant, internal struggle with our Beasts made Makers prime candidates for gods to use as tools to enforce their will on the world. It was why Makers had been hunted to extinction. Too dangerous. Rather than become anyone’s sock-puppet, I had locked my Beast into a cane, promising to free him once the dust settled, because he was as much of a victim as I was in the Maker partnership.

  But before I had been able to free him, Indie had stolen the cane from me, willing to do whatever it took to annihilate the Syndicate. Just like Ichabod.

  I hadn’t heard from her since. Until now.

  I glanced at the book on the table, Through the Looking-Glass. The book that would lead her directly to the Mad Hatter and Rumps, the only one who could…

  “They want to bring back the Grimms… They think they can control them. Gain an army… to take out the Syndicate,” I whispered in disbelief. Death grunted in reply.

  I realized I was grinding my teeth, because a bit of dust fell from the ceiling, letting me see that my mansion was duplicating my mood, grumbling ominously.

  I ignored it, staring out at the white tree. The Fae hadn’t told me it was also a Gateway. To the Elders. Carl and friends. Who had been booted off earth long ago for eating too many people or something. Since the tree was on my property, they obeyed me. But they had come searching for Indie’s corpse, thinking she was the key to bringing the rest of their people back home. Here.

  I looked at Carl now, remembering the numerous warnings I had received about his people, the Elders. Don’t feed them… Death was studying the rafters, and finally let out a satisfied nod, deciphering that I had firmly committed to standing against Indie.

  I scowled back. “You know this is indirectly your fault, right? You brought her back.”

  Death rolled his eyes. “Right. I should have just let her die. Because you are so rational about things like that. You do remember that you were only heartbeats away from trying to kill me. Because you thought I had killed her.” He shrugged. “Damned if I do, damned if I don’t…”

  I let out a frustrated sigh, brushing my fingers through my hair, which was growing much longer. “I know. Just… sucks.” I stared at Carl and Death. “Let’s go for a walk.” Mallory began to pipe up, but I held out a hand, remembering Death’s comment. Mallory was hiding something. About his past. “Just us, Mallory. You and I should probably have a long-overdue talk soon…”

  He dropped his head, but didn’t agree about us having a talk. I strode out of the room, listening as my house began whispering to me. “Where are we going?” Death asked.

  I grinned. “Down the rabbit hole, apparently.”

  He frowned, but Carl merely grinned, revealing his inky black fangs as his hand caressed the blade at his hip. The milky white blade that may or may not have been pure bone.

  “Hey, Carl. What are those made of? I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I said.

  The holes where his ears should have been constricted as he listened. He shrugged as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. “The bones of my enemies. What was left of them.”

  I shivered in disgust, but Death nodded to himself, completely at peace with Carl’s answer.

  “Carl, have I ever told you how creepy you are?”

  “Often,” he responded with a frown, head cocked slightly in confusion.

  I sighed, continuing on. “Okay. Just checking,” I said, shaking my head.

  Fucking Carl…

  Chapter 10

  I urged Carl and Death back a few steps as I plucked out my phone. I needed to call Raego about Yahn.

  “Hey, you filthy reptile!” I said the moment he answered.

  “Temple,” he said flatly. “I hear the most unpleasant things about you from your friends.”

  “Yeah, about that—”

  “That you let a Regular get scratched by one of my dragons. Or Tory’s dragons, if she’s there beside you,” he added quickly, changing his tone.

  “She’s not here,” I chuckle
d.

  He let out a breath, and then asked me what happened. I told him my version, not trusting Tory’s reiteration of Alucard’s opinion. He was quiet on the other end. “Well? Do you think—”

  “It’s too soon to tell. I’ll have a few of my men follow him around. You owe me.”

  “He might not even turn!” I argued.

  “Oh, no. I meant for wasting my time to watch him. If he does become a dragon, we will have a balancing of accounts. Your favors will rain down on me,” he sounded pleased.

  “The Reds did it!”

  “While working for you,” he replied lazily. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go babysit.”

  And he hung up. “Bastard,” I muttered, pocketing my phone.

  I focused back on the house, sensing her annoyance at me ignoring her for the duration of my phone call. Jealous, jealous… I smiled to myself.

  Thinking on Yahn brought me back to the Gala, where both the Academy and Syndicate had unknowingly teamed up to ruin my day. That mysterious dark-haired girl had drugged Tory. The Academy had antagonized a shifter. Then that weird flame guy had tried to burn us alive.

  I shook my head, letting those thoughts stew as I let the house guide me, listening intently as it whispered into my ears. No one else heard anything, but they probably noticed the faint rumbling in the walls. Nothing alarming. Just a soothing purr. The house did that when content. Like a giant feline.

  Speaking of cats, Sir Muffle Paws trailed behind us, tail arched up in the air, flickering back and forth of its own volition. I had thought he was a Maine Coon when I first found him. But he was turning out to be much bigger. Like a mutant cousin of theirs. Or the Sabretooth version of his bloodline. I had heard that Maine Coons typically weighed in at twenty pounds.

  Sir Muffle Paws was at least double that, and still had big paws, which typically meant he had a lot of stretching to do. Freaking cats. Why couldn’t I have gotten a docile little tiny kitten?

  But I hadn’t really had a say in the matter. Because… well, Indie had fallen for the kitty, convincing me to keep him. Before she went rogue. Because a brief vacation with Ichabod had apparently been enough time to brain-wash her with his all-consuming hatred for the Syndicate.

  And I had become the owner of a big ass kitty. A constant reminder of what I had lost.

  “Maybe he’ll come in handy someday,” Death offered, studying the paintings on the walls as we walked, reading my thoughts.

  “Maybe you’d like to watch him for a few years. You know, just to make sure you’re a good fit. We don’t want to make any hasty decisions. I hear that’s a bad idea when you’re emotional,” I trailed off, listening as the house spoke to me.

  Through the doorway just ahead.

  Except, there was no doorway. Just a textile forest scene the size of a rug covering the wall. A wall leading to the exterior of the house. So, there obviously couldn’t be a door there, unless it led outside. Hallways continued off to either side.

  “You sure?” I asked out loud.

  I saw Carl cock his head, eyeing first me and then Death, who shrugged in response.

  Yes.

  “Okay, Narnia. Whatever you say.” She purred in delight at being given a name.

  I pulled back the tapestry, wondering what this was all about.

  We were instantly pelted with screams and wails, as if we had opened the pits of hell. The stone blocks of the wall suddenly began sliding out towards us in random patterns, then several rotated in place, slammed back into the wall, rearranged themselves, and switched places with other stones. Some massive mechanism. The screams and cries grew louder until Death waved a hand, and they stopped. He looked very, very concerned.

  He’s no fun. Totally harmless, really, since you’re here, Narnia whispered to me.

  I frowned, watching the stones as they continued to spin, roll, rearrange, and slam back into new positions, like a 1980’s pixelated videogame of a pond rippling after a rock was thrown into it. Except with each sudden movement of rock, different colors and shapes began to appear, revealing some purpose to the mechanism.

  “And what would have happened if I wasn’t present?”

  Empty meat sacks would be all that remained, and their souls would have joined the orchestra.

  Death jumped back a step, staring hard at the door that was beginning to materialize. “I thought I heard a voice…” Death murmured.

  You needed to hear my warning, Rider. Only the Master can keep you safe here, Horseman.

  I grinned at that. “What she said. Master,” I enunciated. Death shivered, staring at me in disbelief. Carl merely squinted warily at the wall, which buckled one last time before all the cracks dissolved, forming one large, heavy-as-hell stone door. And a handle slowly slid outwards. A bone carving of the Temple Crest, and it was caked with what looked like dried blood in places.

  The crest, very familiar to me, featured a large shield with a lightning bolt down the center, splitting it in two. One side of the shield displayed a mountain, the other a feather. Because death was as light as a feather, while life could be heavier than a mountain. A scythe and a spear crossed the back of the shield, banners flying from the tip of each. One read Memento Mori, and the other read Arete.

  Memento Mori meant remember you are mortal, and had been included to encourage the Temple clan to live life to the fullest, never wasting a moment, because tomorrow we could die.

  Arete was a lesson taught by Aristotle, defined as the most excellent form of a thing. As in, one should always strive for excellence, the best possible form of yourself.

  The butts of the weapons protruded out from opposite ends of the bottom of the shield, where two ravens were perched, and their names were listed below each. Hugin and Munin. Odin’s ravens. Memory and Thought.

  I shivered at that, remembering Ganesh’s warning of ravens hanging around my tree.

  I hoped to all hell that the ravens in my tree weren’t the real Hugin and Munin. And that they had nothing to do with my family crest. Just birds.

  The lower tip of the shield bore a single, large star, but the top of the shield was banded with seven stars that I hadn’t ever received much explanation on. My father had once told me that it related to some old prophecy that had long ago been disproven, but that we couldn’t just remove it from our crest. So, it had stayed.

  A giant closed fist rose up above the shield, symbolizing one holding the power of creation in the palm of a hand, or fist. Wizards. And my favorite part, the words Non Serviam rested on top of the shield. It meant I will never serve, signifying the refusal to submit or bow to anyone. Explaining that phrase often turned people off. Because in Milton’s book, Paradise Lost, Lucifer had carried banners with those words as he marched against his Brothers. Angels. But our usage wasn’t a religious slam. In fact, our crest was likely older than Milton’s book. Just a coincidence that Paradise Lost used the same phrase.

  I think…

  Staring at the crest carved in bone and splashed with dried blood was unsettling.

  I frowned. “A little macabre, don’t you think, Narnia?” I said aloud, reaching for the handle.

  All will be understood shortly, she answered.

  My palm touched the crest, and I hissed in pain.

  But I couldn’t let go, as what felt like red-hot thorns pierced my palms, branding me until the stink of roasted flesh filled the hall. I could only gasp in pain, unable to detach my palm.

  Which pissed Carl right the hell off. He swung his precious ivory blade at the door handle, no doubt intending to chop it off. Or my hand. Hopefully not the latter.

  The moment his sword touched the door, there was an explosion of blue sparks, and he went flying, ricocheting off a wall, knocking over a table, and skidding on his ass a good thirty feet. In his hand was only the hilt of his bone sword. I hadn’t even had time to cry out. Then the door handle released my palm, and I yanked it back with a relieved groan, staring down to find the crest neatly burned into my palm.
>
  Yesss… Narnia purred as if having taken a sip of an exquisite wine. Your blood is pure, Master Temple. You may proceed with your batman and the Rider… I have waited years for this…

  Death had torn off part of his sleeve, and abruptly took my palm in his hand, staring down at the wound with muttered curses before he began wrapping it. But all I had attention for was the liquid blood flowing through the crest on the door handle, and the sound of dozens of heavy locks and bolts disengaging, clicking, unclicking, and hammering into unseen new positions with resounding thuds and clangs.

  Then the door opened, dust gasping from the frame, and a violet glow illuminated a sandstone hallway as torches flared to life with purple fire, burning away the darkness.

  Carl had rejoined us and was staring down at the hilt of his weapon in disbelief. But I knew he had others to replace it. Death gave a sharp tug on the makeshift bandage on my palm, but other than recognizing the pain, I was transfixed by the hallway ahead.

  “What are we doing, Nate?” Death whispered.

  Carl grunted, tossing down his destroyed hilt, and idly checking himself for other weapons.

  “I have no idea. I’m just playing follow the leader, here. The house wants to show us something.”

  “Some doors are better left unopened…” he whispered, eyes troubled.

  “Memento Mori,” I whispered back, finding myself surprisingly anxious to see what exactly was going on. Tomorrow you may die…

  They joined me as I followed the violet-flamed torches.

  I glanced back to see Sir Muffle Paws watching us from the hallway, his tail flicking back and forth in agitation. He didn’t follow.

  Chapter 11

  Death followed directly behind me. “Have you been here before, Nate?” he asked softly. Carl brought up the rear, keeping an eye on everything. I trusted the Elder, despite not fully understanding what he was. But I did know that he served me. Because I had dominated him, and the gateway to his home was on my property. Hell, I had killed dozens of his friends to prove it to him.