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

by Shayne Silvers

  I grabbed his hands, and he looked up at me, wild-eyed. “We don’t know. That’s why you need to stay here and stuff.”

  Alucard burst out laughing from the other room. I sighed.

  “What about my dancing class? My Grammy?” Yahn complained, referring to Greta.

  I shook my head. “We’ll tell her later. Once we’re sure. Dance class might have to wait.”

  To be honest, I was stunned he was taking it so well. Hell, he had just seen dragons, and all he cared about was his Grammy and dance classes. The Reds sauntered up, and each took Yahn by a shoulder, speaking soothing words to him as they escorted him from the room. He shot quick, nervous glances over his shoulder at me, but I shot him a thumbs up, mouthing boobies. His face paled, but he was soon out the door.

  Raego was scowling at me. “Thanks. A lot. Do you have any idea what kind of music he listens to? And how loud he must listen to it? Trying to turn it down results in him screaming like a banshee,” Raego muttered. “Easier to keep it on.”

  I sighed, nodding. “Sorry, man. Let’s just hope nothing happens, and he’ll be out of your hair soon.” Tory let out a dismissive huff and left, calling out Alucard’s name.

  Music suddenly erupted from one of the distant rooms, some kind of techno jazz remix. On full volume. I smiled weakly at Raego.

  “You owe me. Big,” he warned.

  I left. I had things to do. And I wasn’t very excited about them.

  Chapter 15

  Even though it was late morning, I wasn’t ecstatic about my to-do list, so I poured myself a stiff one. I took a deep drink of the absinthe, caressing the book in my lap. The ruined rug had been taken out this morning while I had been on trial at Raego’s house, leaving my office more spartan than I was accustomed to. It wasn’t a big deal, but when you’ve spent so much time in a room that was always decorated exactly the same way, and suddenly one item was removed, it was very noticeable.

  I set the glass down and took a deep breath, attempting to calm myself as I closed my eyes, idly thumbing the cover of the book. The one Indie had tried to steal.

  Through the Looking-Glass.

  Even though I had failed to ward the house against Indie, I hadn’t failed to ward this book. The ward had been made strong enough to prevent even the slightest of magic from touching it. With painful consequences for any would-be thieves. The ward also protected against Regulars and non-magical creatures, with less fatal consequences, because that wouldn’t be very nice of me to incinerate a defenseless human. Or if Sir Muffle Paws decided to use it as a resting pad. If he did, he would get a nice, pleasant good morning electrical zap to the belly and groin, but would generally be unharmed.

  Enough stalling, I chided myself. I focused my mind, and imagined a White World.

  I felt a tug on my soul, and the familiar resting sounds of my house instantly ceased, to be replaced by the sound of soft wind chimes and a violin.

  I opened my eyes. Slowly.

  The Mad Hatter sat before me in an ornate white armchair, playing a violin. I had last seen him as a nine-foot-tall giant ginger, but now… he was only a larger than average man with reddish hair and a gnarly chest-length beard. Apparently, he could change his size. Then again, I knew almost nothing about him. So, he could probably do a lot of impossible things.

  He wore no shirt, and was surprisingly heavily muscled. Where did he work out? Considering that thought, I realized that he had little else to do, being possibly the only person in this world. He watched me with intelligent, raptor-like eyes as he continued fiddling. I watched him, smiling lightly. I checked my outfit, not surprised to find I was no longer wearing my tee and jeans, but a crisp, silver leisure suit, complete with grey loafers. This was typically the case whenever I visited. I found myself in crisp, fresh, clean, grey or silver clothes. Didn’t know why, didn’t ask. Instead, I crossed my ankles, careful not to touch anything.

  Because the room was entirely white, and in the past, I had stained anything I touched.

  Despite magically wearing new clothes of his devising. Like hospital scrubs to protect him from my human plagues, and his house from my dirty touch.

  My very existence had stained things. I touched a book – stained. Touched a windowsill to stare outside at the white trees, lawn, and milky ocean – stained. Literally, anything I came in contact with left a sooty stain.

  Which did all sorts of things to my self-image.

  Like when someone idly mentions you smell like body odor, even if you know you don’t.

  Because I can promise you one thing…

  After someone says that, for the next few days, you will constantly be taking a quick, discreet sniff of your pits just to make sure. Because emotion rules reason. The fear of the chance that it was true almost always overpowered your knowledge of the fact that it wasn’t true.

  Preach.

  I spent a few moments scanning the room absently, enjoying his tune as I studied the white environment before me: paintings, rug, wooden floors, bookshelves, fireplace, and potted plants. The shock of everything being white had worn on me by now, and I no longer found it eerie.

  Well, as eerie.

  I slowly swiveled my head back to the Hatter – my mysterious pen pal from my copy of Through the Looking-Glass, and found him staring at me intently, still playing for me, but not needing to apply any attention to the complicated task.

  His eyes were cunning, intelligent, wise, and… wild.

  Because he was – self-admittedly – Mad, with a capital M.

  He finally drew out a long, lamenting note, and then lifted the bow away. I dipped my head in appreciation, but dared not clap. Some things startled the Hatter, and one didn’t want to startle the Hatter.

  I wasn’t entirely sure how it was possible. I mean, the Mad Hatter was a character in a book, not real. But… here we were. He had identified himself as the Hatter, and in my world, sometimes you just had to go with it.

  Was it any more ridiculous to believe in bloodthirsty unicorns than it was to believe in the Mad Hatter?

  “Exquisite,” I murmured appreciatively after a polite pause.

  He bowed slightly, resting the violin on the table beside him as he took a drink from a glass. The drink, of course, was white.

  “Would you like some…” he studied me pensively for a second, and then smiled. “Absinthe?”

  I grinned back, nodding. “If it’s not any trouble.”

  He briefly flicked his head to the table beside me, and I managed not to gasp to – without any magical warning – find a bottle of milk sitting beside an empty glass. Because he was a Maker. And could do things like that. I didn’t correct him, or show any surprise at finding a bottle of milk instead of absinthe beside me. I just freaking poured some into the glass. It was chilled.

  I set the bottle down and took a nice big sip of the milk.

  And almost spluttered in shock as it burned my mouth. I instinctively swallowed, and the fennel and licorice-like flavor made my eyes water. Because I had taken a huge sip. I coughed, gasped, and swallowed several times, trying to nullify the unexpected flavor.

  The Hatter was suddenly behind me, pounding me on the back as if trying to bring me back to life. “Easy, Lad. Easy,” he grumbled in a very deep voice.

  I finally caught my breath, slowly raising my hand to let him know I was fine. “I wasn’t expecting…” I coughed again, clearing my throat. “It looked like milk.”

  He chuckled. “Everything looks like that, here,” he rolled his eyes, unfolding back to his full height to walk back to his chair on large, heavy feet.

  “I guess I should have seen that coming.”

  He nodded, leaning back into his chair. “You get used to it.”

  “You… look different,” I said casually, just an observation.

  “My world, my rules. I can look how I want.” I shivered at the intensity of his look. “To what do I owe this pleasure? Have you come to play?” He winked.

  I hid my shiver, forcing
my mind not to run wild with thoughts on what he might mean by play. I had to be careful, here. “No, I’m actually here – for one – to check on… your guest.”

  He frowned. “Why? He is mine.”

  I opened my mouth, closed it, and then gathered my thoughts. Doucement, I encouraged myself silently. Easy.

  The Hatter began to laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t need to treat me like a startled deer, Nate…” he smiled, reading my face.

  I bowed my head. “Right. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I just had a few—”

  “Peddler! Dealer! Devil! Come forth!” the Hatter suddenly roared, causing a few of the paintings to rattle against the walls.

  And Rumpelstiltskin was suddenly there, standing before us. His eyes were glassy, terrified, and he twitched with each inhalation of the Hatter’s chest. As if awaiting a beating.

  “Will this suffice?”

  I shivered as Rumpelstiltskin looked up at me. His eyes were wild, broken, terrified, and momentarily hateful. Because I had brought him here. His face was a mask of scars. Traitor. Vile. Foul. Thief. Fraud. Cheat. Liar. These words were all carved into his face, among many, many others. He instantly lowered his eyes back to the floor.

  What the hell had the Hatter done to him?

  Chapter 16

  On Rumpelstiltskin’s list of most hated people in existence, I had to rank in the number one spot. I had earned it. Banishing him to this world. With this monster, the Hatter, for his crimes against me and my friends.

  But this… I hadn’t meant for anything like this to happen.

  The Hatter snapped his fingers, and Rumpelstiltskin was suddenly gone again. The Hatter wiped his hands as if they were soiled from Rumpelstiltskin’s momentary presence. “Now that business is concluded, perhaps we can chat.”

  I nodded eagerly, wondering what to do next. I had intended to question Rumpelstiltskin, but judging by the look on the Hatter’s face, that wasn’t going to be in the cards. I had received numerous warnings not to even associate myself with the Hatter. Death had repeatedly warned me to avoid him. Which was why I hadn’t told Death of my errand before he left last night.

  Not counting that, I had also discovered that the Hatter had been a Maker. A Maker that had succumbed to his Beast. Not fully in control of himself. And, well, he was Mad. Whether as a result of his Beast taking control or something else, it didn’t really matter. He was entirely dangerous. Dangerous enough to be sent to this world. Or to Make this world.

  As if reading my thoughts, the Hatter began to frown at me. I hastily threw up a shield, barring my thoughts from intrusion. “I’m not hiding anything,” I said respectfully.

  “Typically, when people start off with a statement like that, they are very literally hiding something,” the Hatter replied testily.

  I held out a hand. “No. I have some things to ask you, and I don’t want you jaded by my thoughts. I want to hear your opinions. Not your opinion of my opinions.”

  He frowned for a moment, and then nodded appreciatively. “That might be the wisest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  I let out a relieved sigh, dipping my head in appreciation of his response. I didn’t want to ask him about his position on being mad, because making a psychopath emotional was always a bad plan. Rationality was not a strong suit. Just emotional drive. Fight or Flight.

  “You mentioned your day of birth was coming up,” he smiled. “I have a gift for you.”

  I blinked, surprised at his interruption. Had I told him that? I met his smiling, violent eyes, and nodded, forcing a grin on my face. “You didn’t have to—”

  But I was suddenly holding something foreign in my palms, the glass of milky absinthe now resting on the table again. My fingertips thrummed as if I was holding a live but well-insulated wire. I stared down to find a stone bowl in my lap, my fingers clutching either side, shaking.

  Shaking from the energy oozing out of the bowl. But as I stared inside, at a concave of crystals, I recognized the interior formed a familiar shape. Not a bowl at all.

  Then they began to twitch and spasm in fear. I was holding a mask.

  A goddamned Mask.

  “Holy hell!” I blurted, managing to flip the Mask onto the couch beside me, urgently scooting away. I suddenly froze, turning my head to see if I had offended the Hatter.

  He was grinning. “You just shat on my divan.”

  I stared at him, wondering if I could escape before he decided to imprison or kill me for my disrespect. “No, I didn’t shit on your divan,” I said, voice hollow, ready for anything.

  “Could have fooled me, my boy!” And he burst out in laughter. I relaxed my shoulders, beginning to smile myself.

  “It… caught me off guard,” I admitted, glancing down at the crystal mask beside me. Its weight pushed it down into the cushion, but it hadn’t felt heavy in my hands. It was face down, so I was staring at the inside. It reminded me of one of those rocks you buy from souvenir shops that are a hunk of normal-looking stone on the outside but are all purple and white crystals on the inside. Like it would grind my face raw if I ever wore it. And despite it not feeling heavy in my hands a moment ago, it sunk deeply into the cushion. You know, because it was freaking crystal.

  “It is just a Mask. You haven’t accepted the thankless job, right?” he chuckled.

  “No, definitely not,” I stammered, turning to look at him.

  “Your face!” he bellowed all over again. “Perhaps you need to go take a shat!”

  I frowned, embarrassed. “It’s kind of a big fucking surprise, you know,” I defended myself.

  He wiped his eyes, chest heaving as he chuckled. “That’s the best kind of gift, is it not?”

  “Gee, let me think about that. Offering me a gift that would doom me to murder a fraction of humanity during Armageddon. I’m not sure I call that a gift.”

  He frowned at me. “That’s the job. I didn’t give you the job. I gave you the Mask.” I frowned, finally holding up my hands to show him I didn’t catch the significance. “The Mask is powerful, my boy. Without the job, it’s still fucking powerful. I made one long ago. Before…” his gaze trailed off, and I swear I saw storm clouds flickering in his eyes. “Well, before a lot of things.” His attention riveted back to me as he idly stroked his beard. “I have no use for it any longer. It will make things more… convenient for you. For example, visiting me. Here.”

  “But I can do that already,” I replied, not understanding.

  He smiled as a teacher would at a particularly daft student. “You project yourself here. Once, you managed to come here in the flesh with a guest. Bravo on that, by the way,” he clapped his hands lightly. “The other times, you have either had a mask or the book. No doubt one of the damn Hindus taught you that Projection nonsense,” he grumbled.

  I just stared at him. “So, you gave me a key to your place… Do I get a drawer?”

  He shrugged. “If you want one.” He didn’t get my joke. “It’s not just a key.” He sounded grouchy.

  “Listen, it’s a great gift. I just wasn’t aware of those other things. I saw the Mask and instantly thought of the Horseman thing. Which I don’t want a part of. At all.”

  He judged me skeptically for a few moments, before finally nodding, waving a hand. “Anyway, Happy Birthday, my boy.” He stared intently at me as he said it, and I wondered what mad thoughts were running through his head.

  But I didn’t dare ask. And I was glad he couldn’t read my thoughts right now.

  “It’s not my birthday yet, but thanks for such a thoughtful gift.” I glanced over at it for a few moments. “I presume it’s very dangerous…”

  “Oh, yes,” he grinned, leaning forward. “What kind of gift would it be if not very dangerous? Covet it. Like a dragon with his gold.”

  “Of course,” I said softly, wondering where the hell I should hide it. But my face was smiling, a carefully controlled mask for the Hatter.

  No pun intended.

  Chapter 17
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br />   I snapped out of it, promising myself that I would immediately lock it away. Maybe get Mallory to hide it wherever he hid the Macallan stash. Because he had even managed to prevent the mansion from knowing where it was. Which was baffling.

  Because the mansion was sentient.

  “You’re not wearing a hat,” I commented.

  He shrugged. “My hair looks nice today. No need.”

  I nodded slowly. “Sure does…” I paused, debating. Then thought, hell, he got me a gift, surely, he wouldn’t mind…

  “You seem… different today,” I held my breath, ready to flee at the drop of… a hat.

  He leaned forward with an amused grin. “Less mad, you mean…” He leaned back with an easy shrug. “It comes and goes. You help.”

  I discreetly let out my breath. “Oh. I’m glad to hear that… Look, I wanted to ask you a few questions. If you’re willing.” I had meant to ask Rumpelstiltskin, but it had been pretty obvious that conversing with his prisoner was off the table. The Hatter nodded absently, picking up his violin again.

  “Do you know if the Grimms are secure?”

  “You killed them,” he answered distractedly, strumming the violin with his beefy thumbs.

  “Well, sure. I killed some of them. Even their leaders. But… your guest led all the Grimms, or they reported to him, or something like that. I need to know the rest are truly locked away.”

  The Hatter looked up at me frowning. “Why?”

  I forced myself not to wilt under his scrutiny. “I once saw Rumpelstiltskin open a gateway to their world, after I had killed all those in… my world.” I managed to correct myself at the last moment, having intended to say our world, which would have been pouring salt on a wound, because the Hatter wasn’t part of my world.

  He frowned for a moment, strummed the violin once, and then stared down at it. “Shh… it’s okay, my dear.”

  And I was ready to leave. Right then. I sat very still, waiting for a polite opportunity to leave. It was good to know that I wasn’t physically here, though. That he couldn’t actually hurt me. Supposedly. Unless this was a time I had come here in the flesh…