Blood Debts (The Temple Chronicles Book 2)

by Silvers, Shayne

  Sensing my frustration, Othello stood. I knew that if Asterion couldn’t even speak, I was out of luck. He wanted to tell me. But he couldn’t. Of course not. Why would the lonely wizard discover the one thing he needed out of this meeting? Asterion looked torn, but waved a goodbye, and disappeared, head hanging low.

  Apparently Hope was more than I had initially thought. Someone dangerous for some reason.

  And… I had just promised her freedom after my death.

  At least I hadn’t told Asterion that part. Judging by his reaction to her very existence, he might have had a heart attack at discovering she would soon be free. What had I done? It wasn’t like I could rescind my offer. I had already been to the Armory today, so wouldn’t be able to go back until tomorrow, which would be too late. Tomorrow was day three. My power would be gone, and possibly my ability to even enter the Armory. I didn’t even know if I would be alive or have any power left to give up when the Academy arrived. I might not even be able to give them the Armory if I wanted to. We made our way back to the car and drove back to the apartment in brittle silence. It was late, and I had a lot to think about.

  Chapter 28

  A s we pulled up to the apartment, I spotted a lot of party revelers in the street. We weren’t in a ritzy part of town, so the neighborhood was a little hectic with Mardi Gras in full swing. Not as bad as it would be tomorrow, but a lot of pre-gaming going on. Our drive back had been silent, Othello sensing my need for peace as I tried to determine my next course of action. She found a parking spot and we climbed out.

  As we were walking back to the apartment, I noticed something out of place and snatched Othello’s hand, halting her. A Girl Scout stood before us, tapping her foot impatiently, holding out a box of cookies as she watched us from beside a parked car. Then I saw that her eyes were red. And a blade was sticking out of her chest. The dagger looked slightly familiar. This kid was already dead. The Demon had possessed the corpse of a Girl Scout. Jesus.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. A Girl Scout? I told you they consorted with Demons!”

  Othello smacked my arm with a glare. “I was a Girl Scout, Nate.”

  The Demon smiled at me with buckteeth. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?” I asked. Her smile evaporated as she crossed her arms. “I’ll give you one chance to answer honestly before I exorcise your ugly ass from that child, Demon. Why. Are. You. Here?”

  Her girly voice was disarming, but her actual words had the opposite effect. “Causing Chaos, of course. Death. Mayhem. It’s what I do.” She didn’t mention the Armory at all. Which didn’t make any sense. Was Gavin right? These Demons were just pawns? A distraction?

  “Your boss, Sir Dreadsalot, said he’s here for a different reason. The Greater Demon’s stink was all over my company. I know that’s why you’re really here. He told me so. Know anything about that or do I need to remind you what hanging in chains over the pits of Hell is like? It is past your curfew after all.”

  The Demon stomped her foot, and the asphalt crumbled to ash, the smell of sulfur permeating the street in a sickening wave. Well, she sure was juiced up. Not just a petty Demon, but something much more powerful. “You dare speak of the Great Lord and pretend to know what we have endured?! I already told you-” She bit her tongue suddenly, as if having said too much.

  My arms pebbled. Wait… this was the same Demon from the warehouse earlier? I knew I had recognized the dagger. It was mine. I had cast it at her before Gavin had banished her. But… That meant Gavin hadn’t banished her, or she had made the fastest return trip from Hell ever.

  “Shall I show you just how weak you are, mortal? I can feel your power dripping away like the blood of a stuck pig. It pleases me… makes me thirsty. Let me show you what it feels like to exercise your baser instincts like we do. It’s fun.” Her eyes glittered with malevolent glee.

  An orb of… dark nothingness in the shape of a giant Thin Mint slammed into my chest before I could react. I instantly realized that the Academy’s curse had removed my innate ability to nullify a Demon’s mind control. She wasn’t able to possess me, but it was close enough.

  Which was a tad alarming.

  I sensed my well of ever-present rage building to a crescendo as the Demon fed it like gas to a flame. I wanted the Demons to burn. I wanted the Academy to burn. I wanted the Angels to burn. I wanted her boss, the summoner, to burn.

  I wanted… the world to burn.

  A nearby car had parked over the dividing line, taking up two spots. It suddenly exploded as I flung a boiling ball of fire at it, using my dwindling magic to ignite the fuel tank. The Demon chuckled, and Othello shouted in alarm. I scouted the street, searching for something else to destroy in order to sate my rage.

  I blew off the side of a building with another ball of fire where flashing lights and loud music was bothering me. Some kind of house party. I was tired. How was I supposed to sleep with that racket next door? The music stopped instantly and I could hear screaming and shouting. All I could feel was need. Sensation. My baser instincts. The ones you have to constantly battle on a daily basis.

  A small part of me, in the back of my mind, railed against the power of the Demon, furiously trying to escape, attempting to think my way out of my dilemma. This might not seem like a big deal, but when you have the power of a wizard, you can typically destroy anything that gets in your way. Regulars didn’t have this kind of power. They would have to entertain storming the house of partiers, strangers, and silence the music by hand, no doubt igniting the wrath of the partiers, and starting a fight. They would have to call the cops about the illegally parked car and hope the police had nothing better to do.

  But not for a wizard. Every annoyance was somewhat… easier to solve.

  Like just destroying them from a hundred feet away with balls of fire.

  “See how good impulsive instincts are? No morality. No consequences. Just desire.” The Girl Scout cooed, clutching her box of cookies and gingerly plucking one out to lick with an extremely long black tongue. That would haunt me forever. I just knew it.

  I knew the only way to overwhelm the Demon’s hold on me was to override my senses with a different emotion entirely, but I was fresh out of nice emotions. I had faced too much hardship lately, and I was full of anger and fury…

  Like Achilles.

  Othello was screaming something, which started to annoy me. I slowly turned to face her, ready to silence her also. She was gripping my arm, shaking me, which was even more annoying. She saw the look in my eyes and paled. My brain threatened to shut down at the realization that I was about to murder a friend because she was bothering my destructive intentions, and that I couldn’t stop myself from performing the deed. Then, she did something totally unexpected as I prepared to incinerate her forever.

  She tackled me to the ground, briefly pressing her ample chest into my face. Then her tongue filled my mouth. My mind shattered.

  I needed companionship, my baser instincts whispered to me. My brain, however, began to whisper Indie over and over again.

  The guilt made me begin to struggle, realizing this wasn’t what I wanted, and that she was making me angry again. As if sensing my distraction, and that her ruse wasn’t working, she ripped her freaking top off, and my hands instantly found her breasts in greedy handfuls. Then we began to make out.

  Violently. Like we were possibly the last two people in existence. Mad Max style.

  I lost all mental cognition for an indeterminable amount of time as passion fueled my veins. Memories of long nights and late mornings with Othello filled my mind. I could sense that Othello was enjoying her sacrifice. The Demon’s frustrated hiss startled me out of my fantasy.

  I heard cheering on the other side of the street and managed to dodge Othello’s lips for a quick hungry breath. Her starving lips found my earlobe instead, making my hands instinctively squeeze her rear end in a death grip, which she also didn’t seem to mind. She moaned eagerly. I managed to spot the source of the chanting. The group
from the building I had attacked was now in the street. Many were pointing at the building and crying, but a group of Frat boys were pointing at me and yelling enthusiastically. The Demon had disappeared, most likely fearing the attention of the mortals. It wasn’t every day one saw a Girl Scout with a dagger protruding from her chest.

  The group continued to hoot and holler me on, snapping pictures with their phones, and beads began pelting us like mortar shells. “Yeah! That is one hardcore make out session, white-collar man! Look at the car burning behind them. Tits like that would make me ignore a burning car too. Yeah! Ride her, man!” The words caused me to flinch for some reason, dousing my passion like a cold shower. I didn’t know why, but the words scared the shit out of me, and without the Demon present, the mind control was gone. “Ride her!” A voice bellowed again.

  I gently but forcefully pried Othello’s arms from my neck. She was panting, and her eyes were slightly glazed over as if the Demon had been controlling her also. “Othello. Stop.” I commanded. She managed to snap out of it with slow resignation, her eyes returning to normal. With a start at the crowd, she leaned back and pulled her shirt back over her head. It was torn, but she held it closed before her, looking embarrassed. I managed one last look at her glorious décolletage.

  She began to stammer out a defense. “It was all I could think of. She kept talking about baser instincts, and I thought — I hoped — that I might be able to distract you with an altogether different instinct.” She looked terribly guilty, but silently pleased at the same time. “I’m sorry.”

  I shook my head, climbing to my feet. “As guilty as I feel right now, I think you saved our lives.” I told her softly. “I couldn’t control myself.” I didn’t tell her what had my heart hammering out of my chest.

  I had used up the last of my magic. I felt drained. Empty. Powerless. And I hadn’t solved anything. The next time I saw the Academy I was going to castrate them. Individually. With a spoon. I had liked that way too much, which made me angrier. What the hell kind of boyfriend was I? Indie had been out of town for a few days and I had been all over Othello. Of course, I had imagined it was Indie… hadn’t I? I shook my head, storming off to the loft. Othello followed me silently.

  I tried to light a flame on my fingertips as I stormed away. All that happened was a searing pain stabbing my eyes. “Shit…” I gasped, grabbing the back of my head. Too late, I remembered my wound and flinched in pain all over again. I shook it off after a few steps, Othello watching me the entire way but saying nothing. The words from the drunk kids still pressed on my mind, prodding for me to catch their relevance. Why had they caught my attention? “Ride her…” It must just be my guilt over Indie getting to me.

  We entered the apartment, and collapsed into the same bed, each of us too tired to move. “Othello?”

  “Yes?” She murmured tiredly.

  “I’m in love with Indie. That won’t change. I’m sorry about what happened, and I feel horrible. For both of you. I’m a crap guy.”

  I glanced at her, spotting a single tear as she nodded. “We had our time together, Pharos. Did you never wonder why I called you Pharos? Other than the magic reference about shedding light on darkness? A lighthouse does have a certain phallic reference, does it not?” She winked seductively, making me blush. I turned away, closing my eyes to escape the torment. Should I tell Indie? Should I keep it a secret? I had no idea. I opened my eyes long enough to text Indie and tell her I loved her. I set my phone on the table and closed my eyes again. My thoughts spiraled to nothing, not even caring what was going to happen tomorrow with my magic now gone.

  My dreams were odd. Battles with Demons, being cast down to Hell, God judging me before all the citizens of Heaven. My parents were there, shaking their heads guiltily, as if ashamed to be related to me. In fact, I even had a dream about me sleeping next to Othello. In the dream, my phone rang. Othello answered it tiredly. “Mmmm? No, you don’t have the wrong number. He’s sleeping, love. We’ve had a long day and are both reaaallly tired. You know how exhausting he can be. Call back in the morning when we’ve woken up.” She hung up.

  I started, realizing it hadn’t been a dream. Othello put my phone on her side of the bed, rolling over to go back to sleep. “Who was that?” I asked.

  “Gunnar,” she murmured tiredly.

  “Oh, I’ll call him later. Wait. I need to call Indie!” I reached for the phone, but Othello shoved it under the covers. I instinctively reached for it and realized Othello was wearing no clothes. When had that happened? My breath returned to normal when I realized that I was still clothed. She arched a brow at me. My hands jumped back as if bitten. She grinned in amusement. “It’s all yours.” She teased. I scowled and she rolled her eyes. “Joking. It’s late, Nate. She will no doubt be pissed at such a late call. She’s probably been all day at the hospital and you will do her no favors bothering her at such a stressful time.”

  I nodded in resignation. “Yeah, you’re right. First thing in the morning then.” I rolled back to my side and passed out. I didn’t even know what I would say to her when we spoke, but I needed to be on my game, which meant sleep was paramount.

  Chapter 29

  I had woken up with my panties in a wad. The ESPN slow motion replay of Othello and I making out in the street had repeated in my mind all night as I slept, filling me to the brim with guilt. After several hundred replays, I had fixated on the cheers from the frat guys on the sidelines. Listening to it again and again, on Dolby Digital, feeling a punch of guilt to the gut with each repetition. “Ride her. Ride her. Rideher. Rideher. Rider.” I had woken up with a start, the word filling my mind with a severe sensation of anxiety.

  Rider.

  Of course!

  I slapped my forehead in frustration and almost shrieked out loud at the orchestra of pain it caused the rune branded there, and the resulting ripples of agony it caused my broken nose, alongside the pounding headache from the several cranial rebounds my head had taken lately.

  I survived all of this in silence, careful not to wake Othello, because I’m courteous like that.

  After regaining my sanity, I realized I was hungry. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten. I had gotten used to my unique ability of not needing to eat as much as other wizards. Us magical beings typically needed to maintain our nutrition pretty strictly, as it directly fueled our power. But thanks to my parents transferring their magic to me upon their deaths — or them granting the ability of a Maker into me — I hadn’t needed to follow such a strict diet. But now that I was without magic entirely, I was famished. Seemed backwards to me, but I shrugged in resignation. Othello was still asleep, so I dressed quietly and went downstairs in search of some grub.

  Today was day three, and my power was completely gone. I was, for all intents and purposes, a Regular. But other than a deep panic, I didn’t feel any different. I mean, I had expected to maybe not sense as much as I usually did. As if I would suddenly enter a world that resembled a black and white television. But that wasn’t the case. The world around me was more or less the same. I was the one who had changed. That made me feel marginally better, realizing that I wouldn’t be facing the nostalgia of missing sensations every time I stepped outside from here on out. The world would keep on keeping on, more or less the same. I simply didn’t have magic anymore. The world was still a beautiful, chaotic, little slice of humanity. I could live with that. Piles of snow lined the sidewalk, belying the fact that someone had shoveled the path since the most recent flurries. It was still icy, slushy, and dirty, but it was mostly clear.

  I still had the feather in a pen case in my pocket. I pulled it out, contemplating what lay inside briefly before pocketing it again. An idea came to me, but I let it age a bit as I walked down the street in silence. Hardly anyone else was outside at the moment, and I had the street to myself. Like those harmless little old senior citizens that woke up before sunrise to go for a walk. Which wasn’t too far away from describing my weakened state. A few days ag
o I had been a wizard. A billionaire. A celebrity. But now I was just a penniless fugitive without any allies or power. I was about as dangerous as a duckling. That sobered me up a bit. As if on cue, I saw an octogenarian round the corner before me. He sported a World War II Veteran baseball cap and moved with the aid of a walker, complete with tennis balls on the legs nearest his feet. Feeling a kindred spirit in the squat, little old man, I spoke. “Thank you for your service, sir.” I offered, smiling respectfully as he neared.

  He slammed one leg of the walker on my toe in annoyance at my taking up too much space, and then shuffled past me with a grunt and a curse. It hadn’t hurt me, but I realized I was frozen stiff, staring after the man in disbelief. Maybe he had been deaf.

  I shrugged it off and continued on, tapping my lips in thought as I walked, enjoying the crisp smell of fresh snow on the ground. With nothing else to do, and not eager to be looking over my shoulder for threats all day, I decided to speed things up a bit. Flick the first domino, so to speak.

  So, I decided to summon Eae. Why not? I was powerless. I might as well let them know they didn’t need to destroy a city block to kill the harmless wizard. Even little old men weren’t too afraid of me at the moment. I wanted to save the Nephilim the trouble of hunting me down.

  It began to snow big fat flakes of slow moving precipitation, and I suddenly wished I would have checked the weather before leaving the apartment. How hard was it supposed to snow today? I shrugged. Did it really matter? My fight wasn’t the type to get snowed out. Gathering my coat about my shoulders, I ducked into an alley for shelter and privacy.