Silver Tongue: A Novel in The Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Series (The Temple Chronicles Book 4)

by Shayne Silvers

  I touched her shoulder gently. “You aren’t a monster, Indie. You’re simply untrained. Most freaks have a mentor to guide them through the tough stages, but don’t think for a second that we’re not all a hot mess when we’re first learning.”

  “Yeah, and some of us are still a hot mess many years later.” I heard Gunnar and Alucard high-five and rolled my eyes, but Indie was smiling, which is what truly mattered.

  “Take care, boys.”

  Ashley chimed in, looking embarrassed. “I think it best that we aren’t left alone.” Indie nodded sadly. “Neither of us are too good on the control thing yet. So, I’m going to head back to the office and sort some things out. See you in the morning.” She stretched up on tip-toes and kissed Gunnar on his beard. Maybe his lips. But it looked like she just kissed his excess testosterone. Whatever. I’d have a beard too, someday.

  “Nate’s the designated driver. Tonight is going to be wild. I can’t wait to let off some steam.” Alucard’s smile split his face in two. Gunnar clapped him on the back and I muttered dark things under my breath. Maybe I could tell Achilles that Alucard had called his mother a sack of wine or something. I wasn’t up to date on Greek insults, but I had twenty minutes to come up with something.

  Plenty of time.

  Chapter 14

  “And then…” Achilles continued his story, pounding the table with a scarred fist at the appropriate points. I tuned them out. I wasn’t drinking. Well, I was drinking a cranberry juice, but nothing fun. I merely watched my ragtag group of friends laughing about nothing important.

  It was nice.

  Here we were, several of the biggest legends of history – not me, but my posse – and we were sitting around having a beer and… laughing.

  Pretty neat.

  Death sat stoically beside Asterion, who was snorting with laughter beside Achilles, even slapping a meaty paw on his back at the punch line. Achilles corded neck muscles may have quivered. A smidge. Which was saying a lot. I had seen him and Death shove each other around a bit to no effect. Gunnar and Alucard chuckled softly as they tipped back their drinks. They were already several bottles in, and seemed to be reveling in the fact that I was actually the designated driver. Which was completely opposite from normal.

  I looked up to find Death watching me.

  Which, when said like that, is kind of daunting. But we were bros. He had helped me out of a few scuffles over the last few months. Even risking our friendship to make sure that Indie had the chance to survive her murder. I know, sounds odd. You would think that someone who gains power by the number of souls that cross over to his domain might be a little biased and verify that the soul went his way. But not Death. He had gone out of his way to set up a string of dominos that led to an opportunity for Indie to stick it to the Grimms one last time…

  By becoming one.

  And the worst part. He had incriminated himself to do so. Not being able to tell me anything, I had assumed her death was all his fault, and still, he hadn’t cracked a lip. As if hearing my inner monologue, he lifted his glass discreetly, a Death in the afternoon, and nodded one time. I smiled back.

  “I’m going to hit the head,” I muttered, standing.

  “Cranberry juice does that to you, from what I hear.” The group devolved into a susurrus of menstruation jokes, which I ignored as I made my way to the restroom.

  I stood in front of the urinal, and did my business, thinking dark thoughts about sobriety. I wasn’t wholly convinced that Indie was right.

  But…

  I also wasn’t convinced that she was wrong.

  Which meant it was entirely possible that I had brought the monster into my shop. I didn’t hold the blame stick myself, of course. I knew I had been led by the nose by Baba Yaga, the seemingly harmless old lady from Russian folklore – the one that allegedly fed on little children by luring them into her chicken-legged house.

  The back of my neck began to itch. I didn’t feel too nervous. After all, I had a gang of the darkest of nightmares just outside the door, but still…

  I turned my neck to find a man leaning against the wall by the trash can, smirking at me.

  I watched him, not breaking eye contact as I finished my business. He met my eyes unflinching. “You look tough,” I muttered.

  He chuckled, and nodded. “Yup,” he said in a gravelly voice. And kept right on staring. He wore dark jeans, military boots, and an old Guns and Roses concert t-shirt. His hair hung to his shoulders, but was tied back in a bun at the top, leaving the sides to hang free. His face was hard, and although not old, the skin near his dark blue eyes bore the familiar creases of having experienced many, many years. He sported a thick but neatly trimmed beard. I saw no weapons on him at least.

  I shook twice – no more – and zipped up my pants, feeling his eyes on the back of my neck. I flushed, turned to face him and, seeing that he still wasn’t averting his gaze – muttered, “You’re early…”

  I sauntered over to the sink to wash my hands. He didn’t move, just kept watching me, but I sensed his question at my comment before he spoke.

  “Am I?” He answered, amused.

  I nodded. “The message in the stall said eight o’clock. But I’m in line first,” I added. “It sounded promising.”

  I looked at him in the mirror as he responded. “That’s fine. I’ll wait. Let me know how it goes…” I scowled a bit, crumpling up the paper towel in my fist. I turned to face him, glancing pointedly from his smirking face to the trashcan. He was blocking it. I raised an eyebrow.

  His smile stretched wider.

  “Fucking weirdos everywhere in this town,” I muttered, tossing the paper at the trashcan, and as a result, his chest. He moved at the last second, barely, just enough for the trash to sail past him and into the receptacle.

  We stared at each other for a tense second, and I briefly thought that this would be the first time I ever had to throw down in a men’s room. I rolled my eyes and walked past him, calling over my shoulder, “Have fun in there. StrAngely enough, I’m no longer in the mood…”

  I waited for him to lunge at me, but nothing happened as I stepped back into the bar.

  And saw my friends standing in a line before me, a thick wall of muscle, hair, and alcohol-induced fortitude wielding bar stools, pool sticks, bottles, and clenched fists. “Easy there, guys. Is this North Carolina or something? Did I use the wrong toilet?” I held up my hands.

  But they weren’t staring at me. They were staring at the bathroom door.

  Achilles was quivering. “That fucking guy. He knows I can’t act, thanks to that stupid agreement…” he muttered darkly.

  “You know, at some point I’d love to hear you elaborate on what exactly your agreement was about.”

  He shot me a look, his scowl thunderous, as if furious he had said so much about his agreement. “I made a bad deal,” was all he said. Which was more than I had expected to hear. “Smug prick. I can’t wait until my agreement expires.” He muttered darkly, glancing again over my shoulder.

  “What exactly are we talking about? Nancy, back there?” I pointed a thumb over my shoulder, hearing the toilet flush. “He’s a weirdo, but harmless. He’s just looking for a little love in all the wrong places.” My friends continued staring at me, and didn’t dial down at all.

  The familiar voice whispered in my ear. It happened so fast that I hadn’t even heard the door open, and my friends hadn’t moved a muscle. My ear practically quivered from the proximity of his voice. “Nancy is far from… harmless, and he does get under the Heel’s skin.” I spun, whips of fire and ice flaring into existence like elemental Laffy Taffy, incinerating and destroying a pair of chairs in my way. But as I spun to face him I found him several feet beyond my reach, smirking again. In fact, he was pouring himself a drink at the bar.

  Everyone watched as he carefully added a cherry. Then he turned, took a sip, nodded at us, and spoke. “Since no one is going to introduce me, I guess I’ll just get it out of the way. Name
’s Van. The Heel knows me well.”

  “That’s weird. My name’s Truck, but my friend’s usually just call me that guy who beat the shit out of that douchebag in the bar,” I smiled. “But you don’t get to call me that. Because you’re not my friend.”

  He took a drink behind the smirk, and then suddenly tossed the dregs of his drink at Achilles. My body instinctively tensed. The liquid splashed onto his face, and the Greek legend’s face purpled, but he didn’t move. I slowly turned my head back to Van in astonishment. My friends did the same, but Death merely looked displeased, as if seeing poor taste in action. Asterion growled under his breath, his giant nose ring quivering.

  “Easy, mercenary. Disrespecting a man honoring his bargain is low…” Asterion murmured. “Even for you. One more act like that and we will do worse than even he is imagining to you.”

  “No.”

  “Excuse me?” Asterion took a threatening step forward.

  “I said, No. Cowshit in your ears again, old one? Did your pal here tip you again?” He turned to me. “Nice one, by the way. Wish I would have thought of it.” He winked and I flicked out my whip as he reached for a fresh glass. The bottle exploded under the fire, and I hoped that it would bathe him in flame. But… he stood amidst the flames unconcerned, the fire dancing around him for a few moments before splashing to the floor. He ground a boot into one, puffing it out. And I hadn’t sensed a drop of magic. He glanced at me with a slight frown. Then he turned back to Asterion. “You’re a Buddhist now. You. Won’t. Do. A. Thing,” he enunciated each word.

  Asterion’s knuckles cracked, sounding as loud as a chair back snapping in half. Van finally turned to me, pointing a finger. “You. Have something that’s not yours.”

  “Highly likely.”

  “Right. A book. You’re about to give it to me.”

  “Am I? Weird. I was kind of thinking the opposite. It goes so well beside my picture books at home.” I flicked a wrist and my elemental whips slammed into the bar where he was suddenly no longer standing.

  “Tsk, tsk.” He murmured from a few feet further down the bar. “That wasn’t nice.”

  “Your name is ridiculous. How many of you clowns are after this book?”

  That was the first thing that seemed to get through to him. His shoulders rippled and the gaze that latched onto me was predatory, merciless. “What. Do. You. Mean?” His voice was the sound of an icy breeze in a cemetery.

  “Baba Yaga. Nice old gal. Iron stomach. Just had drinks with her an hour ago. Heard of her?” I answered.

  He was muttering to himself, hands flexing and loosening subconsciously. I tried for honesty. “She swiped the case that held the book after getting me nice and drunk. I have no idea where the actual book is though. I’ve never seen it, but it seems to be a hot commodity. Maybe I want it.” I held up my hands like scales. “Supply. Demand.” I let my hands drop, the whips of fire following like extensions of my fist.

  Which they were.

  “You’re lying,” he snarled, I assumed in answer to the fact that I had never seen the book.

  “No. I could swear it on my power if you like, but only if you promise to go back to the stall and wait until eight o’clock. Should be a wild time.” I offered, actually meaning it.

  He watched me. Then shook his head with another snarl. “Fucking Makers. Think they’re invincible. I’ve killed dozens of your kind, boy. Real Makers. Not initiates like you. I’ll take it up with the old git. But if you’re lying, it’s going to go badly for you.”

  Then he was simply gone. Before I could mutter a snarky retort.

  Achilles lifted a table – the whole thing – and slammed it into the floor, where it exploded into a million toothpick-sized pieces of kindling. He was heaving, great big bellows of air. Asterion rested a beefy palm on his shoulder and began chanting softly. Achilles seemed to cool off as I watched waves of power extend past Asterion’s sausage-sized fingers to settle around Achilles’ shoulders.

  I let my power wink out of existence, and noticed Gunnar and Alucard were simply staring at me with curious, wary gazes. I shrugged. “I have no idea. These guys seem to know him, but I’ve never heard of the big bad Van.”

  Death cleared his throat, and we three turned to face him. “Van…” He took a drink before meeting our gaze again. “…Helsing. Abraham Van Helsing.”

  “Oh…” I replied sheepishly, his ability to withstand magic suddenly making more sense.

  “Oh?” Alucard repeated menacingly. “As in, Bram Stoker’s Van Helsing? Legendary vampire hunter.” His eyes danced with murder.

  I nodded distractedly. “Yeah. He’s kind of…” I pondered my response. “Kind of a badass. Like a Grimm without the restraint. Legendary, in fact. More kills than any other individual Hunter.” Gunnar’s eyes widened but Alucard simply looked teetering on the edge of reason, ready to go hunting.

  “And you just mocked him. Several times,” Death added. Coming from him, it sounded a lot direr than I had wanted to hear. Then again, anything Death told you had that effect. Both literally and figuratively.

  “Yeah…” I mumbled. “I’m not really on my game tonight.” I held up a hand. “But there’s one good thing about all of this. I don’t think I need to worry about searching out this book. It seems like everyone is just going to come to me. Which makes my life a lot easier.” I didn’t say anything further, but my mind began to wonder why everyone thought I had it. Was I tainted with its scent, a trace of its magic? From the case I had only briefly touched? The case Baba had just stolen?

  I just didn’t know how that could be possible. “When were you going to tell us she stole the case?” Alucard asked. Instead of answering, I sat down on a chair, thinking dark thoughts.

  Chapter 15

  “That guy’s day of reckoning is coming…” Achilles swore to himself, but loud enough for all of us to clearly hear before he took a swig straight from a bottle he had snagged from behind the bar.

  Everyone else joined me, sitting back down at the table after returning their chairs and stools. I had done the most damage to the place, but thankfully it had been for a just cause in Achilles’ eyes.

  For which I was eternally grateful.

  I had ruffled his feathers a few months back, practically challenging him to a tussle if he ever messed with me. Granted, I had been under false pretenses, assuming he had been hiding information from me, or even worse, that he had been behind setting me up to get killed in the sewers beneath St. Louis.

  He hadn’t been, but I hadn’t known that at the time, and my resulting temper tantrum had made a bit of an impression.

  Safe to say, I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to call me out on it. He wasn’t one to suffer challenges lightly. Especially when the challenge had been made in front of others.

  As if reading my mind, he locked eyes with me. “You.”

  I swallowed. Everyone turned to me, no doubt saying their goodbyes.

  I was no spring chicken, and I wouldn’t go down without a fight, but I was pretty sure that Achilles would squash me like a bug. Especially with my handicap. I was still learning my new powers. And he was presently all steroid-ed out thanks to Van openly mocking him.

  “You managed to piss him off?” He asked incredulously. I shrugged. “That is…” He took another swig from the bottle as everyone else watched us, darting from one to the other like a crowd of spectators at Wimbledon. “…impressive!” He began to shake his head as he let out a light chuckle. “You can tell a lot about a man by his enemies…” Death merely smiled. Gunnar leaned back in his chair, nursing his beer, looking thoughtful. As thoughtful as one could look with one eye. Maybe mysterious was more appropriate. I know he had a lot on his plate lately, what with managing his new pack and trying to help Ashley control her new lifestyle. I frowned. Now that I thought about it, he had practically become a father overnight.

  A new wolf pack was like a bunch of kids he was suddenly in charge of, and he had a fiancé who su
ddenly needed copious amounts of attention.

  But that wistful glimmer in his eye…

  He was… bored. Or, maybe better phrased as hungry. He saw me getting ready to dive into something dangerous and deadly, and he desperately wanted in. Which was a new facet for Gunnar. Becoming Alpha of the local werewolf pack had altered him a bit. He was more territorial. Aggressive. Confident. Even ruthless to a degree. No more wishy-washy werewolf. Gunnar was truly an Alpha.

  And an Alpha needed to let off a little steam every now and then.

  Achilles continued. “Due to my… obligation,” he spat the word, “I am unable to directly act, but I do know quite a bit about him. Let’s talk price.”

  I took a drink of my cranberry juice. “Go on.”

  “I’ll help you if you help me.” My eyes squinted a bit. I didn’t know if I wanted to put my neck on the line to help Achilles. Not at present. I had enough on my plate as it was. But, helping him might get rid of one of my problems. Depending on what his help entailed.

  Chapter 16

  I answered carefully. “How do you mean?”

  “Easy enough. You have something… or someone I want,” he answered vaguely. I didn’t respond. “Not want per se, but want to say hello to again.” I waited. It seemed everyone was leaning forward in their chairs, even Gunnar, who was still leaning back, eyes lidded as if almost dozing, but his ears were practically quivering. “Pandora.”

  I realized I had been leaning back in my chair and let the feet thump to the ground as I placed my elbows on the table. “You want me to take you to the Armory.”

  He nodded, then hesitated. “Not for the Armory. Simply because she is there. You can place what restrictions you please on me for the duration. I merely want to see an old f… friend,” he corrected whatever he had been about to say.

  I pondered that as I felt Death’s eyes pinning me to my chair. “I’ll want to check with her first. A lot of people want to meet her. And I have an obligation to look out for her. She escaped. Briefly. And chose to come back of her own free will.” I didn’t elaborate on her answer, that she had sensed a storm coming. And that I was directly involved in it in some capacity – of which she had stubbornly refused to clarify.