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

by Shayne Silvers

  But I still found myself glancing at it too often as I finished my drink.

  Chapter 18

  “Just keep trying. If anyone can do it, you can.” The voice on the other end of the line purred in response. Harmless flirting. At least I hoped it was harmless.

  “Will do,” she answered. I hung up the phone to find Gunnar staring at me impatiently.

  “Do you not know the meaning of be quiet?” He growled.

  I shrugged, but thumbed my phone to silent as I picked up the carbon fiber monstrosity beside me. It was light, but with all the gears, strings, and reels, it was extremely intimidating. And seemingly superfluous since I could do worse damage with my magic.

  But it looked cool.

  And I was trying to do this Gunnar’s way. Well, now that I thought about it, not really his way either. I couldn’t shift, which was his primary gift, so we were both pretending to be regulars as we walked through the woods in the early morning dawn. I followed his lead, attempting to mimic his stealthy steps.

  “Shouldn’t we be up in a tree or something?” I whispered under my breath, knowing his werewolf senses would hear me clearly.

  “That’s too easy. We’re doing this like our ancestors did,” he answered back for my ears only. We had been out here for hours already in complete silence, creeping through some forgotten acreage outside St. Louis.

  I grunted, causing him to glance back at me, squinting. “My ancestors would have used magic. Yours would have used fang and claw. We’re doing this like regulars. Trying to be something we’re not.” I met his eye, wondering if he would catch the obvious undertone.

  “We’re having fun. This is peaceful. Focus on the present. Let everything else go. Become one with your surroundings,” he smirked, before turning away.

  “You’ve been hanging out with the monks too much,” I muttered.

  He continued on as if I hadn’t spoken. I took a deep breath, and let it out softly. Fine. If he wanted us to focus on nature, then I was going to focus on nature.

  I was bored enough to easily fall into a walking meditation of sorts as I followed him. We wore camouflage, with the stupid orange hats. Which had always baffled me. Then again, maybe deer were color blind. But then why wear camouflage in the first place? I assumed it was due to the shapes depicted on the fabric. Break up our outlines or something. I had also been commanded to shower with some special soap that left no scent, with Gunnar waiting outside the bathroom as I did so. He even smelled me when I walked out. He handed me a different towel, one that hadn’t touched a dryer sheet, and tossed it at my face. I caught it, dropping my nice, soft towel, which he promptly swiped up and tossed out in the hall. Dean picked it up before I could mutter an argument.

  Indie had murmured a sleepy, good luck, before rolling over in bed.

  Remembering my morning was not helping my peaceful attitude. I wanted to just let fly with the projectile in my fist, but knew it would only cause us to drag on the hunt even longer.

  Still, imagining shooting one of the damned happy chirping birds would have soothed me.

  Gunnar interrupted my murderous thoughts. “I need to talk to you about something,” he murmured, keeping his voice low. He waited a few seconds, scanning our surroundings before continuing. “I’ve kind of made it obvious that I have a lot on my plate right now.”

  I nodded. “Our bro-mance is on hold.”

  He chuckled lightly. “Yeah. Sure. It’s just that… well, the pack takes up quite a bit of my time. Learning to cohabitate with my own kind is… an experience, to say the least.” I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. Gunnar had always been a lone wolf. Literally. I wasn’t sure if he had ever truly interacted with another werewolf before, other than in passing. He also kept his few true friends close, not being a social butterfly kind of guy. Quality over quantity. And undying loyalty. Which I completely understood. “They’re so much different than I had thought they would be. Sure, there are the occasional wild tempers and fighting, but underneath it all is a tight-knit community that would literally die for each other. I’ve never been a part of something quite like it. Well, other than with you and your family basically raising me. But,” his voice grew distant, searching for the right words, and likely trying not to offend me. “Having a group of people so similar to me, with the same internal struggles, searching for leadership, and knowing that they value me and my opinions. They in fact, crave it. It’s… humbling. I’m trying to do my best with that responsibility. Which is taking up the majority of my time. But I’m also learning so much from them… Not just about my power, but about myself. Just… a lot on my plate.”

  “And Ashley’s control issues,” I added.

  His voice instantly growled and I sensed his shoulders bunching up instinctively before he caught himself. Coupled with his new look, it was pretty damn intimidating. The man bun and beard reminded me of a Viking even more than normal, or some kind of wild sea god, unaccustomed to human banter. He truly was a wild man. Which wasn’t a bad thing. It was just…

  A thing.

  Change.

  I sighed. “I’ve got the same problem, brother. Indie’s a loose cannon. At least you only have to protect her from one type of change. I could be dealing with a dozen different flavors of freak before lunch, depending on whom we cross paths with.” The chirping was beginning to have a calming effect on me.

  Damn it. He had been right. There was something magical about nature and the act of hunting. While seeking to murder, hunters appreciated the beauty surrounding them. Which was a paradox in itself. I continued on as he remained silent, getting his breathing back under control. “It’s made me pretty adept at reacting though. Which is helping with my new powers. We’re all in a learning curve,” I shrugged. “No reason to apologize for it. Part of life, I guess.” I sighed, and let out a soft chuckle. “And to think, I used to believe I had everything figured out. Then we ran into the weredragons. Then the Academy, Horsemen, and Angels. And then the Grimms. Took my scrapes, but I learned something each time. At pretty heavy costs at times,” I added, wincing at the thought of his eye. Or the lack thereof.

  I saw that he was scowling with his lone eye as his head swiveled back and forth, scanning our surroundings. “Yeah. But my hearing, smell, and sense of spatial awareness seems to have increased. I almost feel more able. Stronger. Confident. Not sure if it’s the pack or having to adapt and learn.” He smiled, glancing over his shoulder at me with a blink.

  Or was it a wink?

  “No reason to apologize,” He mimicked my earlier comment. “I just wanted to speak openly about it. The elephant in the room was pretty obvious. I mean, you hired Alucard to run your bookstore. If that doesn’t scream desperation, I don’t know what does.” He smiled at me. I nodded, grinning back.

  “He’s kind of worthless, isn’t he?”

  Gunnar grunted. “Understatement.”

  “But he’s so adamant about helping.”

  “You’re his pack now, Nate…” Gunnar replied softly.

  “I guess. Too bad no one told him I’m a horrible leader.”

  “You have your moments.” Gunnar sniffed the air suddenly, shook his head once, then went completely still. I froze, clenching the bow in my arm. He relaxed after a moment and frowned. Then continued on. “I just wanted to be up front with you. The pack. Ashley’s shifting problems…”

  “Still a wild one during the full moon?” I asked softly. He nodded. “I’ll see if I can find out exactly what my parents did for you. Maybe I can duplicate it.” I thought about if for a second. “Well, I’ll try. Not sure how my new powers would aid or hinder that, but I’ll do some digging.”

  Gunnar turned to me, gaze deep and grateful. “Thanks…”

  I shoved him a bit before he could get all weepy. “There’s no crying in hunting. I said that I’ll try. Not that I would succeed.”

  He grinned back, shrugging. “Trying is the same as succeeding when it comes to your manic research skills.” He paused as
we continued on. “We’re also working on a side business together. It’s actually doing pretty well. I’ll tell you about it some other time. Don’t want to jinx it… Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I have a thousand tiny things to take care of, and didn’t want you to take my absence the wrong way. I feel like I’m finally able to stretch my wings a bit after the FBI. I felt like I was standing in your shadow for too long. This feels… nice. So, I can’t go kicking around sewers with you anymore for a little while…” he grew silent for a moment. “No hard feelings?” He asked softly.

  I began to answer when suddenly my own senses set off an alarm. Gunnar reacted a millisecond ahead of me, hands shifting to claws in the blink of an eye. Our eyes latched onto a hulking presence about fifty yards away from us, sniffing the air curiously. I don’t know how we hadn’t seen it. It was at least nine feet tall, had long, shaggy fur, giant tusks forming a Guinness Book of World Records under bite, and a pair of gnarled bone horns protruding from his temples. His eyes flashed yellow in the early morning light, and he turned slightly away from us for a second, revealing slender purple spikes down his back…

  I froze in disbelief.

  “Purple prickles!” I pointed eagerly, practically dancing on my toes.

  He nodded, sniffing the air.

  “A fucking Gruffalo?” I stammered in disbelief.

  Chapter 19

  Gunnar grunted, “The children’s book?”

  I rounded on him, flabbergasted. “You’ve read The Gruffalo?” He shrugged in embarrassment.

  “Look, it can’t really be a Gruffalo…” Then a wolfish grin split his beard. “Everybody knows, there’s no such thing as a Gruffalo…”

  I rolled my eyes, pointing. “Look, a giant fucking Gruffalo. It’s right in front of us.”

  “How is that even possible?” Gunnar rounded on me, head swiveling back and forth between me and the beast.

  My mind was racing. “I’m not impaired, right?”

  He frowned at me. “What are you talking about?”

  I shivered, not answering him. I hadn’t told anyone else about my talk with Indie, but now I was almost entirely confident that I had caused the monster to appear in my shop. I had made the monster appear. Because I was a Maker. I had seen the Gruffalo movie, and had always held a slightly nightmarish fear of him. Because, well, I was a wizard, and my parents had always warned me that monsters of fang and claw really did exist. The Gruffalo – although I had first seen it as a teenager – had always reminded me of what some of those monsters could look like.

  In the book, of course, he wasn’t particularly frightening. But in my twisted imagination… Looking back, it was often absurd to remember the things that frightened us. But when you stumble upon one, it was always a doozy.

  So, a fucking Gruffalo.

  “It’s got to be something else. Fairy of some kind?”

  “Like my pet? Because he has a fondness for wolf pelts,” a voice cooed from the woods around us. Gunnar whirled, growling territorially, but I couldn’t see where the voice had originated, and apparently, Gunnar couldn’t either. “I assure you, he is in fact a Gruffalo. When stories become popular enough, they sometimes have the ability to come to life in other realms. This one is fairly young, but quite… terrible.”

  “I told you I don’t have time for this kind of stuff anymore, Nate. I fucking told you. It’s like you invite these things into your life,” Gunnar complained, lone eye scouting the woods threateningly.

  “Oh, no you don’t. This is not my fault.” I was simply relieved I hadn’t caused the monster to appear, but to be fair, I wasn’t too keen on finding out who the voice belonged to. I hadn’t made many friends by chance encounters in the woods. The Gruffalo continued sniffing the air curiously, paying no attention to us, which I found odd. The voice was obviously interested in us, so why wasn’t the monster?

  A figure finally emerged from the gloom, halting my wandering thoughts. She was tall and lithe, and her face was as hard as a sheet of slate. Angular, harsh, with cheek bones that could cut marble. Her eyes were a fiery green, like emeralds, and her ratted hair hung in dreadlocks tied back in a ponytail. She was clad in buckskin and leathers, and wielded a long, wicked knife at her belt.

  “Hold that thought, Pocahontas,” I turned my back on her to face Gunnar. “You were saying?”

  “I said I didn’t have time for this crap anymore.” I implored with my fingers that this wasn’t really an option at the moment. “Right. How many of these clowns are there now?”

  “Three. Wait.” I turned back to Pocahontas. “You’re here for the book, right?”

  Her eyes weighed me studiously, as if I had spoken another language. She finally nodded. I turned back to Gunnar.

  “Yep. Three.”

  “Well, that’s less schmucks than the Grimms a few months ago. We should be able to handle this in, what, fifteen minutes?” He shot a dark grin over my shoulder and I smiled. I turned back to her.

  “Okay. We’re ready. Who the hell are you again?”

  “I’ve gone by many names, Maker. You won’t be needing the knowledge where you’re going.”

  “Man, if I had a nickel for every time…” I rolled my eyes. “Listen, toots. You’re probably a badass. With a childhood monster at your beck and call and those rad threads. But there’s something you might not know about me.”

  “Oh?” Her eyes danced merrily.

  “I’m the trash man.” And I let loose a vortex of power, ripping the debris, gravel, twigs, and leaves from the ground to pelt her in the face. Gunnar was already airborne, having shifted in midflight. His claws struck her in the chest as she struggled to see, and the Gruffalo roared in outrage in the distance. Gunnar knocked her back into the tree, but she rolled out of the reach of his teeth and was suddenly on all fours, wicked knife gleaming.

  I was ready to lash out again when I had a thought. Three of these clowns. Maybe I could turn them on each other. “I don’t have your stupid book. Some douche named Van has it.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Where is he?” She hissed.

  I heard the clang of a crossbow, but she flinched at the last second, catching the projectile in her bare fist. Her grimace turned feral. “Hello, love,” a voice called out from a dozen paces away. The woman turned to face him, practically quivering with outrage. “No need to call for me. I’m here. For my book.” His glare shot my way.

  “Well, shouldn’t you be chasing down Baba Yaga for it?” I asked.

  His eyebrows furrowed, and his gaze danced around the woods for a beat. “I am…”

  A creeping sensation slithered down my neck as a chilling cackle split the silence. Gunnar began pacing back and forth, slowly making his way back to my side without causing anyone to react defensively. His head swiveled constantly, having only one eye to gauge his surroundings.

  The cackle oozed through the woods, reaching me like a feather behind the ear in a dark room. Then I saw her. She strode out of the woods opposite Van Helsing, her usual getup rustling through the forest floor. But she wasn’t alone.

  A looming, cloaked, hunchbacked figure followed in her wake. Each step seeming to press the earth down much more than made any sense, as if the creature weighed several tons. A billowing mass of fabric draped over its shoulders, and an aged bone renaissance doctor’s mask covered its face. The kind with the long, beak-like nose and hollowed eye sockets. But I could see only darkness behind the mask. Whatever it was, it wasn’t human. A powerful stench rolled over the forest, of old urine, blood, and offal, like a slaughterhouse. A pair of birdlike talons peeked out from beneath the figure’s robes, and my heart chilled.

  Baba Yaga lived in a house with chicken feet that could move about the forest as if alive.

  “Ew. She brought her trailer with her…” I murmured.

  Van grunted agreement. “She usually does.” His eyes appraised me thoughtfully. “Not all can see it though.” Then I noticed something odd. The light was striking her face, but she had no s
hadow. Instead, the walking house-creature stood where her shadow should have been. As she turned this way and that, the house shifted almost imperceptibly, just like a shadow would. The creepy factor red-lined. Gunnar was sniffing the air, but didn’t seem to notice the shadow-house, eye instead locked onto Baba and the other two.

  “Well, now that we’re all here…” Baba began, coming to a halt so that we stood facing each other like points on a circle. “So, you two are the rodents I smelled at the auction. Trying to steal an old woman’s book.”

  “It’s not yours, witch.” Pocahontas hissed. “I’m the hunter. It goes to me.”

  “Easy, cavewoman. You hunt animals. I hunt monsters. By myself, I might add.” His eyes flicked to the Gruffalo a few dozen paces away now, who seemed torn between joining us and sniffing whatever it was that had him so interested. “I don’t need backup, like you two apparently do,” Van continued.

  I raised my hand. “Hey, um. Let’s just cut to the chase. Which one of you killed everyone at the auction and stole the book? No judgment. I’d just like to buy it.”

  Three sets of seeming immortal eyes swiveled to me, as if having temporarily forgotten me. “He has it.” The, well… huntress declared, pointing her knife at me.

  I arched my brow, wondering if she was that dim-witted. “Um, no. Remember? I just asked to buy it. In fact, I already talked to Mama Goodvibes about it last night, although she left rather abruptly. With the book’s case.” I turned to the Russian witch. “We probably need to talk about that. In private. Preferably somewhere no one can hear you scream.” She smiled back darkly. “You can bring Franken-chicken with you too.” I studied the beast of a shadow with a look of unhidden disgust. “I don’t like his face.”

  The creature turned midnight eyes on me. That was it. Just a look.

  But my sphincter tightened like I was battling a case of Montezuma’s Revenge.

  “That is my home, Maker. Be careful how you speak of him. We wouldn’t want any… misunderstandings, would we?”