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

by Shayne Silvers

  Before, I could be in the same room as a wizard and we could judge each other’s strengths at first sight. Now, we were wildcards to each other. But I was pretty hopeful that with a little practice I could defend myself pretty well against another wizard.

  I hoped.

  After all, we had been hunted down and killed for some reason. So there had to be a reason we were so feared.

  This put me in an interesting dilemma at the moment. How could I find a way to sense magic on a person when I didn’t know how? Sure, as a wizard, piece of cake. As a Maker… I hadn’t the foggiest idea. So, I had been up late fooling around. Not wanting to keep Indie awake, or for her to discover what I was doing, I had retreated to the office for privacy. I wanted to figure this out so that I could take a quick glance at her and justify my professed innocence on her part.

  The other variable in the equation was the very real dark presence that seemed to reside somewhere deep inside me. I hadn’t encountered it until we faced off against the Grimms, and I had unknowingly wielded some pretty unbelievable powers. But there had been a cost. I had basically had to bargain with a… being inside of me, wrestle it into submission, and command it to help me use my powers as a Maker. A professor against the Dark Arts that was apparently a part of me.

  My fingers tapped the silver eagle-headed cane at my hip thoughtfully.

  With Barbie’s help – a sprite who had helped me battle the Grimms – I had found a way to sort of bottle up that dark part of me, and we had put it inside the cane. This way I wouldn’t be found in a dark room talking to myself as I learned new ways to use my power. If I wanted help, I grabbed the cane and tried to strike up a conversation with my very own Professor Snape. Or I could try and wing it on my own.

  The cane was also particularly dashing, in my opinion, and could be used as a sword – since that was what it was. I released the handle, and the cane snapped out of existence. Well, for everyone else it would be invisible. But me, I could always see it or sense it. And it was magically tied to the sheath at my belt so that even if I dropped it, the damn thing was back at my hip.

  Pretty neat.

  I shook my head, glancing back down at the papers before me. They showed blueprints of Chateau Falco from several decades ago that I had found in one of the libraries, but my father had made no renovations so I was reasonably sure that they were accurate.

  But they weren’t.

  For example, they didn’t have the door to the Armory.

  Which was the only addition my father had made – establishing a permanent portal of sorts to a dimension that held a cache of weapons that had been concealed from the world, in order to keep the items inside out of the wrong hands. But he hadn’t hired anyone to come build or anything. He had just used an existing secret passageway to hide the gateway.

  But there was no secret passageway on the blueprints.

  I scratched my jaw as the door opened. I glanced up to see Indie sauntering in with a scowl on her face. She looked worse. “Jeffries and his lackey woke me up from my nap and grilled me about the auction. He said it was your idea…” her face was not at all pleased, only making the dark rings look more serious.

  I frantically dove under the table. “Oh no, you don’t. You can’t hide from me, Nate.”

  I scooped up the sleeping cat, climbed to my feet and extended my arms as if offering tribute to a vengeful goddess. “Look, a cat,” I blurted.

  Her anger melted in a heartbeat. “Oh, my god!” She snatched him away and instantly began nuzzling him with a broad smile. Her skin seemed tight and thin, and very, very pale. I said nothing, but realized we probably did need to get her checked out. She caught me looking at her. “Don’t think this gets you out of trouble…” she warned.

  And then the cat began to purr, and she forgot all about being angry. Score, Nate.

  After a few minutes, she spoke. “I swung by the shop last night to see you, but you weren’t there. There was quite the police presence…” she added warningly.

  I nodded. “The witch came by for cookies.” Indie arched a brow. “And the book, but mostly for the cookies, I think.” She waited, stroking the cat. It was freaking huge. I hoped it was fully grown. “I reminded her that I didn’t have it. She insisted. Tory showed her the door.”

  Indie nodded, watching me intently, lips tight. Then her face brightened. “Oh, that reminds me. How did the Parent Teacher Conference go?”

  I smiled, shaking my head as she sat down in the chair before me, glancing curiously at the blueprints. I waved a hand. “Fine. But we had to talk to them about using their gifts where others may see.”

  Indie nodded. “I still think Raego should be helping more.”

  I shrugged. “He’s pretty busy running a nation.” The other weredragons of the world looked at him as their King, thanks in no small part to me. I would have loved for Raego to help Tory instead of me, but my answer was true. Running a nation was hard work. And, although I knew nothing about how to raise a child, I did love those violent little girls. And I felt responsible. Their mother had been murdered in a battle with the Brothers Grimm, which had been my fault. Well, not really, but I had insisted that the dragons help get rid of them.

  I had assumed none of us would survive, but knew that if we didn’t try to stop them that the Grimms would slowly but surely hunt everyone I knew down to kill them. It’s what Grimms did.

  My gaze shot to Indie, but she was studying the blueprints, idly stroking the cat, which was purring like a small engine. Indie was now a Grimm. And none of my friends were entirely comfortable about that. Sure, the transfer of power had helped Death bring her back to life… but at what cost? Was she, even now, lying to me? I quickly averted my gaze to the blueprints as I noticed her swiveling her head to look at me.

  “What’s this all about?”

  I turned my back on her, staring out the giant window behind the office desk to study the grounds of Chateau Falco. A giant silver and white tree dominated my view, easily fifty feet tall, and as far as I knew, unbreakable. I had tried carving into it and the knife had broken. “Just double checking the security of the home after the Grimms.”

  “You have the Guardians for that.”

  I shrugged. “Can never be too careful. And I still don’t know how Jacob knew about the secret passageway. Sure, he would have had to escape the passageway after leaving the Armory, but how did he learn how to get back in?” I turned after a few moments of silence. Indie had placed the cat on the desk and had her finger on the blueprints, resting where the office was located.

  “Nothing here.”

  I nodded. “Exactly.”

  Her eyes flickered with silver lightning as she glanced up at me. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. After a few repetitions, she opened them again to reveal her normal icy blue color. “Sorry. It seems to feed off my emotions,” she explained. I was so exhausted that I hadn’t even thought about her power. Whenever she was around another freak she was likely to suddenly mimic their power to ill effect. Usually to kill, maim, or torture. It was instinctual, and she struggled with it daily. It had gotten bad enough that she rarely left the house anymore.

  And it was growing worse by the fact that the murder she had witnessed made her ineligible for field trips. I needed her out of view of public scrutiny until things blew over.

  If things blew over. It wasn’t like I could tell Jeffries that three immortals, my client, or some mysterious third party had murdered everyone with magic to steal a mysterious book. Well, I could, but he couldn’t do anything useful with the information.

  Mallory stepped into the library and cleared his throat politely. “Car is ready.”

  I nodded distractedly, feeling a knot growing in my shoulders. “Oh, that’s right,” Indie murmured. “Want me to go with?”

  I could sense she was eager to get out of the house. I glanced up at her, trying to let her see that I appreciated her offer, and that it meant a lot to me. “Thanks, but until this all blows over, y
ou really don’t want to be out and about. It could end with you behind bars, or worse… especially if you decided you didn’t want to be behind bars…” I smiled sadly.

  Her head sunk. “I know. It’s just… I’m so bored!”

  I placed a palm on her shoulder. “We’ll figure it out.” Her skin was cool to the touch. I decided against pressing her about Asterion’s fear that she may have been complicit in the theft of the book. Do I look suicidal?

  “You need someone to watch your back. Especially after what I heard happened at Plato’s Cave…” I could see the ferocity in her eyes. She was finally able to assist in the supernatural arena, yet she couldn’t. Both because she couldn’t properly control herself yet, but also because she was involved in the active murder investigation.

  “It’s alright. I have Mallory here. And Tory is joining me.”

  “Oh?” Indie asked, not meeting my eyes as she fiddled with a pen, teasing the cat who was pawing at it. “Did she appreciate the adoption papers?”

  I smiled. “Immensely.”

  She took a deep breath. “Okay. Just hurry up. I’m going crazy cooped up like this, and I feel like this drafty old place might have given me a cold.”

  I nodded, relieved that she had brought it up first. “Have Dean pick up some medicine.” I kissed the top of her head, and followed Mallory. I called out over my shoulder before leaving the office. “Make sure you let that monster outside. And have Dean pick up a litterbox or something too.”

  She turned to glance at me, smiling. “Will do.”

  I blew her another kiss and left.

  “You ready?” Mallory asked.

  I nodded absently. “Not really sure how to feel about this, but let’s just get it over with.”

  Chapter 35

  We walked through the cemetery, the lush green grass a mockery of the death surrounding us. I was fulfilling a legal obligation, visiting my ancestors’ mausoleum once per year. This was a requirement of the family trust.

  Bellefontaine Cemetery was a pretty popular cemetery in St. Louis, housing the remains of several very prominent historical figures.

  Although it was odd, seeing as the most recent trustees were my parents, and I could visit their spirits from the comfort of my own home. Still, it was a time-honored tradition, and we Temples were all about dusty old routines. I hoped that it would help clear my head. We had picked up Tory at Raego’s home, where she was currently living with the Reds and a veritable army of other dragons. Raego hadn’t been home, but he was in the city at least. He was always busy lately, hence my self-imposed guardianship of Tory for Misha’s girls. I wasn’t about to let them feel alone. At all.

  We had driven to the cemetery in silence. Mine was a result of reflecting on the upcoming task of reviewing each sepulcher or tomb. Tory’s was likely a result of whatever personal issues were bothering her. Something about her strange use of power the night before, which I was definitely going to talk to her about.

  I dodged a particularly awkward space between two headstones, careful not to disrespect anyone. As we topped a small rise, the Temple Mausoleum unfolded before my eyes between large trees. Our family had purchased the largest chunk of land in the cemetery, and had built a monstrosity of a building to house any and all Temples from the 1700’s and on. The outside was decorated akin to something one might find in Rome – all arches, elaborate stonework, filigree, bastions, and pillars. It looked more like a medieval church.

  Except I had never heard of a church that displayed gods and faiths of almost every flavor. Poseidon, Buddha, Fae, Angels, Monsters, and a plethora of others, even mortals intertwined in romantic poses. It was supposed to represent the beauty of life, both good and bad, and that the Temples didn’t discriminate against other faiths. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and even dominated the size of the caretaker’s building, confusing most visitors into thinking this was the cemetery’s office.

  But when they saw the giant steel door, disguised with carved wood and bass relief, and the modern digital security keypad beside the handle, they quickly realized their mistake. That, and the brass sign that stated who was the owner of the building, and that the office was to the East.

  Mallory silently stepped up and typed in the code as Tory and I simply admired the building. A successful beep interrupted the silence and the door swung open on silent hinges. Upon opening, it was revealed that the door was a good foot thick, and as it opened, low lighting flashed on inside the building, all automated.

  My parents had made a few updates prior to their departure.

  In fact, my parents had spent quite a bit of time here in recent years. Upgrading security, soundproofing the building, and installing security cameras everywhere. I didn’t know why, and hadn’t bothered to ask them about it. Priorities.

  I’d ask them some other time.

  Statues lined the main hall, with recesses carved into the wall to grant privacy to each pair of statues. You see, each alcove was reserved for a specific family member and their life partner – if they had one.

  Before each statue stood a low marble pedestal with a glass-enclosed box resting atop it. Inside the box was a leather journal representing the accomplishments of their lives. Their upbringing, full name, parental lineage, description, years lived, school attended, and vague references to their magical accomplishments. The place was not public, so no one had been concerned about hiding the fact that each member of the family had been notorious for very different reasons. Vampire slayers, werewolf tamers, Fae liaisons, and many more uniquely interesting, um… career choices. I walked past one that I remembered was a healer. The last line on his journal referenced the fungus he had been researching and had ingested before being found dead the next day… with both of his eyes turned a royal purple shade… the sclera and iris…

  Before the pedestal sat the deceased’s favorite chair or divan. This was also for the survivors – so that they could sit and remember their loved one in the comfort of his or her favorite lounging furniture. One ancestor had a bone barstool made from a creature entirely too large to exist in the natural world, but no explanation of its origin had been provided. Of course, thanks to the illustrious historical financial situation of our family, all the pieces of furniture were varied, exquisite, and maintained to top upholstered quality by Mallory. He was the janitor.

  Mallory had many jobs, and I still knew very little about him other than the fact that my father trusted him completely. And, he had some unique magical talents. Not a wizard, but… something. He had healed me from a bullet wound once using just his hands. When I had asked Mallory about his past, the conversation had gone downhill fast. So, being me, I had pestered my father about it, only to get a similar response. His past is his own. If he chooses not to share, that is his prerogative…

  But I would get the full story. Somehow. Some day. Just not today.

  Silk ribbon connected to brass posts established a respectable distance from the walkway to the couch, granting privacy for the survivors of the relative to mourn in peace.

  Perhaps my parents had upped security due to the blatant descriptions in each book, basically admitting that each was a wizard, or in the eyes of the world at large, bat-shit insane.

  Because the world didn’t believe in magic. We freaks were just stories used to scare children into behaving.

  But we liked it that way.

  Still, the center could not hold. Sooner or later enough people would have firsthand experiences, and risk their name to share with the millions of available media channels, and the world would be forced to accept the truth or continue burying their heads in the sand, telling themselves that video graphics were frighteningly realistic these days…

  I shook my head in mild disbelief that we hadn’t already been outed long ago.

  I continued down the walkway, motion sensor lights flickering to existence in a warm glow the further I walked. Tory and Mallory followed silently behind me, witnessing my responsibility for the lawyer to verify. T
ypically, Turner Locke would be here to verify, but he had on this occasion been forced to utilize Mallory as a witness.

  Apparently, my janitor had obtained a law degree at some point and was a consultant to Turner’s firm.

  I shook my head. Like an onion…

  The mood was somber, and I sensed Tory studying each ancestor we passed, but I had eyes only for one of the furthest locations… my parents.

  We rounded a curve in the building and at the intersection was a giant fountain, illuminated by the stained-glass windows high above. Rainbows flickered here and there in the mist. Just past the fountain stood a large tile mosaic of a tree, covering the entire wall. The branches were full, luxurious, and provided copious shade to the carved roots below.

  It was the Temple Family Tree.

  But rather than the branches representing the family members, the artist had decided to use roots to represent each family member and their children. Men were represented by rubies, while women were represented by sapphires. Each name was etched in silver beneath the gems.

  I was the lowest root on the tree now. I hesitated as I walked past, shoving down the sudden constriction of sadness in my chest. I pressed on, finally approaching my parents’ tomb. The two stood in marble form, holding hands. My father held an hourglass and my mother held a small pyramidal shape. Their gazes crossed each other so that my father was glancing in the direction before my mother, and vice versa, representing what I assumed to be each looking out for the other. Although I had no idea what the items they held represented.

  It had been in their last will and testament.

  I stepped under the silken cord and rested my hand on my mother’s shoulder. One part of me felt saddened, like their death was hitting me for the first time. They. Were. Gone.

  But another part of me felt mildly phony. Their spirits had been… loaned to me by Death, so that their eternal slumber was located in the Armory. I wasn’t sure how long that gift would last, or the rules for the dead, and Death had not been keen on sharing specifics, informing me to appreciate the gift while it lasted, which was infinitely more than most were able to do. So, yeah. I felt like a fraud coming here. I could go talk to my parents about wedding plans right now.