Horseman: A Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Book 10 (The Temple Chronicles)

by Shayne Silvers

  Alucard slowly turned to look at me, face disbelieving. “You… were keeping track of the number of times I was injured at your bookstore?” he asked incredulously.

  I shrugged guiltily. “Nine-hundred-forty-four,” I told Gunnar. He slapped his knees, roaring with laughter. “What about the ratio? Did you win?” he asked, gripping my arm again.

  Alucard was scowling but seemed suddenly curious about the question. “What do you mean, did you win?”

  I let out a sigh, pulling up to Plato’s Cave, smiling distantly at the sign above the shop. I shifted to park before turning to look at Gunnar and Alucard. “Six-hundred-eighty-eight,” I said. “In the Nate column. The rest were lucky happenstance.”

  Alucard was staring at me. “Wait… you personally sabotaged the shop in addition to the accidental ones? And then kept track of it all?” He folded his arms, shaking his head. Then he snapped his fingers, remembering something that must have been bothering him for a long time. “What did you do to the counters?” he demanded.

  “Holy water in the cleaning solution,” I admitted.

  “Wow… I can’t even. You just took asshole to a new plane of existence, Little Brother.”

  “Thank you?”

  He tried to scowl, but after a few seconds, he finally let out a laugh. “You know… that really fucked with me back then. But right now? All I can do is laugh about it. Because you helped me realize something about myself. How to embrace my inner monster,” he admitted, speaking softly. “Without all your poking, prodding, and pranking, I may have tried harder to stick more to my guilty human side…”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I didn’t want you to do that.”

  He frowned. “You… considered that?”

  I shrugged. “Sure. That’s why I tried to keep you on your toes. I knew you wouldn’t be complete if you tried to become normal.”

  “Then why did you let me try?”

  I arched an eyebrow at him. “You wouldn’t have listened to my advice back then. You needed to see it for yourself. So, like any good friend, I was forced to sabotage you at every opportunity.”

  Alucard was studying me like he had never met me before. “You’re full of shit.”

  Gunnar cleared his throat. “Actually, he’s telling the truth. I called him an asshole for it, but after a few days of thinking about it, and getting to know you better, I thought it was a pretty good assessment of you. Definitely an asshole move, but… a friendly asshole move.”

  The sign to the bookstore cast a pale glow over the dashboard. “Just to be clear. I would have totally fucked with you even if I hadn’t had an altruistic purpose behind it. I’m not a saint.”

  Gunnar and Alucard were facing me, so didn’t see Carl’s pale, shining face slowly lean forward from the third row, close enough to nibble Gunnar’s earlobe.

  “What are we doing here?” Carl asked in the loudest whisper I’d ever heard. Like a stage whisper for an audience at a play.

  Gunnar snarled instinctively, flinching back from Carl’s snout and slamming his back into the door. I burst out laughing.

  “What the fuck, Carl?” Gunnar roared. “Why the hell were you so close? You could have asked that back from the third row, where you belong!”

  Carl narrowed his eyes and flicked out his tongue, slapping Gunnar in the cheek. Gunnar recoiled, looking on the verge of pummeling the Elder. Then he thought about that, and probably remembered how terrified Alvara had been of Carl. I know I was still thinking about it.

  “Why are we not driving?” Carl finally repeated, this time turning to look at me.

  “Othello told me there was a package waiting for me inside.”

  We sat there in silence, listening to Talon’s purring snore. “We’re still not driving,” Carl noted.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave you three unsupervised in the car,” I admitted.

  Alucard folded his arms. “I’m never going inside that place again.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Asshole.”

  “It’s my car. You can’t make me leave,” Gunnar snapped. Everyone turned to consider Talon, who was still sleeping, but we were all smart enough not to try waking the cat warrior.

  Carl nodded seriously. “I will grab Nate’s package. I will hold it close and keep it safe—”

  “Jesus…” Alucard groaned. “Just go grab the damned mail, Carl. Stop making it weird.”

  He cocked his head, not understanding the nuance of what he had said. Then he leaned in very close to Gunnar’s face, about three inches away, staring unblinking into the werewolf’s eye.

  Gunnar stared right back, but finally demanded, “What?”

  “I need your help with the door,” Carl said, showing us his long black claws. “I don’t want Ashley upset with me for scratching her skin.”

  “He means the leather,” I sighed. “Just open the door for him, Gunnar. It’s easier.”

  Gunnar finally complied, hopping out of the SUV eagerly to get away from Carl. The streetlights hit his stone eyepatch, glinting faintly as he scanned the street out of habit. Satisfied, he handed Carl a hooded trench coat. “Pedestrians across the street. Can’t let them see you clearly,” he told Carl.

  Carl slipped out of the car like a snake, tugged on the knee-length trench coat, flipped up the hood, and then strode up to the door. He tried the handle, his claws having an awkward time with the knob, but I knew he was able. Then he stepped back, scowling angrily at the door.

  I rolled my window down, realizing I had forgotten to give him the key. “Hey, Carl—”

  “Someone is trying to keep me from grabbing your package!” he hissed.

  A hipster had rounded the corner in time to hear the strange serpentine shout and spot the shady silhouette of a hooded, trench coat-wearing, Lord Voldemort sounding creeper lurking in the darkened doorway of the shop. He spun and ran away screaming.

  Carl ignored it and kicked the fucking door down, instantly setting off the alarms.

  I blinked in disbelief, and Alucard burst out laughing, slapping the dash way too happily. “Classic Carl!”

  I grimaced, pulling out my phone to text Othello that wherever she was, she was about to get a call from the police or the alarm company and that she would need to make an appointment for someone to replace the door in the morning. The very expensive fucking door.

  How hard was it to pick up a package off the counter?

  I heard a loud crashing sound from inside, and realized Carl was destroying my bookstore in search of my package. Or he was looking for an intruder. Whoever had locked the door, because he apparently wasn’t aware that you locked up buildings with valuable inventory when no one was present after hours. So, a locked door implied a direct threat to be annihilated, deboned, and then repurposed into a new set of ivory daggers.

  Obviously.

  Alucard was actually crying with laughter, now, and Gunnar was leaning his back against the hood of the car, shaking his head in disbelief. I muttered a curse, climbing out of the SUV. “Thanks for running in there to tell Carl to calm the fuck down. Means a lot.”

  He grunted. “You let him creep out on me.”

  “I didn’t let him do anything. It was just Carl being Car—”

  And that’s when Carl’s body flew through the shop window amidst a shower of broken glass, slamming into the windshield of our SUV, right between me and Gunnar. I had a split second to realize that the SUV wasn’t even remotely damaged, much to Carl’s dismay and Alucard’s stunned face. The vehicle rocked slightly as Talon woke from his nap, probably freaking the fuck out. Hopefully Carl hadn’t broken his back or anything. He was just lying there, breathing heavily as he stared up at the night sky.

  Alucard and Talon stared through the windshield at Carl’s back, mouths hanging open.

  “I grabbed Nate’s package,” Carl wheezed, clutching a paper-wrapped bundle to his chest. Then he finally passed out.

  I was already running into the bookstore, assuming it had been the griffin statues I
had left behind for night security, and that I needed to deactivate them or calm them down before they went on a rampage. I heard Gunnar and Alucard arguing with Talon, probably demanding he stay in the car, because the pedestrians across the street were pointing or fleeing for their lives.

  Othello was going to kill me.

  Chapter 16

  I burst through the open doorway, eyes sweeping the chaotic scene for the Guardian gargoyles. The silver glint of a big ass hand-cannon flicked my way, and I dove on instinct over the splintered door to take cover behind the nearest stand of books and trinkets. An intruder really was in here! What sounded like a 44 Magnum boomed through the darkness, shattering the piles of books behind me in an explosion of confetti. I kept sneaking around another shelf, and then another, trying to find out who the hell was in here, and how I was going to sneak up on them.

  I whipped up a nasty bit of magic that probably wasn’t well-known by the Academy – something I’d come up with thanks to my training with Wylde. Not Fae magic, but a hybrid of sorts. A black orb of power that would hit a target and wrap entirely over it, encasing it in a sticky web of shadows, trapping them entirely. I didn’t want to use anything elemental and accidentally ruin my merchandise by lighting things on fire or zapping them with electricity or a vortex of wind.

  I heard the creak of a floorboard and risked a glance to see the dark silhouette of the shooter at the base of the steps leading up to the loft above the store. The loft had once been my bachelor pad before I had moved into Chateau Falco after my parents had died. Someone was trying to break into the loft.

  I leaned back against the bookshelf, took a deep breath, and readied to lean out and tag the shooter.

  “Do you have any idea who owns this store?” the shooter snarled. “Nate Temple! And I have every right to pump you full of lead, right now—”

  “Othello?” I blurted out in disbelief. I thought she had been out of town!

  There was a very long, significant pause. “Um… Nate?” she replied, sounding just as surprised.

  “Yes, it’s me—”

  Which was when Gunnar decided to jump through the already broken window in full beast mode, making sure he hit every piece of unbroken glass Carl had missed. He landed atop a display table, shattering it, but maintained his balance, claws out, lone eye seeming to shine with malice.

  He even sported his favorite pair of Underdog spandex underwear. The street lights outside illuminated him from behind, making him look all the more threatening. He was a majestic fucker, about seven feet tall, and a mountain of shaggy white fur, jaws wide enough to bite a man in half.

  He’d barely touched the ground, already opening his mouth to howl, when a Biblical force punched him in the chest so hard that he flew right the fuck back out the window, slamming into Ashley’s wedding present, presumably beside Carl.

  “Everyone stop! Friendly fire!” I shouted as loud as I could, before Talon and Alucard decided to give it the ol’ college try.

  A cloaked figure turned to look at me and, even knowing who it was, I took an instinctive step backwards. An aged ivory skull stared back at me, eyes of purple flame flickering in the depths. Even from this distance, in the darkness, I could see the impact craters from where some very heavy artillery had struck his Mask at some point. His cloak was made of what looked like a funeral shroud and patched with cobwebs. Skeletal hands peeped out from the sleeves of his robes, and they were flexed in tight fists, the bones creaking and groaning as he stared at me.

  Death, the Horseman of the Apocalypse.

  I waved at him jovially. As soon as I’d heard Othello’s voice, I’d assumed Death wouldn’t be far away. I hadn’t known Othello was using the place to sleep in – she had rooms at Chateau Falco, after all. Was she using my bookstore as her hidden love-nest with Death? I hadn’t known she was even back in town. She’d been traveling an awful lot lately.

  “What are you doing here, Nate?” Death asked, yanking off his Mask.

  Which left a very toned, older, naked man staring back at me. Definitely not as frail as he had been when I’d first met him, but then again, I’d learned that he appeared to you in a way that matched your personal perception of Death, the reaper of souls. The more I got to know him, the more my image of him adjusted. Never changing entirely, but constantly evolving. Since I saw him as more dangerous with each passing day, he began to reflect this in actuality. So, he looked like a backwards aging version of Hemingway, the man I’d first met in Achilles’ Heel a few years ago. His long, iron gray hair just brushed his shoulders, and eyes of pale gray like chips of polished steel assessed me… accusingly?

  “Well, this is my bookstore, in case anyone has forgotten that part…”

  “Who the hell kicked the door down and set off the alarms?” he asked, bewildered. Then he grunted. “It was Carl, wasn’t it? Fucking Carl…” he muttered, shaking his head.

  I nodded. “Yeah. The door was locked, and he thought someone was keeping him from entering. He’s having a bad night. Even for him.”

  Death sighed. “Mind telling him I’m sorry? I don’t think I’m up to one of his conversations right now.”

  I smiled, approaching him. Most of my friends liked Carl. Enjoyed having him around. But at the same time, they’d all learned firsthand how difficult some conversations could be for him. He just wasn’t the same as a human. Didn’t understand social etiquette, nuances, or a billion other subconscious things humans do in a conversation without even realizing we’re doing it.

  Also, despite their annoyance, every single person I knew was terrified of him on some instinctual level, even if they didn’t openly admit it. Even Death, a Horseman of the Apocalypse.

  And I had Carl picking up my mail.

  “Sure,” I said. “We just swung by to pick up the package Othello told me about,” I told him, trading grips with him.

  Realizing I’d forgotten all about Othello upon recognizing Death, I glanced over his shoulder.

  And got a beautiful eyeful of familiar, boob-tacular breasts. The only stitch of clothing she wore was a pair of lacy, boy-shorts lingerie. Like a deer in headlights, I froze. Not because I was leering, but because her mystical, womanly boobie magic entranced me with a power I could not stand against.

  Death slapped my cheek lightly, but firmly.

  I dropped my gaze. “Right. Hey, Othello. Didn’t mean to stare. What’s, erm, up?” I asked awkwardly.

  “Well, something was up, before you ruined the mood, obviously,” she muttered, waving her hands at her present state of undress. She still held the 44 Magnum in one hand, liable to blow a hole in the ceiling if she wasn’t careful. The Guardian statues were awake and watching us thoughtfully, not having even bothered to stand at the chaos.

  Probably because they were the only ones who had sensed that we were all friendlies.

  “Nice shooting, Annie Oakley,” I finally sighed. “You almost bang-banged me.”

  “Been there, done that. Shame we couldn’t have had a sequel,” she muttered, stomping back up the stairs as I heard a phone begin to ring from the loft above. I blinked. Well, that had sounded rehearsed, as if she’d been waiting to say it for quite some time. I shook off the thought, especially since Death was scowling at me – both for my arrival and her comment.

  I shrugged at him. “Yeah, I’ve got no comment on that, except to say good luck, and sorry,” I told him, watching her walk up the stairs. She was answering a call from the security company. Or the police.

  “I need to take these calls,” she grumbled from over her shoulder. “Hemingway, get everyone out of here, and then get your ass back in bed. I wasn’t finished with you.” She paused at the top of the stairs, turning to look at me over her thin shoulder. “Nice seeing you, Nate. But next time, dress appropriately. Everyone else is in their birthday suits.”

  Then she slammed the door.

  My jaw was hanging open. Not because I had been paying very close attention to her movements, making sure she made it sa
fely up the stairs. Not at all. Her comment had cut deeply, and I don’t know why. Perhaps because it had sounded genuine, not just snarky. We’d had a brief romance in the past and seeing her in all her splendor had brought on a pang of memory I didn’t particularly need at the moment.

  Also – probably more likely – a pang of Nate hadn’t gotten any in a long while.

  Luckily for me, Death had been transfixed with her movements as well, and hadn’t noticed me gawking. He had a hungry, cadaverous grin.

  “You guys need to get the fuck out of here. Now,” he told me with not an ounce of brotherly love, and not even turning to look at me. Then he was stomping up the stairs. I didn’t pay as much attention to his movements. In fact, I briefly considered using magic to trip him up so I could watch him tumble ass over heels down the wooden stairs.

  That’s right. I thought about tripping up Death out of sheer spite and a shadow of old jealousy. But I took a deep breath, deciding to be the better man. To rise above it.

  “Good seeing you guys—” But he had already slammed the door.

  I scowled, thinking very dark thoughts as I stared up at the door to what had once been my loft. Then I grunted and walked over to the table that Othello had blasted with the gun. I stared down at the remains of several books, one with a neat hole through the center. I picked it up to see it was a copy of Atlas Shrugged.

  “God damnit. Why is it always this book?” I muttered, remembering back to the time I had seen my first dragon. The one Gunnar and I had been talking about in the car. Raven. She’d lit Atlas Shrugged on fire with her magic. I’d promptly kicked her ass for it.

  I glanced up at the loft above. This time, friendly fire had destroyed my book.

  “Nate?” Alucard called out from the street. “What’s the plan? I hear sirens. Are we sticking around?” I growled under my breath and tossed the book back down.

  “We’re done here. Is everyone else alright?” I asked, hopping over the splintered door that Carl had kicked down.

  Alucard met me just outside, nodding warily. “Yeah, just caught off-guard.” He appraised me very seriously. “Everything to do with you is just so much… more. Even picking up a package at your own bookstore becomes an event.”