“You know what I mean, Nate. Don’t bandy words with me. I know you.” He frowned. “I heard radio chatter on the way over here. I’m guessing it was about you getting snatched up by the police. What did they want?”
“Just more questions.” I waved a hand, not wanting to continue that line of conversation. “About the company and everything.” I lied.
Peter’s interest peaked. “Have you finally decided to pick up the reins?”
“No. But apparently everybody thinks I’m scheming to do just that.”
Peter grinned. “You, scheming? They must not know you at all.” I smiled back, nodding. “Well if you won’t do it, why don’t you hire me to help? I could use some creative financing to increase your profits.”
Gunnar suppressed a grin behind his glass, but remained silent. “Your track record is not so great, Peter. I can’t risk that with my parents’ company. It’s much too vast for anyone except well-experienced professionals. It’s not a toy to pass to my friends. No offense.” Peter’s eyes smoldered, his hand idly brushing his new bracelet again. “Why do you think I haven’t jumped in myself, Peter? It’s too big, even for me.”
Gunnar leaned back, stretching his feet. “Say that again. Your parents would curl in their grav-.” His face paled. “Oh, God. I’m sorry, Nate. It slipped out. I didn’t mean-.”
I waved a hand, dampening my anger quickly. “No, you’re right. But choose your words more carefully next time.” Gunnar looked ashamed of himself. Good.
Peter finally broke the silence. “Still, Gunnar has a point. You don’t want to stay in this shit-hole for the rest of your life. What about Chateau Falco? Are you going to sell it? You can’t leave it empty. It’s been in your family for what, a hundred years? You can’t just let it go.”
“261.” I murmured. Gunnar and Peter glanced at each other for a moment, not comprehending. I rolled my eyes. “261 years. And I haven’t decided yet. It is not for sale at the moment, but who knows? I haven’t been there for a long time.”
“But you are its new Master.” Gunnar raised his arms to mimic a Hitler salute. “Master Temple, your wish is my command.” He mocked.
I rolled my eyes before whispering softly. “The place … scares me. It’s not just a home. It has secrets that even my parents kept close.” I looked at them, a serious expression on my face.
“You’re not scared of anything. Hence, Minotaur tipping.” Gunnar grinned.
“Well, I am afraid of that place.” I answered honestly.
They blinked in disbelief, the silence stretching for a few moments. Changing topic, Peter continued on, wisely sensing that talk of the mansion was off the table. “At least you could hire me as a consultant. I couldn’t hurt anything.”
Gunnar laughed aloud this time. I shrugged as Peter scowled at Gunnar. “Wrong. I can’t hire anyone because I don’t work for the company. I’m just an investor.”
“You mean they didn’t leave it to you in the will?” Gunnar stammered in surprise.
“Years ago they asked me. I declined. Hence my fall from grace in their eyes. I guess they looked at me as God once looked at the young Lucifer.”
Peter looked baffled. “I just don’t understand you.” He glanced at Gunnar’s tattoo pointedly. “You either, Wolf. You each have the gifts of gods, and you do nothing with them. Well, you go cow tipping.” He waggled a frustrated hand in my direction.
“It’s just something we were born with, Peter. It doesn’t make us gods. And we do use it. When necessary.” Gunnar idly caressed the crescent tattoo on his wrist again. He had been wetting panties before girls even knew what it meant back in Junior High — the only student with a full beard and a tattoo. Smug bastard. He was easy to hate.
“But you wallow in filth rather than taking the world by its balls!” Peter argued.
“Easy, Thrasymychus. Might is not right.” I said softly.
Peter slumped in defeat. “Listen, if you two are going to talk philosophy again, I’m out. No more circle-jerking Plato for me, thank you very much. I’ve got work in a few hours.” He stood to leave, downing his drink with a contented sigh. Setting it on a side table, he paused as if remembering something. “Hey, did you happen to find that book I requested a couple days ago?”
I frowned. For the first time my eidetic memory failed me. “What book?”
Peter turned to face me. “I left a note with Jessie. He’s a new employee. Not one of your veterans.”
“He never mentioned anything to me.” I answered honestly. I had only spoken to the kid once. My store manager, Indie, had hired him. “Why the sudden interest in a book? I didn’t even know you could read.” I teased.
Peter looked hurt. “What, I’m not allowed to read every now and then?” He grouched. “I left him a note with the title. He said he would leave it on your desk.” I glanced back to see a crumpled piece of parchment on my ornate oak desk.
“I haven’t been in the office for a few days. Just coming here to sleep. I’ve had… a lot on my plate.”
Peter and Gunnar both nodded, faces grim. “It’s no big deal. Just a book a client asked me to find. The rich one I was talking about earlier.”
I nodded, suddenly distracted by an odd sensation on my arms. “I’ll take a look around tomorrow.” I mumbled, rubbing my forearm curiously as I stretched my mind out like a web, searching for the cause of the distracting warmth. It felt like a wave of steam.
Peter nodded, pocketing his cell. “Alright, gentlemen. I bid you-”
His mouth closed with an audible click of smacking teeth as I suddenly leapt to my feet without a word of warning. The sensation had cranked up a dozen notches, as if I was now standing before an open oven. I darted to the wall of windows that overlooked my shop, and then looked further out to the street. I had left two of the loft windows wide open for air circulation from the store below. The ice cubes clinked together in my glass as I stared hard, my skin pebbling with sudden anxiety. I felt my friend’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t peel my eyes away from the street. It had begun to storm outside, heavy snowflakes beginning to cover the cars outside.
I heard my voice before I consciously chose to speak. “Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary… Suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door…” The world slowed as I abruptly sensed the presence that stood just outside the front door to my shop. Something powerful was waiting for me. The waves of heat intensified, contrasting my suddenly icy forearms.
Long ago, with my mother’s help, I had created what some Tibetan monks coined a memory palace, a vast mental library where each item — whether a statue, painting, cabinet, plant or even a book — held a specific piece of knowledge or past memory. My mouth moved in pace with my racing thoughts as they wandered through the dusty library, the imaginary walls of bookshelves racing into existence all around me. I held a book in my palms, but I didn’t need to read it. Merely holding the construct transferred whatever memories or knowledge it contained into my subconscious.
Gunnar grumbled. “Eidetic showoff. What-” The bell from the front door chimed and a shadow slipped inside, interrupting Gunnar. I heard him draw his SIG Sauer 9mm pistol in a swift motion, but it was a distant, sensory feeling, my mind still focused entirely on Edgar Allen Poe. An appropriate black cloak was folded around a woman’s shoulders like obsidian wings, the whites of her teeth seeming to glow as she stared up at me from the floor below. Her eyes were black coals, but a glint of yellow reflected off them from the light behind me. My voice was faint even to me as I continued the poem.
“Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, by the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore…”
Her voice hissed back the only acceptable answer. “Quoth the raven, Nevermore.”
Chapter 6
M y friends stood beside me now, alarmed. Each syllable of her words was laced with magical seduction. Emphasis on magical. “
You must read a fair bit, Temple.”
Gunnar’s eyes weighed me. “I thought you were the only one who read ancient crap like that. And how did she hear you?” He whispered.
The woman took several slow, seductive steps towards the main floor, hips swaying deliciously. She made it hard to focus. “I hear many things, Wulfric. But be a good doggy, and speak only when spoken to.” Gunnar’s jaw dropped further. She continued without missing a beat. “What kind of bookstore do you run, Temple?” She picked up a copy of Atlas Shrugged on a display case at the bottom of the stairs. “This isn’t even a first edition.” A slimy, oily fire suddenly spread from her fingertips, smothering the priceless tome. “Oh, my mistake. It was.” The book crumbled to ash in seconds. What the hell kind of power was that?
I was sure that Gunnar comprehended the ancient appellation she had given him, as he was very adept at his Norse heritage. Wulfric translated to Wolf King. Treading carefully, I chose civility. Courtesy was a good bet when dealing with ancient magical beings — courtesy or raw power.
Having chosen the latter with the Minotaur, I gambled on the former this time.
“We’re closed for the evening, Madame. Pray come back in the morning, and I’ll allow you to pay for the damage to my book.”
“Hmmm… But a girl can’t be too patient. She wants what she wants… when she wants it.” She dropped her cloak, revealing utterly nude ivory skin, unblemished, and perfectly contoured with pleasant curves. I tried to mask my surprise… and lustful admiration. I was confident that I had never seen a body look so good. “But I do know how to repay a favor, bookkeeper.” Her hand crept between her legs, skimming her round breasts in the process, her nipples instantly tightening. A small moan escaped her lips, and her eyes became glassy. My pants tightened instinctively, and her moan grew lustier, as if she had somehow sensed my reaction.
Her eyes came back to mine, and I realized for the first time that her pupils were not circular. Not human. They were horizontal slits, and her irises were a vibrant yellow. The exact same shade as the oily fire she had used to incinerate my book. Remembering that touch helped me regain focus like a cold shower would a pubescent boy. “I am seeking a book. An ancient family tome, titled Sons of the Dying Sun. Find it for me, and your payment will be… climactic.” She flashed me a sultry grin.
Her voice threatened to overwhelm me with more than mere words. She was using old magic. Powerful magic. I felt erotic fingers massaging the deeper areas of my brain, coaxing me to listen and obey her as she so adroitly caressed the pleasure centers. A quick glance at my friends revealed they weren’t faring well with the battle for self-control. Their feet began to carry them to the doorway leading downstairs. I laced my own voice with magic, hoping to break whatever spell she was casting. But her power grew thicker, stronger. I decided to stop speaking polite Old English. “I will keep my eye out, but I am not a big fan of creepy, naked women showing up at my place of business… despite contrary rumors.”
She grinned again, her magic growing ever thicker, as if flexing, but I continued, silently halting her with every ounce of power I had. I could feel my control slipping, wanting nothing other than to rip my clothes off and meet her downstairs for a quickie. Or a longie. Whatever she would allow. I noticed sweat on my temples, and momentarily imagined her licking it away and I froze. Fuck that. I lashed out with my power, no longer playing defense, and cut through hers like a blade. It snapped back into her with force, causing her to stumble back and glare up at me. Gunnar and Peter shook their heads dumbly, eyes dilated. My hands were shaking with the effort. “This is quite unprofessional, and I am, in fact, in the middle of a business meeting. Come back tomorrow and I will see what I can do for you.”
“A shy wizard. Very well. If you don’t like an audience, I’m sure I could persuade them to leave for you.” She whispered coyly. Her magic came back faster, and stronger, the very air quivering. Each of my friends sagged at the sudden onslaught. Jesus, she was strong! I had never practiced much mind magic, but hers terrified me. Without my help, my friends would become drooling sycophants to her every whim.
With a crack of power that made one of the windows panes shatter, I broke her spell a second time, and my friends visibly stumbled as they were released. I let out a breath. Gunnar tossed his gun onto the couch, thumbing his tattoo in anticipation as he risked a glance at me. What was she? I hadn’t ever heard of mind magic like this before, but apparently I was strong enough to simply outmuscle her. That or I was damn lucky.
“We can chat in the morning, but for now, leave. Twice asked.” I said.
“We demand your service.” The tone of her voice was damn intimidating. We?
“Why do you need my help? Have you checked amazon.com yet?” I snapped.
Her eyes tightened. “We want what is ours, and will tolerate neither thieves nor bystanders. I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but I’m sure your friend already has an idea what we’re wiling to do to reclaim our property.” She winked at Gunnar. His face slowly grew pale in recognition, as if he had suddenly made a grim connection in his mind.
I used the only name she had offered. “You see, Raven, I’m not that good with demands. And right now you are trespassing.”
“Raven… I like it.” She sniffed the air and then froze. “Why does it smell like-” Then her entire nude form stiffened as if recognizing a scent. “Him.” She hissed. “You gave it to him, didn’t you? I will floss my teeth with your guts for this, Temple.”
I stared back, lost. “Um, what?”
“Don’t lie to me!” She shrieked, chest heaving. She must have mistaken my confusion for concealment. “So be it. I will just have to see for myself if your last scream resembles that of your father.” The lights went out, and a menacing cackle erupted from the darkness.
My rage jumped at the unexpected mention of my father. What did she know?
Then all hell broke loose, and I quickly discovered that Karma is indeed a bitch.
Chapter 7
S everal of my glass-walled-dividers imploded as she let out a feral cry that was entirely inhuman. As the carnage began, I distantly wondered about her creepy horizontal pupils, what they might signify, and whom she thought I had given her book to. I also thought of my father’s last scream at her hands, and my magic responded, filling me like a pool of frigid water.
Gunnar beat me to the stairs, leaped into the air, and shifted.
That was the only way I could describe it, and even having seeing it happen a hundred times or more, it was still a breathtakingly beautiful thing to behold. His clothes exploded around him, and a huge, white-haired wolf with long ivory fangs and ice-blue eyes landed gracefully at the base of the stairs a story below; the remnants of most of his clothes raining down like confetti, having been unable to accommodate him mutating into his full werewolf form. But over his white haired rear-end was a pair of Underdog spandex underwear. I blinked in surprise, momentarily frozen. Underdog underwear?
Peter hung back, clutching a liquor bottle in a shaky fist. But whether to drink or throw, I didn’t know. Regardless, he was wise to hang back.
I did the opposite. I was directly behind Gunnar, tearing down the stairs three at a time, whipping up all sorts of nasty to dish out on this bitch. But all my power was invisible. No pretty shape-shifting for the wizard. No one could see all the beautiful raw energy surrounding me, dancing from my fingertips, awaiting my command like a one-man rave party. As I breathed in more power, my senses magnified. Smells contained tastes, my vision was sharper, able to pierce more of the darkness, and the tactile feedback of my fingers sliding down the mahogany stair rail was as euphoric as a lover’s lips brushing an earlobe. But no one could see a damn thing for all my hard work.
The world was unfair. Gunnar had a fucking outfit, and he still looked cool.
“Sic her, Gunnar!” I yelled as I threw pulsing blue lights into the air around her, hoping to confuse her or ruin her night vision. Then I let l
oose a hurtling streak of fire towards her beautiful rack, hoping to mar her perfect nudity.
Her face began to stretch, her tongue momentarily growing longer before a flicker of hesitation crossed her eyes and she became normal again. What the fuck? My fire struck the wall behind her, neatly slicing through a framed movie poster as she effortlessly sidestepped and unleashed a screaming yellow ball of her own fire at me. I ducked behind a divider, and the ball slammed straight through it, shards of wood and glass biting into my arms and neck. A particularly long sliver of glass sliced deep into my forearm, which instantly welled up with dark, thick blood. I grunted in pain as my whole forearm flushed with heat.
Oily fire rained down upon a table behind me, igniting a small stack of precariously balanced books. She was some flavor of shape-shifter, but with much more control than even Gunnar had. Freaky. And I still didn’t know what she had been about to shape-shift into. A demon of some kind by the looks of it. That wasn’t good. Demons were hardcore. But I didn’t have time to call for backup, despite the rules. If it was a demon, I would deal with it and apologize later.
From the shadows, Gunnar abruptly appeared in his Underdog undies, shattering through yet another glass divider to grab the woman by the throat. But his long ivory teeth snapped together with a loud empty clack as Raven dodged him and then used his momentum to throw him through yet another of my oh-so-expensive glass dividers. She grinned, slinging balls of slimy fire from her fingers after Gunnar, but he was already gone, melting back into the shadows of my store like a wraith. The fire slapped into a window, the glass spider webbing with cracks before finally shattering into the street.
I gathered my will and threw a battering ram of force straight at her smiling face. She leapt impossibly high into the air to dodge my attack, but the force caught her feet, sending her cartwheeling into the shadows with a groan of pain. I heard an immediate growl, the snapping of jaws, and then a sharp piercing whine as I saw Gunnar fly directly into the brick wall, the impact knocking a cloud of dust from the rafters high above. He struggled to his feet with another whine, shook his head, and then let out a piercing howl of rage that made my forearms pebble with gooseflesh.
Obsidian Son (The Temple Chronicles Book 1) Page 4
