Obsidian Son (The Temple Chronicles Book 1)

by Shayne Silvers

  Now he was pissed. Gunnar’s icy werewolf eyes latched onto mine and I took a reflexive step back, wondering if his head had been knocked loose enough to now see me as a threat. But he simply stared. I held up a finger, and motioned him to circle around the edge of the store. He slipped back into the shadows without any acknowledgement of my plan. I hoped he understood, because it would take both of us to take down this monster.

  Raven cackled again. “Is this all you’ve got? And I had heard so many tales of the legendary Temples. You’re putting up even less of a fight than your parents did.” My vision went red so suddenly that I almost froze, thinking she had cast a spell of some sort on me.

  But it was just rage, an emotion that I was very, very comfortable with.

  Again I wondered what she had to do with my parents. Was she lying just to goad me? I shook my head. It didn’t matter. Her blood was mine. She was close, just behind a bookshelf ahead. “It’s time to end this farce.” Her voice cut through the darkness.

  I calmly strolled around the bookshelf, coming face to face with the demon shifter. Her eyes glowed yellow in the flickering light behind me, her horizontal pupils momentarily halting my advance. She washed her hands together dramatically, more of the oily fire growing in her palms, the exact color as her irises. Then she grinned, teeth suddenly needle sharp, and threw her hands out at me. I slammed my will into the approaching scream of fire and it splattered into the clear shield of air, exploding into droplets of fire like paint on a glass wall. The heat instantly bled through the shield, lightly burning my fingertips. I rolled away as I dropped the shield, and watched as the fire fell to the ground of my shop, burning weakly. She stared at me on the ground and shook her head, disgusted, like one would at a peripatetic cockroach on a kitchen floor.

  Icy blue eyes trailed her every move from the shadows, but she didn’t notice. I watched, clutching my arm in real pain, fingers wet with blood, and tried to look terrified, beaten, as I struggled to crawl backwards. Her grin stretched wider as she took a single step closer, hands dripping more fire, but her fingers were now scaly yellow claws.

  Then my pet werewolf slammed into her with such force that her head snapped sideways, the breath flying out of her in a rush before he slammed her into a solid oak bookshelf.

  It didn’t even wobble, and her head struck the aged wood with a solid crack, her eyes briefly rolling back into her skull. I climbed to my feet as Gunnar clutched her throat between his finger-length canines, his eyes glancing at me. I brushed off my arms, and strolled closer, glancing around my store to assess the damage. Indie was going to be pissed in the morning when she came in for her shift. I sighed. At least we were alive. With a thought, I drew the cold moist air from outside and doused the remaining fires lest they destroy any more of my priceless books. I snapped a finger and lit the candles that were spread about the room, filling the space with a familiar glow.

  I tied up my forearm with a shred of cloth from Gunnar’s clothes lying nearby. At least I knew it wasn’t his underwear. Glancing out the window, I noticed a few people standing near the diner, pointing anxiously toward my store. One of them was gripping a phone to his ear.

  Great.

  Peter had reached the bottom of the stairs, but stayed there. As I said, Wise.

  Then I leveled Raven with very angry librarian eyes. Her ample breasts heaved in fury. I felt her attempt mind magic again, but I shut it down violently. She glared back.

  “You don’t stand a chance, wizard. You think you can kill me without catastrophic repercussions?”

  “I did ask you to leave. Nicely.” I grumbled.

  Peter piped up from the stairs, full of conviction. “Twice!”

  An odd look crossed her face, and she eagerly tried to peer past my shoulder, but Peter remained a safe distance away, out of her view. Maybe she was surprised to find a regular here with me. But there seemed something more to her look. Unsuccessful, she turned back to me. “You think you stand a chance against us when even your parents failed? My sisters will destroy you.” The words actually frightened me with their simplicity. She wasn’t trying to threaten. She honestly believed it. Gunnar’s eyes flicked back to look up at me, questioning, but not releasing pressure. What did any of this have to do with my parents? Before I could ask, she began to move. “None shall escape the eclipse!” She screeched.

  The woman’s hand became a web of yellow reptilian talons again, darting towards Gunnar’s furred throat. I prepared a blast of air to pin her arm down, but I heard a high keening wail like a mortar shell racing towards me from over my shoulder. I ducked, just missing the streaking projectile of ice that abruptly slammed into the woman’s chest. Frosty smoke trailed up around the top of a liquor bottle that was now wedged firmly between her breasts, leaving a frosty crater of icy gore. Her eyes glazed over instantly. I studied the wound for a few silent moments, looking for the swell of a breath between her magnificent breasts, making sure she was dead. My gaze was thorough.

  After a minute, I slowly turned. Peter was nervously washing his hands together. I didn’t say a word, stunned speechless by his display of magic. Peter began stammering. “I didn’t know if you guys saw it or not. She was going to slice his throat.” Gunnar had leapt back at the sound, barely missing the fatal swipe of Raven’s talons.

  Gunnar shifted back to his human form out of the corner of my eye, naked except for his Underdog undies. Imagine the actors in the movie 300, and you’ll understand my rage a bit better. I wasn’t jealous.

  I rounded on him. “Really?” I asked, gesturing energetically at his ensemble. “Do you have no dignity?” His face turned crimson.

  “I haven’t done laundry this week! Spandex is the only thing I’ve found that works on the fly without being shredded. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to run around naked looking for clothes after I shift? Besides, I think I look kinda cool.” He flexed proudly.

  I groaned, waving a hand dismissively as I turned back to Peter. “And you! How long have you been able to use magic? Why didn’t you tell me? All this time I thought you were just a regular!” I roared, my legendary wizard temper rising to the surface.

  He evaded my questions, backing up a step. “Look, there’s a dead woman… thing on your floor, damage everywhere, and I just saved Gunnar’s life. I can’t be here when the cops-” He hesitated with a shudder, looking forlornly at Gunnar as he realized a cop was already here. If an FBI werewolf counted as a cop. “I have to leave. If anyone finds out I was involved in this, I’m a dead man.” His words rang deeper than mere legal trouble. He sounded as if he meant his last statement literally. “I’ll lose my job. Our company can’t afford any involvement in,” he waved a hand, “Whatever this is.” His eyes widened for a moment. “I think I left my… phone upstairs.”

  “No-” I began, but too late. He was already padding up the stairs. I had seen him put his cell in his pocket before the attack. Gunnar and I shared a heavy look.

  Peter raced down the stairs after a few seconds and then aimed for the door, intending to go straight past us. “Peter…” I began, reaching out an arm to halt him, but he brushed me off.

  “I guess it was in my pocket the whole time.” He looked panicked, eyes darting around the room before he continued. “And you didn’t read my note about the book yet?”

  “I already told you I hadn’t.” I answered with a frown.

  “Oh, okay. Well, it’s on your desk. Whenever you get a chance.” He still looked nervous and confused. Shock, no doubt. “No time to chat, Nate. I’m gone.”

  “That whole ‘might is right’ conversation might be much more relevant now.”

  Gunnar chimed in. “Yes, and Dead men tell no tales. I am an FBI agent, Peter.” He hesitated, glancing from me to Peter curiously. “And whatever you did, you didn’t have to kill her. Murder is kind of a big deal.”

  He threw up his hands, exasperated. “But she wasn’t even human!”

  “Point for Peter
.” I said. “But still, magic is nothing to play around with. You need training. And, damn it, I am a trainer!” I added, hurt.

  He fingered his bracelet as if seeking comfort from it. “It’s pretty new to me too. I promise we’ll talk. But not tonight.” He forcedly shoved past us and out the door.

  Gunnar and I stared at each other for a moment, and then down to the nude woman. Sirens wailed in the distance, coming closer. “This doesn’t look good at all. What do you want to do about it?” He waved a hand at our feet.

  “I’m not sure. You think Clorox will clean up the blood? Or will it ruin the lacquer finish on the wood?” I asked, clueless. I am a bachelor, after all. I paid people to clean. It was beneath me. Like it is for bachelors around the world.

  Gunnar furrowed a brow. “No, idiot. The body.”

  I blinked. “Oh. That’s nothing.” I strode to the satchel that I had hung at the door earlier in the day, and withdrew two silver pennies from a crown royal bag tucked inside. I knelt down and placed them over her eyes, but not before thumbing back the eyelids to catch another glance at her odd horizontal pupils. “Huh.” Gunnar made a similar noise behind me. What I was about to do wasn’t exactly necessary, but I tried to do it whenever I got the chance. Last respects. I stepped back with a whispered, “Requiescat in pace.” A low horn wailed, somehow far away yet also near. I felt it like bass in my chest. The body disintegrated into a yellow pile of ash before our eyes, and a ghostly hooded figure on a boat coalesced behind it, sweeping the pile out the door with a misty paddle as he glided past us. I looked up at Gunnar. His eyes were wide with shock.

  “I thought he was just a myth!”

  The boatman glanced back, nodding once before vanishing. I waved amicably. “The Boatman of the River Styx is as real as any other fable you’ve encountered. Chiron helps guide the dead to their final resting place. You just don’t see many people making his job any easier. I try to make friends wherever I can.” Gunnar just shook his head. “You off the clock, or on?” I asked, staring him in the eyes.

  He didn’t answer for a long while, weighing his options. “Off.” He said finally. “But if this becomes relevant, I’ll have to put the badge back on.” I nodded in answer, thankful. “Got any spare clothes for me?” I nodded, flipping my head towards the loft above. Gunnar darted away, looking like a freaking idiot in his stupid underwear. I grabbed a dustpan and broom, cleaning up the broken glass and burned books as questions raced through my head. My forearm ached, but it could wait.

  I wondered what was so important about her book request, and why she had been so damn impatient to get it. The denizens of the magical world knew my reputation, knew I could find things for the right price, so why had she been so impolite about it? She had acted as if I was the thief; selling it to some unknown person she apparently held a grudge against. And she had mentioned my father.

  Gunnar appeared as I was dumping the dustpan into the trash behind the coffee bar. I was muttering to myself as he slowly approached. Wizards were known for their tempers, and Gunnar had seen some of my most flamboyant. Not wanting a repeat, he waited. Again, I surround myself with wise friends. That thought brought me back to Peter, and a question I didn’t want to think about on top of everything else. How?

  I glared at him. “Four — fucking — thousand — dollars. Each!” I bellowed, brandishing my broom like a sword at the destroyed dividers. Gunnar expertly leapt back with an amused grin.

  “You’re good for it.” He mumbled.

  I scowled back. “Not the point. And you know it. What the hell just happened?”

  Gunnar grew serious. “Honestly, I have no idea. Have you pissed anyone off lately?” My glare answered his question. “I mean, besides the Minotaur.” He paused. “Or the police.” He sighed. “Anyone more than usual?”

  I thought, and thought hard, before answering. “No.” I paused. “But she did say that you might know what was going on.”

  Gunnar’s eyes instantly grew guarded. “Possibly. I’ll look into it, and let you know in the morning when I pick you up for the… funeral.” My shoulders sagged.

  “My life sucks huge wang.” I complained. Gunnar nodded sagely.

  “Pick you up at noon?” He asked softly.

  It was already three in the morning. “Whatever.”

  “Can you handle the cops? Just tell them it was a… burglar or something.”

  “Or something…” I replied testily.

  I heard one last thing before I turned away. “Does your mind really store all that stuff you read, or did you just happen to read Poe lately?”

  I didn’t answer. My thoughts drifted away from my friend, lost in the unpracticed task of cleaning up the place. I barely noticed him leave, or the bogus answers I gave the cops, but soon all was silent, and I was back upstairs overlooking my wrecked shop, sipping a new glass of fiery absinthe. I spun the coin the Minotaur had given me earlier around a finger, thoughts questing for answers to the night’s events. A gift from Hermes. I hadn’t actually ever met any of the ‘gods’ before.

  I grunted, pensive. But at least there were some positives. I now had three books to find — one for Raven & Associates, one for Peter, and one for my mysterious client — and one of those was already found, as long as I could beat the Minotaur in our duel. But I didn’t want to think about the duel tonight.

  I wondered what kind of shape-shifter Raven had been. I was almost positive she hadn’t been a demon. As if sensing the risk, she had chosen not to reveal her true form. She had to have a reason. My thoughts grew darker as I watched the snowflakes continue to fall outside the shop’s windows, as numerous as the questions drifting through my mind.

  “Quoth the raven, nevermore.” I mumbled, downing the last of my drink as I began to scribble out a note for Indie to read in the morning — a list of laborers to call for the expensive repairs to my shop, and a vague explanation of how it had happened.

  Chapter 8

  A t least it’s consistent.” I offered.

  “Shut up, Nate.” Gunnar slammed down the hood of his car. Licorice smelling smoke clouded up from the engine block, filling the air with a sickly-sweet aromatic fog. “If you hadn’t made me drive out to that god-forsaken field to pick up your car, we might have made it to the cemetery in one piece.” His shoulders sagged. “Tow truck will be here in a few hours. We can call a cab.”

  “Let’s just walk. It’s not far. I could use the fresh air.” I waved away a particularly heavy tendril of smoke creeping towards us. Gunnar nodded, following my lead. I immediately looked around a bit, acting conspicuously nervous.

  “What?” Gunnar asked, tensing.

  “Isn’t there a leash law in St. Louis?” Murder shone in Gunnar’s eyes. “Never mind.” I smirked and continued on. He had been up all night, researching leads, seeing if it related to whatever Raven had been talking about. Apparently, several bookstore owners in town — and even across the river in Illinois — had been targeted over the last few days, some surviving, but most not. Gunnar hadn’t elaborated on details yet. But I definitely wasn’t the first bookstore owner to be visited by her.

  “Why are you so annoying this afternoon?”

  I grinned. “Have you ever had Cuban colada?”

  “Cuban… Is that some kind of drug?” He threw up his arms in exasperation. “Damn it, Nate. I’m an FBI Agent!”

  “Down, boy. It’s not a drug, but it probably should be. It’s Cuban coffee. A form of espresso laced with sugar. Liquid Nirvana.” I quoted my friend from Miami. “Nunca comience un día duro sin una taza de colada. Never start a tough day without a cup of colada.”

  Gunnar squinted, eyes bloodshot. “Where can I get some?” Whipping out a flask from my pressed suit coat, I passed it over. “You had some the whole time?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re a real asshole sometimes, Nate. Capital A.” I grinned. Gunnar’s nerves steadied after a few sips. “This is really good.” I held out
a hand for him to pass it back. Instead, he slipped it into his own suit pocket. “You should probably get a flask like mine so you can carry it around when on the go.” He patted the flask.

  “You should probably get a new car, like mine.” I answered dryly.

  His smile instantly turned stony. “Capital A.”

  After several minutes of silence we entered the infamous Bellefontaine Cemetery — the final resting place for both my parents, and also my every ancestor who had come stateside since the 1700’s. The cemetery had been founded in 1849, and we had had all of our pre-1849 ancestors transferred here from their previous graves shortly after. William Clark — from the famous Lois and Clarke expedition — and even Mark Twain were buried here. Only the best for the Temple clan.

  Before I had a chance to admire the beauty of the Bellefontaine grounds, we were assaulted. Camera flashes nearly blinded us. A red carpet had even been rolled out over the blanket of fresh snow, looking like a bloody smear. We were momentarily descended upon, shoved bodily by a gaggle of reporters, all shouting to be heard over one another. “Master Temple, is it true that you’re taking over Temple Industries?” One voice shouted. I wanted to burn the ground to ash, but instead, I chose civility.

  Kind of.

  I glared at a film crew standing nearby, staring down my audience of likely a few million viewers. “Greetings, carrion. Where there is a carcass, there will always be vultures. I hope you are all having a splendid feast on the decaying remains of two of the greatest minds St. Louis has ever known. Now, if you would be so kind… step. The fuck. Back.” Cameras and microphones lowered. The ashen-faced cameraman looked pale as his boss ordered him to cut the feed. I took a few steps before turning back to them. “Oh, and have a nice day.” Then I was off again, feeling marginally better.