Obsidian Son (The Temple Chronicles Book 1)

by Shayne Silvers

  I pulled up in front of the FBI building and he opened the door. “My team should be finished with the bookstore in a short while, so I’ll let you know what we found out later. See you soon, Temple. And watch your ass.” The tail continued on past me. I was simply reading too much into things.

  “That’s what I have you for, sweetie.” I winked. He shook his head and slammed the door with more force than was necessary. I continued on, still on schedule to meet Miss Belmont at Chateau Falco.

  Chapter 13

  I waited outside the gated fortress of Chateau Falco. A tall, thick, brick and rebar-enforced wall surrounded the grounds, and an arcane Damascus steel forged gate impeded my path. A life-sized nude statue stood atop the wall to either side of the gate — a man and a woman armed for battle. It had been rumored that the cremated remains of our first ancestors to settle here had been used for the mortar. Before I could beep in on the intercom, a familiar voice emanated from the speaker. “Greetings, Master Temple. Your fortress awaits. Lowering the bridge now.” The gate began to slowly swing inward.

  “We live in the 21st century, Dean. People don’t have bridges. They have gates.”

  He ignored me. “Bridge lowered, Master Temple. You can safely cross the moat now.” Then he signed off. I sighed, shifting into gear and driving up the mile long cobbled drive, passing lush gardens on either side of me. Well, lush for this time of year anyway.

  After a few minutes of driving — Dean, the Temple family’s Chief of Security and Butler, didn’t appreciate speeding, and was known to let the air out of the tires if one disobeyed, even if said one was now the current Master Temple — I pulled into the wide circular drive leading up to the courtyard, parked, and left the keys inside. I didn’t see any other cars, and wondered why for a moment, but then recognized Dean’s skilled hand as I spotted tire tracks leading to a large remodeled stable. He had already parked the guest’s — whomever they may be — cars in the stable in case of more snow or rain. Chances were that the cars were also being detailed by one of the family employees while inside. I shook my head wearily. I didn’t belong in this type of atmosphere, which is why I had left several years ago.

  The fountain in the center of the drive was off this time of year, but the stonework statues in the center were still spectacular. I leaned back, taking in the looming four-story structure before me. Built over two hundred years ago, each generation had added onto it, but none dared stray from the original colonial design. The old pile now stretched close to 17,000 square feet, containing two wings, two large libraries, twenty bedrooms, three kitchens, a theater room, a glass greenhouse attached to the side, and even a mediocre observatory.

  I sighed, fingering the quickly made leather thong that now held the red dragon’s tooth around my neck. It was so sharp that it scratched my chest a bit, but it was a badge of honor in my eyes. A warning. I walked up to the massive front door with the Temple Coat of Arms emblazoned in the wood. A pinprick light studied me from a corner in the sheltered Porte-Cochère, blinking red with a motion detector. Beside it, a screen came to life to reveal Dean studying me critically. “Ah, Master Temple, please come in. Follow the guiding lights to come entertain your guests in the Master Study. All are here, as the Master has requested.” I sighed, having requested no such thing. It was as I had feared. Whether I wanted it or not, I was the new Master Temple, and not just in name. The family reputation was like royalty, inescapable. I began to take a step. “Ah, ah, ah. Please remove your shoes, Master Temple.” Then he signed off. Dean remotely unlocked the door before me, and I stepped into the dim house, a nostalgic grin on my face. Even after years of hiding from this place, it seemed we picked up right where we had left off.

  It was comforting.

  And disturbing.

  I kicked off my shoes, and finding no others nearby, I placed mine just inside the door, and followed the trail of dim LED lighting embedded into the marble floors, escorted by the technology of the house as it led me down one hallway, and then another, and on, and on, wondering all the while who else might be here waiting to speak with me. Trudging on, I decided that my parents should have bought an electric golf cart for inside the house. Since it was now mine, perhaps I would act on the idea. I passed rooms of cabinets filled with odd bits and end’s from archaeological digs, or acquired through auctions or inheritance from past family members.

  The rooms I passed held a timeless quality even amidst cutting edge technology. But I didn’t let my guard down. The beauty of the house was one of its many defenses. A sleight of hand. If one looked close enough, one would notice that some of the paintings always managed to be staring at the people in the room, no matter where they were positioned. And I’m not talking about the paranoia one gets when they feel like the pictures are watching them. I mean that they might literally be watching you. I shivered, moving on.

  Despite the chill outside, the floors held thermal controlled piping beneath the marble tile, heating the stone to a comfortable temperature underneath my socks. It’s nice what money can buy.

  Reaching a large stairway, I ascended, following the lights and continuing on for another few minutes until I reached my father’s old study. I hadn’t needed the lights to guide me, but it was a nice comfort, as well as an intimidating show of power for my guests. I took a deep breath before opening the door and stepping inside. The pleasant, aromatic whiff of frequent cigar smoke hit me first, and then the heart-wrenching memory of seeing my father behind the now-empty desk at the end of the room, smoking his precious Gurkha Black Dragon cigars.

  One of his five hand-carved, camel-bone chests sat on a corner of his massive desk. Each chest of a hundred cigars set my father back $115,000. Half-a-million dollars to kill yourself, slowly. Hypocrite, I may be, but at least I wasn’t as reckless about the cost. A thick glass window covered the entire back wall, but this night it was basked in the soothing glow of many antique lamps.

  I immediately studied the people in the room, uncharacteristically wary after my recent adventures. Ashley Belmont stood to one side, speaking to an older gentleman who had his back to me. She smiled over his shoulder at me. I waved back. “Miss Belmont. A pleasure.” Her smile grew warmer.

  The man beside her turned, smiling knowingly at me. “Nasty bit o’ news about the courthouse this evening. One should be careful when dealing with dangers that might be attracted to blood in the water. But of course, ye know this already, laddie.” Mallory grinned, striding over and pumping my hand enthusiastically.

  “How did you…” I began, and then slapped my forehead. “You were the one tailing me. But why?” I was genuinely perplexed.

  He discreetly pointed a thumb at a long barreled spear gun leaning against the wall, but flicked his eyes over his shoulder, reminding me of Miss Belmont’s presence. “Just making sure the Master Temple is safe. Did ye think I was only a janitor?” His grin was infectious. Reassessing the older man, I realized that he was rather stout, with thick, heavy forearms. Coarse, iron-grey hair covered his skin and knuckles, reminding me of an old school sailor. An old man for a guardian, I grunted. But he had most likely saved my life tonight. Having seen my magic slide off of him at the mausoleum, I deduced that he was most definitely dangerous. Which is a good quality for a guardian.

  “Well, thanks, I guess. You could have just told me though.”

  “Not nearly so much fun.” He answered. “But I do believe that be a discussion for another night, over a glass of scotch. You have business this night, Master Temple.” He pointed a finger across the room, indicating a sharply dressed man standing beside Dean, Chateau Falco’s Butler.

  I walked over with a familiar grin, and bumped knuckles with Dean as he extended his hand for a professional handshake. He had served as our Chief of Security since I was a child, but vehemently denied all titles except Butler. He came from a very different time, when the term Butler was a highly respected profession. Dedication, Loyalty, Honor, and Prestige were his lifeblood. “
Pleased to see you again, Master Temple.” He was about chest height, and his eyes seemed to shine like Caribbean ocean water surrounding the black island of his pupils. “Bad hygiene is not indicative of a respected gentleman, especially the last heir of the renowned Temple’s. Do not disrespect yourself like this again.” I grinned back, shrugging. If I wasn’t wearing a suit, I was slumming it in his eyes.

  “I showered last night, Dean.” I argued.

  “Then perhaps the finer points of how to properly groom oneself need to be relearned after years of bachelor-hood.” He droned, respectfully, of course.

  I grinned even further. “I know just the women to teach me. Thank you for the reminder, Dean. I will practice studiously with them. Several times, to make sure I learn it correctly.” Ashley made an embarrassed sound behind me.

  Dean blushed. “Incorrigible. Completely incorrigible.”

  I smiled, patting his arm affectionately. He was family. I studied the last sharply dressed man out the corner of my eye. Would we dance this night? He waited patiently, fighting the urge not to introduce himself and rudely interrupt my reunion with Dean. Years of training came back to me in the blink of an eye, the training of the European Courts; the cloak and dagger dance of smiles and knives, where winks could mean assassinations, and glares could mean life-long alliances; the dance that had been ingrained into each and every Temple child. I turned to him after a heavy silence, face utterly blank, letting him know that this was my home, and he was here by my choice, not the other way around. Seeing my obvious attention, he broke first, as was proper. “Greetings, Master Temple. My name is Turner Locke.”

  I nodded at him. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Locke. Be welcome in my home.” Dean glided closer to the wall, blending in like a piece of furniture, trying not to disturb the Master and his guests, but ready to serve in any capacity I required at the drop of a hat. I studied Mr. Locke. “What firm do you represent?”

  He blinked in surprise. “None, Master Temple. I worked exclusively for your father after our first interaction.”

  “Then you must be a very adequate lawyer, Mr. Locke. My father wasn’t easily impressed.”

  He nodded humbly in answer. “May I ask how you knew my profession?”

  “What other profession would deem to speak with me so urgently after my parents’ deaths?” I smiled coldly. “Now, what is the purpose of this mysterious meeting I unknowingly called everyone to attend? I abhor unknowns, yet here I find myself wading in a plethora of them.” My tone filled the room. Smiles lowered, and Mr. Locke gestured toward a semicircle of chairs before the desk. “If you could please take a seat, Master Temple, I have pledged to share your parents Last Will and Testament.”

  I inwardly groaned. On top of the funeral, this was the nail in the coffin, so to speak. It was so real now. They were dead. I was alone. I mustered my resolve so no one would see my weakness. They each began to take a seat, and I paused, realizing there were not enough chairs. I began walking to the side of the room to pull up another, but Dean hissed for my ears only. “Master Temple. Do not abase yourself so!” He flicked a discreet finger at my father’s chair behind the desk. I opened my mouth to object, and Dean revealed a serrated blade in his deft fingers. “Tires,” was all he said. No one else had noticed. I smiled and nodded, approaching the chair behind the desk with trepidation and an overwhelming sense of foolishness, like a nine-year-old child putting on his father’s shoes. Slowly, I descended into the worn leather, waiting for someone to declare me an imposter. I fought to keep my face blank.

  The three seated before me grew tense, watching me as if a rabid lion had been let loose in the room. Dean oozed approval as he glided up a few paces behind me, in full view of the three subjects before his Master Temple. Jesus, I didn’t belong here, regardless of what Dean thought. I tried to sound like my father. “Would anyone care for refreshments?” Each of their eyes cautiously settled on the drinks already sitting on coasters before them, but they didn’t speak. “Ah, of course. Thank you, Dean.”

  My butler nodded as he set a perfectly weighted glass of scotch in front of me. I leaned back, taking a pleasurable sip, having no fucking clue what I was supposed to be doing. I could dance with the best of them when I knew the game, but my father’s game made me look a fool. I felt as if I should know a different language for this. I decided to stop pretending. I didn’t want to live in my father’s shadow. I would simply be myself.

  “Well, since I am the only one in the dark here, why don’t we just cut straight to the point? You obviously want my permission to do something, or you are expecting me to tell you that I will pick up right where my parents left off. Well, I can quickly dissuade you of any false assumptions. I will not be taking over the company, and you will not use me as a phony symbol of the company to increase shareholder value. I am not my father. I am sure that Miss Belmont is fully capable of running Temple Industries, or she wouldn’t have been promoted to her position. By all means, please finish your drinks in peace, and Dean will escort you out as soon as you are ready.” I took a sip of my drink, and leaned forward, baring my teeth in a smile.

  A heavy silence blanketed the room. Dean sighed disapprovingly, but I ignored all of it. Mr. Locke spoke up first. “If I may be so bold…” I waved a hand, setting my glass down for fear of shattering it in my clenching fist. “You remind me very much of your father, more so than you might believe. Please understand that what I am about to say comes word-for-word from your parents’ lips. I have it written and notarized if you would prefer?” I didn’t blink, burning him with my eyes, and very seriously contemplating a dangerous display of magic to quickly evacuate my guests. But remembering that Mallory was here, I chose against the latter, unsure if he would simply make me look like a pouting child.

  “Proceed.” I said.

  He withdrew a closed envelope from his briefcase, broke the rather impressive seal on the outside, and handed a small letter from inside to each person in the room, including Dean. As he handed me mine, I unleashed a thought and it burned to ashes in my hand. “Not interested.” I said coldly. Ashley inhaled sharply, leaning away as if I might bite. Mallory watched me with disapproving eyes, discreetly shaking his head.

  Mr. Locke didn’t even hesitate, reaching back into his bag to withdraw another letter. “How many copies do you have?” I growled.

  He looked embarrassed. “Your father warned me of your… disdain for authority. I have brought enough copies to be sure that you read one in its entirety.” I sighed in defeat, nodding for him to read it aloud. He held it firmly, his hand quivering slightly as he began to read:

  Nathin Laurent Temple,

  Please do not do anything rash, my Son. I have asked my good friend, Turner Locke, to read this aloud, as I am unsure of it’s safety in your hands at this emotional juncture. Mr. Locke has several copies in case this one happens to be destroyed prior to complete evocation.

  Typical of my father.

  Two items of importance must be discussed. I wish you to assume control of Chateau Falco, as we both know it cannot and must not fall into Regular hands. It is a legacy of our family, and must be preserved. Everything on the grounds has already been transferred to your name, and whether you sign the deed or not, measures have been taken, bribes paid, to see that my wish comes to fruition regardless of your wishes.

  Mr. Locke has three rather small gifts to bestow upon you at this time.

  Mr. Locke reached inside the envelope, and produced three small, plastic credit cards, each a different color. He handed them over to me. On the back of each was a post-it-note with a number… followed by much too many zeroes. Small gifts, but oh so big at the same time. My eyes grew large, but Mr. Locke continued.

  The numbers are approximations, as you fully comprehend compounding interest.

  Second point. If you do not assume ownership of Temple Industries, it will be sold, along with all of its patents, to a dozen competitors in China. This will creat
e a massive job vacuum in the city of St. Louis, our founding heritage town, and a rather unhappy reaction from the Mayor, Senators, and Representatives. A letter has also been sent to the President of the United States, warning of this possibility. You will most likely be shunned by the entire city you live in, and Plato’s Cave will no doubt drown in the bad publicity.

  I regret informing you of my decision like this, but your mother and I wanted you to chase your own dreams while able. Temple Industries is much too vast to leave out of the family’s control. It must pass on with you. We respect and applaud your decision not to join the company sooner, having time to pursue your own business with Plato’s Cave. We couldn’t be more proud of you, Nathin. You are the apple of our garden, and we hope you will always remember that. Try and bring your unique light to your new company.

  Know that Chateau Falco was like a child to us all, witnessing many family secrets and stories never before uttered aloud. All one must do is listen to discover those secrets…

  With all the love in the world,

  Your Mother and Father.

  Always the last word. Turner handed me the letter. A drop of blood stood below each name, and an elegant signature flourished beneath each name. My eyes watered and my shoulders sagged. My voice was dry. He was right. Damn it. “Very well. I humbly stand corrected. This is much bigger than myself. I accept.” The tension in the room evaporated. Ashley’s shoulders sagged with relief, but I couldn’t fathom why. I feared that I was about to drive Temple Industries in a new direction all right, and faster than anyone thought possible. Straight into the ground. I didn’t know a damn thing about such a large company. I was just a bookstore owner. I was way out of my league. I turned to Ashley. “I expect you to maintain your position, doing what you already know how to do. I will help in any way I can, but you must understand that I am really not equipped to wing this kind of thing.”