Obsidian Son (The Temple Chronicles Book 1)

by Shayne Silvers

  “I was too busy buying you this Aston Martin. Want to guess how much it costs?”

  “I’d rather not. Then I might feel like I’m indebted to you.”

  “Oh, you are indebted to me for this.” I showed him my teeth. “Besides, I have so much going on right now that it kind of slipped my mind. I have to keep my participation in this out of the media. A request from my lawyer. And now the cops will be sniffing around my every move after the break-in.” Gunnar nodded, looking pissed.

  “And there’s all this other stuff to focus on. I mean, Peter, a closet wizard, asks me to get him some bullshit book for a client, a dragon attacks me at my shop, then I go to my parents funeral and receive a message from beyond the grave by a creepy old man, wizard, bodyguard, and then I was attacked again. And apparently, some Spiderman-wannabe has gone rogue, teaming up with these dragons, or dragon hunters.” Another thought came to mind and I groaned. “And tonight, I’m supposed to duel with the Minotaur in some shit-infested field over a dumb book about-” My mouth went dry as I recognized the connection. Everything had happened so fast that I hadn’t even thought about it. “Dragons…” I finished.

  Gunnar gazed at me askance, making sure I was all right. “Huh. That’s the kind of thing that we in the Bureau call a clue.” He turned left at the light and continued on, the Aston Martin purring as he downshifted. “Still no idea who this client is? Or what he is?” I shook my head. “Seems pretty sketchy that he wants a book about dragons that is dangerous enough to warrant risking your life for, right around the time that a group of dragons is also seeking a book. One that they say belongs to them. One that they’re willing to kill for. Then a group of dragon hunters arrive, saying they are hunting a rogue dragon.” He was quiet for a moment. “How much is this book worth?”

  “Fifty-thousand-dollars.”

  Gunnar swerved the car a bit, stripping a gear in the process. “I need a new job.”

  “You can fight the Minotaur if you want.” I smirked.

  He considered that for a moment. “I think I could take him.”

  My eyes widened, and then I began to laugh, deep belly laughs. It felt so good after all the drama. “You? Take the Minotaur? An immortal monster? Do you have any idea how many innocents have died by his hand? Theseus was the only one to ever defeat him, and he was lucky, having help from the goddess Ariadne with her ball of thread to help him navigate the Labyrinth.”

  Gunnar was quiet for a time. “I’m guessing a ball of thread won’t help us, right?”

  I smiled. “No. No it won’t. But then again, he’s Buddhist now, so maybe we’ll just have a nice political debate or something.”

  “Probably not, Nate.”

  “Yeah. Probably not.” I had no idea how I was going to fight the Minotaur. I had magic out the Wahoo, but Asterion knew that, and was probably ready for it. I was just going to have to wing it. This book could give me answers about my parents, or the kid might know something. Either way, I had to win. That settled, I took several deep meditative breaths, trying to banish my anxiety. The sound of Gunnar’s scanner going off with a squawk almost made me jump out of my skin. “I think I just peed a little.” I said, glancing down at the seat.

  Gunnar shook his head. “Gross.” He fiddled with the radio, hit a button, and then spoke into the mike. “Agent Randulf, here.” Gunnar’s boss answered, voice garbled.

  “Looks like you got another one just over the river. Owner found dead this morning after the neighbors heard a loud ruckus last night.” Gunnar sighed wearily, and asked for the address. Reinhardt gave the store name, and forwarded the address to Gunnar’s GPS unit. It blinked at us a few second’s later, instantly blaring directions at us in a feminine English accent. Neat.

  “Alright. I can get there…” he smiled at me. “Pretty fast.” He down shifted the car with a metal click, and the engine tried to tear free from the frame as we launched around an old blue-hair driving in front of us. Agent Reinhardt signed off with some jumbled response that couldn’t be heard over the engine.

  “It’s just over the river,” I noted, watching the GPS. “In Illinois.”

  Gunnar’s teeth showed through the smile. “Which is what the FBI calls jurisdiction. This is the second attack across state lines, confirming our authority. We can kick the local police out easily this time.” He looked over at me. “Which is a good thing, considering Kosage’s hard-on for busting you. I wonder what you did to piss him off so much…” He trailed off curiously.

  I chuckled. “I spilled his coffee in the interrogation room.”

  Gunnar rolled his eyes. “I’m sure that was it.” I leaned back in the seat, enjoying the G-force pull of the car as Gunnar broke every speed limit sign we passed. Street signs blurred past, then Interstate signs, and then I was staring out at the Mississippi river as the rails of the bridge whizzed past me.

  My phone rang in my pocket. I plucked it out, glancing at the screen. Peter. “Just the man I wanted to talk to.” I answered, reproachfully. Gunnar scowled silently.

  “Yeah, listen. We should probably talk. You free now? I wanted to talk to you about that book.” The line was quiet for a moment. “I think I wrote down the wrong title.”

  “No time now, I’m running errands with my new chauffeur.” Gunnar’s knuckles cracked on the steering wheel in disapproval.

  “Oh. Well, where are you? Maybe I could meet you?”

  I glanced out the window. “Not likely. Heading into Illinois to talk to someone near the warehouses just over the Eads Bridge.”

  There was a silence on the phone. “Okay. How about tonight? At the Cave?”

  “Sure,” I glanced at my watch, thinking of my schedule with Asterion, and then if I survived, the book exchange with my client. I also wanted to swing by the Expo Center to see if anything seemed off at the eclipse convention that was starting tonight, like maybe a group of dragons murdering the attendees. Maybe I could squeeze Peter between everything. If I wasn’t dead. “How about around nine? I might be a few minutes late.”

  Peter answered quickly. “Sure, sure. Just leave the security down so I can wait inside. It will be cold outside tonight.”

  “You know, seeing as how I know magic, I seem to recall a way for the cold not to bother you. Just a simple spell for a wizard to teach another wizard. Might be something that, if I were just learning how to use magic, I would have sought out another wizard to teach me.” I growled.

  “I know, I know. We have a lot to discuss. My client is really pestering me about this stupid book. He’ll pay whatever you wish.” He added the last quickly. He didn’t realize that money was no longer a motivator for me. Looking at the sticky notes attached to the cards I had been given had surprised even me. That many zeroes made things confusing.

  I hesitated before speaking the truth. “What’s the new title? I have to know that if you want me to help you. And how much is it worth?” I asked curiously. Having studied his note yesterday, I had soon found that I already owned a copy of the unremarkable book at Plato’s Cave. It was even in my personal collection in the loft, not downstairs in the shop. But now he had fudged the title. Nothing is ever easy.

  He paused, speaking into the background. “High five-figures.” I repeated his answer aloud. In the span of a week, I could make six-figures by selling two books. Gunnar grunted in disbelief, shaking his head. “I’ll tell you the title tonight.”

  “Ookay. You realize I can’t find something if I don’t know what it’s called, right?” Peter sighed on the other end. “And I am doing no more favors until we have a nice long chat about your new ice cube making ability.” I added.

  I could feel Peter tense on the other end. “Okay, okay. See you then.”

  I hung up. We drove on in silence, Gunnar glancing at me now and then, but saying nothing. So far, I had accounted for two of the three books that had been requested of me. Now, just one, thanks to Peter’s inability to write down the correct title of the book his clie
nt wanted. It should be simple enough to find though. If it was in any way similar to the original request. The important one was the odd book the Raven lady had asked me about, Sons of the Dying Son. I pondered several possible sources, my mind distant from the sounds of traffic fleeing the British sports car. But it would have to wait until after my duel.

  “Is that the first time you have talked to Peter since…?” He waved a hand at the air, implying the attack two nights ago. I nodded. “What do you think it means?” He asked carefully. “Wouldn’t you have known a long time ago if he had…” he searched for a word, “the ability?”

  I looked over at him, thinking. “Perhaps.” I turned back to the window, feeling his eyes on me. “But perhaps not. It’s not exactly a science. Some come into it early, with training and foreknowledge, like me. With others, it might take a traumatic experience for it to manifest.” I was silent for a minute, thinking hard for an explanation. “Have you heard those stories about mothers who were suddenly able to lift a car from their child’s trapped body? Or those who survive an un-survivable accident, and have no idea why? Most often, those are people like Peter apparently is. It hits them all of a sudden, and they don’t quite understand it. Then they normally hide from it, unable to explain what they remember lest they sound like an insane person.”

  Gunnar stared hard through the windshield, cutting off a motorcycle with a sharp swerve. “But Peter didn’t seem too surprised by his reaction.”

  “No.” I said softly, growing angry. “No, he didn’t. Which either means that he already knew or that he’s much more cool-headed than we thought. Since being around us his whole life, maybe it was an awakening for him. He had wanted it for so long, and then, suddenly, there it was. He was no longer the outcast. He was just like us. Maybe his joy overrode his shock.”

  Gunnar spoke as we exited the highway into a seedy warehouse district just off the bridge. “It seemed more like the former to me. Cool-headed doesn’t sound like Peter.” I nodded, fury barely contained. “But then why didn’t he come to you? I mean, you are one scary, talented wizard, and he never told you.” His words trailed off as he waited for me to speak. I remained silent, anticipating our talk tonight. I would get my answers then.

  Gunnar drove through a warren of dilapidated warehouses, glancing at the GPS every few seconds for our turnoff. A large truck pulled out in front of us, laden with construction debris, and a smeared sign that read ‘Not responsible for falling debris.’ Gunnar was glancing down when the back of the truck suddenly flew open. I yelled and Gunnar slammed on the brakes by reflex, then he saw the contents, and we both hesitated.

  Stone gargoyles filled the back of the truck, but it continued moving down the street, blocking us from passing him. The driver must not have realized that the door came loose. Gunnar swerved to the side, trying to get the driver’s attention in his side mirror. The driver apparently remained aloof to our honking, because Gunnar cursed and pulled back behind the truck, resigned to follow behind him until our turn.

  We were still going the speed limit when I thought I saw one of the gargoyle statues move.

  Chapter 18

  I leaned forward, holding my breath as I studied the huddle of lifeless gargoyles staring at us from the back of the truck. They were all demonic gargoyles of some kind, but were each subtly different. Some had wings, and some bore weapons, or massive claws. But none moved.

  As I began to relax, one of them blinked, turning its hideous head to stare straight into my eyes amidst a puff of dust and crumbling gravel that cascaded down its torso. “No fucking way,” I whispered, my forearms pebbling.

  Gunnar looked over at me. “We’ll pass this schmuck in a minute or so, and then we can get on to the crime scene.” He said, attempting to sooth my impatience.

  I shook my head and pointed. “The gargoyles. They’re alive.”

  One of the gargoyle statues snapped out its wings, and Gunnar jolted as if he had been tazered. “What the hell?” He exclaimed, slowing down. The gargoyle shook out its wings. Then it turned to look directly at us, curious. Gunnar went still. “Nate…?”

  “I know, I know! I’m thinking!” I argued, keeping my eyes on the waking statues. It looked like someone had raided the wrong house, getting more than they bargained for. These statues weren’t planning on staying in the garden for the owner’s pleasure. I tried to recall everything I knew about gargoyles. I remembered that they could wake, but only for short bursts, turning back and forth from life to stone for mere seconds at a time, but only if they were strong. Really strong. Which explained the stories about people waking up the next morning and swearing that their statues were in a different spot than the night before. And it usually had to be night for them to have the kind of power needed to do so. Or if something traumatic had happened to them. Like suddenly being moved from their home. Shit. My hopes were that these statues would look around a bit, and then turn back to stone. Content. Not angry and vengeful. Yeah right.

  “Just stay calm. Don’t do anything to startle them. Don’t slow down, and don’t speed up. Since we’re staying the same distance away from them, they might just fall back asleep.”

  Gunnar nodded slowly, turning only his eyes to me. “Okay. You’re taking this pretty calm, Nate. Has this kind of thing happened to you a time or two?”

  I nodded calmly. “At Notre Dame. But that was at night when they are known to have enough power to wake. I’ve never seen one come to life in daylight. It’s kind of against the rules. Things can be believed at night, explained away as just a trick of the dark. Day time makes it all too obvious, and us freaks need our secrecy.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir. But how are they awake now then?”

  I explained my theory about a traumatic shift in their home, but even I wasn’t so sure. These gargoyles hadn’t fallen back asleep yet, and a couple more woke up while we were talking, flexing long-unused muscles. “What are the odds of this many bad things coincidentally happening to you in such a short span of time?” He asked.

  “Not high.” Another statue woke in a crack of stone and dust. They began looking at each other curiously, silent conversations traveling between their eyes as if asking so, now what? Several of them began to smile as if they had an idea. “Technically, a wizard could raise them, but he would either have to be close, very powerful, or have some kind of tie to these specific statues. I haven’t heard of any wizards on this side of the river, but I guess I can’t discount the possibility…”

  As one, all of the statues turned to stare at us, cocking their heads like a cat spotting a laser light on the floor. Another gargoyle’s wings snapped out, knocking the head clean off of one of the others. Okay, friendly fire was a good thing. “If nothing startles them, then they should just fall back asleep. I think. Just keep pace with the truck.” Gunnar nodded, focused on a goal.

  Then the truck swerved abruptly, and the driver honked his horn furiously as a car cut across a cross street just ahead of him. The gargoyles crouched, reacting defensively. We hadn’t seen any other cars on this street, so the statues focused on the only sign of life near them.

  Us.

  I could see the hatred as they stared at us, and then they leapt out of the moving truck, landing like a group of paratroopers in a war zone — eyes wary, and claws out. Gunnar swerved as one of the gargoyles drew a club strapped to his back and swung it at us. The tip of the stone club screeched down the passenger side of the car. “I am definitely going to sue that driver!” Gunnar bellowed.

  “You can’t. His truck said that he wasn’t responsible for falling debris.” Gunnar turned murderous eyes on me. I almost yelled for Gunnar to floor it so that we could get away, but then I thought about these monsters loose in the city, left to do as they please. “Gunnar, stop the car! We have to stop them!”

  He pulled the emergency brake, spinning the car in a 180-degree turn so that we were facing the huddle of gargoyles. “Damn it, Nate! How the hell are we suppos
ed to fight them?” He wasn’t scared, just genuinely asking what we were supposed to do. “I will not ruin my car by running over them.” He folded his arms defiantly. Drama Queen.

  “The heads. I think if we can take the heads, they’ll become inanimate again.”

  Gunnar cocked his SIG Sauer and climbed out of the car. Before they could move, his gun roared, blowing the head off the man with the club. I arched an eyebrow at him. “He scratched my car.” Gunnar growled.

  “My mother always said that a pistol is the Devil’s right hand.” I grinned. Gunnar smiled back, showing teeth.

  Then they began to break up, moving on us like well-trained predators. But they weren’t expecting a wizard and a werewolf to crash their party. They were just looking for a little entertainment. If I had my way, the entertainment would be completely one sided, leaving only a whole truckload of gravel behind.

  I suddenly had an idea. Something my parents had briefly taught me, but that I had never truly practiced. I guess this would have to count. I yelled to Gunnar. “Cover me, but no matter what you see, make sure you don’t shoot me!”

  Knowing my weirdness, Gunnar just nodded, popping off a few more shots at one of the more demonic-looking gargoyles. I took a deep breath, and instantly found the calm reservoir of power deep inside me. It actually helped clear my head a bit from the hangover. I waded into that power like it was a hot spring, allowing the tension to ease out of my muscles. I knew it took only seconds, but in my mind it felt like an hour. Once relaxed, I began drawing that reservoir into me, through me, and then projected it over my skin like stone armor, doubling up over the most vulnerable areas. It was easier than I remembered. My skin felt like ice as the stone encased every section of my body, efficiently turning me into a stone version of myself — statue Nate.

  Once satisfied, I opened my eyes back to the real world. The gargoyles had taken no more than a few steps. Gunnar was efficiently picking off legs and heads where he could, but I knew it wouldn’t be enough. There were close to a dozen of them. I glanced down at my stone hands in wonderment, twisting them this way and that.