Ascension: Nate Temple Series Book 13

by Shayne Silvers

  I grunted. “Do I look like a butler?”

  “You look thirsty, and only working men drink at my bar.”

  “Then I will surely die of thirst,” I sighed miserably.

  He rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Trust-fund brats—wouldn’t know honest work if it hit them in the face.”

  “Dishonest work is so much more rewarding.”

  “Cheers to that,” he muttered, laughing. “Now grab the tray. Consider it community service, my lord. The peasants will love you for it,” he said, walking past me without a glance. I sighed and picked up the tray of beers before following him over to the table.

  Death glanced up at me as I reached the table. “Ah, the beer wench is here,” he said, eyeing my tray.

  I curtsied, setting the tray down. “Don’t forget to tip,” I said, taking a seat. “A real tip, not the heat you guys think you’re packing down south.”

  Shiva grinned, slapping the table with two of his four hands. “So quick with the words. It really is a pleasure to see you again, even if it has been brief. Too bad you missed Ganesh. He often asks about you. And Asterion regaled us with the tale of you topping him.”

  I chuckled. “Tipping him,” I corrected, not wanting to try explaining topping in any manner whatsoever. “And I wish I could have been here sooner.”

  Shiva shrugged, sipping at his drink. “Remember that time you astral projected to my hut on my mountain?” He asked, laughing loudly. “I thought my bull was going to kill you!”

  “Now that would be a fine steed,” War interjected, nudging Alucard. “Much better than a damned squirrel.” Gunnar swiped up a beer and began guzzling to hide his scowl.

  Alucard groaned, not bothering to lift his head from the table as he blindly swatted back at War. “Go away,” he said, his voice muffled from the table.

  We’d managed to get him vertical and coherent, but he was both hungover and drunk at the same time—a terrible combination. Norse mead was no joke.

  I smiled, turning back to Shiva. “I have my own mountain, now, and it’s got a killer view. You should swing by sometime. I need to learn how to build a hut, though. All I have is an igloo.”

  Shiva nodded. “It would be my pleasure,” he said. “On that note, I must depart. They already took all of my money anyway.” He scowled at the two Biblical Horsemen and their stacks of Tootsie Rolls—their chosen form of currency for their weekly poker games.

  No currency exchange needed this way, they’d told me. Which kind of made sense, since they all called different parts of the globe home.

  Shiva bowed formally, waved with all four hands—at different people with each—and then simply vanished.

  “It’s a bad idea to travel like that when you’re drunk,” Achilles murmured, sitting down on an adjacent table, and propping his boot up on the chair. “Be responsible. Don’t drink and rip holes in reality.”

  I grunted. “How would you know?”

  “Believe it or not, I have known other, more reputable, wizards in my many, many years,” he muttered.

  I rolled my eyes. “Prove it.”

  He smirked back at me. “They wouldn’t like you much.”

  “Then I’ve saved you from bad influences.”

  He rolled his eyes back at me and sipped his beer.

  “You do understand that you’re a Horseman, not a Squirrelman, right?” Death asked Gunnar, his face entirely serious.

  Gunnar had his arms folded across his chest and he was not bothering to hide his scowl any longer. They had been giving him a hard time, off and on, for the last ten minutes, now.

  “He’s a terrifying, mythical beast,” Gunnar argued.

  “He’s a squirrel,” Death clarified.

  “And you’re a werewolf,” War added, shaking his head. “It’s like you’re asking to be mocked.”

  Gunnar narrowed his eye. “I think he’s cool. And you haven’t even seen him. He’s a nightmare, and he has a mouth like a sailor.”

  The two Biblical Horsemen shared a silent, considering look and finally shrugged. “I’m not nuts about it,” War finally said.

  Gunnar’s face turned purple and I burst out laughing.

  Achilles shot a brief glance at Alucard, who was still face-down, dozing on the table. Achilles grinned wickedly as he raised his beer to us. “Skol.”

  Alucard whimpered. “Screw all of you…”

  We all grinned at our pitiful friend, and then shouted at the top of our lungs, “SKOL!”

  Then we all dumped a generous portion of our beers on the back of Alucard’s head, drenching him in the last thing he wanted right now. He spluttered, jumping away from the table and cursing up a storm.

  He finally lifted his head to glare at us, beer dripping steadily from his hair. “I’m done. Unless you have any more energy drinks in the back,” he asked, turning to Achilles.

  Achilles shook his head. “Still restocking from my temporary shut-down. No blood yet.” True to his word, crates of liquor and beer surrounded us, forming a labyrinth of booze since he hadn’t put them all away yet. “I might have some actual energy drinks in the back fridge.”

  Alucard sighed dejectedly and then stumbled over to the bar in search of the liquid heart attacks and a towel to dry off. Achilles took a big pull from his beer, polishing it off, and then set the empty on the table.

  “I’ll be back,” he said, heading towards the restroom. “Don’t wreck the place while I’m gone,” he added from over his shoulder.

  Gunnar had gone strangely silent, angling himself to watch me in what he thought was a discreet manner. But he only had one eye, so he oftentimes didn’t realize how blatantly obvious he came across.

  Death climbed to his feet, brushing his hands off. “I better get back, too. Othello is in a feisty mood.” And then he cast a withering look my way.

  I grunted. “Not my fault. She’s the one who sold Niko the laptop.”

  Death waved a hand. “Just giving you a hard time, Hope.” He glanced down at War, who was leaning back in his chair, balancing on the rear legs as he nursed his beer. “You in charge of the shit-show tomorrow morning?”

  War didn’t look up but stared at me instead. “Nah. I think I have something else going on. You can teach the squirrel.”

  I frowned. “What?” Gunnar had leaned forward as well.

  “Grimm and I need to teach Ratatoskr the ropes. General rules and bylaws associated with being a Horseman’s mount.”

  I smiled crookedly, assuming they were teasing again. But they didn’t even blink. “What do you mean? They have training? Why the hell didn’t I ever get any training?”

  “We didn’t think about it, to be honest,” Death said. “And don’t forget that we couldn’t come anywhere near you until now—until you picked the rest of your Horsemen.”

  He had a point. Even being in the same city that I was in had nearly killed them—something about the extreme imbalance of power as a result of Horsemen needing to work in groups of four. It was also why my Mask had fractured. Since I’d picked Callie, Gunnar, and Alucard, my Mask had healed and, apparently, training could commence.

  “Training for the mounts, not for the actual Horsemen,” I said, just to clarify.

  Death nodded. “We’ll figure out what to do with you guys later.”

  I glanced at Gunnar, thinking of his new ‘horse’. I was undecided on how I truly felt about it, but I was more concerned by Ratatoskr’s apparent acquaintance with Grimm.

  My unicorn had been spending a lot of time with Pegasus, lately.

  Deep down, I knew he was still upset that he now had a rainbow firmly attached to his forehead. Although grateful to me for me saving his life, he was surprisingly self-conscious about his new horn.

  “Unless you wanted to take a stab at training them,” Death said, sounding hopeful.

  I sighed, grumbling under my breath. “No. It’s just that I’d hoped to have Grimm on hand over the next few days. I might need the backup.”

  I felt Gunnar e
yeing me again. He’d been doing it all night when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.

  “Okay. Let’s get this over with,” I said, turning to face him. “Have you forgotten what it’s like to hang out with non-dads? You don’t need to stare at me like you’re waiting for me to chew on the furniture or pee on the carpet.”

  He didn’t react, continuing to stare at me. “I’ve just been wondering about something you said. You didn’t eat any applesauce.”

  I kept my face calm, ignoring War and Death’s sudden interest. “It was a figure of speech, Sherlock.”

  “No,” Gunnar said confidently. “It was not.”

  “Whatever,” I muttered. My phone vibrated in my pocket, so I pulled it out to see Niko’s phone number on the screen. I ignored it, set my beer down, and stood from the table. “I’m going to go hit the head. Go home without me. I’ll make a Gateway.”

  “Why?” Gunnar asked. “Did I really just piss you off?”

  I waved a hand. “No. I just need to take a walk.” I glanced over at the bar, not seeing Alucard. “If he doesn’t ride home with you, I’ll take him with me.”

  And I continued on towards the restroom. I was considering making a pit-stop, based on something Starlight had said in the warehouse. I didn’t actually understand any of the weird things he had told me, but every time I thought about it, my mind immediately wandered, and I found myself recalling the last thing my father had ever said to me.

  In the security feed at Temple Industries, he’d looked up at the camera and said something very specific—fully aware that he was moments away from his last breath. To be honest, I hadn’t thought about that message for a very long time. Maybe that had been a subconscious coping mechanism my mind had thrown into place.

  Or maybe recent events were making me feel nostalgic—seeing how dysfunctional Odin’s family was, and finding similarities to my own upbringing. So, I didn’t have a specific reason for wanting to make my quick detour, but the more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that I needed to pay my respects to my ancestors.

  “Don’t chew on the furniture!” Gunnar snapped as I was rounding the corner. I flipped him off without turning to look, ignoring their laughter.

  But I did catch War’s faint voice before I reached the restroom door. “What do you think applesauce means?”

  Chapter 21

  I found Achilles at the urinal, and I grinned nostalgically, reminded of one of our first encounters. “Just like old times, eh?” I asked casually.

  He flinched and turned to glare at me from over his shoulder. “Hell of a thing to say to a man at the pisser.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I’ve got a dagger for you.”

  He looked at the ceiling, letting out a breath. “And you somehow made it even weirder.”

  I grinned, whipping out the dagger that I’d won from Ragnar. I held it out for him to inspect. Achilles finished up, and then walked over, reaching out for the blade.

  I pulled it back. “Wash your hands, first. That’s disgusting.”

  He rolled his eyes and quickly washed up, drying his hands before walking back over and snatching the blade away with a slight growl. He held it up to the light, twisting it back and forth and grunting his approval. “Hell of a piece,” he said, handing it back.

  “No. It’s for you to keep.”

  He frowned suspiciously. “Not sure I can afford it.”

  “I just want to ask you a personal question. I didn’t want to do so in front of everyone else.”

  “Okay,” he said, obviously hesitant.

  “I met Baldur tonight—total prick, by the way—and I got to thinking about how far his mother was willing to go to keep him safe after hearing a prophecy about his death. She traveled the world, obtaining oaths from every living and non-living entity that they would not harm her son. The only one she forgot to ask was Mistletoe—which obviously became his sole weakness.”

  Achilles lowered the dagger to his side and grew very still, not seeming to breathe as he listened.

  “Then I remembered that your story isn’t so different,” I said. “That your mother, Thetis, dipped you in the River Styx to keep you safe from all harm—except she missed your heel. Both mothers made a small mistake, and now everyone knows about your weaknesses.”

  He slowly nodded, watching me like a hawk. “And?”

  Reading his rigidly tense body language, I decided to lean my back against the wall in a slight slouch, breaking eye contact as if I was having trouble searching for the right words. In actuality, I was psychologically manipulating him in order to put him at ease.

  I shrugged. “Freya extorted everyone else to play nice, putting her son in a safe bubble. Your mother gave you armor, essentially daring everyone else to test themselves against you. But both were forms of defensive protection.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t know much about Baldur, but it sounds accurate. I’m still waiting for you to get to the point, though.”

  “It’s kind of the opposite of my story, you know?”

  He casually tucked the dagger into his waistband, as if he suddenly realized that he didn’t need to be holding a bare blade in his current mind-state. He folded his arms. “How so?”

  “My parents littered my future with objects of power, even though they never openly explained any of that to me. In fact, they lied their asses off about it. But they put people and events in place that were designed to kind of bump me in the right direction. Like a series of tests. I bitch and moan about all of their secrets and lies, but despite my frustrations, I’m pretty fucking pleased to learn that they had good intentions in mind.”

  He nodded, listening. “I see your dilemma. It’s all about which wolf you want to feed—anger or gratitude.”

  I snapped my fingers, pointing at him. “Yes! That. It’s taken me a long time to really wrap my head around it all. To get my emotions out of the way so that I could actually see the benefits to what they did rather than wallowing in my own self-pity.” I shrugged, letting out a breath and lightly bumping the back of my head against the wall. “Just curious if you went through some shit that others wouldn’t understand. From a different perspective than me, but kind of similar.”

  He studied me warily, likely surprised that we had spoken so long without me pranking him, harassing him, or otherwise delivering some news that was guaranteed to give him a migraine—which was a fair point. I found immense pleasure in tormenting Achilles, but only because I respected him so much.

  “Sure,” he finally rasped. “Every single person in the world knows that my fucking heel is made of glass, figuratively speaking. Every single time I get into a fight, guess where they always attack first? Every time I get into an argument, guess what joke they always resort to? It’s goddamned embarrassing for everyone to know your greatest weakness. I damn near had an anxiety disorder about it, to be honest. But back then, no one knew what the hell an anxiety disorder was,” he grunted, chuckling mirthlessly. “So, I forced myself to train harder, fight more ruthlessly, anything to make up for my weakness. Anything to get them to stop laughing at me. Then, at night, I drank and fucked myself to oblivion to hide from my shame.”

  I glanced over at him sidelong. “How do you fuck yourself to oblivion?” I asked seriously.

  He blinked, and then burst out laughing. “Okay, I screwed as many women as possible, and drank as much as my body would allow,” he clarified, rolling his eyes.

  I nodded, thinking about it. “That sounds shitty.”

  Silence stretched between us for so long that I finally glanced over at him. He was grinning, and the moment my eyes met his, he shook his head in disappointment. “You missed it. I bet myself five bucks that you, of all people, would catch it.”

  I sighed, glancing down at my feet. “Five bucks? That’s it?”

  He shrugged. “The bar hasn’t been open for a while.”

  I nodded. “Okay. I was trying to see if you understood it, but I can explain it if you want. For fiv
e bucks.”

  He narrowed his eyes doubtfully, his smile fading. “Deal.”

  I took a deep breath. “With everyone knowing what your weakness was, you actually had the biggest goddamned advantage of any other warrior on the field. Every opponent you faced was essentially crippled—with false overconfidence—and they didn’t even know it. I wouldn’t be surprised if you told me that every single fight you’ve had was ridiculously easy.”

  He was dead silent, proving that my words had struck a chord, but I didn’t look over at him.

  “Not easy because your combat skills were so superior—which I know they are. And not easy because their combat skills were so inferior—which I know they weren’t. But because when they faced you, all they saw was a shining glass target, something they could easily shatter, and that made them all ridiculously predictable. In essence, all you had to do was master the ability to counterattack any offensive move aimed at your heel, and your legendary reputation would have probably still been as good as it is now. Because each opponent faced you with only one thing on their mind—break the heel. And since you knew that, you always knew what they were going to do. They might as well have been blind, first-year trainees, no matter how strong or badass they were against any other opponent on the field. Against any other warrior, they would have been forced to think, but against you…their eagerness and emotions took over, leaving you an easy victory.” My words echoed in the room, and I could sense Achilles staring at me incredulously. “Now, where is my five bucks?”

  He grunted. “I’ll apply it to your tab, asshole.”

  I dipped my chin graciously. “Thanks.”

  He studied me warily, leaning against the counter. “You didn’t come in here to tell me that. What’s really on your mind? Because I know the look in a man’s eyes when he’s taking a calculated gamble—the eyes of a general. I’ve seen what those men can do. How every domino is purposely set up, waiting for that last flick to put it all into play, even though his own soldiers doubt him until he makes that last move.”