But the moment that ring of fire erupted in the middle of the road, they gained a whole new level of respect for the food truck’s slogan.
“Show-Me Your O-Face,” I chuckled, and then I stepped through my Gateway with Alucard and War hot on my heels.
I let it wink shut and sank to my butt, laughing so hard that I quickly decided to fall all the way down and spread my arms wide.
War and Alucard sat down beside me, and my laughter must have been contagious, because soon we were all laying in the grass, staring up at the Temple Mausoleum in the Bellefontaine Cemetery.
I licked my lips and tasted frosting, sending me into another giggling fit. I glanced down at my chest to see a chocolate glazed donut stuck to the collar of my jacket.
“Hey, Glampire. Donuts are for closers,” I said, holding it out to him.
He grunted and snatched it from my grasp.
“That’s disgusting,” War said, trying to catch his breath and stop laughing.
“I don’t even care,” Alucard said, his mouth obviously full. “Mmmmmm. It’s so fucking delicious.”
“SHOW-ME YOUR O-FACE!” I crowed, throwing my hat up into the air. My shout echoed through the darkened garden of the dead, fertilizing it with a little bit of laughter, a little bit of luck, and a whole lot of life.
After a long silence, War cleared his throat. “I hope you guys wear a large,” he said, “because I picked up some t-shirts.”
Alucard choked on his donut.
Chapter 25
I had told War and Alucard that I wanted to clear my head and get some fresh air, leaving them to explore the inside of the mausoleum for themselves. I’d tried calling Niko to apologize for not answering my phone and to thank her for trying to warn me about the witches.
But my call had gone straight to voicemail. I shot her a text instead, hoping she’d see it whenever she turned her phone back on.
I had wanted to lay low for a while before returning home or parting ways with my crew to get some rest. Because I didn’t want to lead any other witches back to Chateau Falco if there had actually been more than the four we killed. And with the FBI coming to my mansion in the next few hours, I couldn’t very well walk through the front door.
Regardless, I felt surprisingly energetic, bolstered by the extra sleep I’d gotten the day before. If I tried to go to sleep right now, I’d probably just stare up at the ceiling for a few hours and have a stagnation-induced panic attack.
It had been a last-second decision to come here, though. With the FBI so interested in speaking to me, I also hadn’t wanted to risk going to my bookstore, Plato’s Cave, assuming that it was likely under surveillance. Also, Othello and Death were shacking up there since they’d essentially moved into my old loft above the store.
Hello, plan B—boys sleepover in a cemetery. The Temple Mausoleum was as safe as a castle, and it was highly unlikely that any of my enemies would think to search for me in a cemetery. I was essentially hiding in the place where my enemies wanted to ultimately send me.
Heh. How genius was that?
But I couldn’t deny that I also had another reason for wanting to come here. Starlight’s comments about Elders had gotten under my skin, even though he’d admitted to being stoned when he’d said them. Because the tree at Chateau Falco was a Gateway to the Elders’ realm and it hadn’t stopped bleeding for weeks, which seemed like a bad omen of epic proportions. And suddenly Yggdrasil had a matching owie—only with blue blood.
So, what were the Elders up to, and what did it have to do with Yggdrasil?
Unfortunately, I couldn’t place my finger on exactly what it was that had bothered me about Starlight’s cryptic comments. They had been so abstract and vague. Still, the fact that he’d chosen to say them at all made me think that time was of the essence.
Which was why I’d come outside for fresh air—to think.
In my opinion, thinking often required drinking, and a particularly fine libation was my favorite lubrication for stubborn frontal lobe rejuvenation.
Braining was a demanding science, not for the faint of liver.
So I had opened a tiny Gateway back to my office in Chateau Falco—large enough to reach through and grab a bottle of Macallan that I remembered placing on my bookshelf.
As I took a healthy swig straight from the bottle, I replayed Starlight’s words about the Elders in my mind, analyzing them from various angles.
They’re stuck at the bottom of a well, praying. They have answers, but they’re scared of the questions…
The only wells I had stumbled across were the three beneath Yggdrasil, and given how terrified the Norse pantheon was of the Elders, I doubted the Aesir would lease out one of their sacred pools to the scary reptiles.
Chains gave them freedom. Independence gave them banishment. Their temples grew dark and drafty, their prayers unanswered when their masters abandoned them.
The Elders seemed to have been slaves at one point, and freeing them from bondage had gone poorly for them—and everyone else in the supernatural community. I noticed the obvious reference to Temples and Masters, but I didn’t know what to make of it. Had an ancestral Master Temple once been their slave owner?
But that sounded doubtful, because I’d met some of my ancestors, and they’d practically soiled their pants upon hearing about my friendship with Carl.
But Carl did seem to worship me to some extent. Was that a result of me, personally?
Or my bloodline?
Who dares help the Elders? Who dares wear the bone crown? Not me. Not any god I know. Too risky.
I let out a frustrated sigh and took another swig from the bottle in my hand. Then I began to walk the perimeter of the two-story, architectural masterpiece.
The Temple Mausoleum.
The marble colossus was austere and imposing, but also breathtakingly mesmerizing. It had been designed in a way that equally represented the beauties of life, both the good and the bad, and it was a stark declaration that the Temple family didn’t discriminate against other faiths. The upper tier was held aloft by thick Corinthian columns. Both levels were lined with exquisite carvings and statues of mythological and religious significance—from all cultures, faiths, and creeds. Fairies, monsters, gods, humans, and even symbols from just as many tongues—portraying a timeline of human history.
I squinted my eyes as I took the time to study each face, wondering which other gods might be currently hiding out in my city. Like a magnet, something in my city was apparently drawing every major pantheon to St. Louis, and I was pretty sure I was that magnet.
The Catalyst.
But I didn’t have time to worry about that right now. It was high on my list of priorities, but preventing Ragnarök was slightly more important.
I saw a carving of Odin clutching his legendary spear, Gungnir, and I shook my head. There was not a kind feature on that face—not even a line of compassion. As much as he was revered in pop culture, Odin had a solid reputation for being an absolute prick. He’d seemed to mellow out some in recent years, but how far beneath the surface was the old Odin?
Athena—now dead—stood tall and strong, a portrait of wisdom and intelligence. She’d been corrupted somehow, and I’d been forced to kill her. It felt like it had happened ten years ago. Still, I dipped my head in a respectful manner, honoring the goddess she had once been.
Anubis sat on a throne, holding a scepter of some kind, and I saw two jackals resting at his feet. I squinted my eyes, wondering if it was a clever way to depict Cerberus, the guard dog of the Underworld—three separate canines as opposed to one huge canine with three heads.
Zeus sat on a cloud, seeming to be studying a bolt of lightning in his lap with a puzzled frown on his face. I was pretty sure he’d watched me kill Athena, but I hadn’t heard a single word about their pantheon playing present-day politics.
Maybe they had learned their lesson.
I continued walking, my thoughts drifting as I scanned more of the statues and carvings.
I’d learned a lot since I’d last been here. Met more gods and monsters. Learned more secrets.
And my parents were always hiding things out in the open. They’d revamped the security on the building to a ridiculous degree. I already knew that they’d hidden the Hand of God and the Hourglass here—two deadly artifacts that had saved my life on several occasions.
The Hourglass had just recently saved my life in Fae, allowing Pandora to give me the help I needed at the exact right time.
My parents had stolen it from the Fae Queens back before I was born, and it had the ability to control—to some extent—the time fluxes between Fae and Earth.
It was how I’d had the unique opportunity to grow up in Fae—spending an entire childhood there—before coming back to Chateau Falco to experience a second childhood on Earth, entirely unaware of my dual upbringing.
Until recently.
So, yeah. The Hourglass was powerful, and definitely worth an exorbitantly expensive security upgrade to the Temple Mausoleum where my parents had hidden it.
On that note, Pan had been very adamant about always keeping the Mausoleum safe and protected, even once choosing to stay behind and guard it when the door had been damaged in a fight that had left Tory injured and possibly dying. The mausoleum had been more important to him than my friend’s life.
And Conquest had hinted at secrets within the mausoleum as well, but I wasn’t sure if he had been speaking in a general fashion or specifically about my mausoleum.
The fallen always have lessons to impart, if one knows how to speak with the dead…the dead keep secrets, he had told me.
And then he’d very helpfully disappeared on me, the painfully beautiful bastard—the handsomest doctor the world had ever seen.
Given all these strange occurrences, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was some other secret to uncover here. Something big.
Because…bulletproof windows and a bank-vault entrance were more than security. They were defenses—intended to protect against an assault. Lethal booby traps would have made more sense if my parents were just wanting to guard some treasure. Maybe.
I sighed, taking another swig of liquor to prevent my brain from squealing and overheating.
A metallic flash in the air caught my attention and I instinctively jumped back a step. A coin landed in the grass by my feet, and I recognized the familiar gleam of Olympian gold.
Chapter 26
I scanned the statues before me, still twitchy about projectiles after my recent close encounters of the witch kind. “What is this?” I growled.
“A coin, naturally,” a disappointed voice said from behind one of the statues.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to get a clear view of my guest. A pair of golden eyes gleamed back at me from one of the shadows, and a man slowly stepped forward in a way that signified no threat. And he was absently rolling a golden coin back and forth across his knuckles, making me think of a tiny golden Slinky toy—but without the penchant to spontaneously choose to operate according to the mysterious laws of quantum mechanics, and somehow get tangled up into a knot without human contact of any kind—like mine always had when I was a kid.
Was the Slinky tangled up beyond repair, or was it perfectly fine? Because both realities were simultaneously true until you looked down at it to manually check.
Not today, Schrö-Slinky.
He stepped entirely out from the safety of the statues and onto the grass, the wings on his sandals fluttering as fast and soft as a hummingbird’s wings as they assisted his descent, allowing him to float down to the ground rather than merely step.
Hermes, the Greek Messenger God.
He was a tall, tan man with wavy, golden hair that brushed his shoulders, and he wore a pristine white toga with a gold metal belt around his waist. His golden irises glinted in the light of the moon like a reflection on a still pond. He was strong and ripped, but no one would have ever called him bulky. More like an endurance athlete who lifted more weights than most.
“Sweet purse,” he said.
I narrowed my eyes, instantly ready to kill him as I proudly straightened it on my hip. If anyone should have called it by the right name, it was Hermes.
“It’s a satchel, asshole,” I growled.
“You’re goddamned right it is!” he growled back, with an almost feral conviction to his tone as he clenched a fist and hoisted it in the air.
I took a deep breath and smiled, shaking my head. “You have no idea how annoying that gets,” I finally said.
“You’re kidding me, right?” he said dryly. “I was the first one to name it a satchel.”
“You’re satchel Jesus?” I whispered reverently, lifting a hand to my chest as if to calm my racing heart. “Oh, blessed be!”
He nodded in a saintly manner. “Peace be upon you, child.”
I chuckled, happy to have a little easy banter, but deep down I was wondering why he was really here. After I’d killed Athena, the Greek pantheon of gods had gone radio silent—while it seemed that every other pantheon had suddenly chosen to rear their heads.
“Why are you here?” I asked, discreetly clenching my bottle of liquor in order to use it as a weapon in case he was here with bad news. I’d killed his sister, after all. He’d seemed understanding at the time, but I didn’t buy into the old, oft-repeated adage—time heals all wounds.
In my opinion, time opened old wounds, was a more accurate assumption.
At least that was my take on it.
“You are gearing up to do something particularly dangerous,” Hermes said, continuing to roll the coin across the backs of his knuckles the same way someone might drum their fingers atop their desk without realizing it. “I wanted to get an idea where your head is at.”
“Why now? I’ve done plenty of dangerous things these last few years. Where have you been since Athena?” I said, not wanting to admit to whatever particularly dangerous something that he was referring to.
“After Athena, we were commanded to leave the Temple boy alone. To observe from a safe distance. Too many Greeks have forgotten their oaths after moving to St. Louis. They now seem to worship the godkiller.”
“That’s a management problem.”
He shrugged. “That is your opinion. Zeus holds another.”
“What is your opinion?”
He smiled, looking amused. “It is no secret that I have frequently favored mortals over my own family. Perhaps I am doing so right now. Or perhaps I am doing as I was told. That is for you to decide. My words cannot be trusted, after all.”
I grunted, finding the irony in the truth of his statement.
“You obviously found it worthwhile to visit me.” I glanced down at the coin thoughtfully. “And to pay me for my time,” I said suspiciously, bending down to pick it up.
“Time,” Hermes mused, the coin on his knuckles suddenly halting, “is such a fickle mistress—deceptive and almost impossible for you to grasp, even though she always has a firm grasp on you—steadily grinding your bones to dust, aging you with every passing hour. And what do you do? You keep begging for more!”
I nodded thoughtfully, processing his macabre metaphor. Time had been a vital element in my fight against Mordred. “I’ve got a wild idea. How about you give me something useful and I’ll act surprised. I can even cover my eyes while you count if that sounds more exciting.”
He smirked. “I have already done what little I could to aid you, but ascension is another matter entirely. That is where true divinity and depravity lies—two sides of the same coin.”
“I’ve heard that word before,” I said, frowning. “Ascension. What exactly is it referring to? My promotion to godkiller?” I asked.
He smiled sadly. “Perhaps. Perhaps not,” he replied, shrugging.
I studied him, wondering how far I could trust him, and why he was dodging my question.
“Know that if you proceed with your newest idea, there will be repercussions for you. I’m not trying to threate
n you or sway your decision. In fact, I applaud it. But you do need to understand the consequences. I have it on good authority that some Olympians are still quite…agitated about that particular legend becoming common knowledge,” he said, winking at me again. “Further agitation could carry unhealthy side-effects, or repercussions. It was always considered a hallowed place—not available for public use.”
I grew very still, wondering how much he actually knew and how the hell he knew it. I’d literally told no one. Not even Alucard. “Then maybe they should have put up a fence to keep the riffraff out.”
Hermes grunted, shooting me an amused grin. “I would say that the fence we placed around it was quite substantial,” he said dryly.
I shrugged, not bothering to hide my arrogant grin. “Obviously not.” But I was very troubled by how he had discovered my plan—because he obviously had, judging by his responses.
“I think I like you, Temple. You made good use of the coin I entrusted to Asterion, long ago. My family is still rather upset about that, when they think no one is listening. But I’m always listening, you see, pressing my ear against the keyhole, in a manner of speaking.”
I nodded. “You’re the Messenger God. Makes sense.”
“The thing about listening through the keyhole is that—if you’re not cautious enough—you run the risk of them opening the door on you.” And he snapped his fingers, making me jump. “I truly do wish you the best of luck,” he said, winking mischievously. And with the flap of a hummingbird’s wings, he was simply gone.
I narrowed my eyes. Best of luck. And he had claimed to have already aided me as much as he could.
The assassins. Had he been the source of their bad luck? But…
Why?
With a muttered curse, I decided I’d had enough fresh air and quantum Slinkys.
Chapter 27
War had his hands on his hips, shaking his head as he surveyed the dome-ceilinged nave from top to bottom. “Magnificent,” he murmured to himself, sounding awed. Then he turned to look at me. “How long did it take to build?”
Ascension: Nate Temple Series Book 13 Page 16
