Blood Debts (The Temple Chronicles Book 2) (36 page)

“Calm down, you psychopath! Bad Buddhist!” I yelled, eyes darting about wildly. “It’s me! Nate Temple!” I held up my hands in surrender, not daring to waste my magic, making sure Othello was out of the danger zone.

The Minotaur’s form slowly coalesced into visibility. He towered over us, a full two feet taller or more, and heavily corded with muscle. A set of Buddhist prayer beads hung from an impressive set of hairy pectoral muscles. It was like he had been formed out of pure testosterone. “Ye’ can’t be Master Temple. He’s a wizard, and ye’ barely have a drip of magic about you.”

“I cow-tipped you a few months ago. Then I beat you in a duel.” I said with a shit-eating grin, more confident that we weren’t about to be suddenly skewered. Othello’s ears seemed to be falling off her head in amazement as she climbed to her feet. Here I was, almost gored by a monster, and she was admiring him like a groupie. Lucky for her, she hadn’t fallen into a cow patty. Would have served her right.

Asterion stiffened, then his shoulders bunched up arrogantly with a smirk at Othello. “Not how I remember it.” He told her. “He beat me in a childish game. But he did earn my respect in the duel.” He turned to me. “Gods be damned. Why are you practically without magic? Last time we met, you had too much and couldn’t contain it all. Now you have almost none? Can’t you find a middle ground like other wizards? Zen is the answer. Balance.-” I cut him off with a rude gesture.

“Later. I don’t want to have to kill you out of frustration.”

“You wouldn’t want that kind of Karma.” He stated matter of factly.

See? I told you he did that.
Karma, karma, karma. Blah, blah, blah
.

I sighed in resignation. “Karma will just have to stand in line. I’m pretty sure God himself has damned me for some reason.” Asterion’s brow furrowed curiously. He remained silent, sensing my impatience. “I have questions for you. As you can see, I’m at the end of my rope. Oh, this is Othello. A great cyber warrior.” The Minotaur appraised her with a newfound respect. Othello’s eyes widened. She was blushing for crying out loud. “Groupie,” I muttered.

She shot a brief scowl my way in answer. “Warrior, eh?” Asterion asked, studying her from head to toe curiously.

“World famous.” I elaborated.

The Minotaur smiled. “Honored to meet you, warrior. No disrespect, but I wouldn’t have guessed it. Welcome to my domain. Now, why don’t you start at the beginning, Temple?”

So I told him. Everything. He would need all the details if he were going to help me. His eyes widened as I continued, shaking his massive head in disbelief. “So, to sum it up. If I do as the Academy commands, the Demons will obliterate me and kill more innocent supernatural citizens in the process. If I do as the Demons want, Heaven and the Academy will obliterate me. If I do as the Angels want, I’ll never get revenge on my parents’ murderer, the Greater Demon, Sir Dreadsalot. And the Demons or the Academy will obliterate me. In summary, I will be obliterated. Unless I find the right time, place, and method to die beforehand, in which case I will somehow apparently have a chance to survive this whole mess, which makes no sense. I don’t understand how dying grants me a chance at survival, let alone winning.”

“Where did you hear such a ridiculous thing?” Asterion blurted.

“From Hope. In the Armory. She’s some kind of memory construct or librarian. She’s the one who told me that I’m a Maker.” The Minotaur stiffened at the phrase, taking a cautious step away from me. Huh. I continued. “That my parents experimented on me. That’s why I was juiced up on power last time we met. Apparently you’ve heard of one before. That’s good, because I haven’t. Explain it to me, because no one else seems able or willing to do so.”

“But your power is almost gone…” I nodded. The Minotaur grew a thoughtful expression, causing me to arch a brow with the obvious question to elaborate. “A Maker is limited only by his own creativity. His imagination is his palette. Magic is nothing compared to it. Used to be more common than a wizard, but
respected
.” He emphasized the last word. “They’ve designed things for the most dangerous of creatures. Like a supernatural blacksmith, in crude terms. More respected than the vermin who carry the wizard title these days…”

I blinked as Othello burst out laughing. “Ha. Ha. So, how do I use it?”

Asterion shrugged. “Never met one, personally. Regardless, I wouldn’t begin to know how to teach you to use it. I don’t even know if it’s possible without magic. Even though a Maker is something more than a wizard, I’ve never heard of a Maker
not
being a wizard. I think they
created
wizards.”

Of course it wasn’t that easy, I chided myself. I chose a different topic. “Angels and Demons are involved. I thought that was … illegal or something.”

Asterion smiled wickedly. “Seen any heavenly glows? Wings saving the day? Gateways to hell?” I shook my head in obvious frustration, having already told him the recent events. “They’re using pawns. Demons, not the Fallen; Nephilim, not Angels, would be my guess.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true… I think I hurt an Angel pretty bad last night. Or they think I hurt him. It was really the Demon attacking me that almost shattered his Grace. I was holding it at the time. He told me that if his Grace were destroyed that I would kick off Armageddon. Then he called the Nephilim after me.” I patted my pocket, where I had stowed the Grace in an unused pen case.

Asterion flinched, scanning the skies, as if searching for Angels, motioning for me to keep the Grace away from him. “A Demon could not destroy a Grace. They could harm it, but not destroy it. Remember, cat’s paws. That would break the Covenants.”

“The Covenants that keeps everyone in line? The one that everyone seems to be skating lately?” Asterion nodded. I shrugged. “Well, the Angel didn’t see it that way. He attacked me, thinking I was with the Demons and that I had killed his son, a Nephilim boy named Jonathan.”

Asterion froze. “Wait a moment. An Angel
struck
you? Are you telling me that you just kicked off Armageddon?”

I frowned. “I don’t think so. Possibly. I’m not sure.”

“Funny, because if the Angels think you killed one of their Nephilim, and severely injured one of their brethren, then the first domino has been knocked over, and Armageddon is here.
Now
.” I stared back, unable to speak for a few moments. “But it’s not. Everything seems the same as yesterday.” He said, considering the situation. “I would appreciate it if you protected that Grace. Strenuously.” He warned with a meaningful gaze.

“Sure, but it’s spilled milk at this point. Why wouldn’t the big guy stop them?”

“He can’t. He’ll let the Riders sort it out if anyone crosses the line.”

“The Riders.” I growled. “You mean-”

“Yes. The Horsemen. Of the Apocalypse. They’re black ops at the moment, not unlike your own unruly band of misfits, but when they make an appearance, I guarantee you the world will notice. They know how to make an entrance… or is it example?” He furrowed a caterpillar unibrow. “I guess either works.”

“Are the Riders good or bad?”

Asterion pondered that, tapping a meaty thumb on his massive runed nose ring. I winced. It looked painful. “Neither. Both. Who knows? Only one way to find out. The eternal way.”

“Mention of the Riders keeps popping up, but I don’t know much about them.”

“Well, to wax poetic for a moment, there are four of them, obviously. Death, War, Famine, and Pestilence. Their ultimate job is to cast their powers onto the world, destroying life in vast swaths if the Covenants are ever broken. Until that time, they are considered judges. They keep a tight rein on both sides, Heaven and Hell. Whoever kicks off Armageddon loses a significant amount of potential power, which would hurt in the upcoming War, so neither wants to be the one to ignite it. That’s why they use cat’s paws, in an effort to toe the line and hopefully cause the other side to break the Covenants first. But you’re telling me that you almost kicked off Armageddon, which would mean that neither side loses power. Interesting. A paranoid person would not think that a coincidence…” He added.

“Wouldn’t their very involvement signal the end of days?”

The Minotaur shook his shaggy head. “Not exactly. Like I said, they are judges. If either party — Angel or Demon — breaks the Covenants they are tried by the Horsemen. If a resolution can be attained, then the world goes on. If not, then… it doesn’t. There haven’t been many needs for their judgment, if you know what I mean… Both parties stay well clear of that line, neither one wanting to take the first shot that ends up kicking off Armageddon. There have been instances, less than a handful, when Armageddon
almost
happened, but from what I hear, the Riders found a peaceful resolution. I guess that has to be true or we would not be, well…
existing
right now. There are always times when Demons get close to the line, or Angels swoop in and save someone they shouldn’t have, but so far those occurrences have been judged, and deemed wanting. The Riders dealt out the punishment, and life went on.”

The silence grew, Othello watching me curiously. Asterion finally spoke, facing the night pensively. “I’m more curious about this elusive little librarian sprite who seems to live in the Armory. Who is she?”

“I think she’s magically bonded to the Armory, in an effort to guard the cache of dangerous powers hidden away.”

Asterion suddenly turned back to face me, his face tight. “What did she say her name was?”

I frowned. “She didn’t say. I just called her Hope. My parents nicknamed the room Pandora Protocol, so I gave her a moniker.
Hope
, for the last gift inside Pandora’s Box.”

“Oh, shit in Zeus’ beard. You’ve got to be
kidding
me. As if you didn’t have enough on your plate. You’re telling me that you’ve been talking to-” Asterion suddenly stopped talking, mouth opening wordlessly in a fruitless attempt to finish his sentence. He looked as if he had just been struck in the forehead. Like he wasn’t
able
to finish his sentence. He finally regained use of his mouth, but his words sounded scripted. “I am terribly sorry, but you must leave. Now.”

Sensing my frustration, Othello stood. I knew that if Asterion couldn’t even speak, I was out of luck. He wanted to tell me. But he couldn’t. Of course not. Why would the lonely wizard discover the one thing he needed out of this meeting? Asterion looked torn, but waved a goodbye, and disappeared, head hanging low.

Apparently Hope was more than I had initially thought. Someone dangerous for some reason.

And… I had just promised her freedom after my death.

At least I hadn’t told Asterion that part. Judging by his reaction to her very
existence
, he might have had a heart attack at discovering she would soon be
free
. What had I done? It wasn’t like I could rescind my offer. I had already been to the Armory today, so wouldn’t be able to go back until tomorrow, which would be too late. Tomorrow was day three. My power would be gone, and possibly my ability to even enter the Armory. I didn’t even know if I would be alive or have any power left to give up when the Academy arrived. I might not even be able to give them the Armory if I wanted to. We made our way back to the car and drove back to the apartment in brittle silence. It was late, and I had a lot to think about.

Chapter 28

A
s we pulled up to the apartment, I spotted a lot of party revelers in the street. We weren’t in a ritzy part of town, so the neighborhood was a little hectic with
Mardi Gras
in full swing. Not as bad as it would be tomorrow, but a lot of pre-gaming going on. Our drive back had been silent, Othello sensing my need for peace as I tried to determine my next course of action. She found a parking spot and we climbed out.

As we were walking back to the apartment, I noticed something out of place and snatched Othello’s hand, halting her. A Girl Scout stood before us, tapping her foot impatiently, holding out a box of cookies as she watched us from beside a parked car. Then I saw that her eyes were red. And a blade was sticking out of her chest. The dagger looked slightly familiar. This kid was already dead. The Demon had possessed the corpse of a Girl Scout. Jesus.

“You’ve got to be
kidding
me. A Girl Scout? I
told
you they consorted with Demons!”

Othello smacked my arm with a glare. “I was a Girl Scout, Nate.”

The Demon smiled at me with buckteeth. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?” I asked. Her smile evaporated as she crossed her arms. “I’ll give you one chance to answer honestly before I exorcise your ugly ass from that child, Demon.
Why. Are. You. Here
?”

Her girly voice was disarming, but her actual words had the opposite effect. “Causing Chaos, of course. Death. Mayhem. It’s what I do.” She didn’t mention the Armory at all. Which didn’t make any sense. Was Gavin right? These Demons were just pawns? A distraction?

“Your boss, Sir Dreadsalot, said he’s here for a different reason. The Greater Demon’s stink was all over my company. I know that’s why you’re really here. He told me so. Know anything about that or do I need to remind you what hanging in chains over the pits of Hell is like? It is past your curfew after all.”