Blood Debts (The Temple Chronicles Book 2) (39 page)

O
thello ignored the tears streaming down her face as she used a medical kit left behind by her crew of shady mercenaries to doctor me up. Her hands were shaking as she suppressed sobs of concern, rage, and fear. “You just went down to grab some food! Why didn’t you wake me up? How the hell does a hitsquad of Nephilim find you in a deli?”

“I’m just lucky, I guess.” I mumbled, trying to ignore the pain of her stitches. Her eyes weighed me. But she knew me too well.

“What did you do?”

I fidgeted. She poked me with the needle, a murderous gleam in her eyes. “Ow! What the hell? I’m injured!”

“Start talking. I can make this take a long time, each stitch could take a full twenty seconds if I really wanted to be careful.” She poked me with the needle again.

“Fine! Fine! I summoned the Angel, Eae.”

“
What
?” She roared, jumping to her feet, storming back into the kitchen and waving her hands around like a crazy person before finally rounding on me again. “Why in the
hell
would you do that?”

I sagged back into the couch, glad that she hadn’t pricked me again. “I figured it was worth a shot. We need help. Answers. Regardless, it didn’t pan out. He called his Nephilim on me. They beat me, stabbed me, and then took the Grace back. I’m not sure if that means they are out of the picture or not, but with my luck, probably not.”

She came back over and resumed her stitching, more gently this time. “These look like they were partly cauterized.” She said, studying the wound.

“Yeah. Felt like it too. Not pleasant.”

“But they’re still bleeding. It would have been better if they had been completely cauterized.”

I shivered. “I see what you’re saying, but it hurt plenty enough without adding an extra two-hundred degrees to what already felt like lava.” She grunted in agreement as she worked. I continued to talk, needing a sounding board. “I guess our next option is to see if Gavin will help us out. He doesn’t seem like he’s one hundred percent in cahoots with the Academy. Either that or summon Sir Dreadsalot to make a deal .”

“I don’t trust Gavin.” Othello said instantly. I arched a brow, barely flinching as she poked me again to sew up my leg.

“You trust a Demon more than Gavin?” I asked in disbelief. The fire in her eyes made me back off a bit. “Well, to be fair, I don’t trust
anybody
.” Her eyes twinkled even angrier. “Except you. But it’s not about trust anymore. We need
help
. I’m running on fumes.” I lied. I couldn’t tell her that I was helpless. Yet. “We have to stop this. I don’t have a choice. It started out with me trying to find my parents’ murderer, but now that I’ve entered the game, I can only leave by death. Hell, I can only
win
through my death, apparently.” I growled.

Her eyes were sad, torn. “Still. Gavin’s hiding something.”

“Everyone is hiding something.” I retorted. “At least he’s helped us out a few times. Kind of. Like with that Demon yesterday.” Before I could continue, Othello interrupted me.

“You mean the Demon that reappeared to attack us and turn you into a psychopath shortly after he supposedly banished it?”

I nodded. “I know. I’m just as curious about that as you. Probably more. But it
is
possible that the summoner called it back from Hell to attack us again outside the apartment.”

Othello rolled her eyes. “Sure, with your dagger still in her heart. She had a hard-on for you, Nate. I don’t think the Fallen Angels would send her back up to earth with a major injury. It seems like our Gavin might not be such a White Hat…” She whispered the last words, looking curiously introspective for some reason. “This looks bad, Nate.” She gestured at the wounds. “You need to get these checked out. By a professional.”

“No time. Just doctor me up as best you can. I’m supposed to die anyway. Why not go out with a story like this? Would look good on my tombstone.” Othello stood up, a storm of emotions crossing her face in the blink of an eye — guilt, sadness, anger, remorse, and determination. I gripped her hand reassuringly, which only seemed to make her feel worse.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was supposed to come
save
you.” She sobbed softly, seeming to break down at the shoulders. I patted her shoulder comfortingly in understanding.

“You did good, kid. Not your fault we’re up against the heaviest of hitters.”

She seemed to regain her composure after a few moments. “Well, I’m not giving up, even if you are. Rest. Contemplate how much of an idiot you are being in trusting Gavin. I’m heading to Temple Industries with your Demon-sensing artifact. See if I can spot any of the foul bastards. Maybe find your new buddy, Gavin, lurking around so I can kill him. Slowly.”

I halted her with a hand on the arm before she could storm out the door. I gave her one last request. Her cool eyes assessed me thoughtfully, but she nodded with a final sad smile, seeming reassured. She still looked torn, but resolute. “Oh, can you grab me the bottle of absinthe on the counter? I’m thirsty, and in need of some liquid courage.” She rolled her eyes, but complied. I tipped an imaginary hat at her in gratitude as she handed me the bottle, and then she left. And I was alone.

The party of two had become one.

I sat on the couch, sipping straight from the bottle for a few minutes, contemplating my next move, trying to think of anything else I could do. “Ah, fuck it. Why not?” I looked at my watch and smiled. “But first, a nap. Might be my last chance.” As if the words were a lullaby, I fell asleep.

Chapter 31

I
woke up after my nap, and instantly realized that I had been asleep for five hours. More like a mild coma. I twisted my legs off the couch, and as they struck the floor I was reminded of the stab wound from the holy blade this morning. When Heaven had officially smited me. Stars sparkled across my vision from apparent dehydration as I gritted my teeth against the sharp throb in my thigh. The ensuing rush of endorphins then invited my other wounds to the party. Right. Long walks weren’t in the cards for me today. Which could become a problem. Normally I would use my power to help me ignore my injuries, but having no magic to rely on introduced me to a whole new world of pain.

And it sucked.

I didn’t know how people did it.

Since I didn’t have anyone to help me, I called a cab to pick me up in an hour and take me to Soulard, where the festival and parade was taking place. It was as good a place as any, since the parties against me might be more careful around Regulars. It was a unique experience for me to plan a battle without my magic. I had to think differently, apply different tactics. I grunted as I slowly climbed to my feet and began to test my legs, walking back and forth across the living room. I really wished Mallory were in town. I could use the additional muscle to back me up. I still didn’t know his full story, but he was a certified badass. Too bad he was on vacation too.

Now that I thought about it, it was kind of odd that all my friends were gone at the same time, leaving me all alone. I hadn’t really thought about it until now. I wasn’t typically the guy who made sure I had backup. I usually just went in on my own, or knew that a quick phone call could provide any kind of backup I might need. I had never really thought about making sure I always had a Plan B. I didn’t typically make myself available for so much trouble on a daily basis so hadn’t ever considered it. Well, if I survived this, I’d have to change that. Having a plan for the future helped give me a bit of confidence, even though I was one hundred percent certain that this was my last hand. I mean, I had
nothing
up my sleeve.

I didn’t even know which way was right anymore. Even
Heaven
was against me.

I shook my head and began to get ready for my last hoorah. A hot shower would be nice. I wanted to look good before I died. And I needed to redress my wounds, which might take a while without Othello to help. Thinking of Othello, I checked my phone but didn’t see any messages from her. Odd. I figured she would have at least checked up on me by now. I called her but it went straight to voicemail. Maybe her phone was dead. Oh well. I didn’t have time to worry about it. I had slept longer than anticipated. I thought about texting her, but didn’t know exactly what I could type. I wasn’t entirely sure of my plan yet. So I decided I would wait until she called me.

I turned on the shower and waited for it to get warm. And waited.

And waited.

It remained just a hair above freezing.

I turned it all the way to hot, hoping it just needed a boost. But it stubbornly remained frigid. “Give me a break!” I yelled into the empty apartment. A neighbor stomped on the floor above me in complaint. With no divine intervention warming the water for me, I resigned myself to taking a cold shower, which brought back the guilt over making out with Othello the night before. What the hell was I going to do about that? Indie would forgive me, right? But it had been the only way to stop me from destroying the neighborhood. It had been a smart move on Othello’s part. But would Indie see it that way? Then I began to laugh. I couldn’t help it. It was simply too ridiculous not to laugh about.

Here I was, about to die, no magic, no friends, a fugitive of the law…

And I was worrying about what my girlfriend would think.

Man, was I hopeless. Not that I didn’t feel terrible, but it literally wouldn’t matter by tomorrow morning. My wounds were that bad. Thinking of that, I glanced down. I was bleeding noticeably, and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was on borrowed time. At least I wasn’t bleeding as badly as I had been before. I wondered how bad the wounds might have been if they hadn’t been partly cauterized. Would I have even made it out of the deli? I was lucky that I had even woken from my nap. I really should have been in the hospital. That sobered me up. But I had no time for hospitals. I would see this through to the end. My parents deserved it.

Shaking my head and rubbing my arms to prevent frostbite, I finished washing as quickly as possible, eager to dry off and put some dry clothes on. Highly motivated to maintain my core temperature, I instinctively jumped out of the shower in an effort to escape the icy water faster. Which wasn’t a wise move, given my wounds. My injured leg touched first and I collapsed into the sink, shattering the cheap porcelain to the linoleum floor and snapping a pipe in half. Icy water instantly arced up into the air, splashing the room and my already frozen torso with more cold water. “Motherfucker!” I roared, stuffing my old clothes into the broken pipe in an effort to halt the spraying water. The neighbor upstairs began banging on the floor again. I wiped the water from my face so I could see more clearly now that I had somewhat stopped the water leak. The sink was destroyed, now a pile of cheap porcelain rubble, and my leg was bleeding freely thanks to my sudden acrobatics. Then my arm and side decided to join the bandwagon. My vision began to tunnel. I left the bathroom in a drunken crawl in order to find the medical kit and tie off the wounds before I bled out. Numb fingers and dwindling strength fought my inexperienced medical attention every step of the way, but I finally managed it. Once finished, I leaned back against the dirty couch, naked, panting heavily, and feeling very sorry for myself.

I couldn’t even call Dean to help fix the bathroom. I was literally helpless without my friends. I growled to myself. “Pick yourself up, Nate. Don’t be a little man-bitch. Roll your sleeves up. People are depending on you.”

Feeling marginally better, I snatched up my bag and began digging through it for a fresh set of clothes. Apparently I had left a can of shoe polish in the bag at some point in my life, because every single item inside the bag was coated with a heavy layer of the oily, black goo. I blinked in disbelief, shaking out the bag. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I whispered to myself. I spotted the bottle of absinthe on the floor by the couch and decided I deserved a quick drink. I gulped it for a good five seconds, the fire helping me wake up a bit. I coughed heavily at the pleasant burn, feeling my body warm up a bit as the liquor hit my bloodstream.

Having exactly no concern for my sartorial savvy any longer, I picked the least offensive clothing and began to dress myself. It was a pair of black sweatpants and a tee that I had picked up to sleep in. It had a single word on the front,
Touchdown
, and sported a cartoon image of a baseball player hitting a homerun. Indie had gotten it for me, mocking my sports knowledge. I sighed, tugging it on — accepting the cosmic karma for making out with Othello. The back was liberally coated with shoe polish, but at least a coat would cover that up.

The cabbie honked outside and I growled. I didn’t see my coat anywhere, but I also remembered that it was covered in blood anyway. I groaned with frustration. No time. I finished dressing in a rush, shoved my various knick-knacks in my pockets, and flipped off the bathroom for good measure. I snatched up the bottle of absinth and stormed out of the apartment, not even bothering to lock up behind me. The cabbie was waiting, and eyed me dubiously as he realized that the drunk, dirty, wet man limping towards him wasn’t a homeless vagrant, but his fare. I couldn’t blame him. I looked like I had just escaped
Fight Club
, I didn’t have a coat, I was dressed like a dirty derelict, and I was clutching a bottle of liquor like my life depended on it. But it was
Mardi Gras
. Maybe he was used to it this time of year. “Soulard. Near a church if possible.” I added as an afterthought, realizing with a sinking feeling that I was officially out of options, and that I would have to summon the Greater Demon, Sir Dreadsalot, after all.