Obsidian Son (The Temple Chronicles Book 1) (5 page)

“Okaaay… That’s not mysterious at all.” Peter’s eyes twinkled as he leaned forward.

Gunnar was still frowning. “So, barring creepy clients and cow pastures, how have you been?” Gunnar asked carefully.

I grinned over the rim of my aromatic drink. “Both of those negations are actually related. I Just got busted from the police station. Apparently trespassing is frowned upon. As is cow tipping.”

Peter choked on his drink. “Pardon?”

Gunnar wasn’t so polite. “What? You know they are looking for any excuse to give you trouble! You even said that you noticed patrol cars hanging around the shop. And why on earth were you cow tipping? Could you find nothing else to entertain you on a Thursday night?”

“I needed information,” I began, settling deeper into the chair. I spotted my first edition of
Paradise Lost
on the table beside me, and recalled the last passage I had read before retiring the tome:
Do they only stand by ignorance, is that their happy state, the proof of their obedience and faith…
It reminded me of the detectives at the police station. It had been close to a week since I had read the passage, but I had an eidetic memory, so it was forever burned into my brain. A gift and a curse. I had never quite gotten used to how others couldn’t do the same thing.

“How could you get information by cow tipping?” Gunnar pressed, knowing there was more to the story. We had fallen into a strong friendship almost from the very beginning, and then upon discovering our unique similarities, the strands of friendship had only grown stronger. We each had one foot in a whole other world.

The world of magic.

Gunnar was a werewolf, able to change at a whim now, thanks to my parents help long ago. As if sensing this, Gunnar idly thumbed the tattoo on his wrist — a gift from my parents. Werewolves normally couldn’t control their change from one form to the other, but the tattoo served as a totem, allowing Gunnar to shift at will, no longer a victim to the cycles of the moon. Merely a thought or a finger on the tattoo would begin the transformation. White, snowy fur slowly began to curl up from Gunnar’s forearm before he realized what he was doing. He removed his finger, closed his eyes, and the fur disappeared.

Peter watched with a distant, familiar envy. He was a regular, just happening to fall into our lives back in school, and he had been there ever since. Despite having no powers, he was a good friend, and an even better man. He was one of the few people who knew our secrets. Even Gunnar’s boss didn’t know the truth, but he did know that Gunnar had an unusually high success rate for solving cases that other agents had deemed ‘unsolvable.’

The age of digital media had made the lives of our kind harder to conceal.
YouTube
had caught more magic on film than any number of cameras in the past. Even dismissed as hoaxes, a growing number of people throughout the world had begun to question this resurgence of magical evidence with some serious scrutiny. Luckily, they were mostly regarded as intoxicated conspiracy theorists. I couldn’t imagine what would happen once the lid finally blew on that subject. It would be the Salem Witch Trials all over again. Blood would flow in the streets, and the government would no doubt pass a litany of regulations and laws within weeks. I shivered at the thought, coming back to the question.

“I needed to speak with the Minotaur.” I answered simply, taking another sip of the licorice fire.

Peter leaned even further forward. “
The
Minotaur? As in the one Theseus killed in Daedalus’ Labyrinth? He’s
real
?”

“Come now, Peter. You know better. Of course he’s real. Almost all the myths are real. But the Minotaur wasn’t killed. True, he was
defeated
by Theseus, but he swore not to eat any more men — the first monster carnivore turned vegetarian — so was allowed to survive. He’s still…
kicking
around, so to speak. And he’s good at finding things. My kind of things.” I still felt the impression of his boot on my stomach, despite my hastily thrown shield. I was sure it would bruise nicely.

Gunnar growled unhappily. “So, after cow tipping him, why on earth did he agree to help you? He could have very easily killed you, you know.”

I let the silence build until they were leaning forward. “He’s Buddhist now.” No reaction. “Or trying to become one. I’m guessing I survived because he struck a deal with Hermes long ago.” I fingered the coin in my pocket, but remained silent on that gift. “It has to do with the client you saw earlier. He’s looking for something, and my other sources turned up nothing. He was my last resource. He said I could duel him in two days for the item. Then the cops arrived. They must have been keeping tabs on my car.”

“Well, it’s not exactly discreet.” Peter mocked.

I grinned back, showing my teeth. “Jealousy does not become you, Peter.”

He grunted indelicately. “Did you find what you were looking for?” I nodded.

Gunnar looked relieved. “You risk too much, Nate. You have access to an almost limitless fortune, but you still risk everything for these pennies you get from clients.”

“They aren’t quite pennies,” I murmured, again thumbing the coin in my pocket.

“You know what I mean, Nate. Don’t bandy words with me. I know you.” He frowned. “I heard radio chatter on the way over here. I’m guessing it was about you getting snatched up by the police. What did they want?”

“Just more questions.” I waved a hand, not wanting to continue that line of conversation. “About the company and everything.” I lied.

Peter’s interest peaked. “Have you finally decided to pick up the reins?”

“No. But apparently everybody thinks I’m scheming to do just that.”

Peter grinned. “You, scheming? They must not know you
at all
.” I smiled back, nodding. “Well if you won’t do it, why don’t you hire me to help? I could use some creative financing to increase your profits.”

Gunnar suppressed a grin behind his glass, but remained silent. “Your track record is not so great, Peter. I can’t risk that with my parents’ company. It’s much too vast for anyone except well-experienced professionals. It’s not a toy to pass to my friends. No offense.” Peter’s eyes smoldered, his hand idly brushing his new bracelet again. “Why do you think I haven’t jumped in myself, Peter? It’s too big, even for me.”

Gunnar leaned back, stretching his feet. “Say that again. Your parents would curl in their grav-.” His face paled. “Oh, God. I’m sorry, Nate. It slipped out. I didn’t mean-.”

I waved a hand, dampening my anger quickly. “No, you’re right. But choose your words more carefully next time.” Gunnar looked ashamed of himself. Good.

Peter finally broke the silence. “Still, Gunnar has a point. You don’t want to stay in this shit-hole for the rest of your life. What about Chateau Falco? Are you going to sell it? You can’t leave it empty. It’s been in your family for what, a hundred years? You can’t just let it go.”

“261.” I murmured. Gunnar and Peter glanced at each other for a moment, not comprehending. I rolled my eyes. “261
years
. And I haven’t decided yet. It is not for sale at the moment, but who knows? I haven’t been there for a long time.”

“But you are its new
Master
.” Gunnar raised his arms to mimic a Hitler salute. “
Master Temple, your wish is my command
.” He mocked.

I rolled my eyes before whispering softly. “The place … scares me. It’s not just a home. It has secrets that even my parents kept close.” I looked at them, a serious expression on my face.

“You’re not scared of
anything
. Hence, Minotaur tipping.” Gunnar grinned.

“Well, I am afraid of
that
place.” I answered honestly.

They blinked in disbelief, the silence stretching for a few moments. Changing topic, Peter continued on, wisely sensing that talk of the mansion was off the table. “At least you could hire me as a consultant. I couldn’t hurt anything.”

Gunnar laughed aloud this time. I shrugged as Peter scowled at Gunnar. “Wrong. I can’t
hire
anyone because I don’t
work
for the company. I’m just an investor.”

“You mean they didn’t leave it to you in the will?” Gunnar stammered in surprise.

“Years ago they asked me. I declined. Hence my fall from grace in their eyes. I guess they looked at me as God once looked at the young Lucifer.”

Peter looked baffled. “I just don’t understand you.” He glanced at Gunnar’s tattoo pointedly. “You either, Wolf. You each have the gifts of gods, and you do nothing with them. Well,
you
go cow tipping.” He waggled a frustrated hand in my direction.

“It’s just something we were born with, Peter. It doesn’t make us gods. And we
do
use it. When necessary.” Gunnar idly caressed the crescent tattoo on his wrist again. He had been wetting panties before girls even knew what it meant back in Junior High — the only student with a full beard and a tattoo. Smug bastard. He was easy to hate.

“But you wallow in filth rather than taking the world by its balls!” Peter argued.

“Easy, Thrasymychus. Might is not right.” I said softly.

Peter slumped in defeat. “Listen, if you two are going to talk philosophy again, I’m out. No more circle-jerking Plato for me, thank you very much. I’ve got work in a few hours.” He stood to leave, downing his drink with a contented sigh. Setting it on a side table, he paused as if remembering something. “Hey, did you happen to find that book I requested a couple days ago?”

I frowned. For the first time my eidetic memory failed me. “What book?”

Peter turned to face me. “I left a note with Jessie. He’s a new employee. Not one of your veterans.”

“He never mentioned anything to me.” I answered honestly. I had only spoken to the kid once. My store manager, Indie, had hired him. “Why the sudden interest in a book? I didn’t even know you could read.” I teased.

Peter looked hurt. “What, I’m not allowed to read every now and then?” He grouched. “I left him a note with the title. He said he would leave it on your desk.” I glanced back to see a crumpled piece of parchment on my ornate oak desk.

“I haven’t been in the office for a few days. Just coming here to sleep. I’ve had… a lot on my plate.”

Peter and Gunnar both nodded, faces grim. “It’s no big deal. Just a book a client asked me to find. The rich one I was talking about earlier.”

I nodded, suddenly distracted by an odd sensation on my arms. “I’ll take a look around tomorrow.” I mumbled, rubbing my forearm curiously as I stretched my mind out like a web, searching for the cause of the distracting warmth. It felt like a wave of steam.

Peter nodded, pocketing his cell. “Alright, gentlemen. I bid you-”

His mouth closed with an audible click of smacking teeth as I suddenly leapt to my feet without a word of warning. The sensation had cranked up a dozen notches, as if I was now standing before an open oven. I darted to the wall of windows that overlooked my shop, and then looked further out to the street. I had left two of the loft windows wide open for air circulation from the store below. The ice cubes clinked together in my glass as I stared hard, my skin pebbling with sudden anxiety. I felt my friend’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t peel my eyes away from the street. It had begun to storm outside, heavy snowflakes beginning to cover the cars outside.

I heard my voice before I consciously chose to speak. “
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary… Suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door
…” The world slowed as I abruptly sensed the presence that stood just outside the front door to my shop. Something powerful was waiting for me. The waves of heat intensified, contrasting my suddenly icy forearms.

Long ago, with my mother’s help, I had created what some Tibetan monks coined a
memory palace
, a vast mental library where each item — whether a statue, painting, cabinet, plant or even a book — held a specific piece of knowledge or past memory. My mouth moved in pace with my racing thoughts as they wandered through the dusty library, the imaginary walls of bookshelves racing into existence all around me. I held a book in my palms, but I didn’t need to read it. Merely holding the construct transferred whatever memories or knowledge it contained into my subconscious.

Gunnar grumbled. “Eidetic showoff. What-” The bell from the front door chimed and a shadow slipped inside, interrupting Gunnar. I heard him draw his SIG Sauer 9mm pistol in a swift motion, but it was a distant, sensory feeling, my mind still focused entirely on Edgar Allen Poe. An appropriate black cloak was folded around a woman’s shoulders like obsidian wings, the whites of her teeth seeming to glow as she stared up at me from the floor below. Her eyes were black coals, but a glint of yellow reflected off them from the light behind me. My voice was faint even to me as I continued the poem.

“
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, by the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore
…”

Her voice hissed back the only acceptable answer. “
Quoth the raven, Nevermore
.”

Chapter 6