Blood Debts (The Temple Chronicles Book 2) Read online

  Or I could die, and let the world continue on as it was.

  With a slow movement, I lifted my head and made my decision, suddenly feeling much better. My humor even began to return as I faced Othello and Hope, who were both watching me with curiosity and concern. I smiled softly to them, nodding my head to banish their concern.

  “You have come to a conclusion.” Hope stated.

  I nodded. “Quite literally, I’m afraid. I will not take any of the weapons.”

  Hope’s head sagged, and Othello began to cry. “But you will die.” She sobbed.

  I shrugged. “Yes. And apparently, I’m not even allowed to die on my own terms. But why should I be given that option?” I continued in sarcastic amusement, realizing that the confidence of my decision had eliminated my fear of dying. I felt proud of myself. I would die honorably. “As my actions so far have been, my death will also serve a greater good.”

  I turned to Hope with a smile, easing the pain on her stunningly beautiful face. She nodded with studious respect, like a scientist encountering a creature they’ve never seen before. But I still had questions for her. If I had to die, I wanted to make sure I took out as many of the bad guys as possible first. But one person above all others.

  The summoner.

  Before I could formulate a question, my lips moved of their own volition. “Well, I guess I’m finished here.” Othello nodded without argument. We left quickly, having other very important things to do. I barely noticed any of our surroundings as we strode through the hallway and back to the large door that stood open before us. We exited hurriedly, stepping back into Temple Industries. Othello was still sobbing softly.

  The door closed behind us before we had even realized the spell had forced us to leave. I had been too preoccupied with Hope’s news about me dying at the right place and the right time to notice the spell. As the door sealed behind us, I groaned. “God-”

  Othello coughed. “Let’s hold off on cursing his name. Didn’t pan out well last time.”

  I bit my tongue, nodding begrudgingly.

  “So, you gave up.” She looked both sad and disappointed at the same time.

  I felt a wolfish smile split my face. “Oh, no. Definitely not. I’ve just accepted a very likely outcome. But I won’t be going down without one hell of a fight. I’m going to cause such a ruckus dying that Death himself will shake my hand and send me back with a farewell party to get rid of me.” Othello’s face began to split into a hungry grin. “And I’m going to take as many sons of bitches with me as possible. Angels. Demons. Or Academy wizards. Everyone’s on my naughty list. The Boatman is going to have a very busy day soon.” I hissed. She laughed, and I patted her arm reassuringly.

  We began to wander towards the exit in silence, and ran into absolutely no one.

  Which was odd. People were always working at my company, even on weekends. As the cold air hit me in the face on our way out of an employee side entrance, we realized why.

  Helicopters filled the sky, and people were everywhere. Sound filled my ears after our peacefully quiet sojourn inside both the Armory and the building. My employees filled the parking lot in droves, some in lab-coats, others in suits. Then there were the cops. It was like the Mardi Gras parade was in my parking lot. I instantly hunched lower, hoping to disguise everything about my person, wondering if I should use any of my power to create a disguise so I wasn’t caught. Were they here for me? Of course they were. Othello’s eyes darted back and forth like a feral cat, making sure we hadn’t been spotted. But we were relatively alone by the building. It didn’t seem that the cops were organizing a raid or anything. In fact, they seemed to be barricading the front doors to the building in an attempt to keep people out, not in… like it was a crime scene. They had simply missed this door for some reason.

  My tension at being caught slowly dissipating, my curiosity replaced the void as I edged closer to the tape, doing my best to remain inconspicuous. It wasn’t difficult, thanks to the horde of bodies filling the parking lot.

  Then I saw it. And smelled it. Burnt flesh. To me it was obvious, but to everyone else it merely looked like a particularly violent hate crime. A vampire was staked to a light pole near the entrance to Temple Industries. I could see the fangs from where I stood, as well as the wooden stake through her heart. And she was smoking lightly. Vampires and sunlight went together as well as dogs and stray cats. One of the cops must have hosed her down at some point, because a puddle of watered down blood pooled at the base of the pole. An artsy painted card seemed to be pinned underneath the stake. With the size and look of it from this distance, I could only assume that it was a Tarot card. Several sets of speakers belted out newscasts, cameras whirling eagerly as each reporter fought to be first to drop the news.

  “Another Mardi Gras prank, and at Temple Industries, of all places…” A voice boomed on a megaphone, heavy with enunciation on the location. The voice continued on, describing the scene for the world to hear, as well as rehashing my kidnapping and my bookstore being destroyed, her words heavy with curious implication in all the right places. Each call of my name felt like a hammer blow from Thor, the God of Thunder. I groaned, suddenly nervous about my proximity to so many people at such an inconspicuous event. I motioned Othello to quickly but stealthily sneak back to our car as nonchalantly as possible. I couldn’t be seen here. I saw Greta talking to a reporter and hoped she kept her sighting of me quiet. Why couldn’t things ever be easy?

  Chapter 27

  I decided that a meeting with Asterion, the Minotaur, was in order. I literally had no one else to turn to, and the Greek legend was privy to a lot of juicy and arcane information in the magical community. Othello seemed eager to meet the legend in the flesh. I wasn’t. I typically didn’t receive favorable information when chatting with the ‘born again’ monster of Greek tragedies.

  You see, the Minotaur had recently become a card carrying Buddhist.

  He was obsessed with it. Like all ‘saved’ members of any flavor of religion.

  But hey, At least it was a peaceful choice. He spouted off about Karma, and blah blah blah a lot, but he wasn’t murdering and devouring innocents inside a labyrinth anymore. So, he had that going for him.

  As soon as we left Othello’s car and entered the pasture proper, I could sense tension in the air. I loosened my shoulders, prepping for a scrap. One never knew, and it wasn’t fun to be attacked when your muscles were cold. I felt marginally better after Othello had doctored up my wounds again. None looked infected, but several were concerning. The gash on the back of my head was just a deep scratch. Head wounds always bled fast and hard, but both of us had been nervous about that one. Especially after giving me what I was sure had been a mild concussion. My face felt worse, but as long as I didn’t move it too much it was manageable. We continued on, heading more or less to the center of the field where I had first cowtipped the Minotaur a few months ago… and then dueled him a few days afterwards in exchange for the book on dragons.

  We hadn’t really dueled here. We had instead been teleported to The Dueling Grounds, a place between worlds. I wasn’t sure if it was a place one could accidentally walk into, or if Asterion had booked it from the supernatural time-share community. Either way, I wouldn’t be pleased if I found myself there now. I had enough on my plate.

  A set of gleaming horns materialized out of nowhere, the only part of the creature visible. I instinctively shoved Othello into the grass and rolled away just as the ivory spears pierced the air where I had been standing. I heard grunts of disappointment from a heavy set of lungs, and clumps of grass and dirt flew into the air as it thundered past me. Then the horns and the hoof prints were gone again, leaving only a heavy silence behind.

  “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 visibi
lity. 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.”