His scowl deepened. “Would never happen in real life.”
Alucard flashed an arrogant grin at the Angel before turning back to me. “Practice makes perfect, and stabbing someone in the forehead – although surprising – is not as effective as you would think. It’s one of the hardest bones in the body. Likely, your dagger would have slid right off, injuring me, sure, but not killing me.”
I shrugged. “I’ll try to remember that.”
“That’s the point of all this, Maker. Practicing for the real thing. So that we don’t have any major casualties,” Achilles added in a grouchy tone. “For example, every time your friends have aided you in your vendettas.” He turned to Tory before I could even try to argue the valid accusation. “Nice shot. A bit melodramatic, but it’s good practice to aim for known weaknesses.”
Tory dipped her head, accepting the compliment with grace.
“And here I thought we were just having some fun,” Gunnar chimed in, his beefy arms wrapped tightly around Ashley, whose eyes were practically closed as she rubbed her cheek against his forearm appreciatively.
I often took my aggression out on my dog when pissy. “That was a pretty dramatic death. Thinking of going into theater?”
Gunnar flashed a toothy grin at me as his only response, his stupid man-bun looking good on his large bulk. Like a Viking.
“War is not fun,” Eae argued, frowning in disapproval.
“It is if you win,” Othello chimed in. Achilles grunted in agreement.
Eae had a distant look in his eyes. “My brothers had a war once…” his Heavenly gaze rested on each of us for a millisecond. “It was not fun.”
The silence grew for a minute as everyone absorbed the severity of his reference. The Angel War that had cast those Angels allied with Lucifer down from Heaven. Or Eden. Or whatever the real story was. “Well, who invited Buzz Killington?” I muttered.
He glanced at me sharply, but finally let out a slow nod of embarrassment. “Yes, it was long ago. My apologies. I believe it is time for us to break bread. The Horseman is growing impatient.”
“Alright, let’s go. Death makes a mean turkey. But we should probably pick up first, then—”
I glanced at the room and saw that all the bullets and toy guns had been picked up already.
Dean.
“He’s a freaking ninja,” Alucard murmured. I nodded, glad that he hadn’t chosen that moment to berate us all for disrespecting my ancestors’ paintings with stray bullets. I was sure that I would hear about it later, though. In depth.
“Friendsgiving,” Othello smiled, snatching up my hand before tugging me on towards the dining room. My friends filed after me, Ashley’s gaze discreetly settling on Othello holding my hand. I shrugged back, feeling a brief pulse of anger at the silent judgment.
Indie was gone. With no word. No letters. And in decidedly unpleasant company.
My grandfather.
I shook off my testosterone-laden reaction as we headed to the dining room. I wasn’t about to let Ashley’s subtle look ruin my day. Things like this were important. The glue to our friendship. Not just death and destruction, but simple things. Like Friendsgiving.
And Nerf wars.
Chapter 3
We entered the dining room to find that Dean and Death had been busy.
The long table stretched before us, laden with steaming bowls of mashed potatoes, green beans, salad, covered baskets of freshly baked rolls, plates of butter, pitchers of gravy, a smattering of other covered dishes, a dozen unopened bottles of expensive wine, as well as a half dozen crystal decanters brimming with already-poured wine. Steam curled around the massive turkey centered on the table, and my mouth instantly salivated at the savory aroma. China plates, expensive silverware, and crystal wine or highball glasses sat empty before each seat, waiting to quench the untamable thirst of my table of monsters, legends, and famed warriors.
Sir Muffle Paws darted between my legs before hurling himself up onto a side-table that held a ritzy silver saucer with fresh cream. I rolled my eyes at the opulence granted to the filthy feline.
But, hell, why not? It was Friendsgiving.
“You spoil that mangy fur-ball too much,” Gunnar smiled.
I nodded back absently. I didn’t mention that – in my own private way – treating the cat like royalty made me feel like I was treating Indie like royalty, because she loved that little beast unconditionally. The cat was getting bigger fast. Not super heavy or anything, but in height and length. I shifted gears away from Indie, not wanting to ruin my mood.
Dean had gone all out, dusting off the priceless dinnerware that had sat unused for far too long in my home, Chateau Falco. After a rough few years, the halls of my mansion finally had guests again.
And it felt…
Nice.
Dean wore a freshly pressed tuxedo and stood in the entryway leading to the kitchen, hands clasped behind his back, looking extremely pleased with himself.
Everyone began taking their seats. I unbuttoned my coat, and chose the practical throne at the head of the table, an ornate, ebony-stained wooden chair – complete with Druidic carvings from top to bottom. My dad’s old chair. The back stretched well over my head, but the gaudy throne was surprisingly comfortable. Death sat at the opposite end of the table, looking out of countenance in his black suit. He sat in an equally pompous white throne, but this one was carved in feminine, Fae-like adornment. My mom’s old chair. I briefly considered the irony of him, the Pale Rider, in a white chair. But that brought up other memories of the White Room, and the Mad Hatter whom resided there. I still didn’t have a solid explanation for Death’s relationship with the Mad Hatter. Or of the exact dangers associated with the Hatter. Just that Death hadn’t been pleased I had met him. Or that I had continued to meet him. But now was time for celebrating.
I smiled to myself, eyes slowly absorbing every aspect of the scene before me. Here I was, hosting Friendsgiving with a truly terrifying assortment of Freaks.
To my right, after a few empty chairs, sat the Reds, followed by Tory, Alucard, and finally, Achilles, next to Death at the far end of the table.
Opposite Achilles, sat Othello, then Eae, Greta, Gunnar, and Ashley. Two pairs of empty chairs sat on either side of me. “Where did the Huntress go?” I asked, curiously. Everyone looked around, surprised to find her absent. My gaze tightened. She was an elusive one, and had likely snuck off before things grew too… intimate. I counted the empty chairs, and then turned to Dean. “We’re dropping like flies. Where’s Raego and—”
As if on cue, Mallory entered the room with Raego in tow. Midas and Tomas followed behind them, and they all stared, enthralled, upon the aged bottle clutched in Mallory’s fist. A Macallan Lalique sixty-two-year-old single malt scotch. I had only tried it once in my life. I knew we had a stash of Macallan fifty-year bottles around the house, but I hadn’t known about this treasure. It was upwards of $30,000 per bottle. I wondered how many more could be lying around in some forgotten storage room in the 17,000 square-foot mansion.
Mallory paused, noticing that everyone was already seated and staring at his posse expectantly. He turned to Dean with a guilty grin. “Sorry, Dean. Didna’ know we were seating yet.” Dean dipped his head in response, and the tardy guests took their places on either side of me, various stages of light chastisement on their faces.
“Where’s Famine?” Alucard asked, deadpan.
Othello smirked absently, but then seemed to grow mildly alarmed at the thought of another Horseman joining us, as if, perhaps, he really was on his way.
“Friendsgiving is not really his… thing. Neither is food…” Death replied in a cool tone that darted from Alucard to Greta, then back again, as if warning him against being rude in front of the deeply religious Regular at the table. Alucard looked only slightly ashamed. I caught Death shoot a deeply considering gaze at Othello as she idly tucked a stray hair behind her ear. Like a lion catching a gazelle stumble in his peripheral vision. I wasn’t s
ure exactly what was going on there, but it had seemed like the two had kind of hit it off when they first met. Back when she had died.
Long story short, I had hunted down my parents’ murderer – a renegade wizard – who had kidnapped Othello to use against me. I had borrowed Death’s mask, brought Othello back to life after the wizard killed her, and then promptly burned him alive.
Emphasis on alive. Slowly. With Othello by my side.
Shortly after, I found myself in a courtroom with Angels, Demons, and the other Horsemen.
It had been a big misunderstanding. Akin to a Biblical parking ticket.
I swear.
Death first met Othello at the renegade wizard’s funeral pyre, and the two had seemed to flirt back and forth a bit. Or at least had whispered together in dark corners for a few days.
I wondered if it was possible for the two of them to share romance, or if Death was merely interested in the Regular’s presence at my table of mostly Freaks. Or, maybe it was because he could taste the death on her. I shivered at that.
Othello noticed his gaze and blushed, basically admitting that something was going on between the two of them.
Greta broke the silence, seated beside her Guardian Angel, Eae. “Now that you are done playing games, let us say grace.”
“Grace,” Alucard murmured, reaching for the potatoes. Tory looked at him with lightly flickering green eyes, and his hand went rigid, frozen. He turned to her, grinning sheepishly, before withdrawing his hand. Tory nodded, then turned back to Greta. Her eyes shifted back to their normal, already bright-green shade. Just not glowing any longer.
“Thank you, child. Although I won’t pretend to understand how you control such dark forces.” Tory smiled back politely, not taking offense, and not offering an explanation. Upon meeting an actual Angel, Greta had received a crash course in the supernatural, and although she had accepted it with aplomb, she was still less-than-thrilled to be in the presence of some of the ‘evil’ guests at the table. Especially Death, one of the Four Horsemen. She cleared her throat, lifting a glass of wine, eyes flicking briefly to each person. “Now, it is apparent that the table represents many different… cultures and faiths.” She shot a questioning look at Eae, who nodded back in approval. “However, since I arranged this dinner—”
Dean cleared his throat softly, barely even a sound, but Greta blushed.
“My apologies. Since Dean and I worked together to arrange this… Friendsgiving, I think it’s only fair to honor my beliefs…” her eyes darted around the table, both a challenge, and a… well, a look of concern.
Drama, I thought to myself, masking my grin.
Chapter 4
But Death ruined it, responding with a warm smile. “Of course, Greta. That is an excellent idea. I additionally propose that we each state what we are thankful for.” His icy gaze took in Mallory, who was urgently fumbling with the bottle of Macallan. He finally got it open and poured glasses for those interested. Mallory handed me mine first, to which Raego rolled his eyes. I stuck my tongue out at him. Finally, everyone ready, Greta cleared her throat again.
“Dear Heavenly Father…” she began, reciting the well-known prayer. I let her words wash over me, not particularly religious myself, but still respectful, and somewhat admiring, of her faith. Hell, she had a freaking Guardian Angel sitting next to her. It wasn’t like I could deny the Almighty, but I felt like a fraud trying to worship Him after the proof had been shown to me. Seemed kind of backwards. Like cheating. Was it considered faithful worship if I already had the proof? So, I had decided to continue being myself, hoping that God understood my position.
I studied those at the table with silent pride. I had gathered this motley crew of Freaks to join me for Thanksgiving. Except, several had prior engagements, or didn’t celebrate the American holiday, so I had chosen to host a Friendsgiving instead, a few weeks prior to Turkey Day.
And for the most part, all my loved ones were here.
Well, except one.
Indie, my fiancée.
I squashed that thought down deep, holding its metaphorical head underwater until it drowned a messy, spluttering, gasping, fitful death. Which made me feel only marginally better.
I focused on those present, genuinely appreciating the diverse group, almost wanting to shake my head in disbelief. Greta finally finished her prayer, and for the most part, we all responded with Amen.
A few obvious exceptions were Alucard, Midas, Achilles, and Mallory.
I didn’t know much about Mallory’s background, and had been strongly encouraged not to pry. The Greeks were understandable. They worshipped Mount Olympus, the Greek Pantheon of Gods and Goddesses.
Alucard was a vampire. Kind of on the no-fly list with the Almighty. He was particularly sensitive to religious items. It wasn’t too long ago that Greta’s squad of Bible School children had effectively taken him hostage when they tried to host a bake sale at my bookstore, Plato’s Cave, which he had very briefly managed for me. Looking at him now, I could tell he was on edge, waiting for something bad to happen. I had also frequently used religious flyers from Greta to prank him. One touch of the mailer and he was basically Tasered by Heaven.
“I am Thankful for my Father, and His gift of Eae to aid me on my spiritual journey,” Greta said after a pause. “I ask that he guide me on our upcoming mission trip to Guatemala.”
Eae nodded in agreement.
I almost grunted, but bit my tongue. Eae hadn’t been a gift to Greta. He had been cast down for a mistake during my courtroom appearance over the Biblical parking ticket, forced to spend his Heavenly Time-Out on Earth. He had wanted to find someone to protect that was close to me, so that he could point the finger at me the next time I made a mistake, maybe earning him early parole from Daddy. Smug bastard. I hoped that mission trip took a good long while. Give me a little breathing room from his judgmental eyes.
“I am thankful for my journey to Earth, to better learn your mortal ways,” Eae stated piously.
“I’m thankful to have met Death,” Othello said softly, then she let out a giggle, likely realizing how ridiculous that would have sounded at any other dinner table.
Death smiled in response before turning to stare directly at me. “I am thankful for my new Brother.”
And an abrupt shiver shot down my arms. The room grew quiet as everyone read between the lines. He was referring to his belief that I was the fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse, the Horseman of Hope. He had called me that long ago, while standing beside his Brothers – War, Famine, and Pestilence during my courtroom appearance. None of his brothers had argued, though they had laughed about it a bit. I could never tell when they were joking. But Death seemed to remind me of that conversation on a fairly regular basis.
Like now.
I dipped my head politely, avoiding staring too intently into his icy eyes, and ignoring the thoughtful looks from the others at the table.
Achilles cleared his throat. “I want to thank Dean and Death for preparing such a lovely meal, and inviting me to this feast.” He held up a finger, “But I would also like to thank everyone for defeating Silver Tongue, releasing me from my bond.” He turned to me. “And Nate, for partnering with King Midas to set up our… book club.” He winked at me, and I grinned back, shrugging my shoulders. Several others murmured their agreement with identical boyish grins. Greta looked confused.
He was referring to the Fight Club I had set up with King Midas at the Dueling Grounds, the Minotaur’s sanctum sanctorum – or inner sanctum, for those not bored enough to pick up Latin as a hobby. The Dueling Grounds was on a different plane of existence than our regular world, and allowed those battling there to fight to the death without actually dying. It gave these gods and warriors a place to hone their skills without lasting harm. It had been unbelievably successful, and although none were supposed to talk about it, many loose lips had shared the information. Achilles and the Minotaur had kind of taken over the management of the fights, and had come up with s
ome rather grim punishments for those who didn’t follow the rule of silence.
I shivered at the memory of a few nights ago when two such individuals had been informed of the Fight Club without official invitation from Achilles.
They had been nominated as target practice for anyone who wanted to take them on. Repeatedly. For the duration of one month. They were tossed into the ring, and one by one, every single warrior who wanted to was allowed to kill the defenseless rule-breaker. The guilty had to accept the punishment without future reprisal. Only to be punished once again at the next meeting. Until Achilles deemed them properly chastised.
Silence had quickly been restored. And now it was by invitation only.
Alucard spoke next. “I want to thank Nate for letting me join his family…” I found it uniquely cute to see a pale, undead vampire blush. Then again… he didn’t look as pale as usual, no doubt thanks to whatever had happened between him and Tory. Despite usually being a snarky guy, he spoke this with the utmost sincerity. I smiled back, deciding not to rib him as much. It was true. During the Grimm War, he had turned against his fellow vampires to help me, essentially declaring his own people his enemy. He had literally given up his life to become my friend. “Tory’s kinda cool, too,” he added, grinning at the Reds, “because she keeps these two gingers from stealing my soul.”
Tory rolled her eyes, and the Reds tried to glare at him, but were having a hard time fighting down their smiles. Tory gave him an affectionate pat on the wrist before speaking. “I want to thank Nate for giving me a family. Without him, I wouldn’t have met these two beautiful women, and their equally beautiful mother, Misha. Although our love was brief, I have gained two beautiful daughters, and a whole table full of friends, after a lifetime of loneliness.” Her eyes were misty as she finally lowered them to her lap.
Beast Master: A Novel in The Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Series (The Temple Chronicles Book 5) Page 2