He grimaced at my hand, since it was also covered in paint, and then turned away without a word, resuming his work on the floor.
I sighed, and walked past him, shaking my head. I glanced down to see I had gotten paint all over the pretty wooden box.
Oh well. I needed to shower and talk to my guests. I didn’t have much time before we needed to leave. I could almost feel the clock ticking.
Because me and a small army were about to kick down the doors to the Land of the Fae to save Ashley. Whether they wanted to see us or not. After a long talk with anyone knowledgeable on the strange Fae realm, we had concluded that it was the most likely destination for Pan to have taken her. The time distortion would have been his only hope to save her.
But per some cosmic solicitation rule, Talon had informed us that the doors would only be open to our group during a full moon. Those who had gone before could enter as they pleased – Talon, Carl and myself. But since we had a few more guests joining us – namely Gunnar to get his fiancée back – we had to follow the rules.
Tomorrow was our night to go Trick or Treating.
Wylde purred in anticipation deep inside me.
I ignored him and trudged upstairs to shower.
Chapter 7
Freshly showered, I walked the halls until I made it to the door leading to the Solarium – a large, glass room that one of my ancestors had added onto the mansion at some point. I opened the doors and inhaled deeply of the floral and vegetative scents permeating the room.
The walls and ceiling were entirely glass, and were absolutely incredible for watching thunderstorms, a favorite pastime of mine since childhood. The room was filled with plants and small trees, several fire pits, and even a small pond with fountains, giving the space a soothing, tranquil feel. The space had been furnished with comfortable couches and lawn chairs and tons of blankets and pillows. It was essentially a greenhouse, and Dean used it for such, with an entire section partitioned off for herbs and vegetables for the kitchens – which had come in handy in recent months when we had been housing a literal army here.
We still had to make trips to the grocery store, but the produce grown here had helped a lot.
I had hired a crew to install large boulders in the room, perfect for my dragon friends to lounge on when they saw fit. I had gotten the idea from Alaric Slate – the late Dragon Lord – before Raego and I had killed him.
The rocks essentially turned the room into a giant lizard aquarium. Yahn freaking loved it in here, using the area to practice his chameleon abilities to play hide and seek with us.
I walked along the gravel path, deeper into the room where I could hear voices talking faintly. I still clutched the box in the crook of an elbow, wanting to keep it within reach. I hadn’t wanted to keep my guests waiting, and there was something to be said about postponing the gratification of opening a gift. I was pretty sure it was all in my head, but the box smelled like Callie, and I was forcing myself to be patient until I opened it.
I rounded a corner, ducked under some branches leaning over the path, and saw the Reds and Yahn laying out in full dragon form on the large rocks. Yahn wasn’t trying to hide his colors, so resembled a candy-painted dragon – like those cars you see sometimes – a metallic sheen that shifted hues as the light hit it from different angles. As I walked towards him, his scales seemed to change colors. The Reds were nestled up against each other, and all three appeared to be napping, deep rumbling purrs emanating from them, almost making me drowsy.
I turned away to see that the other voices had stopped, and found three figures studying me.
Van Helsing – the notorious monster hunter – lounged on a chair, looking bored.
The Huntress – an ice-cold warrior with never-explained origins – fidgeted absently with an ornate, black wooden bow, caressing it lovingly. A quiver was propped up against her chair.
Baba Yaga – the nightmare old lady from Russian folklore that presumably ate children – sat stiff-backed, watching everyone simultaneously.
Well, technically, there were four people. And I use the term people very loosely.
Because Baba Yaga’s Familiar – a house with chicken feet – lurked behind her. The house was a creature of some kind, and could change sizes, forms, and do all sorts of creepy things. Currently it resembled a giant, hooded creature with a large beak and long, gnarly chicken legs – the claws peeking out from under the worn, tattered robes.
The Familiar was cute and cuddly – in a gouge your eyes out and run for your lives kind of way. It pinned me with a look, not trying to intimidate me, but simply being its usual self.
“How was London?” I asked, trying not to cringe at the Familiar as I walked up to them and took a seat in one of the chairs. I set the box beside me, noticing their attention on the item.
Recently, I had found a secret area of my house that seemed open to only official Master Temples – ones who had been Makers – those beings who partnered up with their ancient Beasts to truly shake the pillars of the world. They were also known as Tiny Gods, and were usually hunted down by the various gods of the world to act as their tool in the world.
The best way to describe a Maker was to think of wizards compared to regular people. Regular people couldn’t do magic, but wizards could do unbelievable things like make fire, lightning, and destroy stuff. Comparing a Maker to a wizard was akin to comparing a wizard to a mortal person. What Makers could do when partnering with their Beasts put wizards to shame. Literally able to think something and make it so.
They had pretty much all died out or been hunted down over the years.
I had been one for a short while, before a unique sequence of events had allowed me to free my Beast and ultimately put him – Kai – into the tree outside.
But the first Master Temples had been Makers, and since the house harbored one of their Beasts, she had secret rooms apparently accessible only by those she deemed worthy.
Upon discovering one of these rooms in my mansion, I had noticed a strange round table inside. A round table that rose up out of the ground when I walked by, and seemed to have a stream of liquid metal coursing across the surface.
I had heard stories of another Round Table in the past, used by some certain Knights and a king named Arthur. I had sent these three to go do some research on the story, because I had a sneaking suspicion that my round table was the Round Table.
Van Helsing grunted. “Well, not near as eventful as what happened here, apparently,” he said, sounding annoyed that he hadn’t been allowed to participate in the war that had dominated my property. I was pretty sure Van simply wished he could have had a chance to go toe-to-toe against Achilles. The two had beef for some reason.
I shrugged at him. “Shit happens. We took care of it. Your job was important, too.”
The Huntress took a sip of her drink, eyes distant. She had joined them on their quest to London and other parts of England over the past several months, but at some point, my pal, War – the Horseman of the Apocalypse – had abducted her and sent her to the Land of the Fae. He’d been playing the long game, and had known that I would need her over there in order to get my friends out in one piece. Not that he told me this ahead of time or anything.
Because War was a ginormous assface. In the best possible way.
So, the Huntress had found herself in Fae – a place she had promised never to return to – and hadn’t been pleased about it. I had gotten her out – well, she and Tory had gotten themselves out by kindling a small spark of true love between them – and had found herself smack dab in the middle of a war rather than returning to drizzly London. She also found herself the caretaker of Alex – the kid we had saved from the Fae.
Which was an entirely new position for the assassin. Looking after a kid, surviving a war, and escaping a nightmare. Obviously, Baba Yaga and Van Helsing had been alarmed as all hell to find her suddenly missing one day, but we had gone over that on the phone, and decided a face-to-face was necessary.
Baba Yag
a cleared her throat, waiting until I looked at her to speak. She was a crone in every sense of the word. Wrinkled skin framed a very grandmotherly face, and her eyes – although appearing kind – also had a merciless cunning to them. She smiled, revealing iron teeth. I was used to it by now, but still.
“We found no validation. We found nothing at all, in fact. No mention of what happened to the Round Table, or if it is even possible for it to be moved. Even though everyone knows the tale of King Arthur and his Round Table, none consider it anything more than a myth,” she said in a soft tone. “We checked with sources from the Academy at your request, and although they weren’t happy to work with us, they seemed happier to avoid your wrath,” she said smiling lightly. “I wonder what you said to give them cause for such concern…”
I smiled lightly, shrugging. “I showed them my magic stick.”
She smiled. “Be that as it may, we could find nothing concrete. Perhaps if you would let me actually see it—”
I shook my head, cutting her off. “Not possible,” I said. The Huntress very pointedly didn’t look at me. Because other than her, no one had physically seen it. If I was right, I didn’t want anyone knowing where to find it – here, in my house.
Baba sighed, holding out her hands. “Well, what next? If I could see it, I could perhaps test it,” she said, trying again to wheedle information from me. Van Helsing was watching me like a tiger, trying to get a read on me, no doubt wondering where it was. Not because he really cared, of course, but because it was an unknown.
I shook my head. “Not yet. Did you try looking into the Knights themselves? Or Arthur? Hell, Merlin?” I asked.
She sighed regretfully. “No. We chased the story, not the people. We were… interrupted. By a week-long nap, if you recall. Then we woke up to find the Huntress missing.”
I nodded. “She was taken against her will. I can promise that it wasn’t related to your search. Just poor timing.”
Baba glanced at the Huntress, but didn’t offer a comment.
“War kidnapped me and took me to the Land of the Fae as leverage for Nate to do something,” the Huntress admitted, sounding as if forced. Any smart man would have read the tone and realized it was now time to shut their mouths.
But not Van. The dumb shit opened his mouth.
Chapter 8
Van looked suddenly interested. “Hell of a thing to do, considering your past,” he said softly. The Huntress’ shoulders stiffened defensively, a subtle warning for him to let it go. He grunted. “I wasn’t going to say anything else. Just… kind of a dick move.”
“All things considered, I appreciate what he did, believe it or not,” she said distantly, no doubt thinking of Alex. Her hand continued caressing her bow. It was carved with images of horses, war and conquest. A cobweb-thin string connected the ends, looking thin enough to break at a breath, but I knew better. The bow had belonged to Bellerophon, the Greek who had first tamed Pegasus. Anyone could draw the bow and shoot at incredible distances. The bow itself seemed to absorb all power, so that even a child could draw the string as far back as Gunnar, for example.
It was a marvel, and I saw that Baba and Van were both eyeing it curiously, because they knew it was a new acquisition, and not knowing things tended to bother them.
She noticed, and grinned. “Spoils of war…” she said. And that could have been taken a few different ways.
Van sighed, shaking his head. “Well, what’s next? You already defeated the Greeks…” he trailed off, hoping for me to elaborate on the topic. When I didn’t respond, he pressed. “I heard you went though some twisted stuff in Fae. Came back… different.” He studied me, as if looking for telltale proof of this. “Killed Athen—”
“I’d really rather not talk about it,” I said, allowing Wylde’s tone and mannerisms to poke through my calm veneer. That savage side of myself I had found over there. The part of me that had shown me how to kill a god, even though I didn’t fully understand it. I was pretty sure that the golden light coursing through my veins at times – and the strange power that had helped me save Alex – were related to that somehow. Because Athena’s blood – ichor – had been gold.
But I hadn’t wanted to play around with it, and it appeared to be fading from lack of use.
Baba leaned closer, holding out a hand to Van. “I hear Hope is in the air,” she said softly.
I grunted. “It always is.” I let the silence grow before continuing, not rising to what she had really been asking – about me being the Fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse, the Horseman of Hope. “I need you guys to look into the Knights. You tried the Table, now try the people.”
“That… could take some time. There were quite a few of them…” Baba said.
“I’m not a goddamned librarian,” Van argued. “I fight and kill things.”
I met his eyes very slowly. “You do what I tell you,” I warned, letting some of the wildness show through my face again.
Van paled, still unhappy, but I could see the fear in his eyes. How far dare he push me? He had heard the stories. Even been on the receiving end of some of my displeasure. But that was before I had killed a Greek Goddess. Donned a Horseman Mask.
Allegedly.
He sighed. “Fine. Can we take a few days to rest up, first? Then the Huntress can rejoin us—”
“I’ll be staying here in St. Louis with Alex and Tory,” she said immediately.
The room grew very silent. Baba Yaga looked thoughtful, turning from face to face to gauge the situation.
Van looked frustrated. “No offense, Baba, but your company leaves something to be desired.”
She grinned wickedly, flashing her iron teeth at him. “Likewise.”
“I need you to leave tomorrow. Just see what you can find. You’re being paid well for this, and who knows? If you strike the right flint, you might just have the fight of your life on your hands, Van. That’s why I’m trusting this to you. Between you and Baba, I pity the fool who gets in your way. I can check to see who else I can spare to help you,” I added, feeling tired. But who else was there? Everyone else was kind of busy.
Van waved a hand. “No, that’s fine. We don’t need a babysitter. Just…” his eyes grew resigned. “Not used to taking orders.”
I nodded, hoping I looked appreciative. I chose not to remind him of his past servitude to Rumpelstiltskin, also known as Silver Tongue. That had ended when I stepped into the game and abducted the little bastard. “Thanks. But I’m not giving orders. I’m asking you to do me a favor, because I trust you.” I met his eyes levelly. “I’m also paying handsomely for your work…”
Baba smacked his arm – the instinctive gesture that all grandmothers master at some secret ritual before they received their cards. He rubbed his arm, scowling. Then again, a smack from Baba was probably more painful than your typical grandma.
I didn’t know a whole hell of a lot about these three – four if you counted the lurking house behind Baba – but they had been kind of a team – forced to work off a debt with Rumpelstiltskin. They had started out as my enemies – like pretty much everyone who hung around me lately – but had soon become friends. Or maybe ‘allies’ was a better way to describe them.
They were each ruthless and dangerous, but they had displayed their loyalty often enough for me to at least grant them a sliver of trust. Albeit a tiny sliver.
I had redundancies in place in the event they decided to double-cross me. Mainly, that they didn’t know that the Round Table resided here inside Chateau Falco. Well, the Huntress knew, but thanks to Tory and Alex, she was pretty much tied to me with chains.
Going back to the Land of the Fae had… changed her. Tory had witnessed a deeper side to the Huntress, and it had been enough to at least ignite a small spark of love between them. The beginning whispers of romance. Maybe Tory had even rubbed off on the Huntress, because the cold-blooded killer suddenly had a maternal instinct to watch over Alex by any means necessary. Whereas before she had seemed almost allergic to
anything smaller than an adult, referring to them as it more often than not.
It was nice to see my two friends beginning that slow dance around each other. Even if it was in a burning room, like that song. Because being around me was dangerous, as recent events had shown.
I sighed, shoving that thought aside. “You guys need anything else? I’ll be out of town for a while…” I said suggestively.
Baba and Van frowned at me, and then, almost in unison, their eyes widened.
“You’re going back?!” they shouted.
I finally nodded. They might as well know the truth. Grant them another reason to fear me. “Unfinished business,” I said, staring down at my inner forearm. A faint tribal design – drawn in blue ink – flared brighter for a moment, and I heard their breaths catch. It had almost completely faded by now, but anytime I thought about going back to the Fae, it seemed to get a little stronger, and Wylde’s presence deep inside me climbed closer to the surface.
I wasn’t going back to the Fae just for Ashley, but also because I demanded answers from Pan. I wanted to know what my blue tattoos were all about. And my connection with Wylde.
Even though I knew the Fae World was dangerous, I was hoping I had an ace up my sleeve. Oberon, the Goblin King, Master of the Wild Hunt, owed me a favor. I had taken the Mad Hatter – my great grand-whatever, Matthias Temple – out of his realm after a several-hundred-year imprisonment.
You would think this meant Matthias and I were now planning picnics, catching up on old times, family histories, and the like.
But Castor Queen – the one who had originally betrayed Matthias hundreds of years ago, causing his banishment to the Fae – had revealed that he was still alive and well…
By making himself look like me as he murdered Matthias’ son, Ichabod.
Even though it had been physically impossible for me to be there when it happened, because I had been fighting Athena at the time. Matthias’ emotions, obviously running hot, let him believe what he saw, and there wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to listen to anyone else say otherwise.
War Hammer: A Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Book 8 (The Temple Chronicles) Page 4