Indie’s eyes immediately darted away, but Ichabod chuckled, pulling something from his pocket. It was a few strands of hair, glinting in the dim light. I stared, momentarily confused, and then shot a sharp look at Indie.
“You…” I whispered. “When we kissed…”
“Spit it out, boy,” Ichabod smiled. “She took some of your hair.”
I ignored him, continuing to glare at Indie in disbelief. We had kissed. I had believed her. Kind of. At least with the kiss. That it had been genuine. Not enough to change her mind, but that at least some small part of her was still there.
But… she had merely used the moment to steal my hair. To track me. To the Library. I found that I was shaking. And I was ready to do something very, very stupid. My fingers slowly began to reach for the coin in my pocket. Let’s see what a Horseman can do, I thought to myself. “What next?” I rasped.
Ichabod stood, frowning at my hand as it moved. “There will be no need for that.” I found myself suddenly frozen, unable to move. He calmly walked up to me, reached inside my pocket, and tried to grab the coin.
A flash of light followed by wails and screams of agony from the pits of hell filled the room, and Ichabod went flying. We all coughed at the sudden smell of smoke and Brimstone.
Indie took over, freezing me in place again just before I could touch the coin. I snarled at her, but she merely stared at my pocket with a frown. “What just happened?” she coughed, glancing down at Ichabod. She didn’t go to help him.
Which made a small part of me happy.
He cursed as he climbed to his feet. He stared at me for a long silence, then at my pocket, thinking. Then a very sinister smile split his unshaven cheeks. “Didn’t expect that. I won’t even ask what it is, but I caught a sense of what it can do before it zapped me to high-heaven…” His smile stretched wider, as he turned to Indie, who was avoiding my glare. “I do believe that my descendant just gave us the answer to our problem…” He pointed, indicating the coin – Mask – in my pocket.
I blinked. “What the hell are you talking about?” I growled.
He brushed off his hands, smiling at Indie. “Prepare to meet your Brothers, my girl. Nate, here, is going to take us to Rumpelstiltskin, like a good little boy…” his grin was wolfish, and I suddenly felt sick to my stomach.
I struggled, knowing it was useless.
“I will do no such thing.”
“Ah, but you will. Or we will immediately go slaughter your friends. All of them. Right now. We’ll even let you watch.”
Indie looked sick to her stomach, but didn’t argue with him.
“I don’t know where he is,” I argued.
“Nice try. He’s with your Hatter. Right, Indie?” he asked, turning to her. Her lips tightened, and her eyes closed for a moment before she let out a weak nod.
“It’s for the greater good, Nate. Please, trust me…” she said.
“Hate sells,” I said absently. Then I looked up. “Hitler sounded very similar. Had a lot of fans.” I let a small, humorless smile onto my face. I felt cold. Emotionless. “Not too many friends, but he did like his pets, though. Sucker for animals, Hitler was.” And I very pointedly glanced at Ichabod, then Indie. I turned back to him after a pointed silence. “On an unrelated note, have you ever considered a mustache? Not the curly kind, but a small, square patch just above your lips? I think it might suit—”
He waved a hand, silencing me with power. “Enough. We leave immediately. One way or another. To murder your friends, or to retrieve Rumpelstiltskin. Your call.” He folded his arms. “I’ll wait for an answer.” He released the magic that had sealed my lips closed.
What was it with all these clowns threatening my friends? But they were right. It was my weakness. The way to break me. I let out a frustrated breath. “Let’s go make a deal with Silver Tongue,” I whispered, defeated, damning them both to hell.
I wasn’t really sure how to use the Mask, or if there was a way for me to warn the Hatter ahead of time, but I had no choice. I already had the Academy and Syndicate trying to kill all of my friends. I couldn’t defend them against another sociopath.
I would just have to let the Grimms into the Hatter’s realm, and hope he took out the trash.
I hid the smile that burned inside me. Maybe this would be fun…
I touched the Mask, focusing on the White World, just as Ichabod and Indie touched my shoulders. With a peal of thunder, we were gone.
Chapter 40
I found myself sitting on the Hatter’s nice white leather couch, wearing a swanky white cotton suit. We were alone. Ichabod jerked his head from one side to another, a globe of force hovering in his palm, ready to defend himself. His face was ice, and he wore a crisp black suit, a black silk dress shirt, and black leather loafers. He looked surprised at the sudden change of clothing, shooting me a calculating look. I frowned back, but more at the color of his clothes. Seeing no immediate threat, he released the orb of power in his palms.
I glanced over at Indie to find her staring down at her silver cocktail dress, complete with a black frilly bottom, and a black, low-necked, lace-trimmed top, drawing the eye to her impressive décolletage. Silver and black… I thought to myself.
I grunted, openly feasting my eyes on her chest. “I’ll miss those,” I muttered with a lewd, dismissive sneer. As one would when recalling a lowly one-night stand. “But I’m sure I’ll find better later. Should never buy the first car on the lot.” I turned away, but not before hearing her sharp, wounded intake of breath.
Cry me a river.
I glanced back at her, furrowing my brow mockingly. “Crocodile tears will get you nowhere. You’re used goods. Maybe one of the Grimms will have fun playing with you before they tear the stones out of your arm.” I leaned closer, whispering softly. “I hope they take their time.”
Her face was a thunderhead of both outrage, and guilt.
“You have no idea what is going on, Nate…” she hissed. “If you did…”
“If I did, what?” I growled, panting.
Ichabod snapped his fingers before Indie could answer. “He comes. Put on your most welcoming smiles.” He glanced over his shoulder at me. “In case you were wondering, I’ve set allies in play. If they don’t hear from me in the next few hours, they are to destroy every brick and stone in St. Louis. Starting with your friends’ properties, of course.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I growled, hearing heavy boots approaching. If Ichabod was telling the truth, I needed to warn the Hatter not to kill him on sight. Then again, if the Hatter put them in place, maybe I could whisk back home and protect them while Ichabod and Indie got a tour of the guest rooms.
Maybe I would even let this whole Grimm thing play out. Bring them all over so that Indie and Ichabod would have roommates with Rumpelstiltskin. I could only imagine what kind of shit show that would be. The Grimms, their old boss, their de-facto new boss and Sister Grimm, and their old prisoner, Ichabod.
Ho’ boy.
I flicked a discreet glance down at Indie’s forearm to the stones embedded deep in the flesh. With them and Rumpelstiltskin here, I wasn’t sure what needed to happen next. Rumps had seemed in no shape to do anything magical the last time I had seen him.
A whipped dog.
Would Ichabod or Indie need to take control somehow?
But I didn’t really care. Because after my most recent talk with the Hatter, I was very, very excited to see how this played out. Because he wanted guests, and Ichabod and Indie wanted to bring some guests here.
Or, hell, perhaps the Hatter would just annihilate both of them the first second he saw them. Trespassers. I would give him an innocent, helpless look, and maybe that would be it. Solve my problem with Ichabod and Indie once and for all.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about Indie dying right next to me, though.
Sure, I was angry, furious, and if she had attacked me directly, I probably wouldn’t have held back in killing her myself. But she was about to face a creat
ure that could end her with a thought.
And she had no idea.
And I would be sitting right next to her when it happened.
Part of me wondered what she had been talking about when she had said that I knew nothing of what was really going on.
But I was saved from this thought as the door opened, and the Mad Hatter strode in, not remotely surprised to see me sitting on the couch. He also didn’t seem surprised to find me with guests, as if his power had informed him that I wasn’t alone. I shot him my planned look of desperation, trying to let him know that this was entirely against my will.
Because Ichabod had zipped my lips shut again, the crusty shit-stain.
The Hatter spent a second assessing me, reading my face, and then his gaze flicked to Indie and the stones on her arm. He grunted almost imperceptibly before his eyes drifted to Ichabod, who had been standing off to the side, near the bookshelf. He studied his clothes first, a thoughtful frown painting his features. Then his eyes lifted to Ichabod’s face.
The Hatter froze as if suddenly receiving a blow to the gut.
My eyes flicked to Ichabod nervously. Had he been strong enough to stop the Hatter somehow? In his own home?
But Ichabod looked poleaxed as well, as if some force had simultaneously nut-tapped both of them. His face flipped through a whole list of emotions that made no sense to me.
I rounded on the Hatter, feeling that ward over my lips had suddenly disappeared as a result of Ichabod’s shock. “Kill them! Now!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. “They kidnapped me—”
The Hatter just flicked a hand at me as if throwing a fireball, not even turning to look in my direction. I flinched, expecting to be incinerated, but nothing happened. It had been an instinctive reaction, ordering me to be silent.
Then I saw. He was staring at Ichabod with the same wash of emotions as he was receiving.
The room was dead silent for a full ten seconds. Then…
“Father?” Ichabod whispered.
And a single tear fell down the Hatter’s cheeks, splashing into his beard. Indie and I slowly turned to stare at one other. She wore the same stunned look of surprise I felt. She hadn’t known. Hell, it looked like they hadn’t known either.
“My son…” the Hatter rasped. And then he was pounding towards Ichabod, but not in an attack. To squeeze him into his big, burly chest in the most impressive display of grief and love I had ever seen between two men.
I just shook my head, my world shattering to a million pieces.
What the hell was I going to do now?
Chapter 41
They hugged, cried, laughed, and the Hatter mussed his son’s hair. Indie was sobbing openly. Not because she was so overjoyed for Ichabod, but because the literal waves of emotion in the room were overwhelming. Hell, I hated Ichabod for what he planned to do, and even I felt my throat tighten.
After a few giant pats on the back that seemed to jostle Ichabod’s eyeballs, the Hatter grasped him by the shoulders, forcing him back a few steps, studying him from head to toe.
“I don’t understand,” he whispered.
Ichabod shivered, eyes red. “I tried to stop them, Father. I did. But I didn’t know my way into the Sanctorum. I couldn’t find it.”
The Hatter dropped his gaze, taking a deep breath. “It has been so long, my son. So long…” his voice trailed away, taking in the walls of his prison, staring out the window, an angry look growing on his face. “Sit. What would you like to drink?” he asked everyone, trying to compose himself.
But I suddenly found myself floating in a hazy fog, as if my spirit was hovering above the group. Indie still sobbed beside me, and I saw my face. Utterly blank.
I had read that letter in the cavern. Written to Ichabod’s father, Matthias Temple.
Matthias was… the Hatter. And he was… my ancestor.
And he hadn’t ever told me.
My mind tracked back as the two spoke softly to one another. Part of me watched this, but the majority of my brain was racing through my Memory Palace, recalling every conversation I had shared with either of the men before me, trying to see how I had missed this fact.
The cavern had only opened after I became the true Master of Chateau Falco, dominating the Beast inside with my Maker powers. But Ichabod had seemed horrified when he learned of it. That the house had bonded to me. But he hadn’t said anything.
And as an adult, the cavern had never let him into her most sacred library. His father’s old office. Why?
I cleared my throat, back in my body, surprised to find I was holding a drink and that my mouth tasted like absinthe. I didn’t remember receiving it, drinking it, or swallowing it. And the pain of the fire didn’t even hurt enough to faze me. Judging by the sensation, I had taken a very liberal gulp. Indie coughed, apparently having done the same.
“What… the hell is going on?” I turned… to Matthias. “You never told me we were related.”
He looked guilty, nodding to himself. “I didn’t think it would matter. I can’t leave, and I didn’t want a new friend to become only a friend of obligation. You liked me for… me. I didn’t want to taint it by you being forced to feel a connection with me because of our blood.”
I stared at him, leaning forward. “You knew… this whole time. I’ve shared everything with you…”
Matthias nodded sadly. “Yes.”
I turned to Ichabod. “But… you knew about the Hatter…”
Ichabod wouldn’t meet my eyes as he answered. “I knew of the Hatter… but not that he was…” he trailed off, eyes finally flashing to me. He looked sick to his stomach, his shock temporarily overwhelming his hatred of me.
The Hatter locked eyes with me. “This is the one you lost,” he said, pointing at Indie. I nodded, remembering our earlier conversation, when I had tried to obscurely warn him about Ichabod’s plans.
That plan was now officially blown to hell.
“And this is the one wanting to destroy the Syndicate,” he said, pointing at Ichabod. Again, I nodded, ignoring the thoughtful looks the two shot me. Matthias Temple grunted. “They seem fine to me,” he said harshly, before turning back to Ichabod. “Tell him. He needs to know.”
Ichabod studied me with a frown for a moment, no doubt wondering what his father had been referring to, but pleased that he had somehow come out on top.
I poured more of the milky absinthe into my glass. This might be my last drink before I became Rumpelstiltskin’s new roommate. I even filled Indie’s glass without bothering to ask if she was drinking something different. She didn’t even flinch. Just began to drink greedily.
Part of me realized that she hadn’t appeared to have any issues with her powers lately. No loss of control. Her training with Ichabod must have gone well. Not that it mattered now.
Ichabod began speaking in a lecturing tone. “My father was in charge of the American Makers. Descended from those first sent over. We were unaware that the Grimms had followed us here to these shores. They began to plague us. Murdering each new creature that they discovered, because America was an unexplored continent, complete with new… Freaks, unlike those found in our homelands overseas.” He took a drink.
“After time, it became obvious that there were more than we had thought, and that two brothers – Jacob and Wilhelm – had taken charge, direct bloodlines from the original Grimms. Full bloods.” His eyes finally turned to Indie and I. Me, because I had killed them. She, because she now wore Jacob’s stones in her arm. “But you know about them already…” He said, eyes flicking to Matthias, who nodded slowly. What were they so nervous about?
“My father fought tirelessly. I was just a boy, but in time I became old enough to understand that it was not going well. My father beseeched the Academy for assistance on a plan to take out the Grimms once and for all. The American gods were wild, untamed, and in that, he thought he had found an opportunity to… cleanse the world of the Grimms. But the Academy denied help.”
And I had seen refere
nce to that. In the letter from the cavern. Matthias had… wanted to do the same thing Ichabod hungered for. To wake a god. I shivered, horrified.
“He… grew more distant after that,” Ichabod whispered, not meeting Matthias’ eyes. But I saw his face. They were pained, troubled, and guilty. An absent father’s eyes. “My father grew prone to fits of anger, rage, and… madness. Utter disregard for his fellow Makers and the Academy wizards. He was desperate to make this world safer, so sought to gain more power from his Beast. The Maker’s Beast. I did what most boys do. I rebelled. Temple tradition,” he smiled sadly. “My father sought out the assistance of a small group of other Makers and wizards in the Americas. Those less blindly submissive to the Academy. Those who had suffered under their… alliance.” He lifted his eyes to mine. “These men and women were his last hope…”
Indie fidgeted uncomfortably. Whether at knowing this had all been done as a result of the Grimms – of which she was one – or because she knew part of this story. But Ichabod never looked away from me.
I spoke up. “Who was Castor Queen?”
And the Hatter’s face abruptly turned red with rage. Ichabod shot me an incredulous look, no doubt wondering where I had gotten the name, but quickly jumped up to calm down his father. I stared, dumbfounded, wondering what I had done. The letter I saw had been friendly between the two! Matthias was shouting incoherently, and Ichabod was speaking softly to him, holding his arms down, trying to cool him off.
“Let me finish, Father! Then we’ll talk about that bastard, Castor Queen…” This, for some reason, worked, although Matthias’ face remained red, and he was breathing fast and hard, staring down at his boots, muttering under his breath. I shared a look with Indie. Good lord…
“My father,” Ichabod continued, “formed a group of like-minded men and women. They called themselves… the Syndicate. And my father led them. With his friend… Castor Queen.”
I blinked, unable to comprehend. Matthias was actually growling now.
Tiny Gods: A Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Book 6 (The Temple Chronicles) Page 20