“Kill me, as is your due,” she said, staring up at my Mask with awed horror.
I shook my head. “I will either torture you for hours, or you can submit. Your choice. I will have your submission, one way or the other.”
She frowned, shaking. “Duels are to the death. It would be… disrespectful to draw it out.”
I shook my head. “The monsters here just want to see violence. They won’t mind. You have three seconds to decide.” And I began counting out with my fingers, glaring down at her.
She finally caved as my third finger began to unfold, shouting out her submission. I glanced back at Asterion, who turned to Achilles. The legendary Greek warrior studied the scene before him for a few moments, considering, then let out a slow nod. “Terms?” he called out. “If you refuse to kill her, and she accepts, you must issue new terms. Then I will call off the Duel.”
I blinked behind my Mask, elated. I couldn’t have asked for a better response.
I turned to G Ma. “You will obey Raego here until sunrise. Neither dying, or winning our duel. This will force the Academy to act. Without their spy, they will not know the outcome, and must decide accordingly.” Her eyes grew wild. This was not at all what she had hoped for.
Even though she had been willing to lose everything to beat me, she hadn’t considered that I could actually win, or that I would be able to – or decide to – tap into my Horseman powers.
Or whatever this was.
I hadn’t felt anyone speaking to me, commanding me to obey the Ten Commandments, or to defend the innocent. And I heard no chorus of uplifting trumpets.
Just that deep, ominous gonging sound.
“Please. Kill me. You are meddling in events that could destroy the world…” she begged.
I shook my head. “That is a result of your meddling in events that are destroying my world. My friends. My home.” She dropped her head, trying to find a way out.
“What do you want?” she whispered, defeated.
I bent down, and used a finger to lift her chin. “To work together against a common enemy.”
She didn’t meet my gaze, but she spat on the earth. “You mean your allies. You intend to mislead me, delivering us straight into the arms of this reborn Syndicate. I would rather die.”
I sighed. “I know you don’t like me. At all. I don’t like you either, so you can trust that I’m telling you the truth. Otherwise I could have just killed you and taken away your control of the Academy.” She hesitated at that, so I pressed on. “Help me stop the last Maker, so he doesn’t wake a god. Through this, I’ll prove to you that I’m not a part of this Syndicate.”
Her eyes widened in absolute horror at mention of waking a god. “I-I can’t trust your words. By taking out the Maker, you are benefiting the Syndicate,” she finally stammered, still reeling from hearing Ichabod’s plans.
I nodded slowly. “This is true. But it is better than the alternative. We will deal with the Syndicate after this mess. One problem at a time. The Syndicate has been around for a long time now.” She began to argue, but I snapped my fingers, silencing her. “I have objective proof of this. I don’t care whether you believe me or not. It doesn’t change the facts.” I paused, letting my words sink in. “I promise you that I’ll have a long talk with the Syndicate afterwards…” I growled, menacingly. Part of it was because an image of my father flashed before my eyes.
A member of the Syndicate.
“I agree,” she rasped.
“Not so fast. That was condition number one,” I said softly. “You will swear the following on your power.” She froze, waiting. “You will reclaim your title of Grand Master of the Academy. With that authority, you agree to leave me and mine alone. Forever. St. Louis is off limits to the Academy – unless you have my direct permission beforehand. Or if there is objective agreement that someone has performed a crime. Not a crew of judges from the Academy, but a panel that includes other supernatural factions – of both our choosing.”
She cowered before me, nodding in horror, out-politicked.
“Secondly, you will meet with me at my request, the moment I request it, without delay, and you will actually listen to what I have to say. You will treat me as a nation unto myself, granted all the respect and courtesies you do the other supernatural nations. Not an enemy. Not an ally. Both of those choices will evolve as a result of future discussions. Just like any other nation. Innocent until proven guilty. An equal. St. Louis is my nation as far as you are concerned.” I glanced at Raego. “Obviously, I’m not seeking to rule over any of the supernatural groups here. But I do consider myself the unofficial policeman of this town.” Raego nodded in agreement, and gratitude.
There was a pregnant silence. “I… agree,” she whispered.
“Swear it on your power as a wizard.”
Her head dropped further, but she complied.
“Now, run along to the Academy, and reclaim the title you pretended to sacrifice. Failure to succeed will result in a dinner party with my Brothers,” I said, tapping my Mask pointedly. “Only after this success will you inform the Academy of our agreement. Text me when you have completed these tasks.”
Her shoulders sank lower with each word. “I swear this on my power…” and I felt her do it.
I stepped back. “I think we’re all done here,” I said to the crowd. “I’ve got a date with a Grimm,” I said loud enough for all to hear. The crowd simply watched me depart, no longer cheering or clapping, just watching in stunned silence. My terms would change their lives.
Forever.
Raego didn’t speak as we left. He didn’t speak on the way home either. He did say, “Good night,” when I dropped him off, though.
I had taken the Mask off immediately upon leaving the Dueling Grounds, and it sat in my pocket, a very normal, plain-looking Silver Dollar.
But my thoughts were not normal, plain, or confident.
They were terrified.
Chapter 52
Everything was ready, despite my errand to the Fight Club. Thanks to Mallory – Pan.
Elders crouched unseen in the distance, evening sun limning their hiding spots as they watched, waited to receive our guests. I had lowered the defenses of the house, allowing Dark Team Temple to at least enter the grounds, but not allowing them access to Chateau Falco itself.
Falco hadn’t been pleased about it, even knocking a painting down when I asked.
Still, Carl and company had set up a defensive perimeter around the property just in case things went badly. And the house, or Beast, had dampened all magic in the surrounding area, except for my gang, of course, which consisted of Carl and Gunnar. Mallory also crouched on the roof, his trusty sniper rifle locked, ready, and loaded, likely staring at us even now. I had wanted to keep Mallory as far away from them as possible, in case anyone managed to discover his secret now that he had shared it with me. He was a wild card, and I needed everyone to think that I knew nothing of his origins. I couldn’t risk Icky boldly telling me in front of others that he knew the truth, because then the others would know that I knew. I needed that Ace up my sleeve.
Just in case. The point was, if the Grimms wanted war, we would bring it. But I was hoping it never reached that point.
Entirely by accident, I had found a long white hair on my sleeve when Ichabod and Indie had abducted me. I had coveted it, making sure to keep it in my pocket, not knowing how it could be helpful, but knowing that it would be helpful at some point.
The trio of evil appeared directly before us, having Shadow Walked. They studied me, Gunnar, and Carl with curiosity. Three versus three, as agreed upon earlier. They scanned our surroundings warily, but with the mansion behind me dampening their powers, they were unable to sense anything amiss. Because if they were close enough for Indie to tap into their powers, it would be pretty fucking obvious they were outnumbered, and we would have a Grimm on our hands who could match each of us toe-to-toe.
Still, Icky was a Maker, and I had tried my hand against
him twice. Losing horribly once on his terms, beating him once on my own terms. Only time would tell how the cards would fall in round three.
But they didn’t know about the dozen wolves, dragons, Alucard, Tory and her shifters, or the other Elders lurking in the labyrinth and wooded grounds, close enough to be dangerous if necessary, distant enough to be unseen and unnoticed.
As the trio assessed the potential threat, I studied Rumpelstiltskin – Silver Tongue. The man who had been around for generations, gaining personal power by making deals with supernatural beings in order to grant them their greatest desires.
For the small price of… something. Often a life of servitude to his masters, the Syndicate.
My father’s face flashed before me again, but I waved it away immediately, focusing on my breathing like Ganesh had been teaching me. I was crap at meditation, surprisingly. Well, I was good at meditating, but not at actually accomplishing anything cool through meditation. Like he had when he had disappeared my pants, or had the knot tying and untying contest with Asterion.
Eventually, I might master the whole Astral Projection thing – traveling outside your body to witness events across the world, all without having to risk harm to your body. Then again, certain adept people could notice your wandering spirit watching them, and trap you.
I’ll put it plainly. Your spirit is meant to stay inside your body for a reason. Flesh is armor. Without flesh, you are unprotected, and an especially talented person could do some pretty serious damage to your soul before you got it back. If they let you have it back…
They could also simply hold your soul until your body died, or you became a vegetable.
Creepy stuff, right?
I didn’t play around with it yet. Not anywhere dangerous at least. I had tried on Mallory and Dean several times. Later bringing up conversations that I should have no knowledge of.
I’ll be honest. My sole purpose with risking to attempt Astral Projection had been to finally discover the location of my Macallan that Mallory always managed to keep hidden from me.
I never found my answer, but it had been worth a shot, and I got some practice out of it.
Ichabod was studying Carl, who was studying Indie, who was intently studying the tree, none aware of the other’s interest.
I studied Rumpelstiltskin.
He had once been the enforcer, the lieutenant, the politician in charge of the Grimms.
But that had ended when he tried meddling with me and mine.
His face was a mask of leathery, worn, deep scars, all of them different demeaning names, marked on him for life. I idly wondered how they had been inflicted – with tool, or with thought via Matthias Temple’s Maker power – but quickly shifted my focus. I didn’t want to know.
He also looked worn. Haggard. Spent. Defeated. Ashamed.
I must have been staring pretty intently, because his eyes briefly flicked in my direction. I winked before he could look away. His lips parted instinctively, but he immediately slammed his gaze back to the ground as Ichabod took a step forward. I could tell my action had startled, confused, and given him a small taste of hope.
While also giving him a small flicker of fear. Because my wink could have meant anything at all. That I was going to enjoy his torment, that I was going to send him back to Matthias, that I had some brilliant plan to take him away so that I could spend decades torturing him myself, or that I was going to kick his scrawny ass through the Gateway into the Dark Realm.
He began to shake as the possibilities grew in his mind.
Perfect…
Ichabod took a step forward, clearing his throat. He nodded at Gunnar, “Wolf king,” he said in a clear voice. I wasn’t sure how that title kept getting tossed around, but I had heard several people refer to him that way. “Why are you here?”
I answered instead, like we had arranged beforehand. Well, not entirely like we had planned.
“We agreed to have equal representation. And his tricks amuse me,” I said, grinning.
Ichabod grew still, as if ready for a trap. He turned from me to Gunnar, wary.
I tossed a forearm-sized stick at Gunnar. It struck him in the shoulder and fell to the ground. He didn’t move, other than to glance down at it with furrowed brow, and then shoot me a sharp disapproving look.
I sighed is disappointment, then cupped my mouth as if imparting a secret to Ichabod. But I whispered it loud enough for everyone to hear. And I cupped my mouth the wrong way so Gunnar could obviously hear me. “He was much better at it when he had both eyes.”
Ichabod just stared at me. He shook his head, then addressed Carl openly. “Elder. Carl, if I recall…” he said in a polite, but questioning tone.
Carl stared back at him, face emotionless.
“Carl’s still working on his people skills. He’s more of a non-megalomaniac lover. Don’t be offended,” I drawled. “Can we just get this over with? I don’t want this to happen, I told you why it was a bad idea, I got outvoted. You made an agreement that you would leave my city alone if I complied. Carl and Gunnar are my witnesses to that promise.”
Ichabod nodded slowly. “Yes, yes. Leave us alone, and I’ll leave you alone. Neither of us wants to be here, so let’s be finished.”
I gave a curt nod, biting my tongue. The moment he turned his back, I gripped the hair in my fingers, snapping it in two as I mentally cast a previously-planned spell. In the same exact instant, I used a light tendril of additional magic to retrieve the stick I had hit Gunnar with.
Because I knew using my magic would set off an alarm bell with Ichabod and Indie.
As expected, they both whirled, fists up to protect themselves from whatever I had been about to cast at them.
I frowned back, glancing down at the stick. “I was just going to try the fetch thing again, guys…” I could see Indie studying me with a calculating gaze, trying to bite back a laugh, but also wary of my tricks. Because she knew me so well.
I dropped the stick with a regretful expulsion of breath. “It’s okay, Gunnar. We’ll try again later,” I said, ignoring his one-eyed glare. “Who’s a good boy?” I asked in an animated voice. “Gunnar is. Yes, he is!”
Ichabod cursed. “No more magic. Next time I’ll react first, ask questions later.”
I shrugged. “Whatever you say, Icky. I’ll just be a good boy and sit at the kiddie table with my friends. Can we talk? Please?”
His face darkened, and he turned his back again. “Quietly,” he snapped. Indie stared up at the tree, and Carl was practically salivating as he watched her. I whispered angrily to him, jostling his shoulder. “You can’t eat the Grimm, Carl. Close your mouth. You’re drooling.”
He flinched, as if I had woken him from a nap. But he did drop his gaze and take a breath. Then he casually scanned our surroundings, after checking that Ichabod and Indie were not paying any attention to us.
“Christ!” Gunnar whispered. “His face looks like a circumcision gone bad.”
I nodded absently. “Like Rumpled Foreskin…” Gunnar barked out a sudden laugh, and Ichabod shot us a warning glare. I mouthed sorry to him. He shook his head, turning back.
“What is the plan, Nate?” Gunnar murmured. “You can’t honestly be okay with allowing him to let them through. If Indie can’t control them, they won’t care about any promises you made with Ichabod. Because, remember, they will recall having Ichabod on a leash for the last several hundred years, so I don’t think they’re particularly scared of him.”
I nodded, not speaking as the trio conversed with Rumpelstiltskin.
“We’re going to watch. See how this plays out…” I replied softly, keeping my magic ready, but not touching it. I tried finding that calm place inside of me. The one that I had been so successful at finding when I had dominated my Beast, trapping it inside my cane. But I was unsuccessful this time. For obvious reasons.
Things were pretty dicey at the moment. Lot of moving pieces. I could barely keep up.
If people would at least
just be who they said they were, I would feel a whole lot better about everything. But, no. They all had to choose different masks, personas to wear.
My own Mask was in my pocket. Along with the Fae Cuffs that nullified magic used against me. I wasn’t wearing them yet, not wanting to give away my advantage too early, but I had them, ready to accessorize.
I heard Rumps clearly as I focused, blocking out all other sensations.
“It’s not that fucking easy. When he took me, he also negated all my contracts. When I planned to do it last time, I was juiced up on hundreds of years’ worth of deals. Now, I have none to my name, and I’ve been in… convalescence for the past few months.”
“That’s your problem. We could always arrange a visit with my father,” Ichabod warned.
“No! I just want you to know the facts. This could very likely kill me. Or not even work.”
“For your sake, it better work…” Ichabod growled.
Rums sagged his head, taking in a deep breath. When he looked back up, his eyes were different. No longer terrified. Well, not as terrified. Madness still danced there, but it was momentarily subdued.
“Look at it this way, Rumps,” I called out. “You’re getting exactly what you wanted a year ago. Your old band back together.” Then I frowned. “Well, not exactly what you wanted, I guess. Since Indie is going to take them from you.” Then I pretended to think – fast, because Ichabod looked about ready to have a bowel movement from sheer outrage. “Of course, once they’re free, back home, they might have some questions for you. Like, why did you take so long to save us? And why are you passing us off to a new boss? A female boss, at that.” I tapped my lips. “Just idle speculation. Please continue.”
Ichabod grabbed Rumps by the collar, shoving him closer to the tree. “There is power here. I can sense it. Use it to make up for your shortcomings,” he snarled, as if disgusted to touch him.
Carl spoke up out of nowhere. “You cannot touch my sacred wood.”
“Mother of God,” Gunnar wheezed, chuckling lightly.
Ichabod turned, surprised, not getting the double entendre. “Nate and I have an agreement.”
Tiny Gods: A Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Book 6 (The Temple Chronicles) Page 26