Hilde began to peel away the leather, but the instant she did, I knew exactly what it was; the whispers drifted through the room as they had before, though they were less insistent than they had been in Skadi’s garden. “Stop,” I shrieked, pressing my hands to my ears. Hilde froze. “Please, seal it,” I begged. I took a deep breath. “Put it away,” I said, sounding at least a little calmer now, which was good, because my heart was racing, my body tight with the urge to reach into that bundle and draw out what I knew to be there.
A limb from the silver tree.
A silver bough full of power and promise.
“Do you wish me to return it?” Hilde asked as she slid the leather back into place, although the tone in her voice suggested that wouldn’t be wise.
I shook my head, but Scatach answered for me. “It is a worthy gift. But too soon for Quinn to accept it.” She held out her hands, the sword on her hip invisible once more. “I will be sure to give it to her when she is ready.”
“Is that alright with you, Quinn?” Hilde asked.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
Hilde passed the package over to Scatach, who took it reverently, as if handling something holy or unbelievably ancient. I took a deep breath and let it out slow. “What is it?” I asked. “And why do I feel like tearin’ it away from ye?”
The Huntress shook her head. “Think of it like one of your Gateways. Except the Silver Bough can take you to the Otherworld, if you wish it. Once, it was a more common gift. But it has been centuries since I last saw one. I believe the Bough calls to you, and that one day you will have to answer that call. But I do not think you are yet ready, or willing. Am I wrong?”
Part of me, a much larger part of me than I cared to admit, wanted to argue and say that I was ready. But I knew, deep down, that I wasn’t. There were answers within that bundle, answers I could only find in the Otherworld, my mother’s true homeland. I knew that. But I also knew how turbulent, how dangerous, those other realms were. Scatach was right; I wasn’t ready to go on yet another adventure. Not yet.
“No, you’re not wrong,” I replied.
“Then I will keep it until you are ready.”
“Where’s this Otherworld?” Othello chimed in, speaking for the first time since Hilde had arrived. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“It is the home of our gods and goddesses,” Scatach explained. “Much like Olympus for the Greeks, or Asgard for Hilde’s people. Beyond Fae, in another realm, lies the Otherworld. It is a wild place which makes all of Fae seem tame by comparison.”
Othello nodded, looking far too serious, a small line appearing between her brows.
“What is it?” I asked.
Othello shook her head. “Nothing. Just wondering if that’s where Nate went.”
“What d’ye mean, ‘where Nate went’?”
“He’s gone missing.”
Chapter 49
I woke up in a dream.
The translucent floor beneath my feet remained unchanged, though I noticed the red giant had been traded out for a distant galaxy, iridescent light wafting gently in a nebulous fog, stars of varying sizes tucked away like baubles on a Christmas tree. Above my head, the night sky loomed, though I recognized none of the constellations. The windows hung as they always had, latched shut, their secrets locked away. But that was alright; I hadn’t come hoping to peek in on moments from the past.
Not this time.
“You have returned.”
I turned to find my mother’s ghost watching me, wearing the loose-fitting white gown I’d grown accustomed to. Her flaming eyes tracked my every move as I stepped towards her, hands thrust into the pockets of jeans I hadn’t worn to bed. “Aye, guess I decided not to run anymore.”
“Very wise.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said, smirking. I did a slow twirl, studying the cosmic hallway, as fascinated by it now as I had been when I first arrived, what felt like an eternity ago. “Where is this place, anyway?”
“I think you know the answer to that question,” she replied.
I thought about that and realized I did know, that perhaps I’d always known—even if I hadn’t had a name for it at the time. “The Otherworld,” I answered.
“Yes.”
“But how is that possible?” I asked, turning away to once again study the invisible ceiling and the unfamiliar stars, marvelling at how impossible the place seemed with its defiance of logic and physics.
“You are not really here, Quinn. You dream. Or you are called. Granted, one day you may come here in the flesh, depending on the path you choose. But for now, this place is more imagined than real.” When I looked back, my mother’s ghost had crossed to one of the windows and was running her fingers along its surface, eyes still trailing fire.
“Does that mean I can control this place, like I would a dream?”
“You never control your dreams,” she replied, smiling faintly as though I’d said something amusing. “You control yourself within a dream. The sooner you learn that, the better.”
I sighed. “You’re bein’ cryptic again.”
“I tell you what I can, when I can. What I keep to myself is knowledge you have not yet earned. Or, perhaps more accurately, knowledge you would not know what to do with.”
“Like who me father is?”
My mother’s ghost nodded.
“Or what me powers are,” I added.
She smiled. “I believe you will have the answers you seek sooner than you think. Sooner than you’d like, even.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means your mother foresaw many possibilities when she bore you, not the least of which was that you—and, by extension, your interference—would be necessary. That you would be needed. Before that, of course, you must discover what you are capable of. What you will be asked to do. And that time draws nearer.”
I shuddered, a faint chill running up my spine that had nothing to do with cold and everything to do with the ominous tone in her voice. “Can’t ye just tell me?”
“No, not I. There will be a woman. Soon, I think. She will have the answers you seek, although I do not know that they will give you the comfort you desire.”
“Wait, who?”
“The witch,” she replied, turning from me.
Chapter 50
I’ve dreamt of the cosmic hallway a few times since that night, but always seem to walk away with more questions than answers. It’s frustrating, but I keep going back, if only to speak to my mother’s ghost; it isn’t really her, I know that, but even knowing the truth doesn’t stop me from enjoying the way her hair moves when she talks, or how alike we look in so many ways.
If I can’t have my cake and eat it too, the least I can do is appreciate the decoration.
Fall is on its way, and I still haven’t met the witch, whoever she is. I also haven’t asked Scatach for the Silver Bough. I still have nightmares about diving below murky red waters, surrounded by ruins, and the blind man with his horse-driven ship. I hate to admit it, but the Otherworld frightens me. Of course, just because I’ve been avoiding that trip doesn’t mean I’ve been idle; I’ve been spending a fair amount of time training with Scatach, not to mention many an evening with Christoff and his kids—I’ve been doing my best to support the man as he relearns how to live his life without his spouse. It’s tough, and I’ve had to offer more hugs than I’d typically be comfortable with, but I don’t mind. That’s what friends are for, after all.
Speaking of friends, I should mention the fact that Othello and her fellow Missourians are still on the lookout for Nate. Apparently things got a little rowdy in St. Louis, and he decided to run off to Fae for a bit, only to drop off the radar. I don’t know all the details, but there have been talks of a rescue mission, and I may or may not have agreed to help out. Personally, I’m hoping he pulls some of his usual crap and shows up to save someone’s day at the last second, yelling “Surprise!” at the top of his lungs. It wou
ld certainly save me a trip to Fae.
Of course, maybe a trip to Fae is overdue; I really do owe Peter and the Lost People a visit. Hell, maybe hunting down Nate would make a virtue out of necessity—like hitting two jabberwockies with one stone. Either way, I’ve packed another go-bag, just in case, although at this point, I’m seriously wondering if I should have even bothered. So far my last two adventures have left me with one ragged outfit apiece, not to mention a whole lot of missing luggage and abandoned firepower. If I kept this up, I’d have to buy a new wardrobe every few months.
But then, with Othello visiting more often, at least I’ll have someone to shop with me. I’m not sure if it’s because Nate is MIA, or because she and I have worked out some of our major differences, but it seems like she’s becoming much more comfortable stopping by unannounced. Which meant, of course, that I’d had to introduce her to Eve. The two get along really well, surprisingly, though it’s mostly at my expense.
Eve still hasn’t decided what she wants, but at least now I know she wants something. We’ve talked about moving her out of my apartment and planting her somewhere she can grow, but our options are limited; golden-leafed, talking trees tend to draw attention. So, until we can settle on a good location, she’s staying, and I’m trying to not use her as a perennial encyclopedia.
Sadly, Jimmy isn’t visiting. In fact, he recently sent me a postcard from Salt Lake City, letting me know he was meeting up with Leo and his crew to talk about joining the Bureau and what that would mean. Honestly, I’m happy for him. Our affair was brief and turbulent, at best—I mean he’d actually died at one point. But part of me wonders—even dreams about—what will happen when we see each other next. Of course, maybe that’s a sign that I need to start actively looking again. Lately, all the would-be suitors in my life seem to pop up when the shit is hitting the fan. Might be nice to go out for drinks with someone normal, for once.
Or at least someone who doesn’t grow fangs or claws.
A girl can dream, am I right?
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Turn the page to read a sample of OBSIDIAN SON - Nate Temple Book 1 - or BUY ONLINE (It’s FREE with a Kindle Unlimited subscription). Nate Temple is a billionaire wizard from St. Louis. He rides a bloodthirsty unicorn and drinks with the Four Horsemen. He even cow-tipped the Minotaur. Once…
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TRY: OBSIDIAN SON (NATE TEMPLE #1)
There was no room for emotion in a hate crime. I had to be cold. Heartless. This was just another victim. Nothing more. No face, no name.
Frosted blades of grass crunched under my feet, sounding to my ears alone like the symbolic glass that one shattered under a napkin at a Jewish wedding. The noise would have threatened to give away my stealthy advance as I stalked through the moonlit field, but I was no novice and had planned accordingly. Being a wizard, I was able to muffle all sensory evidence with a fine cloud of magic — no sounds, and no smells. Nifty. But if I made the spell much stronger, the anomaly would be too obvious to my prey.
I knew the consequences for my dark deed tonight. If caught, jail time or possibly even a gruesome, painful death. But if I succeeded, the look of fear and surprise in my victim’s eyes before his world collapsed around him, was well worth the risk. I simply couldn’t help myself; I had to take him down.
I knew the cops had been keeping tabs on my car, but I was confident that they hadn’t followed me. I hadn’t seen a tail on my way here, but seeing as how they frowned on this kind of thing I had taken a circuitous route just in case. I was safe. I hoped.
Then my phone chirped at me as I received a text. My body’s fight-or-flight syndrome instantly kicked in, my heart threatening to explode in one final act of pulmonary paroxysm. “Motherf—” I hissed instinctively, practically jumping out of my skin. I had forgotten to silence it. Stupid, stupid, stupid! My body remained tense as I swept my gaze over the field, sure that I had been made. My breathing finally began to slow, my pulse returning to normal as I saw no change in my surroundings. Hopefully my magic had silenced the sound, and my resulting outburst. I finally glanced down at the phone and read the text. I typed back a quick and angry response before I switched the phone to vibrate.
I continued on, the lining of my coat constricting my breathing. Or maybe it was because I was leaning forward in anticipation. Breathe, I chided myself. He doesn’t know you’re here. All this risk for a book. It had better be worth it.
I’m taller than most, and not abnormally handsome, but I knew how to play the genetic cards I had been dealt. I had fashionably shaggy, dirty blonde hair, and my frame was thick with well-earned muscle, yet still lean. I had once been told that my eyes were like twin emeralds pitted against the golden tufts of my hair — a face like a jewelry box. Of course, that was after I had filled the woman with copious amounts of wine. Still, I liked to imagine that was how everyone saw me.
But tonight, all that was masked by magic.
I grinned broadly as the outline of the hairy hulk finally came into view. He was blessedly alone — no nearby sentries to give me away. That was always a risk when performing this ancient right-of-passage. I tried to keep the grin on my face from dissolving into a maniacal cackle.
My skin danced with energy, both natural and unnatural, as I manipulated the threads of magic floating all around me. My victim stood just ahead, oblivious of the world of hurt that I was about to unleash. Even with his millennia of experience, he didn’t stand a chance. I had done this so many times that the routine of it was my only enemy. I lost count of how many times I had been told not to do it again; those who knew declared it cruel, evil, and sadistic. But what fun wasn’t? Regardless, that wasn’t enough to stop me from doing it again. And again. Call it an addiction if you will, but it was too much of a rush to ignore.
The pungent smell of manure filled the air, latching onto my nostril hairs. I took another step, trying to calm my racing pulse. A glint of gold reflected in the silver moonlight, but the victim remained motionless, hopefully unaware or all was lost. I wouldn’t make it out alive if he knew I was here. Timing was everything.
I carefully took the last two steps, a lifetime between each, watching the legendary monster’s ears, anxious and terrified that I would catch even so much as a twitch in my direction. Seeing nothing, a fierce grin split my unshaven cheeks. My spell had worked! I raised my palms an inch away from their target, firmly planted my feet, and squared my shoulders. I took one silent, calming breath, and then heaved forward with every ounce of physical strength I could muster. As well as a teensy-weensy boost of magic. Enough to goose him good.
“MOOO!!!” The sound tore through the cool October night like an unstoppable freight train. Thud-splat! The beast collapsed sideways into the frosty grass; straight into a steaming patty of cow shit, cow dung, or, if you really want to church it up, a Meadow Muffin. But to me, shit is, and always will be, shit.
Cow tipping. It doesn’t get any better than that in Missouri.
Especially when you’re tipping the Minotaur. Capital M.
Razor-blade hooves tore at the frozen earth as the beast struggled to stand, grunts of rage vibrating the air. I raised my arms triumphantly. “Boo-yah! Temple 1, Minotaur 0!” I crowed. Then I very bravely prepared to protect myself. Some people just can’t take a joke. Cruel, evil, and sadistic cow tipping may be, but by hell, it was a rush. The legendary beast turned his gaze on me after gaining his feet, eyes ablaze as he unfolded to his full height on two tree-trunk-thick legs, hooves magically transforming into heavily-booted feet. The heavy gold ring quivered in his snout as the Minotaur panted, corded muscl
e contracting over his human-like chest. As I stared up into those eyes, I actually felt sorry… for, well, myself.
“I have killed greater men than you for less offense,” I swear to God his voice sounded like an angry James Earl Jones.
“You have shit on your shoulder, Asterion.” I ignited a roiling ball of fire in my palm in order to see his eyes more clearly. By no means was it a defensive gesture on my part. It was just dark. But under the weight of his glare, even I couldn’t buy my reassuring lie. I hoped using a form of his ancient name would give me brownie points. Or maybe just not-worthy-of-killing points.
The beast grunted, eyes tightening, and I sensed the barest hesitation. “Nate Temple… your name would look splendid on my already long list of slain idiots.” Asterion took a threatening step forward, and I thrust out my palm in warning, my roiling flame blue now.
“You lost fair and square, Asterion. Yield or perish.” The beast’s shoulders sagged slightly. Then he finally nodded to himself, appraising me with the scrutiny of a worthy adversary. “Your time comes, Temple, but I will grant you this. You’ve got a pair of stones on you to rival Hercules.”
I pointedly risked a glance down at the myth’s own crown jewels. “Well, I sure won’t need a wheelbarrow any time soon, but I’m sure I’ll manage.” The Minotaur blinked once, and then bellowed out a deep, contagious, snorting laughter. Realizing I wasn’t about to become a murder statistic, I couldn’t help but join in. It felt good. It had been a while since I had experienced genuine laughter. In the harsh moonlight, his bulk was even more intimidating as he towered head and shoulders above me. This was the beast that had fed upon human sacrifices for countless years while imprisoned in Daedalus’ Labyrinth in Greece. And all of that protein had not gone to waste, forming a heavily woven musculature over the beast’s body that made even Mr. Olympia look puny.
Moscow Mule: Phantom Queen Book 5 - A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries) Page 22