“Go back to your tea party, girl. The adults have business to discuss.” He growled dismissively.
Tory decided to show her displeasure at his words by unleashing unrequited hell.
She let loose an uppercut that slammed the man into the ceiling fan above our heads. It splintered amidst a crackling shower of sparks before crashing to the ground near Tory. On the werewolf’s way down, Tory then unleashed a right cross to his angular, hairy jaw in order to politely break his fall. He flew across the bar, and struck the pool table with a thud that I felt in my boots. Tory was kind of a badass, way stronger than any three men I knew combined.
The werewolf didn’t get up. The music had stopped and the crowd stared at Tory in disbelief.
“My bitch bad.” I sang the rap lyrics from the Ludacris jingle into the stunned silence.
The crowd reacted like a fart had gone off in church, and an epic bar fight ensued. Someone began to take a sucker-punch swing, and a sickly looking man seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The swing wasn’t intended for the fellow, but he was about to be laid out. I cold cocked the attacker with the force only a drunken sailor could wield, sending the assailant clear over the bar, shattering all seventeen dollars worth of quality liquor stored there. The sickly man looked up at me and chuckled with a dry raspy sound, but nodded appreciatively before moseying down the bar, carefree. The fight was suddenly everywhere. I realized that the scarred knuckled Irish guy from down the bar was not taking part, and no one was bothering him. The guy I had just saved from the Hail Mary was right back in the middle of the fray, but was also not being bothered. Huh. He must be one of the ancient Greek warriors with a free pass from Achilles. I hadn’t seen the famous Greek warrior tonight, but hadn’t been looking for him either. Good chance this fight would bring him out, and I needed to make sure Tory and I were gone before that happened.
The vampires at the pool table were beating the bejeezus out of two more werewolves with their cues. A couple trolls were ganging up on a group of fairy men that looked like Abercrombie models. It was mayhem. I realized I was cackling maniacally.
I felt someone forcefully pick me up so I took another drunken swing, connecting solidly with a triumphant shout. I heard a grunt. “Damn it, Nate. It’s me.” Tory growled before lugging me out of the bar, not trusting me enough to let me go. I saw that the bar fight was escalating rapidly, but the Alpha werewolf was still incapacitated. Poor lil’ guy. Moments later, the frigid night air hit me like a bucket of cold water. Tory carried me a good dozen paces away from the bar. She wasn’t even breathing hard, but the uneven steps of her carrying me on a single heel didn’t feel great, like I was riding in a broken elevator that went up, down, up, down, incessantly.
I spotted Gunnar perched inside an idling Mini Cooper like a gorilla in a golf cart, looking angry, as per usual. Tory set me down and I stumbled, the world spinning crazily for a few seconds. I almost decided to throw up, but the feeling slowly passed. The passenger window rolled down. “You cause that?” He asked, pointing to the sounds of insanity pouring out the broken door of the bar. I shrugged, stumbling slightly again. “You’re hammered!” He declared.
I scowled, leaning on the car’s frame for support. “And you’re a party pooper.” That earned an amused chuckle from Tory. “Give me a straight line to walk! I’ll show you that I’m as sober as a priest!” I bellowed. One of the St. Louis Mounted Patrol Units was watching my meltdown with mild curiosity, glancing from me to the loud bar fight, but wisely remaining on his horse. “You!” I pointed in his direction, kind of. He trotted over to us, and Gunnar almost had an apoplectic seizure.
“Nate, this is a bad idea.” He warned, his fingers momentarily transforming into inch-long, claws. Werewolf claws. They retracted after a glare from Tory. It was her car after all.
“How may I help you?” The dark-skinned officer asked guardedly. “Did you cause that?” He pointed at the bar fight. I shook my head. “Are you harassing these two? Ma’am?” He turned to Tory.
She shook her head with a laugh. “We’re his ride.”
“Sorry to hear that.” The officer stated neutrally from his high horse.
“Oy! I’m right here.”
The cop nodded at me. “So you are. What did you need? Xavier doesn’t give pony rides. Especially to drunks.” He stated blandly.
“Draw a line.” I snapped.
“Excuse me?”
Gunnar groaned. I held up a righteous, wavering finger. “I want to show them my ability to walk a straight line.”
“I don’t have time for this. You have a ride. Get in. or I’ll bust you for disturbing the peace.” Ignoring him, I chose a long, straight crack in the sidewalk in front of a dark alley. And walked the shit out of it. Then backwards. The cop blinked. “Now, that is pretty impressive, given your state of inebriation,” he said, looking flabbergasted. He leaned closer to me. “Want to see if your luck extends to a breathalyzer?” He asked with a wry grin.
“No. Everyone knows that test is rigged. I think I made my point. Thanks. Sorry your rider is a smartass, Xavier.” I said empathetically to the horse. The beast neighed loudly in agreement. My head began to spin again so I leaned against the wall near the alley. The officer studied me thoughtfully, possibly recognizing me from the news, but finally turned back to Tory and Gunnar to verify that everything was all right and that they were in fact taking me home.
No one saw the claw-like hands grab me by the short hairs of my soul, and yank me back into the shadows of the alley. The claws — although invisible — whisked me into oblivion like a cosmic toilet being flushed, and I was shat into the very bowels of space.
It wasn’t pleasant.
Chapter 7
I re-materialized in a dusty, murky building; the sounds of the city were completely gone. Then I promptly threw up. On my captor’s shoes. He danced back with a hiss, letting me go with a shove that threw me into a wall. I bounced off said wall, dizzy, banged my shins against a metal beam of some kind, and collapsed to my knees with a shout of blinding pain. My head was spinning crazily, and my body felt tingly from the apparent teleportation, and shin bumps were the worst form of torture.
When my vision steadied a bit, and I had recovered from the blunt force trauma to my shins, the first thing I saw was shoes.
A fuck-load of shoes, no doubt belonging to an equal fuck-load of assailants.
“Okay. Now you’ve done it. I hope you all came prepared for an ass-whooping, but first, throw-up shoes needs to tell me how to apparate.”
I tried to stand, and was kicked in the ribs by one of the apparently steel toed shoes. I grunted in pain, the breath kicked out of me, ribs bruised but not broken, and remained on the ground for reconnaissance purposes. After a minute, I managed to find my voice, walling away the fire in my ribs and shins. “Fine. I’ll…” I gathered my breath. “I’ll just have to beat it out of you.” I wheezed.
I tried to stand again and the boot reared back to kick me. I feigned clumsiness, hopefully agile enough to catch the boot before a commanding voice shouted, “Stop!” The boot listened. My vision was only just now able to distinguish that bodies belonged to the shoes. I looked up and saw silver masks staring down at me and my heart stopped. Each mask was a depiction of different human emotions, and continued past the jaw like a silver cloth to their chests. This wasn’t good. At all. “I see you recognize us, but giving you’re state of drunkenness, I’ll speak as if to a small child. We are the Justices. The police of the Wizard Academy. And you have been found guilty of criminal actions on multiple counts. Your sentence is cooperation or annihilation. Which do you choose?”
I stared back; ready to unleash a smartass comment, but then the words froze on my tongue. I blinked. “I figured it out.” I said more to myself than to them.
His voice dripped sarcasm. “How very clever of you. You deciphered the riddle of who we are from the complicated words I used.”
I scowled. “No, daftwit. I figured out how
to apparate. And I didn’t even go to Hogwarts!”
And I had.
I didn’t know how, but it was as if the very experience of teleporting had shown me exactly how to do it. Perhaps my subconscious had been paying more attention than my drunken conscious mind, but I had never learned something that fast before. Ever. Especially not while roaring drunk. It didn’t make any sense. But I was confident I knew how to freaking teleport, thanks to these asshats kidnapping me.
“What is this apparate word you keep saying? And what is Hogwarts?” The leader asked, genuinely confused.
“Only the finest school of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the world.” I mumbled, shambling to my feet. I swayed slightly, assessing my kidnappers.
“I’ve never heard of it. It must not be that great.” Someone spoke roughly.
I ignored him. Anyone who couldn’t get a Harry Potter reference was beyond help. “So, couldn’t take the time to schedule an appointment with me over a cup of tea? Had to snatch me up while I’m hammered drunk? And what are these crimes I’m apparently guilty of, because they’re news to me. I never even got a ticket!” I grumbled, discreetly counting my assailants.
The eight thugs didn’t find it funny. Or maybe they did. It was hard to tell behind their masks. Paying closer attention, I saw the differences in each mask. There were smiles, frowns, scowls, tears, screams, and several other variations of human emotion. It made me think of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. I turned to the leader again, the only man not wearing a mask. “That makes you Snow White.”
“Jesus, he’s sloshed!” One of them chuckled.
“And I still kicked your ass.” I retorted sharply.
“Throwing up on my shoes hardly counts as kicking my ass. You only just managed to pick yourself up off the floor.”
“Oh, that’s right. The ass kicking comes in 30 seconds. Sorry, my mistake.” I took an aggressive step forward for a surprise attack I knew they would never see coming. Another masked man swiped my foot out from under me like a ninja. I crashed into a table, and then my nose hit a nearby chair, causing an orange explosion of light.
Sweet darkness took a hold of me, read me a bedtime story, fucked me gloriously, and tucked me in for a nice long nap.
What felt like a second later, an icy bucket of water struck me in the face, ice cubes stinging my cheeks like a swarm of frozen bumblebees. I gasped, yelping as I leapt to my feet. My nose was on fire, and I tasted icy, bloody water pouring down my face. I swung my fists wildly in all directions. A pair of strong arms grasped me around the shoulders. “Easy, champ. We’re only here to talk.”
“The hell we are, Gavin. This man is a criminal. You forget your place.” The leader’s voice growled.
“Of course, Snow White.” The man holding me muttered so that only I could hear. I smiled. I had won at least one of them over to my side. Maybe.
“What was that, Gavin?” The leader growled threateningly.
“Nothing, Sir.”
“I thought so. Now, where were we before we were almost overwhelmed by Master Temple’s daring attack against the chair? Ah, yes. His crimes.”
I knew this wasn’t going to be good. The nameless leader had told me they were Justices of the Wizard Academy. That was a very politically correct term for them. The honest description of their vocation was legal hit men. They snuffed out rogue wizards and other supernatural criminals like candles on the daily. They were notorious, the grim reapers of our world. Which also meant they were badasses, and they didn’t typically show up just to talk. Usually the sentence had already been given, and they merely showed up to enforce the Academy’s will.
The silence grew brittle. My face was on fire, but my chest and ears were shivering from the ice water. I turned from face to face. “So. Anyone going to elaborate for me or am I supposed to guess?”
Snow White finally spoke. “We received your report on the events in your city a few months back,” he began. I stared back, hiding an insolent smile. Smartass comments would do me no favors here. I needed to tread carefully. But I do hate authority, and this guy reeked of it. He also reeked of loyalty and duty, one of those men who follows orders first, then thinks later, if at all. Not the type to question his betters, even when necessary. “Care to elaborate?” He demanded.
“Well, I assume that you mean that you didn’t just receive it, but that you also read it, or were the contents above your pay grade?” The man kept his face a cool mask, devoid of any emotion, not rising to my bait. But I could tell that inside he was practically ready to stomp his feet and throw a tantrum. He nodded.
“Obviously, I read it. Sarcasm is the lowest form of humor, by the way, but if I was facing my impending doom as you are, I might be flippant as well.”
I nodded. “Nothing else much to say. As entertaining as this has been, I’m glad we got this all sorted out in a professional matter without me having to lay waste to your seven dwarves. So, can you be a good man and return me to the bar? I’m thirsty.” I smiled.
He arched a brow at me in disbelief. “Only the guilty or disrespectful would be scared to elaborate on the report that you emailed us from the free email account [email protected].”
I kept my face deadpan. “The other numbers were taken so I used seventeen. I had security issues, so set up the free account to get word to you and no one else. Seemed legit. My other choice was [email protected].”
Jafar quivered slightly. “We thought it was a prank until we saw the other reports. You should have come to explain yourself. For example, you didn’t mention that black magic had been used on an acquaintance of yours. Peter. An old friend, if our intelligence is correct. Using dark magic on Peter to shut down his brain for a night is a crime punishable by death. That wasn’t in your report. But I’m sure if you could produce Peter to tell us his side of the story, we could at least clear up that charge from your growing list of crimes. We have been unable to do so on our own. Almost as if he disappeared. Permanently. Which would also be a crime.”
I hid a nervous gulp. How had they found that out? Worse, did they know it was I who had used the dark magic on Peter? “I never found out who did that, or else it would have been in my report.”
The leader studied me for a moment, a look of resignation on his face. “Anything else you forgot to mention?”
“No.” I answered too quickly.
“Hmm. What of the bar fight tonight?”
Damn it. They had obviously been tailing me. “I didn’t start it… on purpose. I spilled someone’s drink. Then everyone freaked out. But it’s okay. I finished it.” I added with a dark grin. “Since when do bar fights concern the Academy?”
“Since it involved Nate Temple. The rumored author of the coalition of supernaturals here in St. Louis. Imagine our shock upon hearing that. One of our own was not only outing magic, but was forming a fan club with a renegade were-dragon. At a national convention.” I scratched my several day growth of beard.
“Well, that wasn’t really my idea. I got bamboozled into it. I never said a word about it. To anyone. Check the records. I was declared an author of it, but nowhere will you find me talking about it to anyone. It was the Dragon Father’s idea of putting me in a corner. And nobody puts baby in a corner.” I glanced around the room waiting for a laugh. The mindless thugs stared back with their stupid silver masks. “Seriously? Nothing? Have you guys even heard of movies? Philistines! Regardless, it didn’t work out too well for Alaric Slate.”
“Yes. I’m glad you brought that up. We seem to have a new Dragon Father. A Black Dragon to be precise. A messiah of some kind to them. The Obsidian Son. And again, you were directly involved.”
I shrugged. “St. Louis is a happening place.”
“Enough. We have been requesting your debriefing about that whole ordeal for quite some time. Unsuccessfully. We demand an explanation of a great many things from you, young man.” He paused, wrinkling his nose, suddenly distracted. Then his gaze locked onto me like a bird of p
rey. “What. Is. That. Smell?” I froze, not knowing what he was talking about, but all too aware that he literally had the authority to end me, right here, right now.
“Brimstone, Sir.” Another wizard hissed in surprise.
“What have you been up to, Master Temple?” The leader asked, seeming cautious for the first time.
“Damn it! You’re the second person to say that. Do they make Demon Febreeze?” No one moved. “I was told that the whole city reeks of it, but that I smell the strongest of it. Test the veracity of my words. I don’t know why I smell like Brimstone. I swear it on my power.”
The man studied me, finally nodding. I had sworn it on my power, so I literally couldn’t lie about it. That was good… but it didn’t mean I was safe. The smell wasn’t why I had been kidnapped.
“Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I don’t even know your name. Or the alleged list of other crimes against me. My city went to hell a few months ago, and it was either stand and fight by myself or let a group of were-dragons run amok, murdering civilians. I never once saw the Academy show up to help.” The thug who had kind of bonded with me shifted from one foot to another.
“Did you have something to add, Gavin?” The leader asked with menace.
The thug turned to his boss. “He’s got a point. How can he be guilty if he was the only one here to fight the threat? Condemning a man for being a vigilante when it was the only course available to him isn’t justice.”
The leader watched his man for a few tense moments. “It seems Gavin’s resolve is weak. Sympathy is not becoming in a Justice.”
“Maybe it should be.” He answered defiantly. I hid my smile. A partner in crime! I held out my hand for a fist bump. He ignored me, still staring at his boss. I scowled at the side of his head, lowering my hand.
The leader blinked. “We will discuss this later.” He shot Gavin a scowl that brooked no further discussion. “My name is Jafar, the Captain of the Academy Justices. Let’s move our discussion to a topic of much interest to the Academy. The Armory your parents supposedly stashed away. The cache of supernatural weapons. This was the reason the dragons were here in the first place, correct?” I felt my faint glimmer of hope sizzle out and die like a bug colliding with a bug zapper. He seemed to enjoy the look of shock on my face, enjoying my mental backpedaling. “No need to deny it. We have all heard the stories of how they stole artifacts from other families over the years, robbing graves, or outright buying items that should have been handed over to us for safekeeping. Until now, we had presumed them to be rumors, but your actions, and those of the thieving dragons, prove otherwise. Now, you are going to hand it over to us, as should have happened in the first place. Where is it?”
Blood Debts (The Temple Chronicles Book 2) Page 5