“You’re a cruel, cruel woman, Indie. I know I’ve been keeping you at a distance, and you know why I do, right or wrong is irrelevant at the moment, but I would like to work on my communication skills with you while you’re gone. Would that break your rules?”
She assessed me for a minute. “Perhaps I should use this tactic more often. Look how malleable my Master Temple has become. I tell you I’m leaving for a few days and you’re already asking if we can talk on the phone. You’re a teenage girl.” She teased, pinching my leg. My face turned beet red as I began to blurt out an argument. She burst out laughing. She tapped her lips playfully, enjoying this way too much. “I would like that.” She leaned forward and kissed my brow for a long second, careful of my nose, and granting me an expansive view of her cleavage, which she definitely knew she was doing. She was sneaky like that. “Good night, Nate. Sweet dreams…”
Her hair tickled my neck as she trailed a kiss down to my ear, breathing huskily before she gave me a playful nip. My pants constricted as my subconscious threatened to take control and pin her to the mattress and sequined pillows. She placed a constraining hand on my chest, shaking her head as if she could read my thoughts. I closed my eyes, the alcohol dragging them closed as mercilessly as if she had spelled me. I sensed the lights flick off from behind my closed eyelids, and then she was gone, dragging her suitcase out of my room.
I was peaceful for perhaps ten minutes, rehashing everything she had said to me, realizing that she was right about it all. Then sleep dragged me under like a sack of potatoes, and the haunting night terrors waited anxiously to welcome me back to their domain like an old friend.
Chapter 10
I stood alone in a field of fresh wheat; the purple sky’s humid air pressing down on me like a warm blanket. I was physically sore. Exhausted even. Wisps of clouds scudded across the fields like campfire smoke, leaving a faint aroma of damp earth. I sniffed the air idly, catching a faint hint of wood smoke that was not offensive, and somehow made me feel relaxed. I spotted a house on a hill, a quaint, primitive place one might find in ancient Greece, mostly stone, and surrounded on all sides by more fields. A farmer lives there. Something tugged at my memory, but the thought was gone just as fast. My memory seemed to do that a lot of late. Why worry about the house when I was merely out on an evening stroll in such a peaceful place. I decided to approach the house. Perhaps I would make a friend so that the next time I walked here I wouldn’t be lonely.
Loneliness. The word tingled up my spine like the fingers of death. Now why had I thought that? I wasn’t lonely. I had everything I needed. I had a woman, a steady life of farming, and a strong boy to teach my trade. I shook my head as I began to walk back to my house.
My house… that wasn’t right, was it? Then I was smiling as I imagined my wife greeting me at the front door, my son rushing out from between her legs to tackle me to the yard where we frequently wrestled. I dropped the reins to the horse behind me, as well as the tools I used to cut wheat as I began to trot up the hill. The house loomed before me, both larger and smaller than it could be in real life, but this was real life, wasn’t it?
“Hello?” I bellowed as I reached the front door. “Papa’s home!”
Papa? I would never use that moniker. I was a Dad kind of guy, wasn’t I?
No one answered me.
Then I smelled it. A sulfurous stink tinged with frozen stone — a cold, hard smell with a… coppery after-taste. That was odd. I had smelled that coppery flavor before, back when my horse had injured herself in a fall. Why would it smell like horse up here? No, not horse… blood. I looked back in confusion, expecting to see my horse injured. But I was utterly alone in the field. I blinked. Hadn’t I just left the horse behind me? I shrugged after a moment. I must have worked harder than I remembered. Nothing that a good wine wouldn’t resolve.
I stepped up the creaky wooden steps only to hear voices.
A jeweled box stood in the open doorway, all by itself. Beyond the box, my wife lay motionless on the floor. My son sat on his heels, rocking back and forth. “Open the box, open the box, open thebox, open thebox, thebox, box, box…” he muttered to himself over and over again.
“Son, what’s happened?” I demanded. He didn’t seem to hear me, brushing his mother’s hair out of her eyes as he continued his chant. I didn’t understand. All I had wanted to do was to sit down beside my wife with my son on my knees as we played a game and ate dinner together. I didn’t want any violence, any problems, I had no enemies. I only wanted to be a good farmer. That was all.
I looked further on and a man stood between two creatures, speaking quietly. Now that I was inside the house, I noticed that it was storming outside. But… hadn’t it just been pleasant outside? I was so confused.
I couldn’t hear the words, but I saw my son look up at me, with a sharp rictus of a smile. “You mustn’t listen to them. Open the box, open the box, the box, box, box…” He muttered over and over and over, his voice sounding like nails on a chalkboard. I cringed, tuning out the Demonic voice. Something about this seemed all too familiar, but I couldn’t understand why. One of the creatures handed the man something and the world exploded in a green hue. My son screamed louder. “The box!” His words had a physical sensation to them now, like my very eardrum was the chalkboard. I grabbed my ears in pain, glancing up in time to see the other creature handing a tall tool to the man. The tip gleamed silver in the incessant flashing of lightning from outside. The world seemed to be tearing itself apart — the house imploding in an explosion of sound, wind, and distant screams from the blackest pits of hell. My son huddled over his mother as if protecting her from the insanity. I glanced over at his frantically pointing hand to see that despite the strength of the wind, which was pushing even me back from the door, the box lay unmoving as if bolted down. I clawed my body closer to it, dodging flying planks of wood from the destroyed windowsills I had made last year, and the box glittered encouragingly. I heard the snap as of great wings lifting a bird to flight and a crack as if the world itself had opened up. Daring not to look, I dove for the box, my son screaming over and over again. “The box, box, box box…” my fingertips touched the box in a flash of scalding skin and I managed to flick the lid open with my thumbnail.
The world went white and I heard my son scream as my mind liquefied.
Chapter 11
I woke up panting hoarsely, realizing it had been another night terror. Had I screamed out loud again and woken Dean from his slumber? Then I remembered that he was either dropping Indie off at Plato’s Cave or taking her to the airport, depending on how long I had slept. Then he was out of town for a few days as well. I was entirely alone. Even Mallory was getting some sand in his hair and sun on his face for the next week. Pure bachelorhood. Again. I growled, squashing my puny pity with my mighty will power. I would be fine. I didn’t need anyone to watch over me. I was a grown ass man.
“Yeah. You’re a grown ass man.” I cheered myself on with pure testicular fortitude. The sudden movement of my face muscles almost caused me to cry out like a small child. My nose sure felt like it was broken. I touched it gingerly and winced, realizing my hands were raw with several hundred thousand tiny cuts from the broken whisky glasses at the bar. Oh well. Nothing for it. I glanced at my phone — which I had somehow remembered to plug in before I fell into a coma the night before — through sandy eyes. Six in the morning. I had been out for several hours, despite having felt like I had just fallen asleep. It might have been the longest I’d slept in weeks. Even catching some much-needed horizontal, I had the familiar sensation of being hung over. I groaned at the headache behind my eyelids as I rolled onto my back, trying to steady my furiously beating heart.
What the hell had my night terror been about? I realized after a few moments of deep breathing that I had dreamt of Hemingway’s story from the bar… kind of. It was as if I had been the subject of the story, but also an outsider. Then there had been the cursed box. Always the box. Every night terror I
had revolved around me opening a box. The boxes changed in appearance, but they were always there, and despite the chaos of the dream, the only way to escape was to open the box. Which was always terrifying, and hurt like hell. I wondered idly, as I had a hundred times before, if the box was a subconscious replacement for the music box Peter had stolen from my parents’ Armory during his brief sojourn inside. But I didn’t understand how that could be true. I had tested the box. Again. And again. And again, to no avail. There was absolutely nothing special about the box. At all.
So why did I keep dreaming about it? Was it merely because it was all the evidence I had on the room?
And did I dream about Hemingway’s story simply because the grim tale had been on my mind? Or was there some deeper meaning? I shook my head, kicking my shoes off the covers — which I had slept on top of — to place my feet on the ground. Of course it had nothing to do with a deeper meaning. It was a dark fucking story, and I had heard it mere hours before passing out. Of course my dreams incorporated it into their mad funhouse of horrors. That was just how lucky I was.
I was simply over-stressed. Dreaming about the story from the bar, the damn music box, and obviously the Armory. I had already deduced another answer about the boxes from my dreams. My dad had had another moniker for the Armory… Pandora Protocol. Which was how I had heard about the Armory in the first place. He hadn’t elaborated, and I hadn’t asked, but had surmised the direction he might intend with the phrase, and it seemed I hadn’t been far off.
The Pandora Protocol, or Armory, was far from an idea. It was real. Real enough for the Justices of the Academy to hunt me down to obtain. My father had a flair for names. Pandora Protocol for the ‘secrets’ hidden away from mankind inside Pandora’s Box. He would have been a great stage magician, but I was merely glad that no one else had heard his pet name for the project. If the Academy had heard it, they would have no doubt killed me on the spot for thinking it was literal, when my father had merely been an elaborate namer.
I decided to go to the kitchen and scrounge up some food. Maybe snort a line of Tylenol for both my headache and what felt like a broken nose, even though the mirror showed me it wasn’t. I prodded it gently and winced at the insomniac panda staring back at me. The day was starting off well.
I needed to run over to Temple Industries to catch up on some work before Ashley and Gunnar left for Bora Bora. That brought a smile to my face. Gunnar was going to propose to Ashley in a few days.
Silver lining.
Thirty minutes later, my phone began blaring from the nightstand while I was halfway through my pushup routine. I jumped to my feet, ignoring the pounding headache, and snatched up the device. “Gunnar.” I answered, breathing heavily.
“Nate! What the hell happened last night? We tried calling you for an hour. The cop thought it was one of your drunk tricks and wouldn’t take us seriously.”
“Yeah. I talked to him about it after.” I mumbled. If saving his ass from a Demon counted for ‘talking about it,’ we were golden. “I was picked up by some Academy… detectives.” Gunnar was an ex-FBI agent. He could relate to the term detectives. Not so much, Assassin squad. “They wanted a de-briefing on the debacle a few months back.”
“Didn’t you send them a report already?” He asked, voice tight, as if doubting I had ever sent said report.
“Of course. It was all done up official and everything… via email.” Gunnar sighed. I continued before he could butt in. “They wanted a face-to-face. I gave it to them and told them where to stick any further inquiries.”
Gunnar was silent for a moment. “Which means they didn’t take it very well.”
“Relax. They understand the picture now.”
“That’s odd. Because I don’t even understand the picture.” I sighed. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re alright. I didn’t want to call Indie without solid news, and I heard her mother is in a bad way. I didn’t want to add to it. Neither did Tory, or Ashley.” His tone grew more responsible. “You put us in a tough situation last night. You continue to keep things from her, which makes us keep things from her, which makes a big fucking wall in the trust department. I would appreciate it if you would fix that. Pronto.”
I rolled my eyes. “On it. We talked last night. She’s going to Colorado to take care of her mom. She basically told me to get my shit together while she’s gone so we can square up for round two. At least I’m still in the fight at the moment.”
He sighed on the other end of the line. “Nate… I’m not the king of relationships or anything, but perhaps your love life would be simpler if you wouldn’t relate you’re talks to boxing matches. If anything, they could be related to tag-team wrestling matches. You’re supposed to be on the same side, not squaring off against each other.”
“I know.” I admitted. “But-”
“She’s a Regular. Yeah, you told me. It’s becoming smaller and smaller of an issue. Look at Ashley. She’s doing fine, and she’s dating a werewolf. You’re just some schmuck wizard. Really not even in the same league.” I could sense his shit-eating grin over the phone.
“Bad puppy. No treats for you.”
He grunted. “Ashley and I are flying out at 2 pm. Need anything from her before we are incommunicado for a week?”
“Nervous?” I asked seriously.
“Fucking petrified. Square me off against a silver dragon any day, but this… man, it’s a lot of pressure on a guy. What if she says ‘No,’ or waffles about timing? It’s terrifying. Now I know why you stayed single for so long. This commitment thing has a lot of pitfalls.”
I laughed. “Yeah. But this kind of opportunity comes along once in a lifetime. You have to grab it and assert your dominance. Hump the hell out of that leg, know what I mean?”
The line was silent for a few moments. “Nate. I am a werewolf, not a schnauzer. I don’t always think like a dog, nor do I need references made to relate human interactions to their animal equivalent to understand basic concepts.”
“Who’s a smart puppy? Gunnie! Oh yes, Gunnie is.”
“Nate. It’s imperative that you stop talking right now.”
“Oh? You’re packing for the most terrifying moment of your life. Proposing to Ashley on a romantic vacation. We won’t see each other for at least a wee-”
The door to my room suddenly imploded in a shower of splinters as a fucking mountain of white fur tackled me to the floor, jaws snapping amidst a flurry of drool and ivory canines. The phone had flown out of my hands to slam into the wall behind me. We tumbled into the nightstand before I managed to retract my instincts to incinerate the threat with magic. Instead, I rolled with my attacker and used my feet to launch him behind me into the dresser. The white haired werewolf sailed into the mirror, shattering it with a heavy crunch before bounding off the dresser itself and rolling to his feet. He sat down on his haunches with a panting doggy grin.
“God damn it, Gunnar!” I snapped, panting heavily as I tried to calm my racing heart and ease my pounding headache. I didn’t know how I had restrained myself from using magic. It had been a near miss. But the fear of the curse being permanent had flown into my mind at the last second. Then I had noticed the white fur. Before I had consciously made a decision, I had used simple grappling techniques to toss him from my personal space, but if it had been a real threat, I wasn’t sure I would have been so lucky.
He shifted from his hairy werewolf form to his usual self — a chiseled, blonde-haired, mountain of a man. His long blonde hair hung around his bearded face, framing his pearly white grin. And he was completely naked. I averted my eyes, which made him laugh. “I warned you to watch your mouth.” He chuckled, glancing at the shredded fabric dotting the floor. His werewolf form didn’t tolerate human-sized clothes very well.
“How the fuck did you get in here?” I answered, pointing at my wardrobe so he could nab a change of clothes.
He nodded in appreciation, opening the dresser as he answered. “Dean gave me a key a while back. To keep an eye on you
and Indie. He didn’t know who or what might come looking for you two after the Dragon ordeal.” He cocked his head for a second. “Hey, why didn’t you Hogwarts my ass like you usually do? I mean, to be honest, you kind of just got your ass kicked. Like a little man bitc-”
Before I thought about it, I vaporized like I had learned last night, vanishing from Gunnar’s view to appear directly behind him. Part of my shirt tugged at me, and I saw a piece flutter to the ground where I had been standing a moment before, having been caught in the void of the teleportation spell and not making the trip along with my body. I used the momentum of teleporting — as it felt like riding a rollercoaster — to cold-cock my best friend in the jaw. The resounding crack was satisfying as his head snapped to the side and into the dresser before he crumpled to the ground. It only took him a second to shamble to his feet, eyes wide as he blinked up at where I now stood and where I had stood only a second before. He was rubbing his jaw painfully in disbelief.
“Okay… give me a minute… that was pretty… I mean, wow. What the hell just happened?” He asked in genuine awe.
I grinned back at his astonishment, slowly walking back over to pick up the piece of fabric that had been left behind, hiding my fear of both using my limited power for no real reason, and what might have happened if that little piece had been a more permanent part of me. “I just Hogwarts’d your ass.” I answered with a dry, mocking grin.
He blinked at me. “Is that one of the things you’ve been tinkering with in your excessive research sessions? I’ve never seen you do that before.”
“Kind of. Learned it from the Academy thugs last night. Apparently it’s a secret of theirs. They weren’t pleased I picked it up so fast… or at all. Hangovers give me a short fuse. Sorry. You all right?” I asked.
Blood Debts (The Temple Chronicles Book 2) Page 9