“Like your competitor…” Gunnar murmured.
I frowned. “Yeah… like that schmuck.”
“So, what’s the story on this book?”
I shrugged. “The suit came in a few days ago. Hired me to buy a book at auction. I don’t know why he didn’t just do it himself and save his client the fee.”
“Gee, maybe it’s because of your impressive, throbbing, jealousy-inducing…” he let the silence build, as well as my smile at the innuendo, “Paddle.”
“What?”
“The number on your paddle is ‘1.’ As in, one of your ancestors was the first member of the auction house.”
“Ah,” I nodded. “Could be, but I sent Indie.”
Gunnar shrugged. “She used your paddle, right? As your proxy?” I nodded. He motioned his hands in a there you go gesture.
“I guess,” I answered, unconvinced.
“People don’t like to go against that number. Saw it all the time as an Agent,” Gunnar said softly. Which was probably true. He was no longer an FBI Agent. Pretty much because of me. I knew it still bothered him, but less so now that he was running his own werewolf pack. Gunnar took my silence for needing an explanation. “A lot of people with a number like yours, hold grudges when other bidders beat them on something. The lower the number, typically the deeper the pockets. You upset or outbid them at your own peril. It’s actually a pretty smart move on the buyer’s part. Maybe your fee was less than the competition increase he feared.”
“For some book? I doubt it.” Gunnar waited, letting me get there by myself. “Although…” His smile grew. “With the recent events, it’s pretty obvious that someone else was willing to go to pretty extreme lengths to get the book before Indie could win the bid.” Gunnar nodded once. Alucard looked pensive, watching the two of us.
“So. What is the book, really? And who is your real client? And who else might want whatever the book was?” Gunnar grew thoughtful, calculating. “Perhaps it was your competitor?”
I flinched. “You think?” It was entirely possible, depending on what the book truly was. Maybe at the same time I thought I was being clever by stealing the ogre’s book, he thought he was being equally clever by stealing the book from the auction. This ass hat needed to be shut down.
Alucard hissed. Gunnar suddenly turned on beast mode as he shifted into a werewolf.
And a greasy sensation suddenly slithered down my spine.
A voice like a kind old grandmother called out from below. “Give me the book or I will gobble up your women,” she called out in a no-nonsense, Russian accent. Gunnar and Alucard beat me to the stairs, but not by much.
Chapter 11
A genuinely ancient old woman stood near the couches, but Ashley and Indie slept on like the dead. What had been in that tea? I opened my mouth to call out to the monks, hoping they could Zen the bitch out of here, but a steel vise suddenly clamped around my jaws as the same slithering dark power I had felt a moment ago, crept over my shoulders.
Which could only mean one thing.
She was a witch.
The woman waggled a decrepit finger at me. “Ah, ah, ah…” she murmured. The pressure instantly evaporated, which was a surprise. She had us dead to rights, standing directly beside our women, who were completely unaware of the situation as they slept.
I studied her. She was draped in a long, thick dress, the color of old mustard, and she wore a bright shawl around her head like a hood, tied neatly in a pretty knot beneath her throat. And she was smiling politely, not wickedly, revealing a set of iron teeth beneath a hideous bulbous nose.
She watched us. We watched her. Gunnar and Alucard stood on the tips of their toes. Gunnar looked like a giant arctic mountain wolf, and thankfully, he wasn’t wearing his Underdog undies. But he was wearing the Kevlar vest I had made for him that adjusted on the fly so that he was literally a bulletproof werewolf.
If this witch bothered with bullets, that would be helpful.
But I had never heard of witches sporting Uzis.
She tapped her weathered lips thoughtfully. “I prefer that this doesn’t get messy,” she finally said with a frown. “I don’t suppose you would be willing to simply give me the book?” Her tone reminded me again of an aged grandmother offering sensible advice to a younger child. As if the child would have to be an idiot not to trust the grandmother. I didn’t know if she was using magic to sound so condescending and reasonable, or if it was simply her years of experience. I shook my head, deciding not to simply tell her that I didn’t have the book. I needed answers, and admitting I didn’t have the item would get me none.
She dipped her head sadly, glanced at the women sleeping soundly, and then turned back to us. “If you throw a temper tantrum, I can assure you they will die. Likely you three as well.” Gunnar mimicked my growl. She held up a hand, and Gunnar instantly silenced, whether of his own volition or her power, I didn’t know. But he did look startled, so I was leaning towards the latter. “Or…” she glanced up at the loft above. “You could treat me as a guest, honoring the traditions of my people.”
“Sorry, I’m fresh out of chickens to slaughter. No demons to summon either, witch.”
She smiled good-naturedly. “I was referring to my heritage as a Russian.”
I blinked, taken aback, getting a sinking feeling that I suddenly knew exactly who she was. “You want to… break bread?” I said in disbelief.
“Well, more the vodka tradition, but if you have bread, that would be splendid as well.”
I simply stared back. What the hell was going on? She wanted to pound shots with me? After threatening Indie and Ashley? My mind raced as I contemplated my options. She was right. A fight would indeed get some of us killed. I knew next to nothing about witches, but the one thing I did know was that they had zero compassion for collateral damage, and statistically went for the worst end of the evil spectrum and worked their way backwards. They played for keeps. And used dark magic to do it. Simply put, she was being utterly honest when she said we wouldn’t all make it out alive.
Now, I was considered a badass among my peers. Hell, I had thumbed my nose at some of the baddest of the bad and walked away, more or less. But I didn’t know enough about witches to take a gamble with my friends’ lives.
“What guarantee do I have that you won’t harm my friends anyway?”
She smiled a matronly, condescending grin. “My word.”
“Pfft. I don’t even know who you are.” She didn’t respond, merely stretched her smile wider as she waited. So, I voiced my guess. “Russian. Witch. Old…” She growled at that one. “Babushka…”
She waved a hand. “Go on, boy…”
“Baba… Yaga…” an icy shiver danced down my spine as her iron-toothed smile stretched.
She nodded, clapping her hands lightly together one time. “They say you can decipher a lot about a person based on their reputation. Their name.”
Gunnar and Alucard turned to stare at me with equal frowns. I nodded to them, then to her. “Perhaps I should ask this fine young woman for a drink…”
“Excellent choice, boy.” She arched a brow at me thoughtfully. “Many stories abound regarding your recent exploits. Grimms. Horsemen. The Academy…” She might have snarled at that one. “But one I didn’t believe until now was that you are a Maker…” She cocked her head, studying me like a science experiment. “We definitely must drink. And converse. Like old friends.” Her eyes twinkled with merriment.
But if I knew one thing it was this. Baba Yaga had no friends.
She ate children for crying out loud.
“Yes, let’s…” I held out a polite arm for her to grasp so that I could escort her upstairs. Her smile broadened. I might have flinched a little as her bony arm wrapped around my elbow. Gunnar and Alucard stared at me, poleaxed.
“You may take the women away. I have the young gentleman to attend to my desires now.” Her voice oozed with genuine glee, and I was terrified. “We should establish some ground r
ules…” I said politely.
She contemplated that for a few moments as I led her to the stairs. As her foot touched the first step, she spoke. “Peace betwixt us for the duration of our chat and for two hours after. In exchange for entertaining an old woman’s traditions.” She clucked her iron teeth. “I’ve made worse bargains.” Her eyes seemed to darken at a memory, but the follow up smile reminded me of the Crypt Keeper from that old TV show. I nodded, and hoped to God I had some good vodka upstairs as I heard Gunnar and Alucard take the girls to safety. I just hoped it wasn’t the last time I would see them.
Shit had just gotten real.
Chapter 12
“So, tell me about yourself, Nathaniel?” Baba cooed. She sat reclined in my Darlington Chesterfield, a half-open bottle of vodka between us. This was the first time she had asked me a direct question. The only other words had been, “Nostrovia. For health. For good fortune.” Big ones for toasts, the Russians. We had polished off half the bottle already and I was only now getting a sense of calm about my current situation. Here I was, going shot-for-shot with Baba Yaga, the dreaded Russian folklore villain. And nothing bad had happened yet. In all honesty, I had to admit that I was rather enjoying myself.
Sure, she had threatened to kill my friends, but that really wasn’t anything special to someone like her. It was just who she was. No more than she would have told anyone else if they had something she wanted. She hadn’t treated me any worse than anyone else who might have pissed her off. Baba was known in Russian folklore to either help or hinder travelers, and one never knew which would be the case, so it was always advised to be on your toes. But the stories of Baba Yaga were unique in that she had two sisters of the same name. I wondered which one I was dealing with.
But overall, despite the frightening stories, she was treating me very well.
The room spun a bit as I thought of her question. “I just want to be a good man.” I let out a hiccup, and blushed as I clutched a fist to my mouth. “Excuse me.”
She smiled back, seeming none the worse for wear. “Such excellent manners. Oh, how I do love gentlemen of breeding.” Her eyes grew distant as she lifted up her shot glass. “To courtly manners. And keeping them alive.” I nodded slowly, reaching for my shot glass. We downed them together, and leaned back. “A good man…” she murmured, eyes roving the room lazily. Alucard had redecorated it slightly, but – I blinked in embarrassment – as I realized the red silk thong from Indie’s first romantic encounter with me still hung from my desktop lamp. Baba’s gaze followed mine, and belted out a belly laugh as she clapped her hands. “A devious man more like it…” She winked and I couldn’t hide my grin. “So, what does being a good man mean to you?”
I shrugged. “It’s becoming more unclear as the years go by,” I answered honestly. She nodded at my perception. I tried to focus, but the liquor was hitting me harder than I had hoped. I hadn’t eaten in a while, and I was now regretting it. I definitely didn’t want to throw up on the old woman. She had declared a truce, but I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t hold up if I ruined the mood. I swallowed forcefully. Baba, of course, took that to mean that I must be thirsty, and she poured two more shots. The bottle was growing lighter at an alarming rate. I tried to postpone the drink with a drunken slurry of words that I hoped made sense.
“I started out wanting to keep my nose clean. Stay out of everyone’s business and simply run my bookstore. But…” She leaned forward as I paused “a small but persistent part of me simply won’t let some things go. If I see someone get hurt, I feel compelled to defend them, and to gain retribution for their harm. It’s a small fire burning hotly inside of me. So, as the years went by, I used my family’s influence to help me do this.”
“Temple Industries?” She murmured.
I nodded, mind wandering from the drink. That had been a shit show lately. The Grimms had used some pretty savvy corporate espionage to make it look like I had been performing insider trading with my own company. Grimm shifters who looked like me gave interviews, press conferences, and sold investments, which was hard to refute when I couldn’t simply tell everyone that magic was real, and that these people had been shapeshifting to impersonate me.
So, I had lost the company, barely escaped jail time, and was now in the legal battle of a lifetime trying to, at least, keep things as they currently stood. Me out of the company, and presumably, out of jail. Our lifelong attorney, Turner Locke, made sure to keep my mailbox full with piles upon piles of legal documents. He was determined to get me the company back, and having worked for my father for years, had plenty of neat ideas on how to do so. Some, I was actually attempting. With my long-time friend and hacker extraordinaire, Othello, hiding any breadcrumbs online.
Luckily, my father had cleverly patented several of the most lucrative technologies in his personal name, and had then leased those out in perpetuity to Temple Industries. So, I was still making money from the company. I had been forced to liquidate my substantial stock, and as a ‘get out of jail free’ card (or at least a temporary one), had donated it all to various charities and individuals who had stuck by me and the company over the years. So, for all intents and purposes, I was practically penniless. Well, not really. But compared to my upbringing, I was living on the streets.
In one fell swoop, the Grimms had basically destroyed my life.
Killed my fiancé – although Death, one of the Four Horsemen, and recent pal of mine – had managed to bring her back to me, at the expense of making her a Grimm.
Destroyed my company.
Murdered some of my friends.
But I had reciprocated. By killing them all.
Well, all but one. Ichabod still lurked in the shadows somewhere. We had been unable to find him, but I knew from certain events that he still hung around my city somewhere. I just hadn’t been able to find him yet.
The rest of the Grimms had been locked away in a dark void, thanks to one of my ancestors, many years ago. They were also trapped in a bubble of time, which I didn’t even want to think about, as it made my brain hurt.
So, effectively, I had shown them.
But at such a great cost.
I had only just managed to get the City to assist with designating my bookstore as a Historic Building, so that I could find the funds to restore it. It had been practically demolished in a tussle with some Nephilim a few months back, and was only now reaching the point where it had to pass one last inspection to open. I had basically tapped myself dry on the money front, so it was vital that the shop be ready for the inspection tomorrow.
Which meant I couldn’t sit here and continue to get plastered.
I turned back to Baba who was watching me thoughtfully. She smiled. “I thank you for treating me with such hospitality. And for speaking with me in my native tongue.”
I blinked back at her.
I must have had a dumb look on my face. “Yes, we have been speaking Russian. You are a bit rusty, but serviceable.”
I bowed my head in thanks. “So, what is your presence truly about, Baba? What is this book you seek, and why is it so important?” I might have slurred a bit more than usual. She began to pour two more shots and I had to stop myself from waving her off. It was considered unbelievably rude to pass on an offered drink. I just didn’t have an Iron Curtain lining my stomach like most Russians, and was pretty darn embarrassed that this old biddy was pounding shot after shot to no effect.
She offered me the shot, and we downed it. My head began to truly swim, and my stomach did an odd little flip-flop. Baba licked her lips in appreciation before answering. “It is a personal matter. A debt that must be rectified,” she answered cryptically.
“But what is it?” I leaned forward.
“Oh, I guess there is no harm in telling you. It is an artifact, naturally. Not simply a book. It has the ability to grant a wish.” I blinked. “Any wish…” she added. “And it would satisfy me if you offered it to me. Now.” She waited, watching the air around me for some reason.
>
I leaned back, thinking about her words. Well. That was surprising. No wonder she wanted it so badly, and no wonder my client did as well. And whoever had stolen it. “That could be…” I had to metaphorically slap my cheeks a few times to force my thoughts to congeal, “Pretty dangerous.”
Baba shrugged. “Danger, fortune, they are both sides of the same coin. One man’s curse is another man’s pleasure,” she smiled at me. “Now, I ask that you give it to me.”
I shrugged at her, face devoid of humor. “I don’t have it.” Her gaze hardened. “I swear. It was stolen before I could obtain it. Just tonight, in fact.”
“Who?” She demanded. I flinched at her shift in tone.
“I have no idea…”
“I sense it here, in this building. You are lying to your guest,” she warned.
I was growing more alarmed by the second, my fears fueling my panic. I didn’t know what she could do, but if she thought I was breaking my word, we were about to throw down, and I was now in no shape to fight. I could barely string a sentence together. “No, no. I swear. I have the case it rested in, but that is all.”
“What does the book look like?” She asked intently.
I frowned. Confused. If she knew what it was, why was she asking me what it looked like. “I… I have no idea. I haven’t physically seen it.”
She again watched the air around me so hard that I feared there might be something behind me. I had a sudden fear that a handful of gargoyles was about to attack. I glanced to the side and almost yelled out in fear to find two gargoyles perusing my bookshelf. I turned to Baba urgently, but she didn’t seem to notice them.
How freaking drunk was I?
“Curses!” she growled. “You don’t have it.”
“Umm… yeah. That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” I stammered. “Hey, do you happen to see, um, anything b-behind me?” I stammered.
She merely smiled back. “Why would there be anything behind you, boy. Are you afraid of something? Some monster from your past hiding in your bookstore? What could scare the infamous Master Temple? A Maker? Tell me… I’m dying to know…”
Silver Tongue: A Novel in The Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Series (The Temple Chronicles Book 4) Page 5