Mordred smiled, nodding his head in agreement. “I couldn’t agree more. Master Temple is a visionary. Why, in my brief time here, I’ve even seen the beautiful street art showing him posing as a king. Obviously, the city adores him and his heroic reputation. St. Louis’ golden child,” Mordred said with a sincerity even I almost bought.
The announcer fumbled with his notes, as if considering dropping a few truth bombs about my past in the public eye. Maybe a burned down strip-club or two, a few of my more notorious arrests, or my televised appearance at a big concert getting punched in the nuts by a guy in a kilt.
“I’m sure they meant well, but I hear the crown looks wrong,” I shrugged.
Mordred nodded, waving a hand. “True. I’ve unfortunately seen a few that were… less than flattering.”
I smiled with my teeth. “No accounting for taste, I guess.”
The announcer piped up. “Where do we go from here, gentlemen? How do we move past these unfortunate fits of paranoia and get the city back on track?” He addressed Mordred this time. “You seem to have made an admirable start, with your generous donation to the police…” he smirked, changing his phrase, “the Knights in Shining Armor, as you called them. You’ve only been here a short while but are obviously invested in this city. What else do you have in store for us?”
Mordred waved a hand vaguely. “I was just hoping to avoid as many speeding tickets as possible,” he chuckled, looking innocently guilty, the smug prick. Was the announcer working for him, or did the guy just not like me all that much? I didn’t recognize him, and I knew most of the local reporters, unfortunately.
Mordred cleared his throat, his smile fading, taking the question more seriously this time. “It is true I’ve only been here a short while. I don’t even have a home yet, just hopping from hotel to hotel at the moment, but this means I’ve walked the city streets. Felt the pulse of the city. I don’t get to just turn it off after a day of work, retiring to my private solitude. I have dinner at a local restaurant, do my dry-cleaning down the street, take Ubers to my appointments. I…” he trailed off, eyes distant and proud. “I talk to the people of this city. And I feel their pain as my own. Which… well, I guess you set me up quite nicely, and it would be a shame for me not to take advantage of a shameless plug for my own charitable foundation…” The announcer waved a hand, smiling brightly, and the crowd grew quieter, leaning forwards.
Motherfucker. He was subtly implying that I was apart from the people of the city. He was efficiently separating me from the population, all while seeming to compliment me.
Mordred turned to me with a guilty smile. “I must confess to a bit of a deception. You see, I had hoped to discuss the matter with you privately—”
“Then you probably should,” I advised drily.
But the audience began to protest in a low rumble. No jeering or anything, but very interested in Mordred’s announcement.
I relented, waving my hand. “I hope it’s not something too controversial, Moe,” I said. “After all, I have to answer to my Board, lawyers, and investors. I can hardly go to the restroom without permission these days.”
Mordred nodded knowingly. “Of course, and perhaps you are correct. I didn’t intend to put you on the spot. More to plug my own organization. Plant a seed, as it were…” he trailed off, and inwardly I cringed.
He was feeding the crowd, and as expected, the protests became louder, very quickly.
Like I was putting a noose around my neck, I nodded. “I’m always open to discussions, as long as you know I may have to refer to wiser minds than mine to make a final decision…” and I let my eyes sweep the crowd, discreetly, but pointedly locking eyes with the representatives of the major supernatural families in attendance. “But I’m strongly against holding the information hostage from the public, so lay it on me.”
He smiled like a shark, pretending to roll up his sleeves. He arched a brow at the audience. “I’m a little nervous,” he admitted. “I’d never considered myself a public speaker, especially not with such an esteemed audience, or esteemed… adversaries,” he said in a dramatic whisper, winking at me.
I rolled my eyes, feigning humility. “Hurry, before the alcohol hits their bloodstreams.” I pretended to think, as if I’d just had a sudden thought. I needed to talk with him in private. A diversion. “In fact, maybe it would be relaxing to have a drink together. Pretend we are having a fire-side chat. In some old castle or something. You know, somewhere far, far away.” Before he could respond, I leaned back to the server waiting in the wings. He was holding a pitcher of ice water. “Can I get two dry martinis, please? Put it on his tab,” I whispered loudly, pretending to hide that I was pointing my thumb at Mordred.
The server blinked at me, glanced down at the pitcher in his hands, and then vanished, not having anticipated needing booze.
I hadn’t either.
I turned back to Mordred. “Okay, Moe. You’ll have about two minutes before my judgment is impaired,” I smiled. “Make the most of it. And remember. No audience in front of us. Just a dusty, empty castle that no one here cares about. We’re all alone…”
He gave me a very slow smile, nodding his approval, and definitely getting my not-so-subtle reference – that this wasn’t Camelot. “I think we’re going to need those drinks.”
There was a flurry of activity, and suddenly three servers were rushing up to our table, setting down a bottle of scotch – Macallan.
Fifty-year Macallan. The Huntress, disguised as one of the servers, dipped her head subserviently. “We were all out of vodka, Master Temple. I hope this will suffice. If it’s not to your liking, I’ll zip right back over like an arrow to discard it.”
I nodded absently, pretending not to recognize her or to pick up on her subtle threat. The Huntress was possibly the best bowman in the world. Ever. At least the best I’d ever seen. She had a bow – stolen from a Greek bastard of the highest order named Bellerophon – that could be drawn as easily as breaking a cobweb with your fingers. She was a ruthless killer. And she’d just offered me a free assassination, courtesy of the house.
All the best waiters usually did.
I scooped up the bottle and inspected it. “Only the finest when my new friend is paying the price,” I smiled, thanking her. The audience chuckled.
Mordred grinned, holding up his glass. I poured him a few fingers, then a healthy splash for myself.
I set the bottle down between us, lifted my glass, and spoke into the microphone. “Bring down the lights, please. We’re in a faraway castle, remember?” I said, arching a playful eyebrow at the announcer.
His lips thinned, suddenly realizing he had lost control of the situation. To be honest, I wasn’t sure who was in control of the situation either, but I was trying to throw down as many obstacles and double-meanings as possible.
Because this wasn’t just a showdown between Mordred and me. This was a message, delivered to both the Regulars of St. Louis, and the supernatural factions suddenly latching onto our every gesture and word.
A moment later the houselights dimmed, creating a mellow ambience on the stage and cloaking the crowd in murky darkness. Like what I imagined would happen if Mordred had his way. I studied the crowd, trying to catch my friends’ attention. If I focused, I could just make them out. Perfect. This would also give them a measure of privacy to converse amongst themselves without fear of their neighboring tables eavesdropping or spying on them.
Because I was confident Mordred had his own people in the crowd, just like I did.
Two self-appointed kings surveying the field of battle, imagining the blood and carnage to come.
I lifted my glass to clink with his in a gesture of peaceful camaraderie.
“To the Round Table Initiative,” Mordred said in a proud cheer, right before locking eyes with me and clinking our glasses together.
I almost dropped my drink but masked it well. I think. The Round Table Initiative? Mordred wasn’t very subtle, either.
&nbs
p; The game was a-fucking-foot.
Chapter 5
I took a very healthy sip of my drink, thinking furiously as I waited for Mordred to begin. He took his time, giving me a moment to process the situation.
He had planned this out to the letter. I had wandered in, dreading a boring social event where I would have to reassure the public that teens with GoPro video cameras and decent editing software were having a little fun at our expense, making us believe in monsters.
Mordred, on the other hand, had considered how to use the topic to his tactical advantage. He had turned it into an opportunity, while I had treated it like a chore.
Was that because… he knew what it was like to be a king? What it truly took? How to manipulate the various lords and ladies of his court to push forward his agenda? Because so far, it sure didn’t feel like he had stumbled in, found a way to capitalize on the situation, and used momentum to coincidentally manipulate me.
No. This felt… well, classy. Suave. Debonair. Mordred was clever as shit. Smooth. He wasn’t just playing me.
He’d played the announcer.
The Police.
The Regular audience.
The supernatural audience – the Freaks.
I felt that no matter what I did, I was simply walking down the path he had cleared for me, like a lamb led to slaughter. That he had meticulously considered every move or turn of events possible, and had a ready-made response to each, and that they all led to his ultimate success.
I’d never really been a humble guy. Neither was I – despite contrary rumor – ignorantly arrogant. I was proud, sure. But I also typically knew when I was being outclassed and had, so far in my life, been successful at reacting in a way that turned the tables in my favor. I used my arrogance like armor, letting people assume what I wanted them to assume, because in that way, I knew how they were likely to react, and how to lead them by the nose.
But Mordred… well, he knew nothing about me, as far as I knew. And I knew next to nothing about him, other than old stories found in T.H. White’s The Once and Future King, or Sir Thomas Mallory’s Le Mort D’Arthur.
But that hadn’t mattered. He had focused on the solution, not the problem. Basically, it felt like he’d held me in the highest respects and planned accordingly. Like… what he would do if he was going up against himself.
He had set up multiple battle fronts to distract me, lining me up for the sucker punch.
This Round Table Initiative.
Did Mordred know about the Round Table at Chateau Falco? I shivered at the thought.
“In your experience with Temple Industries and now Grimm Tech,” Mordred began in a clear, thoughtful tone, “I’m sure you learned quite a bit about hostile takeovers. How the media can fan the flames if they focus on inaccurate information or purposely-inflammatory news, making an initially peaceful discussion potentially hostile.”
“Is that what you think is happening? A hostile takeover? From some YouTube videos?” I said carefully, frowning for effect. “I’m not usually one for conspiracy theories, and I left my tinfoil hat at home.”
“Heavens, no! I want to avoid one! With all the talking points focusing on these videos, I see the potential for violence between the believers and the non-believers. I want to prevent that. The Round Table Initiative would be an open discussion to bridge the gap between both sides.”
I nodded hesitantly. “You still haven’t elaborated on that. Intentions are great, but what exactly are we talking about? Specifics make the wheel go ‘round…” I said, taking another sip of my drink.
“I think the peoples’ concerns need to be heard and addressed. On both sides of the issue. By a team of individuals who can objectively decide how best to move forward, after hearing both sides of the topic. Not just on these YouTube videos, but on all sorts of things. Public safety, discrimination, civilian rights…” he trailed off, waving a hand.
The crowd seemed to be holding their breath. I nodded in agreement, otherwise I would look like a callous billionaire. “I think everyone can agree on that, but it’s the means I’m asking about.”
Mordred nodded his agreement. “I greatly appreciate you leaving it up to me to mention that we’ve worked together in the past. You met me at a very dark point in my life, but you still reached out and helped pull me out of my own personal Hell. I wouldn’t be here without you,” he said meaningfully, and I felt my pulse climbing as the audience began to murmur amongst themselves. “But your humility to not mention it to them is truly admirable. Letting me stand on my own two feet, as it were. To win over the citizens of St. Louis on my own merit, rather than riding in on your coattails. You don’t ask for thanks. You want others to stand for themselves. Make their own decisions. Never taking credit where credit is due. You are a clever one, Master Temple, and my Round Table Initiative could benefit from one such as you,” he said, bowing his head and taking a sip of his drink.
I felt like I’d just taken three body blows. For anyone who knew who he really was – Mordred, not Moe R. Dredd – he’d just announced that we’d once been allies, that I’d busted him out of Hell and hadn’t told anyone. And as a result, had just shot up my credibility with the supernatural families in town. If I’d been in league with him in the past, why was I against working with him now?
My chances of uniting the families was dying a slow death, and no one even knew it.
I nodded. “I think a man should stand on his own merits. Make his own mistakes and pay for the consequences of his past decisions. Even any… unintended consequences.”
Mordred nodded seriously. “Exactly. Like you. I’ve seen old media reports about your past mistakes – no disrespect intended at all – and you’ve turned them all around, owning up to them.” I had to bite my tongue to prevent myself from launching a fireball at him. But that was obviously part of his game. I couldn’t physically react without putting the lie to my earlier statements about magic. “And look at you now! St. Louis’ playboy is now known as the uncrowned King of St. Louis! That’s quite a rebrand. This city adores you for your past flaws!” He shook his head in wonderment. “It takes a special kind of man to earn that admiration.” Then he waved a hand, chuckling like everyone’s favorite uncle. “Here I am, fangirling. You’re no stranger to being a celebrity. And that could help my cause. Let you be the face, and I’ll be the…” he flashed a grin at the audience, “wizard behind the curtains, so to speak.”
Many in the audience chuckled at him bringing the conversation back to magic. But the Freaks in the crowd looked ready to bolt. “It sounds promising,” I said, thinking. “Not to be blunt, but what do you bring to the table? Other than the idea, and money, of course.”
Mordred nodded. “Fair question, and this is exactly why I need an enforcer like you.” I gritted my teeth. He was subconsciously making everyone see me as a grunt, a brute – beneath him, even when I was questioning his authority. “You have resources, Temple. You’re a billionaire, of course. I’m wealthy myself, thanks to favors owed to me, but nothing like you. And that’s the crux of it. I bring people to the equation, Temple. So. Many. People. They understand my cause and are devoted to it with a passion that even I blink at. You could be our benefactor. Our public face.”
He had just subtly threatened having an army. Disguised as volunteer philanthropists, but there was no arguing what he really meant.
“For example, I was considering calling your fiancée’s mother for a position. Indie Rippley’s mother…” Mordred – very casually – glanced directly at Callie in the audience, and I barely restrained from incinerating everything within a one-mile-radius to ashes.
My earbud suddenly crackled with urgent whispers from Gunnar, telling Tory to get Indie’s mom to safety.
I realized I was just staring at him. Behind the façade of his eager smile, I saw the cool, calculating gaze of a King. And he’d just said Checkmate.
Chapter 6
I cleared my throat. “We are no longer engaged. Haven’t been for
quite some time, now…” I told him, not bothering to hide my anger.
Because all I saw was red. I was seriously considering throwing down with Mordred. Right here. Right now. Despite Indie’s bad decisions in the past, bringing her innocent mother into the equation was unspeakably cruel. And it was a warning. He’d done his research on me.
And, now that I thought about it, I realized I hadn’t checked up on Indie’s mother. Did she even know her daughter was dead? I’d sprinted from one fight to the next, forgetting all about it. Not of my own choice, necessarily, but out of necessity. I’d spent the last few years only reacting.
And I was beginning to see the difference between Mordred and me.
He never had to react to anything. He anticipated and prevented bad outcomes. Even if I – and the King of Hell – saw him as evil, he was a better king than I was. At least, more competent.
But to bring her mother into this was beyond cruel. He was figuratively holding her hostage, and he was dangling her in front of my face, disguising it as generosity and goodwill for the crowd.
Mordred looked aghast. “Oh, dear. My apologies. My sources must be dated.”
“Incorrect information can be a nightmare. That’s what we’re all here about, right?” I said, hoping to bring an end to the conversation and give the announcer a moment to take over again.
Mordred smirked, eyes flicking to Callie again. “Hard to stay in a committed relationship when you’re so famous, I guess. Luckily, I’ve never been that popular.”
I gripped the table with my fingers, on the verge of ripping it to shreds with my magic. In front of hundreds of cameras. “It was a mutual agreement. I’m just glad we realized it before we tied the knot. Because marriage vows are sacred, and I couldn’t imagine breaking one apart. I mean the guilt alone would destroy me. There is a special place in Hell for those who betray it.”
A not-so-subtle reference to his dalliance with Guinevere, his daddy’s wife – when they’d played their own game of sword in the stone behind closed doors.
Horseman: A Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Book 10 (The Temple Chronicles) Page 3