by
Argento Publishing
Dedication
Dedicated to a Man among men… Scott Erwin
Epigraph
Here be dragons.
— Hunt-Lenox Globe, 1503 A.D.
And Babylon shall become heaps, a dwellingplace for dragons, an astonishment, and an hissing, without an inhabitant.
— Jeremiah 51:37
Come not between the dragon, and his wrath.
— William Shakespeare, King Lear
Chapter 1
T here 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 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 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 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, it 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.
Razorblade 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 muscle 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 quite 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 I 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.
From the neck up he was entirely bull, but the rest of his body more resembl
ed a thickly furred man. But, as shown moments ago, he could adapt his form to his environment, never appearing fully human, but able to make his entire form appear as a bull when necessary. For instance, as he had looked just before I tipped him. Maybe he had been scouting the field for heifers before I had so efficiently killed the mood.
His bull face was also covered in thick, coarse hair — even sporting a long, wavy beard of sorts — and his eyes were the deepest brown I had ever seen. Cow shit brown. His snout jutted out, emphasizing the gold ring dangling from his glistening nostrils, catching a glint in the luminous glow of the moon. The metal was at least an inch thick, and etched with runes of a language long forgotten. Thick, aged ivory horns sprouted from each temple, long enough to skewer a wizard with little effort. He was nude except for a beaded necklace and a pair of distressed leather boots that were big enough to stomp a size twenty-five in my face if he felt so inclined.
I hoped our blossoming friendship wouldn’t end that way. I really did.
Chapter 2
A fter the laughter died down, the Minotaur spoke, his shoulders relaxing as he assumed a less intimidating posture. “I must thank you for testing me this night. I almost forgot The Path, and for this I must ask your forgiveness.”
I blinked. “Uh, forgiveness?”
He nodded, relaxing even more, steepling his fingers before him as if in prayer. “I have been reading quite a bit lately on the Buddhist faith. Most intriguing. I can’t fathom why I had never heard of it until recently. But I need not react to such an overt negative offense. Karma will come back to visit you… quite severely, I would imagine.” He sneered.
It took a few moments for my brain to process his words. “Karma? You’re a Buddhist now?” I practically yelled in disbelief. “Come on! It was just a practical joke. You make it sound as if Karma will be gunning for me.”
Asterion began to lecture, his snout pulled back like Mr. Ed chewing a wad of peanut butter. “The severity of the Karmic retaliation is weighted against five conditions: frequent repetitive action; determined intentional action; action performed without regret; action against extraordinary persons…” He leveled a meaty thumb at his chest with a vain grin. “And finally, action toward those who have helped one in the past.” He wasn’t able to conceal his pleasure. “Having broken all five this night, I would say Karma’s going to destroy you.” I rolled my eyes and shrugged. The Minotaur switched gears. “My deepest condolences, but if this is about your parents’ murder, I cannot aid you.”
Before I could stop myself, the frozen ground around us vaporized to baking clay and cow shit in a fifty-foot radius, steam rising into a heavy fog. I could smell the soles of our boots burning like fresh tarmac. “What?” I hissed.
The Minotaur’s eyes widened. “You are the heir to the notorious Temple wizards who recently passed. Why would you seek me out again if not to find their murderer?”
“The evidence revealed no foul-play. What do you know?” I whispered, voice like gravel, trying to blockade the torrent of emotions that had so suddenly swelled up inside me — the emotions I thought I had successfully walled away. Until now.
“Nothing! But come now, Temple, you know it to merely be a delusion. Are you claiming that you do not know a way to kill someone without a trace? You are a wizard. That is child’s play for your kind. When a wizard dies, it is either violent or from extreme old age. For two to die within moments of one another is beyond calculation. Even Hermes wouldn’t bet on that.”
I had checked the evidence myself. Repeatedly. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. Calming myself, I came back to the reason for my visit, dispersing my abrupt magic out into the night with a flick of my wrist. The ground remained warm, but no longer smoldering. “Word around town says you deal in antiquities. Is this true?”
The Minotaur hesitated, glancing at the ground in relief. “Says whom?”
I glanced behind me as I heard the distant sound of sirens on a nearby road. Impossible. They couldn’t be following me. Perhaps some kid had been caught speeding on the back roads. I was just being paranoid. “Says Who.” I corrected, turning back.
“Irrelevant.” He muttered.
That rankled me. “It is not irrelevant. It’s paramount! The rules of grammar are just as important as the rules of engagement in war. Without them we are barbarians.” I argued.
The Minotaur frowned pensively. “Then I must take that into consideration.”
“So are the rumors true or not?” I pressed.
“Possibly. What do you seek?”
“A book.”
“I know many books. Perhaps you could elaborate?” He replied, sounding bored.
I weighed my options. My client wanted this badly. Very badly. And so far I had turned up nothing. This was the end of the road. The sirens were closer now, and the flashing red and blue lights limned the fringes of the field. Fuck. It couldn’t be for me. I rushed onward, anxious now. “I don’t know the title, but I can show you the symbol from the cover.” I had to move fast in case the cops really had found me. Regardless, if they drove by, chances were they would either recognize my car, or at least wonder why such a beautiful vehicle was parked outside a field on a deserted country road.
The Minotaur knelt down to the ground, waiting. I noticed that his necklace was really a set of prayer beads, and shook my head in disbelief. The Minotaur, a reformed Buddhist. I traced my fingers just above the grass, releasing a tendril of fire like a pencil to burn an insignia into the now dry earth. It resembled a winged serpent over a flickering sun that appeared to be burning out, or fading. The Minotaur was still for several breaths, and then glanced warily toward the sky. After a long silence, he unfolded from his crouch, scuffed up the ground with his massive boot, and whispered one word. “Dragons.” His horns gleamed wickedly in the moonlight as he towered over me. I blinked. What the hell?
“Dragons?” I glanced behind me as the sound of slamming car doors interrupted my train of thought, and realized that the flashing lights were just outside the field, right by my parked car. Shit. I had been made. Time to wrap things up. As I stood, I saw a flicker of silver in the air. I reflexively caught what Asterion had tossed to me, and found a dull, chipped silver coin in my palm. A worn image of a man holding the legendary Caduceus — the healing staff of doctors everywhere — was imprinted on one side, but the other bore only a pair of winged feet. “Flip once to save the life of another, and once to save your own.” The Minotaur recited.
I frowned. “Why give me this?”
“I do as commanded. The book you seek is dangerous. I was told to pass this relic on to the first requestor.” He fingered the prayer beads thoughtfully, glancing once over my shoulder at the flashing lights.
“How long have you held this?”
He answered a different question instead. “I have guarded the original version of the book you seek since I was put in that cursed Labyrinth, but I fear that copies might exist in the outside world. If they haven’t been destroyed over the years. Humans are always destroying their culture.” He snorted, eyes briefly flaring in outrage. “Both the coin and book were entrusted to me by Hermes.” My mouth might or might not have dropped open in disbelief for a moment, but the Minotaur continued. “If your desire for this book is strong enough, meet me here two days hence. We will duel at sunset.”
“But you’re a Buddhist now. Couldn’t you, you know, just sell it to me?”
The Minotaur shook his head with a hungry grin. “Promises made, promises kept.” I glanced at the ancient coin in my palm. “Oh, and Temple…” I looked up to see his boot flying at my midsection, so hastily threw up a last-second shield of air. It deflected only the fatal portion of the blow. “Karma says hello. Don’t ever cow tip me again.” The force felt like, well, what I imagined a heel kick from the Minotaur would feel like. Then I was flying toward the pulsing lights. The Minotaur’s guttural laughter stayed with me as I tumbled through the starry night, and then I landed che
st-first in a moist pile of cow shit, sliding a few feet so that it smeared a perfect streak from chest to groin. I heard a surprised grunt, and then a knee ground me into the cold grass, mashing the molecular particles of shit firmly between each individual fiber of my six-hundred-dollar coat.
Cold steel clamped around my wrists. “I got him, Captain! He came outta’ nowhere!” I couldn’t help it. I began to laugh — hard — despite the lingering pain of Asterion’s well-placed farewell boot.
“Fucking Karma!” I bellowed between giggles.
“I think he’s hopped up on something, sir. Probably mushrooms, judging from all this cow shit.”
“Whatever.” A new voice — presumably the Captain’s — said. “Let’s just take him downtown. We have a few questions for him about his parents’ murder.”
I choked on my laughter.
Chapter 3
T he heavy steel door clicked open as a second cop entered the room. I had time to notice a third young cop standing guard outside — nervously fingering his holster — before the door closed. The interrogation room smelled like cleaning solution and metal. I, on the other hand, sat with my hands cuffed behind my back, wrists slightly chafed, smelling like cow shit. Like a stain on the great cog that is the shining white bureaucracy of the United States government. I was rightly furious. And my car was parked out in the middle of nowhere. I’d have to get Gunnar or someone to drive me out there to pick it up later.
The cop already at the table watched me with an amused grin, as he had for the past twenty minutes. He was obese, his belly sagging over his weapons belt. His cheeks hung heavy on his face, reminding me of a melting candle, and his buzzed haircut made him look all the more ridiculous. He hadn’t shaved, and looked like the kind of guy who needed to shave twice a day in order to look presentable. I wanted to slap the smile off his face. “Now that we’re all here, Detective Kosage,” I growled, “The cause of death, as your officers informed me, was inconclusive. Are you reneging on that statement?”
Obsidian Son (The Temple Chronicles Book 1) Page 1