Towering monoliths, marble angels, and skeletal, ancient trees surrounded me as I strode deeper into the cemetery, colder on the inside than I was on the outside. The wind was muted here, as if holding its breath in the presence of so many dead. Gunnar walked beside me, a wry grin on his face. “That was efficient, and polite.”
“They’re lucky I was only mildly perturbed. A cemetery is a convenient place to commit mass murder.” I glanced at his badge, which was prominently displayed on his belt. “Hypothetically.”
Gunnar nodded, awed as we came into sight of the towering Temple Mausoleum. It was the largest private plot in the cemetery, safe in a wide swath of fresh grass that ringed the entire perimeter, secluded from all other nearby graves. Due to it’s sheer size, many at first mistook it for the caretaker’s residence, but only until they came close enough to witness it in it’s entirety. It was nicer. And bigger. Much bigger. The marble colossus was astoundingly extravagant, having been built to house our first ancestors on this side of the Atlantic, and their descendants had pulled out all the stops, trying to recreate the more lavish mausoleums found in their former European homeland.
It was a study in contradictions, almost every culture fused together for its creation. Corinthian columns climbed two stories to hold the massive marble roof overlooking the cemetery. Marble sentinels of all sorts stood guard between each column: armed Roman soldiers, nude men and women entwined in Raphaelian ecstasy, or less profane romantic embraces, Spanish Kings, Queens, and even Arabic scholars. Several gods and goddesses could be seen in the mix if one looked closely enough: Anubis, Zeus, Odin, Athena, and a few others from a spattering of different faiths.
I spotted a small group of executives and lawyers from Temple Industries just outside the door, obviously waiting to speak with me. Didn’t I already have enough to deal with? Then I spotted a discreet hand gesturing to get my attention behind the trunk of a large tree beside the path. Weird, but definitely preferable to more talk of my parents’ company.
I flicked open my pack of smokes, stabbed one between my lips, and lit the tip with a thought. I pointed emphatically at the swarm of suits near the entrance, feet planted firmly, a maniacal scowl on my face. “Gunnar, sic ‘em!” Gunnar stared back at me as if I had finally lost what little sanity he thought I had been clinging to. With the perfect moment lost, I lowered my wounded arm and sighed. “I just need a moment. Stall them.” Gunnar glanced around warily, obviously reluctant to let me out of his sight after last night’s events, but finally complied.
I ambled aimlessly, waiting until no one was looking my way, and then darted behind the tree where I had seen the hand. “Hello, wizard.” A gruff voice greeted me.
I assessed the speaker, who was decked out in full-blown soldier gear, but it was a mixture of ancient leather armor and modern weapons belts. Very, very authentic. He looked as rough as his battle-hardened leather, creases marring his eyes in vicious crows feet. A crude scar cut across his jaw, and another ugly slash zippered the side of his neck. His eyes were a milky green, reminding me of absinthe. “Ah, hello, Sir LARPER. You are correct that this is a field of death, but not the one full of battles you no doubt seek. I’m afraid the field where your brethren await is over at the Park of Carondelet.”
He studied me, measuring me up and down for a moment without amusement. “I’m from Brooklyn, idiot. We don’t participate in Live Action Role Playing games.” He had said we, even though he seemed alone. “Name’s Tomas. I’m here to tell you that you’re in danger. We’re looking for someone, and we believe he came to St. Louis.”
“I did have an unexpected visitor last night.” His interest perked. “She was naked, pale skin, dark hair, and naked. Oh, and she had yellow eyes.” He frowned, but shook his head, not recognizing the description. “I guess I had to pay extra because of the eyes. Although she wasn’t worth the money.”
“Yellow eyes… That doesn’t ring a bell, but be careful. Something big is going down here soon. Maybe real soon. Bookstore owners have been dying pretty nasty deaths. Watch your ass.”
I nodded as he turned away, taking a pleasant pull from the cigarette as I watched him leave. “Oh, and she had horizontal pupils.” He stiffened, turning back to me.
“What?” He asked quietly.
“Judging by the arsenal at your hip, I think you know what she was. She mentioned having sisters before I killed her.” I let out a stream of smoke. “Tell me.”
He blinked. “You killed her?”
“Wasn’t all that hard, really. Kind of a breeze.” I lied.
The man weighed me with his eyes. “She never shifted, did she?”
Damn. “Well, she started to.” I answered defensively.
The man began laughing, wheezing even. “Spoken like the pup that thinks he killed a mama bear, only to discover that it was just a cub.” He laughed even harder before my scowl silenced him.
“She didn’t seem to appreciate a glacial liquor bottle to the heart very much, shifting or not. Now, what was she, and what is your stake in this?”
He reeked of military, or perhaps mercenary training. “Dragons have been rumored in the city, but we came here only to find one in particular. A man. A very dangerous man. I guess he could possibly have a group of lady dragons at his beck and call. It would make things…interesting.”
“Oh… like, real dragons?” I asked weakly.
The man blinked as if I were daft. “Of course. But I guess they’re technically were-dragons. Able to switch between human and dragon form at will.”
I inhaled my cigarette again, postulating. “I’ve never encountered one before last night.” I answered honestly. “So, what do they want?” Assessing his gear again, a new thought hit me. “Are you supposed to be some kind of dragon hunter?”
The man grinned darkly as he slipped me a business card with a number on the front. “Why, yes. We are.” His eyes fixated halfway up a particularly tall oak. I followed his gaze to see a human form tucked back against the trunk, almost invisible. The figure nodded down at us, tipping a fedora with a grin, balancing what looked like a grappling gun in the crook of his shoulder. I suddenly wondered how many more men this man had in his employ, and why they were so wary. And then the man was walking away again, leaving me alone by the tree trunk as he spoke over his shoulder. “We’re not sure what they are doing yet, but we’re keeping tabs on ‘em. We’ve also got our eyes on you, Temple.” I looked back up where the sentry had been, but he was gone. Not a rustle of movement. Damn good.
Dragons again. So that’s what Raven had been preparing to shift into. Not a demon, but a were-dragon. But why had she stopped? Surely she could have protected herself against us if she had simply shifted into her dragon form. What irked me the most was that I hadn’t known dragons could shift at all. I had always assumed that a dragon was just another big, scary monster, lurking in caves and guarding treasures. Not something that could go unnoticed in a large city. But if they could appear human…
Gunnar called out my name, probably noting the other man’s departure from the tree. I stepped back onto the path leading up to the Mausoleum. “Coming.” I took another drag on the cigarette before snuffing it out on the path.
Gunnar tried to intercept me before the group of gnarled lawyers and ancient board members could swarm me, but failed. “Master Temple, my deepest condolences. I have been trying to reach you for the past week, but it appears your cell service must be unreliable.” A stunning, tall redheaded woman spoke, stepping out from behind the group of geezers around her.
Despite the fact that she was significantly younger than her companions, I realized that not one of them had spoken a word to me. They watched the firecracker woman with respect and… fear? Her eyes were tight with stress, strain, and Corporate America-itis. But it did nothing to hide her beautiful cerulean eyes. I had heard of Miss Ashley Belmont before, but had never met her, and hadn’t expected such a big aura from such a frail package — maybe 110 poun
ds despite her height. My parents had referred to her as their right hand. Maybe I should have started working for Temple Industries after all. I realized I was staring, so quickly fumbled for an answer.
“No, I just didn’t answer your calls.” The woman blinked in surprise, and I almost slapped my forehead with my palm. Think first, Nate, I chided myself.
Her response was whip-quick. “Understandable. I have been meaning to talk to you about-”
“I don’t give a damn about the company, woman.” I growled at my misperception of her. The fairer sex had always been my kryptonite, able to instantaneously make me lose focus. She looked hurt at the interruption, but I barreled past her, closer to my linebacker, Gunnar.
“I was going to say your parents, Master Temple.” She said softly behind me. I looked over my shoulder at her. Her long legs, wavy red hair, and secretary glasses seemed to shelter a cunning intelligence and rare compassion.
Gunnar stepped forward. “I’m honored to introduce Ashley Belmont, stand-in CEO of Temple Industries. It is very rude to keep a woman waiting, Nate. I think you owe her a minute of your oh-so precious time.” He said, leveling a condescending glare at me.
The woman nodded appreciatively, tugging her open Burberry coat closed about her. Damn it. Gunnar was right. “My apologies, Miss Belmont. What can I do for you?” I asked politely.
“To be honest, I’m not quite sure myself. The information is confidential…” She glanced pointedly at Gunnar, and the silver badge glinting off his belt. He didn’t even blink, unsnapping the badge and tossing it underhand to me. I turned to face her bright stare as it sailed at my face, using magic at the last second to stop the badge an inch from contact. I reached up, plucked it out of the air, and stuffed it into my suit’s inner coat pocket. Luckily, none of the older gentlemen were looking at me.
“I don’t see any cops.” I said.
She dipped her head, not even blinking at the show of magic. Huh. Magic didn’t impress her, which meant she must be privy to my world. My parents must have shared things with her. Or she was a freak, like Gunnar and I. “That is all well and good, but I’m afraid I can only give cursory details here. The location isn’t secure.” She flicked her gaze over to a man silently climbing down from a nearby tree. He wore the same fedora I had seen earlier. “Perhaps you could permit me to join you at Chateau Falco following the eulogy?” She asked softly, eyes returning to mine.
I nodded after a moment. I definitely didn’t want to go to my parents’ home, but I did owe her at least a discussion, especially after a week of radio silence. And it was the perfect location for such a talk. She was acting like the perfect daughter to my parents’ last wishes, regardless of her bloodline, and I was acting like their spoiled son. “Consider the invitation offered, Miss Belmont. I have a few things to wrap up first. Perhaps this evening over refreshments?” She nodded in response.
“See you then, Master Temple.” She glided into the Mausoleum on stiletto heels. Gunnar’s eyes followed her like a dog watching a steak.
“Pretty impressive gal.” Gunnar spoke beside me. I nodded distantly as I saw Peter inside the Mausoleum, frantically engaging Ashley — no doubt attempting to secure a job. She was courteous to him, but I could see the denial in her posture. A tough woman. It seemed my parents company was in good hands. “Any idea what she wants to talk to you about?” I shook my head as I strode forward.
“No, but we’ll find out soon enough.” I handed the badge back to him. “Let’s get this over with.” I stepped inside the Mausoleum, ready to see my parents sealed away forever. I only hoped that I could also bury my grief this day. The wings of the building hungrily embraced me as I stepped inside the citadel of death that had marked the end of so many of my ancestors. If a building had emotions, this one seemed hungry, anticipatory.
Chapter 9
I was in a foul mood after the funeral. I had stayed longer than anyone else, wanting to be alone with my parents one last time. Now, I was blessedly alone. A cab was going to pick me up in an hour. The service had been a blur, speeches from friends and associates causing many tears and tight throats, bringing back all the grief I had attempted to hide over the past week, but both my friends had been there for me.
Neither said a word, nor did they try to comfort me. They just remained by my side, twin guardians determined to keep me safe during my moment of weakness; rock solid men. Now alone, I wandered the main floor of the vast Temple Mausoleum, studying the private alcoves on either side of me which each held an elegant tomb and statue of a fallen ancestor. You would be surprised how many relatives could be found in a quarter of a millennium. Ornate benches sat before each tomb, the design dating back to the particular time period of the individual, or — as was most often the case — couple. A locked glass-encased leather-bound book rested on an elaborate pedestal before each tomb, sharing a not-so-short biography of each resident. A large fountain gurgled just inside the main dome-ceilinged nave, emitting a soothing, bubbling sound that was made all the more beautiful by the stain-glassed windows shining down from high above.
Oh, and my parents had recently made the windows bulletproof.
They had upgraded the security of the family Mausoleum, installing security cameras, reinforcing walls, motion-sensors — which I assumed would be totally unnecessary in a building occupied by corpses — and what compared to a bank vault door on the main entrance. It was the Fort Knox of Mausoleums, but I had never understood, nor received an explanation as to why.
I glanced up at the back wall past the fountain. A large mosaic of tiles decorated the wall in a huge family tree, except the names of the relatives weren’t on the branches; they were on the roots. Sapphires marked each woman, and rubies each man, their names etched deeply beside each gem. My name was the last and lowest part of the root system, having no other relatives to share the nutrient production for the massive tree.
I was the last Temple.
After perusing each of my distant ancestor’s tombs, I finally came to the task at hand and turned around, retreating back towards the entrance to rest in front of the one tombstone I had avoided after everyone had left. The one now belonging to my parents.
My feet dragged as I reached the newest area of the crypt, and I sat down heavily on the firmly padded leather divan a few feet away from it. Ever so slowly, I looked up, and saw my parents staring down at me through lifeless marble eyes. Sadness threatened to overwhelm me now that I was alone, and I felt a heavy guilt that I hadn’t spent more time with them in recent years. Now the chance was lost forever.
The funeral hadn’t really been legit, merely an excuse for all the distant friends and celebrity crowd of St. Louis to come say their peace. The real funeral procession, and the first goodbye, had been only a day after their sudden demise, and I had been the only attendee. Not even my friends knew of it. That was the day that I had called Chiron to give them their last ride home, as I had done with Raven at my store last night.
The door leading outside opened quietly, and I looked up to see an elderly bull of a man step inside, tugging in a janitorial cart. “You shouldn’t be here.” I growled. “It’s private property.”
The man looked back at me with an unperturbed smile. “I’ve been here more times than you, laddie.” His Scottish brogue was thick. “I kept the place clean for ‘yer father going on forty years now. I guess I work for you now.” He continued pushing the cart inside, the 8,000-pound door closing behind him with a dull thud. Soundproof walls — yet another addition from my parents. Maybe they hadn’t wanted to disturb the rest of the cemetery with their after-life parties once they passed on. Courteous of them, really.
“Well, if you work for me now then get out.”
“Not in my contract, Master Temple.” He began mopping up the spotless floor.
“Cantankerous old bastard,” I grumbled under my breath.
“Aye, Master Temple. That I am. Ye have a mouth like ‘yer father.” I blinked over a
t him, but he was engrossed in his work, so I let him be. He obviously had the code to get inside the mausoleum, so I trusted his story. I resumed my study of my parents. I thought of their deaths, and the lack of evidence the police had obtained from both the scene and the morgue. The facts flipped through my mind like a speed-reader on crack, but I came to no new conclusions. If Raven had been telling the truth, why had the dragons wanted them dead? Apparently, my parents had made some big-league enemies.
A hand brushed my shoulder, and I jumped, realizing that I had dozed off. “Better clean yourself up, Master Temple.” He dropped a silk kerchief into my lap, crimson lines showing through some of the thin material. “Never let ‘em see you sweat.” I stared down at it, listening to the cart shuffle away behind me. I slowly unfolded the cloth.
A larger game is afoot. Beware of the coming Eclipse, my son.
I stood in a rush, thrusting a finger out at the old man to halt him in a tight cocoon of air as he neared the door. My magic wrapped around him like a straightjacket, one foot lifted off the ground as if I had stopped time. “What’s the meaning of this, old man?”
The janitor stared back from his invisible prison. “The name’s Mallory, Master Temple, not ‘old man.’ I found that next to your father before the police arrived. You haven’t been answering your phone, so I decided to meet you the old fashioned way. Didna’ want the Bobbies to find it. Awkward questions, and such, no doubt.” Bobbies was an English term for Policemen. Without preamble, the janitor rolled his shoulders, and my spell simply evaporated as if it had never existed. He continued tugging the cart through the heavy doors, and then disappeared outside, the door thudding closed behind him. I remained frozen, unable to even wonder how the senior citizen had so easily disarmed my magic. My gaze shifted from the door to the kerchief, and then to my parents’ tombstone.
The message had been written in crimson ink.
Obsidian Son (The Temple Chronicles Book 1) Page 6