Blood Debts (The Temple Chronicles Book 2) (42 page)

Death cocked his head. “You are more worried about your traitorous friend’s life than the fate of the world?”

I thought about it for all of a second. “Do you have proof she betrayed me?”

“Would you believe me if I said yes? Or better yet, would it change your answer?”

I finally shook my head. “No. If she betrayed me, she must have had a good reason. I’m going after her. I need to talk to the Demon anyway. And the summoner. I’ve got a Blood Debt for what they’ve done.”

Death nodded in approval. “Good for you. A man who stands by his oaths. I understand Blood Debts. If you recall, I fulfilled one myself.” I frowned, not understanding. Then it hit me. The memory of the farmer’s tale he had told me in the bar. It was…
his
story. I shivered, taking a quick pull of the liquor to mask my surprise. Hemmingway continued. “I thought you would have picked up on that by now. The tale was my…
origin
story.” He said with an amused smile. His face grew serious again. “Fulfilling Blood Debts… changes you. Revenge in itself can be a cataclysmic choice, but declaring it a
Blood Debt
applies
magic
to it, making it binding, permanently tying your soul to the act. But it’s too late to call it anything else now. You’ve already declared it to an Angel. At the bar. Where we first met.” I nodded, not sure what he was talking about with magical oaths. I had simply called it how I saw it. They killed my parents. I sought vengeance. Justice. So, a Blood Debt it was.

Death took another drink before speaking. “Just for the record, Othello had no choice. She was coerced into betraying you. The summoner kidnapped her nephew. Four-year-old boy. Blonde. Good looking. Might change the world someday. It’s not his time… but that can always change.” The way he spoke the last comment made an arctic chill run down my spine. Like an accountant talking ledgers. Harsh. Cold. Analytical. Precise. That was a tough way to live.

I felt marginally better that Othello hadn’t betrayed me by choice. I had already dealt with betrayal once from Peter, and wasn’t sure how long I could maintain my sanity if it happened again. I also found a calming swell of power building deep in my chest at the fact that the summoner had also threatened my friend by kidnapping her nephew.

The only person who had been there for me during this whole mess.

“Well, it’s the only thing I know I can control, and it’s my fault she’s been taken. So if the world is going to hell, I’m at least going to ease my conscience. I need to save her.” I thought for a minute as he assessed my words. “Like I said, I’m on borrowed time, and I don’t know how to reliably use my new power. So, I’m going to borrow your mask. You’ll get it back. I swear on my pow… no, on my soul, I guess, which you will have complete control over once I’m gone. Which is going to happen in the next few hours, regardless of what I do next. One last hoorah.”

For some reason, it never crossed my mind to ask his permission.

This apparently offended him.

And I was severely reminded of where I stood on the totem pole of power.

Death spun faster than I could blink, and suddenly a wickedly scary, familiar looking scythe drew a fine line of fire across my throat. Where the hell had it even
come
from? He was wearing tailored slacks, for crying out loud. It took me all of a second to realize that I wasn’t headless, but I was sure the whites of my eyes were blaring like floodlights. Death used his right palm to wipe off my blood from the magnificent, gleaming, silver scythe — the weapon granted to him the night he had accepted his new job — and the blade disappeared with a puff of silver smoke. His other hand shifted into a glowing green set of bone claws and he slashed the palm that held my blood. He reached out his bloody right hand to me politely. I accepted the handshake.

And an implosion of blue and green light filled the bar, buffering us on a molecular level as my apparent blue
Maker
power joined with his green…
Horseman-y
power. But the force didn’t affect anything in the bar, as if it were only a spiritual implosion. Which was super scary to think about. I knew we were somehow bound now. He didn’t say a word about the strobe light show of our powers melding together. Kind of like how action movie heroes never turned around to watch the explosion, but instead continued walking away from it in slow motion.

After a minute, I pinched my arm. “Huh. That wasn’t so bad.” Death watched me with a raised brow. “I’m going to borrow your scythe.” I stated flatly, since it had seemed to work for the mask. Maybe my
charm
was working on overdrive to replace the run of bad
luck
I had experienced over the last few days.

Death threw up his hands, and the room abruptly filled with a cold so deep that my joints ached, and then the scream of dying souls filled my ear canals, shaking my brain like a bowl of Jell-O. “Okay! Okay! Fine. No scythe!
Jeezus
, drama queen. A simple
No
would have sufficed.” He rolled his eyes, and took another sip of his drink with a pleased smile. “But I
am
going to borrow your keys. No more of that freaky death vibe. I get it, you’re a badass. But a man needs a ride. I can’t walk too well right now. And I refuse to show up in an Uber to my final battle.”

Death smirked, rubbing his chin. “Fine. Don’t scratch him. He won’t like it.” He tossed me a set of small keys.

I caught them with a frown. “Well,
he
can just bite me then.” Death burst out laughing. I frowned harder for good measure, not seeing the humor. I picked up the mask absently, mentally preparing for a scrap with… well,
someone
. I wasn’t sure exactly who yet. Eae? Sir Dreadsalot? The summoner? I didn’t rightly care.

I just wanted to hurt someone. Any port in a storm, right?

“Is there anything else you can do to help? I don’t think you want a summoner traipsing around any more than I do, and my power’s unreliable. He’s caused enough damage already. Hell, my own people want to skewer
me
to serve up on a platter, and I haven’t done a fraction of what
he
has.”

Death shook his head. “Your own people do seem to hold you in high esteem. But I believe you have everything you need to accomplish your task. Piece of advice, I was never involved. Other than the bar where we met. You must have stolen my keys. And made a shiny new mask…
Maker
.” He winked for some unknown reason. “I’ll watch over your body while you’re gone.” He added. Then a door closed in my mind and I found myself standing outside below a streetlamp.
My body?
What the hell did that mean? Had I died? Or had the mask done something to my physical body? I pinched myself for good measure. I
felt
corporeal. Which should tell you something about me, that I was relieved to find my body still squishy and fleshy after meeting one of the
Four Horsemen
. Priorities. Mine were obviously screwed up. I didn’t know exactly where I was, but I recognized the general area. I was near the church where the cop had me in ‘custody.’ I wondered what he would make of it when they opened the confessional booth and I was nowhere to be found.

I wasn’t sure exactly what I was supposed to be doing. My body was in a strange biker bar, I had death’s mask in my hand, and a Harley. It sounded like a bad action flick. I spotted the Harley and cheered up a bit. It had been a while since I had ridden a bike. Should be fun. I appraised the machine, admiring her almost glow-in-the-dark green hue with interest. Unique color. I wouldn’t have guessed at it in a million years. To each his own, I guess. I started the engine, and heard a horse neigh loudly down the street. I glanced around nervously, ready to see an army of SWAT raining down on me, but I was alone. No mounted patrol units. I released the breath I hadn’t known I had been holding. I was safe. The police were the last thing I needed. I had been given a second chance. Time to make the most of it.

Memento Mori
indeed.

I put on Death’s mask and watched as the world morphed into a soothing green hue similar to the color from night vision goggles. Identical to the color of the bike, now that I thought about it. Glancing to a previously darkened patch between streetlights, I blinked. It really
was
night vision. I could see perfectly in all directions. Better than any night vision I had ever tested. I guess it made sense, thinking back on Hemmingway’s story of when he received the gifts in the first place. I shrugged with a smile plastered to my face beneath the mask, realizing that it fit perfectly. I could barely even tell it was there. And, now that I thought about it, nothing was holding it in place. I touched it curiously, but it merely stayed in place of it’s own accord. I tugged it off, suddenly fearful that it might be stuck to me, but it pulled away easily. I put it back on and I felt it latch onto my face like a second skin.
Interesting
…

I began thinking about how to duplicate it, and then began to laugh as I realized what I was doing. I wouldn’t have time to duplicate anything after tonight. This was my last run. Instead, I revved the engine, causing the unseen nearby horse to scream in response again. I smiled, imagining Kosage riding the beast as he scoured the city for me, and the horse bucking him off.

One could dream.

Chapter 34

I
was getting closer to the crowds of humanity celebrating
Mardi Gras
. It was now evening, and the debauchery was in full swing. I couldn’t count the number of times I had seen breasts, every size, shape, color, and age under the rainbow, and I didn’t even have beads. They were everywhere. It was an adolescent’s fantasy. All a boy had to do was simply walk the streets tonight and he would have a veritable buffet of visual stimuli to catalog for years. Revving the Harley helped clear the crowds when they got in my way. And watching breasts, er, people jump back in surprised fright at the sudden sound soothed me.

Another perk of the night was that almost everyone was wearing Le Carnevale masks. This eased my primary concern, that I would be recognized prior to finding Sir Dreadsalot. I had already tried ‘calling’ him with the Tarot card, but since Death had hijacked that phone call I wasn’t sure if the Demon had ever heard it. As I was riding through a particularly dense crowd on the street — the sidewalks were at a standstill — my heart suddenly froze. Two Justices stood on a set of steps leading up to a building on the side of the street, eyes scanning the crowd like birds of prey. I had figured that they would be out in force searching for me. Unless Gavin had given me a little help and led them astray. Maybe the fact that he was my parole officer allowed him to find me, but none of the other Justices seemed to be able to do so. In fact… even this close, they didn’t seem able to sense me. I carefully rode directly through the crowd, never attracting the Justices’ attention. I wasn’t the only bike in the crowd — there was even a unicycle wheeling around — but I was definitely the only
neon green
motorcycle. Possibly in the entire world. I let out a sigh of relief as I drove a safe distance away unmolested. I had no idea what I would have done if they had attacked. I didn’t know how to use the Maker ability effectively yet. It had just
happened
.

It was day three, and the Academy had shown up — like a schoolyard bully waiting to accept his lunch money from his smaller classmates — to collect their prize.

But they weren’t getting their grubby hands on the Armory on my watch. I
ate
bullies for
their
lunch money.

As long as I remained vertical long enough to stop them, that was.

Death’s comment about Pandora’s Box threatened to worry my thoughts, but I shut it down quickly. I didn’t have time to think about that. I had enough on my plate. Othello needed me. Right now. I had a murder to deliver to the summoner, courtesy of your friendly neighborhood wiz…
Maker
. I grinned wider as another thought hit me. Not just a Maker, but also a temporary
Horseman
. Maybe I could just scare him to death by pretending to be a Rider.

All these thoughts flew through my mind as I frantically struggled to find a way to stop the impending carnage. I glanced to the side, spotting a silver blur, assuming it was a Justice. But as my eyes focused, I realized that it was just a woman. Staring at me.
Really
staring. The silver glow had no doubt been caused by the streetlight shining down upon her.

I slowed down, glanced behind me to see if she was actually staring at someone behind me. But no one was there. I turned back and jolted. She was half the distance closer, despite the crowds and the impossible speed that such movement would require. Then I noticed something odd.

She was floating. A foot off the ground, and the wind didn’t seem to touch her. She also had no coat on. Then a creepy sensation came over me. She was a
spirit
. A ghost. A lost soul. And she was staring at her savior.