Blood Debts (The Temple Chronicles Book 2) (43 page)

Death
.

I waved guiltily. I spoke in a whisper, more to myself, drawing on the power of Death’s mask. “I’m only a temp-worker. Finish up any last minute business you may have. The real reaper will help you tomorrow.”

She could apparently either read lips or had uncanny hearing for a dead chic. She smiled with a nod of acceptance, waved a frail hand, and faded away to nothingness. I realized that my shoulders were locked up with tension. I hoped I wasn’t messing up some cosmic balance by making her wait. Or whether I even had the authority to choose to send her on her way to the afterlife or to allow her to stay behind for an extra day. I didn’t want to mess anything up, so I figured erring on the side of caution was the safest bet. I would just tell any more wandering spirits that
business would resume as usual tomorrow. Our apologies for the delay — Management
. After all, Death hadn’t given me a job description, so it would be his fault.

I continued on, but not before picking up a handful of discarded beads from the street, because, you know,
Mardi Gras
. When in Rome… it would help me fit in better if I seemed to be enjoying the various flavors of ample bosom. I spotted another Justice a few minutes later, and although confident she wouldn’t pick me out from the crowd, I grew a bit anxious as I crept closer. Despite her silver mask resembling a laughing face, she was obviously a woman, and was completely ignoring the cheers and roars of the crowd. And the boobs. No hetero male would have been able to maintain such a stoic countenance. Justice or not. I crossed her line of sight with a wave of trepidation resting heavily on my shoulders. I was about to be made. Surely they could at least
sense
me from this close. But as I passed she looked right
through
me. I blinked in both relief and disbelief. How blind was she?

Then I thought about it. Death had said he would watch over my body. Was I not physically here? No, that wasn’t true, because I had picked up those beads. Maybe they just couldn’t sense me because of Death’s mask. But then, shouldn’t they have at least sensed a Rider of the Apocalypse among them? Then I thought about
that
a little bit.
I
hadn’t ever noticed a Rider or an Angel in my years of existence. Maybe they were immune from that sort of thing.

Interrupting my reverie, several young drunks stumbled up to the Justice and waggled beads in front of her to get her attention, noticing that she didn’t have any beads. That was nice of them. They wanted to share. Poor girl. What kind of woman deserves to walk around on
Mardi Gras
without any beads? It just wouldn’t be right.

She pointedly ignored them, still studiously scanning the street. I heard a loud bark of a voice and spotted another Justice not too far away. The woman turned to him slowly, body tight. The man motioned for her to participate. I could imagine the words. “
We must fit in. Do as they ask
.” I grinned wider. Her head hung in resignation, and she quickly flipped up her top, displaying an impressive rack, but just as quickly dropped it back down. The drunks seemed disappointed at the brief glimpse of heaven, but still fed the woman her beads so that she wouldn’t starve tonight. Very generous. I pelted her with my whole wad of beads. Neither of the Justices paid me any notice. This was awesome! One enemy out of the picture! Now I didn’t have to worry about any surprise visits from my own wizardly police force. The ones who had taken my power. I very seriously entertained teaching them a lesson, right here, right now. A breath later, I very responsibly chose not to do so. It was a tough choice. They deserved it. Well, Jafar did. The others were just doing their jobs, as Gavin had taught me. He actually hadn’t been half bad after getting to know him a bit, and showing him the error of his ways.

I continued on, spotting several more souls hanging out, watching me expectantly. I motioned for them to come back later. They didn’t seem too upset. Several of them nodded at me with gratitude, even bowing. It was enough to make a guy realize just whom he was impersonating.

Then I spotted an Angel on a rooftop. His heavenly glare assessed the streets with disgust, but he was vigilant, eyes darting back and forth like a falcon, taking everything in like a gargoyle. Then his gaze met mine, and his jaw dropped in alarm. He began to lift a horn to his lips. I couldn’t have that. With a thought, and the rapidly becoming familiar blue haze to my vision, I held up a hand and clenched my fist. The horn instantly crumbled to ash. I opened my hand and imagined claws as I mocked grabbing a throat in front of me. I saw a large spirit hand grip the Angel by the throat and slam him to the ground. Not enough to hurt him, just shock him

“Fuck off, Feathers. I’m here on business that doesn’t concern you.” I muttered under my breath. The look of alarm on his face told me he had heard me just fine. As good as it felt to shut down an Angel with such ease, I didn’t have time for petty vengeance against the pigeon. It seemed ironic that now that I had enough
power
to take revenge on all the parties against me, I had no
time
to do so. Specifically,
Othello
didn’t have time for me to do so.

As if in answer to my blasphemous disrespect of the Angel, it began to rain. Fat, icy drops crashed down from the sky, drenching everyone. I was simply surprised that it wasn’t snow. I found myself murmuring under my breath. “It’s a good day to die. True rain washes the soul.” The last sentence was something my father had always said at the first sign of rain.

Scanning my surroundings, I was surprised to see that the rain hadn’t diminished the crowd in the slightest. But of course, the excessive amounts of alcohol in their veins convinced them that they were immortal and not already close to frostbite. They cheered in excitement instead. I rolled my eyes. The Angel had vanished, but I didn’t hear any horns or other sounds of pursuit. Which made me feel better.

One perk from the rain was that it would make using magic almost impossible for the Justices. Cold rain was worse, as cold rain caused a sense of panic in your mind, and magic was all about mental clarity. But really, any type of rain would nullify magic to some extent. Running water was anathema to wizards. I wondered if it would affect my ability as a Maker. Then shrugged. I would just resort to the power of the freaking Horseman, Death, if that were the case. I was kind of nervous and anxious to test that out.

It was like test-driving a Ferrari. Of course you
said
you wanted to drive it, but once you sat behind the wheel a sense of profound respect and fear often made you realize just how dangerous your desire could actually be. Did you
really
want to drive close to 200 miles an hour? Probably not. With only a strip of fabric holding back your body and a thin sheet of glass to protect your face from bugs going triple digits? No thanks.

I sat there, revving the engine slightly, wondering where to go. I really had no game plan, having thought that burning the Tarot card would call the Greater Demon and I would die shortly after. The rumbling engine caused several mounted police officers’ horses to rear back in alarm, but the cops themselves apparently couldn’t see me either. Just the horses. They eyed me with wide, panicked eyes. Not me. The bike. That was weird. Surely they weren’t scared of a motorcycle. They must see them all the time, and the place wasn’t exactly quiet anyway. It wasn’t like I had suddenly revved the engine on an empty street in the middle of the night. As my gaze swept past their hooves, I spotted something odd. Twin, quivering cords of energy trailed off into the night at ground level, piercing the crowds in different directions. One black, and one white. They glowed with untapped power.

Unlike Robert Frost, I chose the path
most
traveled, knowing it was easier for people to commit sin rather than adhere to righteousness. And I was Demon hunting after all. As I began to idle after the black cord of power I began to hum to myself.
Back in Black, I hit the sack…

In my mind, I was nailing it, on key and everything. Even the voice was spot on.

I fist-bumped one time, and roared off into the night, chasing the cord of power much faster than was advisable. But since the cops couldn’t see me, and I might very well be dead already, I didn’t rightly care. I cackled loudly into the rainy night, relishing the icy drops of rain striking the bone mask with little puffs of steam.

I bet I looked really cool right now. Even in sweats and my
Touchdown
tee.

Chapter 35

I
had left the celebrations behind a while ago and now found myself at the entrance of a gated scrap yard in a commercial district. The gate was wide open. Barely hesitating, I drove the Harley inside, following the black cord of pulsing energy to the center of the area, towers of salvage vehicles rising above me on either side, several stories high. I briefly remembered Greta one time saying something about salvaging my sinful soul and chuckled. If she only knew. I gently pressed the kickstand, and double-checked that the bike wasn’t about to fall over if I climbed off. Then I sat there, studying my surroundings and the black cord of power thoughtfully. The pulsating cord led to a nearby tower of vehicles that was taller than the rest. More towers continued on in the distance, creating a giant sized labyrinth built of the corpses of the once great auto industry. I rolled my gaze to scan the rest of my surroundings. Whoever I had followed must know I was here. The Harley wasn’t exactly quiet, and I was just sitting there. I hoped I hadn’t accidentally followed a completely different bad guy’s icky slug trail, and that it indeed belonged to either the Demon or the summoner. I didn’t even question what the cord was, assuming it had something to do with Death’s mask. His vision of the world, as he called it. He had said it would affect me.

Weak floodlights attempted to illuminate the scrap yard, but it was still dark. Well, it would have been dark to anyone else. It was light enough for me, but dark enough to earn an ick factor of 10 for any
Regular
person’s eyes.

A crackling, basso voice cooed from the darkness, making me reassess the ick factor to a 12. “You don’t call, you don’t write, you don’t make deals, and you don’t burn the card. It’s enough to hurt a Demon’s feelings.” The unseen Sir Dreadsalot launched himself from the top of the tower of broken vehicles and landed before me, back facing me. The knotted dreadlocks of broken teeth and bones even covered his back, making me decide that it truly was an armor of sorts. His mane of longer dreads hung low on his back, darker, thicker dreads than the rest of his body. He was still missing an arm, and as he slowly turned to face me, I was pleased to see that the aftermath of the horrific steam burn I had thrown at his face during our first encounter still remained. Lifting his glowing red eyes to assess his prey, he instantly took a reflexive step back as he truly saw me for the first time. “No! You cannot be here. No laws have been broken, Rider.”

I smiled, not speaking, but revved my engine a bit. The Demon jumped back as the piercing sound of a horse filled the night. I blinked. No way was a cop nearby. I turned to look and caught my reflection in one of the side mirrors of a crushed car.

And my heart stopped.

Where I stood was the most terrifying apparition I had ever seen.

A giant, shadowy cloaked figure with a wicked skull for a face stared back at me with eyes of green fire. And he was sitting atop a literal fiery-eyed, glowing green steed, not too unlike Grimm, my murderous pet unicorn. Huh. Who knew? A distant cousin, maybe? I discarded that train of thought, assessing my reflection. I looked friggin’
Awesome
.

And now I knew for sure that the black cord led to the Demon.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, not betraying my true identity, remaining atop the Harley. “Even
you
know the Covenants.” I added, trying to sound official.

The Demon looked nervous. “We have broken no laws. I was summoned. My master required Temple’s blood. His
lifeblood
, not just a vial from a wound, in order to gain access to something he desires. I merely obeyed my commands. I broke no laws, Rider. Call your brothers and question me if you must.” He finished in wary resignation.

I blinked. First off, when had they figured out my blood was the Key, and second of all, how had they gotten my blood in the first place? I mean, I had liberally gotten my ass beat on an almost hourly basis over the last few days, but I didn’t think any of the Demons were smart enough to — nor had I seen them — take the time to snatch up a sample of my blood.

That was wizardry 101. Never leave blood behind.

Only one person had been with me when I entered the Armory. And that’s when I understood it all.
Of course
…

Othello.

She had also been a cat’s paw. Death had tried to warn me. It was somewhat comforting to know that he hadn’t been mistaken. Or lying. Othello was the only answer that made sense. She must have given them a sample of my blood from one of my various wounds.