Obsidian Son (The Temple Chronicles Book 1) (12 page)

Gunnar glanced over at me, amused. “He did say that you could
drop by any time
. Quite courteous of him, given the situation.”

“I take it you’re walking back to the office?”

Gunnar grumbled back. “Thought you might like a souvenir.” He offered me one of the dragon’s teeth that I had knocked out. It was almost as long as my pinkie.

“Nifty.” I smiled back, pocketing it. A beautiful blonde woman in a tracksuit was walking across the street from us, and I swiped back my shaggy hair for a semblance of dignity. Gunnar followed my gaze, nodding his agreed approval. Her hair was cut short along her jaw so that the bangs formed wicked points near her chin, layered perfectly around her thin oval face. She grinned at my obvious interest, and I winked back. She giggled and began to change direction towards us, limping slightly as if she had sprained her ankle while running. God, girls giggling! What a delicious sound. “That’s a nice Cherry Danish.” I said for Gunnar’s ears only.

Gunnar stared at me askance. “Do you always refer to women as dessert dishes?”

I pondered that as we climbed into my vintage car. We waited for the jogger to approach us, her dazzling white teeth reeling me in as her long legs brought her closer. She leaned into the window, studying us both. “Got a pen?” She asked in a breathless voice. I silently slipped her one. Her eyes were like almonds, and the smell of clean sweat quickly kicked in my hormones, which had barely survived the
Spiderman
-like assault. She furiously jotted down a number on my hand. No name. Her fingers were feverish. “Whom do I ask for when I call?” I asked with a grin.

“You’ll find that out
if
I
answer
. Or
if
you even call.” She grinned, and then turned to walk off her twisted ankle.

“Gold-digger.” Gunnar complained.

“But I’ve got gold, so it’s a win-win.” I answered, grinning.

“Money doesn’t make you happy…” He recited the well-known adage.

I started the car, revving the gas into a throaty growl beneath my feet. “Well it sure as shit doesn’t make you sad either, Gunnar.” He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t mask his grin as I pulled out into traffic. A few seconds later, the car parked behind us also pulled out. Was it the same car that had parked behind me before we went into the courthouse? Was this what a tail felt like? I was too intrigued to be scared. I mean, I had just survived a joint attack by a wannabe
Spiderman
and a red dragon. What danger was a mere regular? I answered Gunnar’s first question. “I guess I just haven’t met a girl who classifies as a dinner dish. But that’s okay. I adore dessert.” Gunnar belted out a laugh.

“So who saved your ass with that net launcher?”

“Spiderman?” I offered.

“Seriously, Nate. There are three possibilities. One, they were trying to catch the dragon, and missed horribly. Two, they were trying to catch you for some dark reason. Three, it really was our friendly neighborhood webslinger saving your pathetic life. In that case I might have my first recruit, even if he does seem to have poor character judgment.”

I grunted my displeasure at his quip. “I like number three best, but I guess you should look into the alternatives since
Spiderman’s
just a comic book character. So who was that other guy on the roof with you?” The car was still behind me, but further back.

Gunnar looked frustrated. “I’m not sure. He appeared out of nowhere, shot the dragon with that electric spear gun, and then he was gone. Maybe he was one of those dragon hunters…”

I nodded. “Mind looking into it for me? I have to swing by Chateau Falco.”

Gunnar arched a brow. “Need backup?”

“Pretty sure that’s one of the safest places in town right now. I’ll call you after.”

I pulled up in front of the FBI building and he opened the door. “My team should be finished with the bookstore in a short while, so I’ll let you know what we found out later. See you soon, Temple. And watch your ass.” The tail continued on past me. I was simply reading too much into things.

“That’s what I have you for, sweetie.” I winked. He shook his head and slammed the door with more force than was necessary. I continued on, still on schedule to meet Miss Belmont at Chateau Falco.

Chapter 13

I
waited outside the gated fortress of Chateau Falco. A tall, thick, brick and rebar-enforced wall surrounded the grounds, and an arcane Damascus steel forged gate impeded my path. A life-sized nude statue stood atop the wall to either side of the gate — a man and a woman armed for battle. It had been rumored that the cremated remains of our first ancestors to settle here had been used for the mortar. Before I could beep in on the intercom, a familiar voice emanated from the speaker. “Greetings, Master Temple. Your fortress awaits. Lowering the bridge now.” The gate began to slowly swing inward.

“We live in the 21st century, Dean. People don’t have bridges. They have gates.”

He ignored me. “Bridge lowered, Master Temple. You can safely cross the moat now.” Then he signed off. I sighed, shifting into gear and driving up the mile long cobbled drive, passing lush gardens on either side of me. Well, lush for this time of year anyway.

After a few minutes of driving — Dean, the Temple family’s Chief of Security and Butler, didn’t appreciate speeding, and was known to let the air out of the tires if one disobeyed, even if said one was now the current Master Temple — I pulled into the wide circular drive leading up to the courtyard, parked, and left the keys inside. I didn’t see any other cars, and wondered why for a moment, but then recognized Dean’s skilled hand as I spotted tire tracks leading to a large remodeled stable. He had already parked the guest’s — whomever they may be — cars in the stable in case of more snow or rain. Chances were that the cars were also being detailed by one of the family employees while inside. I shook my head wearily. I didn’t belong in this type of atmosphere, which is why I had left several years ago.

The fountain in the center of the drive was off this time of year, but the stonework statues in the center were still spectacular. I leaned back, taking in the looming four-story structure before me. Built over two hundred years ago, each generation had added onto it, but none dared stray from the original colonial design. The old pile now stretched close to 17,000 square feet, containing two wings, two large libraries, twenty bedrooms, three kitchens, a theater room, a glass greenhouse attached to the side, and even a mediocre observatory.

I sighed, fingering the quickly made leather thong that now held the red dragon’s tooth around my neck. It was so sharp that it scratched my chest a bit, but it was a badge of honor in my eyes. A warning. I walked up to the massive front door with the Temple Coat of Arms emblazoned in the wood. A pinprick light studied me from a corner in the sheltered Porte-Cochère, blinking red with a motion detector. Beside it, a screen came to life to reveal Dean studying me critically. “Ah, Master Temple, please come in. Follow the guiding lights to come entertain your guests in the Master Study. All are here, as the Master has requested.” I sighed, having requested no such thing. It was as I had feared. Whether I wanted it or not, I was the new Master Temple, and not just in name. The family reputation was like royalty, inescapable. I began to take a step. “Ah, ah, ah. Please remove your shoes, Master Temple.” Then he signed off. Dean remotely unlocked the door before me, and I stepped into the dim house, a nostalgic grin on my face. Even after years of hiding from this place, it seemed we picked up right where we had left off.

It was comforting.

And disturbing.

I kicked off my shoes, and finding no others nearby, I placed mine just inside the door, and followed the trail of dim LED lighting embedded into the marble floors, escorted by the technology of the house as it led me down one hallway, and then another, and on, and on, wondering all the while who else might be here waiting to speak with me. Trudging on, I decided that my parents should have bought an electric golf cart for inside the house. Since it was now mine, perhaps I would act on the idea. I passed rooms of cabinets filled with odd bits and end’s from archaeological digs, or acquired through auctions or inheritance from past family members.

The rooms I passed held a timeless quality even amidst cutting edge technology. But I didn’t let my guard down. The beauty of the house was one of its many defenses. A sleight of hand. If one looked close enough, one would notice that some of the paintings always managed to be staring at the people in the room, no matter where they were positioned. And I’m not talking about the paranoia one gets when they
feel
like the pictures are watching them. I mean that they might literally be watching you. I shivered, moving on.

Despite the chill outside, the floors held thermal controlled piping beneath the marble tile, heating the stone to a comfortable temperature underneath my socks. It’s nice what money can buy.

Reaching a large stairway, I ascended, following the lights and continuing on for another few minutes until I reached my father’s old study. I hadn’t needed the lights to guide me, but it was a nice comfort, as well as an intimidating show of power for my guests. I took a deep breath before opening the door and stepping inside. The pleasant, aromatic whiff of frequent cigar smoke hit me first, and then the heart-wrenching memory of seeing my father behind the now-empty desk at the end of the room, smoking his precious Gurkha Black Dragon cigars.

One of his five hand-carved, camel-bone chests sat on a corner of his massive desk. Each chest of a hundred cigars set my father back $115,000. Half-a-million dollars to kill yourself, slowly. Hypocrite, I may be, but at least I wasn’t as reckless about the cost. A thick glass window covered the entire back wall, but this night it was basked in the soothing glow of many antique lamps.

I immediately studied the people in the room, uncharacteristically wary after my recent adventures. Ashley Belmont stood to one side, speaking to an older gentleman who had his back to me. She smiled over his shoulder at me. I waved back. “Miss Belmont. A pleasure.” Her smile grew warmer.

The man beside her turned, smiling knowingly at me. “Nasty bit o’ news about the courthouse this evening. One should be careful when dealing with dangers that might be attracted to blood in the water. But of course, ye know this already, laddie.” Mallory grinned, striding over and pumping my hand enthusiastically.

“How did you…” I began, and then slapped my forehead. “You were the one tailing me. But why?” I was genuinely perplexed.

He discreetly pointed a thumb at a long barreled spear gun leaning against the wall, but flicked his eyes over his shoulder, reminding me of Miss Belmont’s presence. “Just making sure the Master Temple is safe. Did ye think I was only a janitor?” His grin was infectious. Reassessing the older man, I realized that he was rather stout, with thick, heavy forearms. Coarse, iron-grey hair covered his skin and knuckles, reminding me of an old school sailor. An old man for a guardian, I grunted. But he had most likely saved my life tonight. Having seen my magic slide off of him at the mausoleum, I deduced that he was most definitely dangerous. Which is a good quality for a guardian.

“Well, thanks, I guess. You could have just told me though.”

“Not nearly so much fun.” He answered. “But I do believe that be a discussion for another night, over a glass of scotch. You have business this night, Master Temple.” He pointed a finger across the room, indicating a sharply dressed man standing beside Dean, Chateau Falco’s Butler.

I walked over with a familiar grin, and bumped knuckles with Dean as he extended his hand for a professional handshake. He had served as our Chief of Security since I was a child, but vehemently denied all titles except Butler. He came from a very different time, when the term
Butler
was a highly respected profession. Dedication, Loyalty, Honor, and Prestige were his lifeblood. “Pleased to see you again, Master Temple.” He was about chest height, and his eyes seemed to shine like Caribbean ocean water surrounding the black island of his pupils. “Bad hygiene is not indicative of a respected gentleman, especially the last heir of the renowned Temple’s. Do not disrespect yourself like this again.” I grinned back, shrugging. If I wasn’t wearing a suit, I was slumming it in his eyes.

“I showered last night, Dean.” I argued.

“Then perhaps the finer points of how to properly groom oneself need to be relearned after years of bachelor-hood.” He droned, respectfully, of course.

I grinned even further. “I know just the women to teach me. Thank you for the reminder, Dean. I will practice studiously with them. Several times, to make sure I learn it correctly.” Ashley made an embarrassed sound behind me.

Dean blushed. “Incorrigible. Completely incorrigible.”

I smiled, patting his arm affectionately. He was family. I studied the last sharply dressed man out the corner of my eye. Would we dance this night? He waited patiently, fighting the urge not to introduce himself and rudely interrupt my reunion with Dean. Years of training came back to me in the blink of an eye, the training of the European Courts; the cloak and dagger dance of smiles and knives, where winks could mean assassinations, and glares could mean life-long alliances; the dance that had been ingrained into each and every Temple child. I turned to him after a heavy silence, face utterly blank, letting him know that this was my home, and he was here by my choice, not the other way around. Seeing my obvious attention, he broke first, as was proper. “Greetings, Master Temple. My name is Turner Locke.”