Obsidian Son (The Temple Chronicles Book 1) (2 page)

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 chest-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?”

Silver streaks started at the man’s temples to merge with his wavy black hair, and he was comically short — scrawny even — but he somehow still managed to compose an aura of authority. A modern Napoleon. He hesitated at my knowledge of his name, but then glanced down at his badge and simply nodded. Then he proceeded to sit down, setting a Styrofoam cup of burnt-tar coffee onto the table beside a manila folder.

It was a few hours until midnight, and my palate was not that of a refined Starbucks Barista. Coffee was coffee. I eyed it longingly.

“Mr. Temple,” He began in a nasally voice.

“
Master
Temple.” I corrected him with an icy tone of warning. The patriarch of our family had always been referred to as the
Master
Temple as far back as anyone could remember. In today’s society it sounded out of place, but it was a formality I was insistent upon pressing here. And the media ate it up since it sold headlines, so everyone knew of it.

He nodded. “Of course.
Master
Temple.” There was no mockery in his whiny voice, just emphasis, as if he appreciated the concept of respect. “First things first.” His badge glittered in the fluorescent lighting. “Trespassing is illegal. You managed to pass the sobriety test, ruling out mushrooms, so what were you
really
doing out there? Could our city’s youngest billionaire really find nothing else to amuse him?” He looked genuinely puzzled, glancing pointedly at the putrid stain on my chest. “We could hold you for 24 hours, Master Temple. After all, I’m sure Mr.…” he shuffled some papers from his file. “Kingston would not be pleased with your uninvited exploration of his property.”

“Are these really necessary?” I jangled my hands behind my back.

Detective Kosage’s eyes squinted thoughtfully before nodding. “For now, yes.”

I scowled into his eyes, waiting a full ten seconds to see if he would change his mind. He didn’t blink. I decided right then that I was going to have some fun with my situation. Regulars — as we named non-magical beings — were terrified of the concept of magic being real. Especially since the media had recently started fueling the fires with stories of magic happening all over America. The debate was on everyone’s lips. Was it real? Was it a hoax? Regardless, most regulars were unable to comprehend the possibilities of things they didn’t personally understand, and it was
so
much fun to capitalize on that anxiety. It was who I was. My charm.

“Alright, boys. Have it your way.” I lifted my hands above my head in a languorous stretch, my wrists already free of the cuffs, as they had been for the last nineteen minutes. I set the cuffs on the table, sliding them over to the other cop, Detective Allison. “Here you go, Ali.” I tried to mimic the smile he had given me earlier, waggling a small bobby pin between my fingers. “It’s amazing what one can learn on the web. Now, I’m not sure how you were raised, but it is considered the height of impropriety to have a conversation without offering refreshment to your guest. Especially when the host has one. Unforgivably rude, actually.” They blinked back at me in unison, shock apparent on their faces as the cuffs sat on the table like a pink elephant in the room.

As if on cue, the door opened, and the nervous cop entered with a steaming cup of coffee. He set it in front of me, and then nervously backed away from the room. I deduced that we were being recorded since my two jailers hadn’t moved or spoken since my display. I had an audience. My smile stretched wider. Even better. Steam curled up from my cup. I invisibly casted a bit of magic into the coffee, dropping the temperature enough for me to down it in one gulp, which I promptly did. Again, both the cops eyebrows raised in unison, amazed that the drink hadn’t scalded my throat. I let them wonder at that. “Much better, gentlemen. Now, what do you two want to chat about next? Your future careers? Politicians and the media can be bought, and I have a few extra bucks to grease some palms. Elections are coming up.” I waited.

The detectives stared from my hands to the cuffs again in disbelief. Detective Allison responded first, rising from his chair with a furious growl, but Kosage slapped a dainty palm on his forearm, the authority plain. “Let’s continue this discussion… professionally.” He glanced back to the folder as Allison glared hatred at me for a moment longer. He finally sat down, the chair protesting his bulk with a loud squeak. I arched an eyebrow at the noise, my thoughts plain. His eyes hardened, but he leaned back as Kosage read from a paper. “Let’s talk about Temple Industries for a moment.”

Temple Industries. The technology company my parents had started twenty years ago, headquartered in the thriving metropolis of St. Louis, Missouri. The company’s fingers stretched wide, claiming over 3,000 patents (more than Microsoft) that ranged from software, to computer chips, and even to defense technology for the U.S. military. No one truly knew
everything
that the company concerned themselves with, just that they always seemed to produce the most cutting-edge technology. The company was vast, falling into the reputable
Fortune 500
. But I wanted nothing to do with it. “It might be a very, very brief moment, as I have nothing to do with my parents’ company. Other than owning a hefty amount of shares.” I added honestly.

Kosage stared back, eyes sharp. I kept my face blank. “Yes, well, the Interim President of the company, Ashley Belmont, is less than forthcoming about details of ownership. You’re saying that you have no intentions of taking over the company?”