Obsidian Son (The Temple Chronicles Book 1) (9 page)

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 at 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.

No, not ink. Blood.

Then I was moving. I bolted outside, ready to interrogate Mallory further, but when I got there he was simply gone. His cart sat just outside the door, but of him, there was no sign. I saw the cab I had called earlier idling just outside, waiting patiently. After a few seconds of bewilderment, I decided to lock up the mausoleum via the electronic keypad, and angrily climbed inside the vehicle. “Did you see an old man leave the building a minute ago?” I growled in response to his jovial greeting.

“Just you, sir.” He answered with a frown. I looked back. The cart was gone.
What the hell
?

“Never mind. Plato’s Cave in Soulard.” I calculated in my head. 7.5 miles. “Get me there in eight minutes.” He nodded eagerly as I flashed a fifty-dollar-bill at him. I leaned back into the worn leather seats, satisfied by the adrenaline-inducing formula-one driving abilities of the cabby. I closed my eyes with a sigh, thinking. I now knew the reason for the odd perimortem gash on his arm. What had been so important that my father had wanted to leave a message in his own blood? And what did that have to do with the upcoming solar eclipse in three days? Wait, two days now. I hadn’t even remembered the big event until the message on the kerchief. It just hadn’t seemed important. There was a big convention of astronomers in town awaiting that very spectacle, but I’d be damned if I knew how it was connected to my parents’ deaths. Something nagged at me, but I was too exhausted to worry about it.

I began preparing a plan to acquire — or at least look into — the book that Raven had wanted me to find. Not knowing what it was about, or why it was so important, I figured that finding it might at least protect some of my fellow bookstore owners around town. Perhaps I could barter with one of the dragon sisters she mentioned. Either way, it was better to have it in my possession than remaining an unknown. I spoke a quick reminder into my iPhone, commanding the feminine intelligence queen to transfer it to my calendar in case I forgot later. I was meeting up with Gunnar in an hour to discuss the information he had dug up on Raven and her vague hints. He also had all the information on the latest bookstore attacks. Maybe if we kicked up enough dust we would find a trail.

The taxi screeched to a halt in front of my bookstore. I glanced down at my phone. Seven minutes. I threw him the bill and climbed out. He tipped an imaginary hat at me, and — much more responsibly this time — pulled out into the street, adhering to the legal laws set-aside by the grand city of St. Louis.

Chapter 10

M
y phone vibrated before I had taken two steps. “Temple.” I answered.

“Hey,” Gunnar replied, sounding grouchier than earlier. “My car died today.”

That brought a brief grin to my face. “I know. I was there.”

“No, it
really
died. It’s going to cost twice what it’s worth to fix it, so I will be a public transport kind of guy for a while.”

“Well at least there’s tons of babes on the public bus.”

“Not in this town. New York, maybe, but not St. Louis.”

I tried not to laugh. “Still want me to swing by?” I answered instead.

“Yes. I’ve got everything together now. You sure you want in on this?” He sounded guarded.

“Um, someone tried to… hurt us last night.” I changed what I had been about to say. Police were kind of nit-picky about overhearing unreported murders. Even if it was self-defense. “Pretty sure I don’t have much of a choice.” I hadn’t told him about the dragon hunters at the Bellefontaine Cemetery. Nor the kerchief from Mallory. It would have to wait. With newfound resolve, I mumbled a confirmation. “As much as I would like to catch a flight to Cabo, there’s no getting out of it for me. I found out some information that might help us a bit.”

“Maybe you
should
get out of town. The cops are already watching you.”

I shook my head firmly. “I’m not running away from this.”

“Alright.” He sighed. “See you in an hour, then.” I clicked the phone off, and shoved it in my pocket. I placed a hand on the heavy door to my shop and strode inside. Standing there for a moment, I let the building’s heat wash over me.
Plato’s Cave
was doing a brisk business for a Friday, despite the new renovations due to Raven’s visit last night. A few workers milled around the broken window leading to the street, the sound of hammers striking nails filling the air.

A stunning, tall young blonde hung near the register, her
Got Jesus?
Tee stretched much too tightly over her breasts. A cartoon depiction of our savior was waving a thumbs-up in the most inappropriate of places, but the fabric was long enough to remain decent. Barely. Her name was Indiana Rippley. Her eyes reminded me of glacial chips of ice, almost a neon blue. She was my second-in-command at the shop, my store manager, and was privy to more classified information than the other employees.

“Hey, Indie. What’s happening?” She had started as a simple part-timer, but had rapidly forsaken using her degree when confronted with some of the darker clients I sometimes entertained. Her skills at running a tight ship had proven necessary; she was smooth sailing where others would blanche.

“Not a whole lot, Cap’n. Other than the remodel.” She added with a curious brow. I nodded back. “Game night tonight,” she scanned a paper before her. “Gods of Chaos IV, if I’m not mistaken.”

“You’re never mistaken, Indie.” I answered, rolling my eyes.

She beamed up at me, dancing up a bit on her toes, a pleasant jiggle making the cartoon Jesus dance a quick two-step on her shirt. “We got the store cleaned up after you left for…” Her face grew tight. “Need a drink? I’m on break in five.” She offered, knowing I had been through a tough ordeal today.

“I’m fine, Indie, but thanks.” But all I really wanted to do was succumb to her offer. I had crushed on her for years, but never made that final leap to show her my true feelings, fearing the nuclear fallout if things went south.