Blood Debts (The Temple Chronicles Book 2) (46 page)

Othello was golden, folks. If you ever meet someone like her, never let her go.

And I wasn’t about to let her go out like this.

Time for some absolution.

She blubbered in a whispery voice, her soul drifting beside me like smoke on the breeze. “I didn’t have a choice. He kidnapped my nephew. He threatened to hand him over to the Demons if I didn’t help.” I nodded sadly, patting her soul comfortingly. Gavin watched me with a frown, no doubt wondering if I was hallucinating. Then his eyes widened in understanding as he glanced at Othello’s dead body beside him, and then back to the air in front of me. He couldn’t see her, but had surmised that Othello’s soul was still present. And that I could see her. Which meant that I might actually be Death in the flesh.

“Thanks for not telling him about me being a Maker.” I whispered.

She nodded sadly. “It was the only thing I managed to keep back from him.” She whispered back, heartbroken with shame.

I nodded, then winked at her. I turned away from Othello’s shattered soul and faced my tormenter. “You see, Gavin. One of the handy things about this mask is that I am a temp-worker for Death. So I get the final say on who lives and who dies.” I hoped that was true. If not, I would beg Death to take me in Othello’s place. Knowing he was backed into a corner Gavin began to prepare a nasty bit of magic to fling at me in retaliation, but I didn’t know how to use my magic, and I wasn’t sure how helpful the mask would be since I had already ‘died’ once. So I simply reacted, not concerning myself with the numerous wizardly ways of defending myself. I didn’t consider using magic.

Instead, like a teenager in a street fight, I used the only thing I had in my pockets. The keys to Death’s motorcycle.

Now, you may not know this, but if you want to see some serious damage throw a wad of keys at a milk carton. It
obliterates
the thing.

It’s incredible.

I aimed the keys for Gavin’s face, hoping to throw off his spell for a second or two so I could figure out how to use my new power to stop him.

But the damndest thing happened.

Midair, I saw the cute little scythe keychain turn into a real scythe.
The
real Scythe of Death — Horseman of the Apocalypse. And that thing was both glorious, and horrifying as hell.

Heh.

Wails of trapped souls screeched through the night, causing Gavin’s ears to bleed almost instantly, and the temperature dropped by about a hundred degrees. Just like I had experienced in the bar an hour ago. The scythe made a
whump-whump
sound like helicopter blades as it raced towards the summoner. Then it sliced right through his delicate little neck like a hot knife through butter, cleanly decapitating him. Gavin’s body stood upright for a few seconds before finally toppling over. His head bounced, and Karma came full circle as his toupee fell off completely. His soul slowly rose up from the steaming carcass, a look of sheer surprise as he stared down at his body.

Then he turned to face me. To face Death’s temp-worker.

And
this
temp-worker was a tad bit vengeful.

His soul began racing towards me in what I assumed was a spiritual attack. I held up a hand and he froze before me. He stared back, fearful and angry. “Speak. Tell me everything, shade.” And, seemingly against his will, he did.

“I wanted power. Pandora. I needed her assistance to help me overthrow the Academy. She
gave
all the magical beings in our world their power in the first place. All the tricks we know, she came up with first. And we only know about them because she
told
us. But she is rumored to have found a pathway far past simple magic, and discovered an answer that is truly unfathomable.” His eyes danced with eager hunger simply by talking about her. Even though he knew he was dead, he
still
wanted into the Armory. To Pandora. To steal that little slip of a girl I had freed upon the world.

I would probably need to look into that later. But not now.

Right now, I had a dish to prepare.

Vengeance
, to be exact.

And I was about to serve it cold, pure, raw
cold
.

I couldn’t think of anything else I really cared to discover, having already eliminated the danger and quenched my immediate rage. The second his lips stopped moving, I decided to let his soul burn. Right there. In front of me. Out of pure spite. So I could watch. I was a bit chilly and a fire sounded nice. I didn’t know if that was strictly allowed or not, but who the hell was going to stop me? Death could clean up my mess later. I made sure Gavin’s consciousness remained, so he could watch me watching his agony. I stoked the eternal flames hotter, enjoying the fact that he couldn’t actually burn away. When I made it hotter, his suffering was more intense, but he simply couldn’t escape it. He simply…
burned hotter
. So I made it colder. And I watched with way too much enjoyment as spirit-cicles began to grow on his eyelashes, his soul quivering from the sub-zero inferno. All with a thought. I didn’t know if it was a caveman thing or not, but I switched back to burning, as that produced more screams. The sound of his ragged wails was like Beethoven to my ears.

After enjoying his torment for a few satisfying moments, I idly began to think about food. I don’t know why that was my first thought, but I was downright ravenous. My vision suddenly pulsed blue, and two sticks with marshmallows appeared in my clenched fist. I glanced down at it in surprise. Then I looked at Othello’s soul who was watching me a little nervously, like she wasn’t sure what kind of person could enjoy something so harsh. I averted my gaze to avoid the judgment in her eyes.

Then I looked at her body.

Why not?

Charon’s boat interrupted my thoughts, appearing before us. I held up a hand for patience, smiling at the drunken Boatman. “Dick move, Charon. You could have told me.”

He shrugged. “Not in my job description.” Othello’s soul flickered as if trying to escape the repulsive sound of the Boatman’s voice.

I shook my head in amusement at his answer. Then I turned to Othello. She watched me with sad eyes. “I don’t understand what’s going on, but please make it quick, Nate. I never meant to hurt you. I just couldn’t let my innocent nephew die for this Armory. I thought I could do it all. Save him, protect you…” She trailed off, a spiritual tear splattering against her pale cheeks. “Don’t let me suffer.”

“Not today, kid.”

She furrowed her brows in confusion. I held up my hands, and the blue waves of power faded to green. I sensed Charon and Othello both watching me with interest, but I ignored them as I very ungracefully forced Othello’s soul back into her body.

Charon grunted, impressed or disgusted, I didn’t know.

After all, I didn’t really have any idea how to use Death’s power. I’m sure I could have been a little gentler, but I was forcing someone back to life! Surely she could forgive me a few bumps and bruises to her soul along the way. Her spirit and her body melded together until only Othello’s battered body remained. I waited, fearful I might have done something wrong. Then her body arced up with a spasm, and she gasped as if being given CPR after drowning.

“It’s aliiiiiive.” I cackled into the night. Charon rolled his eyes.

Othello panted, eyes wild as she turned from me to Charon, patting her legs and chest in profound disbelief. Her wounds were gone, but she still looked unsteady. Then her gaze settled on me, and I almost felt like a hero from a storybook.

“Pharos…” She whispered softly, her word filled to bursting with emotion. It was all she needed to say. Then she began to cry softly.

“Bros.” I held up a fist. She glanced down at it, then, with a twinkle in her eyes, she pounded it with her own delicate fist.

“Bros.” She answered softly, still sobbing as she seemed to understand my double connotation. We were friends. Nothing more. Nothing less. But what we had was solid, and would always be there. Dependable. Loyal. Unwavering.

Bros.

As a side note,
definitely
my hottest bro.

I helped her to her feet, and embraced her in a bear hug, enjoying the background music of Gavin’s agonizing screams as his soul was set on charbroil. I stepped back and appraised Othello. She looked a mess, but her wounds seemed to have disappeared when I saved her. Which was good. They hadn’t looked promising. And I wasn’t sure how fast I could have gotten her to the hospital. I realized another added benefit of her not needing immediate medical attention. It gave me just the time I needed.

I motioned for her and Charon to both sit down beside me on the gravel so that Gavin’s soul twisted and shuddered immediately before us, writhing in the green flames. I set him on a slow spin for aesthetic reasons. And personal satisfaction. My friends complied, and we sat before Gavin’s burning soul and roasted our marshmallows over him. “Want one, Charon?” I asked politely. He shook his head, pointing at his sewn-up lips hopelessly. I shrugged in agreement. I hadn’t really wanted to see him attempt to eat a marshmallow. Instead, he cracked another cold one from a sixer hanging at his rope belt. Othello blinked, then winced as he eagerly dumped it over his sewn up lips. “Okay. Just give us a minute. I’ve almost got it perfect. You see, it’s about that perfect brown color. You can’t let it catch fire but you have to let it get close to burning…” Gavin’s eyes watched me with pure agony as he shrieked, watching as his agony produced our delicious treats.

The marshmallow was profound. Probably the perfectest marshmallow I had, or would ever, eat. After some time, I quenched the green flame with a thought, and found myself rather enjoying the immediate sounds of Gavin’s relieved whimpering. I turned to the Boatman, knowing that he typically took the entire body of supernaturals rather than just the soul. “Leave the body. I’ll need it to clear my name… hopefully.” Charon shrugged, and as he climbed to his feet he gathered up the remains of Gavin’s ragged soul with a flick of his hand. The once dangerous summoner’s soul tagged along behind him like a dog on a leash, entering the boat with trepidation.

Charon waved one time as he departed. Much slower than he usually did. I heard another beer crack open as the boat slowed even further. Something unseen began striking Gavin from the front and the back erratically, causing grunts and gasps of pure terror as his soul twitched to and fro, searching for the cause of the pain. I watched as the abuse continued unabated. Then I began to laugh, putting an arm around Othello. She collapsed into my chest, sobbing all over again with exhaustion, apologizing, and generally leaking bodily fluids all over me, ruining my cool outfit with her blood, snot, and tears.

But it felt nice to hold her.

Chapter 39

I
heard a horse stomp his foot, neighing like a Demonic Clydesdale. I turned curiously to see that it was only Death’s — obviously not a Harley — horse. I appraised the beast thoughtfully, studying the same glowing green sheen to his coat as the bike had sported. Then I recalled Asterion’s description of the Pale Rider. “I wonder if you know Grimm?” I spoke more to myself than anything.

The horse fucking answered me, causing Othello to jump behind me in terror.

“Ah, it has been eons since we slaughtered and grazed together. I thought you smelled familiar.” Othello peered around my shoulder like a small child, eyes wide as she realized the horse had in fact spoken. He had a refined British Accent like a James Bond actor.

“Um… that was kind of a rhetorical question. So, you can talk.”

The horse grunted. “So can you, Maker.” He rolled his eyes.

“Do I just call you pale horse?”

“I am known as Gruff.” He answered proudly. I nodded.

“Pleased to meet you, Gruff. This is Othello, and I am Nate.” The creature bowed his head in response. Othello’s eyes were about to pop out at this point, and she was still clutching me with clawed fingers. Patting my pocket with a sudden idea, I smiled as I found something I had forgotten about. I pulled it out and Othello blinked at the odd black feather with the red orb at the tip. “Grimm. Come to me.” I called into the night.

A peal of black lightning responded, and my little pet death pony, courtesy of Asterion, appeared before us. He stamped a hoof, spotted Gruff, and trotted up to him, rubbing the side of his feathered head against Gruff’s glowing green mane. Gruff made a surprised sound, but responded in kind. The two of them walked away from the humans, no doubt to catch up on lost time. I smiled, wondering if Grimm could also talk. I didn’t hear any voices though. I pocketed my feather, glad I had snatched it up from Plato’s Cave before it burned down.

“That was courteous of you.” A familiar voice said.

Hemmingway — Death — strode out from behind a pillar of salvaged vehicles, assessing the two horses with a thoughtful gaze. Othello sat down in the dirt behind me, legs finally giving out. Her wild eyes darted from Death to me, and back again with confusion. I wondered how she saw Hemmingway. Was he a doppelganger of me at the moment or did she see the guy I had met at the bar?