Grimm: A Novel In The Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Series (The Temple Chronicles Book 3) (14 page)

T
he glass walls of the lobby shuddered under a barrage of machine gun fire, shattering into millions of glittering crystals that spilled across the icy concrete. Ashley and I dove behind the back of a parked van, trying to determine who was shooting at us and from what direction. My eyes scanned the scene in a blur, searching for the shooter, but the fender suddenly lit up with sparks as bullets hammered just to the right of my skull. I ducked back, but not before a tracer of fire nicked my ear. Which pissed me off. The world morphed into an azure glow as magic beckoned to me. Ashley yanked me back further, whipping a pair of pistols out of her purse with the skilled precision of a practiced student. I recognized them as the pair Gunnar had given her for Christmas.

I still hadn’t discovered exactly where the shooter was, but something persistently nagged at me until I finally gave it a second of attention.

Something was off about this situation.

You see, shootings are
loud
.

Rifle bullets fire at thousands of feet per second from tiny explosions of a hammer striking a casing of gunpowder. These thunderous concussions cause your brain to dampen your eardrums in an effort to preserve your hearing. Cordite fills the air in puffs of pungent smoke that makes it difficult to breathe fresh air, which you are desperately gulping as adrenaline kicks in to fuel your muscles in order to help you run away faster.

Hot chunks of lead strike either people, causing screams of agony or death and sending gouts of blood into the air, or they strike stationary objects, splintering wood, shattering glass, or ricocheting off concrete and metal until they strike yet
another
target.

Hopefully not
you
.

A tangible fear swamps the air as screams of panic fill the night, accompanied by the whine of bullets flying past your ears like a persistent cloud of mosquitoes, and each one of them could end your life. Right here, right now.

It’s chaos.

Having said that, this time was different.

For example, there was no screaming.

At all.

No cries, shouts, or yelling. Now, all of the other sounds were still there – bullets hammering into walls, snow embankments, cars, and the other equipment from the news crew, but the crew themselves were as silent as ghosts. Ashley seemed to realize the same phenomenon and glanced back at the crowd of news reporters at the same time I did.

Every single one of them stood completely still. Not even blinking.

“Shit…” I muttered, still scanning the crowd for any signs of movement.

But it was a sea of statues.

That explained the sensation of power I had briefly experienced prior to the first gunshot. Someone was altering time, or at least everyone’s perception of it, which never ended well for the people affected.

I had only seen two creatures with that kind of power.

One was an Angel of Heaven, and the other was Jacob Grimm.

My anger evaporated to be replaced by true fear. Panic. My magic withered and died like a guttering candle as the anger disappeared. The Grimms had come for me and I had been caught with my pants around my ankles, and a crowd of helpless mortal targets as leverage, and I had no one to help me. No one to back me up as Ashley – a mortal – and I took on the world’s most feared assassins.

“Nate?” Ashley asked in alarm. I shook my head, trying desperately to kill my fear. I needed to be angry. Not scared. Otherwise I was just dead weight. I was a spellslinger, god damn it. Ashley needed me to start throwing around balls of fire and death if we were going to survive this. The pep talk helped slowly wear away my fear, but it didn’t entirely fade, and my anger remained stubbornly out of reach. And with it, the link to my power.

I needed a few minutes to get my head back in the game, so I assessed the situation.

Apparently we were the only ones unaffected by the spell. I heard a muffled barking cough, followed by the sound of more cascading glass striking the pavement at the entrance to the building. I quickly peered around the edge of the van and discovered that the attack was coming from
inside
the building.

The security guards. One of them grinned at me from behind a pillar, drawing down.

Noticing my attention, Ashley leaned out over my shoulder and opened fire at the lobby. “Get down!” I yelled, pushing her back to safety.

Bullets pounded the front and side of the van in retaliation. One of the tires blew out with a hiss, and the van lurched downwards with a sharp groan. After a few seconds of constant shooting, I sensed a pause in the exchange, which usually signified reloading. I glanced around the corner, careful to keep my torso behind the fender. But the other shooter had apparently been waiting for me to make that mistake. Shots immediately rang out, hammering into the van all over again, one striking the passenger side mirror.

Which immediately tore free and struck me in the temple.

I hit the ground in a sprawl, ears ringing, and vision swirling lazily. I struggled to get my bearings and find the van but I couldn’t make up from down. I was supposed to be doing something.
Get angry
, a voice whispered at the edge of my subconscious, but I couldn’t understand how that would help. A wizard’s magic had nothing to do with emotion. Sure, being emotional could increase your output, but you didn’t have to be emotional to use a wizard’s power. You had to be in control of your mind.

Then a thought slowly limped into the forefront of my brain.

But you’re not a wizard anymore…

Then it hit me, my mind suddenly lurching back into gear. I struggled to get pissed, but the blow to the head had rattled me good. I felt fingers grip my ankle and begin pulling me back to cover, but they weren’t fast enough.

Something tugged at the flap of my jacket with a significant amount of force, and I was jerked out of Ashley’s reach as a single gunshot coughed. A silencer. Then another blow hammered into my belly and I temporarily lost control of my limbs as my breath shot out of me in a whoosh. The sound of a gunshot came a millisecond after the blow. I glanced down to find a sizeable amount of blood oozing form my stomach. Then the pain struck me. A searing hot stomach cramp from hell.

Then the pain doubled. Then trebled.

I could hear Ashley screaming something before more shots from her twin pistols cracked the air in a steady rhythm. Her barrage apparently gave the gunmen pause because I didn’t hear return fire. She grasped my leg and successfully pulled me to safety this time, which felt truly horrible, my stomach knotting up into a tight ball of pain that forced me to curl up into a defensive ball.

I slowly uncurled, leaning my weight against the fender of the van as Ashley quickly checked my wound, hissing as her eyes fell on my stomach. I had been shot. And not by an amateur. Two direct hits with two measured pulls of the trigger.

A marksman. If they could hit that accurately through a glass wall and a hundred feet, they very easily could have killed me dead. Ashley let off another volley of shots around the side of the van, aiming at the interior of the building.

I peered around the corner, unable to stand yet, and saw the gunmen using lobby furniture for cover as they methodically approached, one covering the other’s advance before they switched. My anger slowly began to wake, grumbling in response at their skilled approach. Ashley was no soldier. Neither was I. We didn’t stand a chance playing the game by their rules. These guys were professional hunters. And I wasn’t about to sit here and die behind a news van like some lamed deer. Rage rose like a leviathan out of the deeps, illuminating the world in a dim blue glow as my power roared to life with single-minded purpose.

Self-preservation.

So it was time for me to do magic and stuff.

I leaned out with a hungry smile, feeling useful again as I cast a shield of air to protect me from oncoming lead. Ashley’s bullets struck an invisible dome in front of the advancing gunman but they disintegrated to dusty motes rather than piercing flesh. That was both cool and practical. If I survived, I would have to learn it.

So, like I suspected. Grimms.

We needed a plan. I glanced down only to realize that the satchel was gone. My eyes quested for it in a panic.
There
! I instantly spotted it only a few feet away where I had been shot. Even with access to my power back online, I knew we needed to call in backup, but first I needed to protect the satchel. I began scrambling towards it as I maintained my shield, slipping and sliding in the light smear of blood pooling beneath me, but then a thought hit me and I froze. If I grabbed the satchel, they would know of its importance if they caught me. I quickly managed to scramble back behind the van.

Taking a deep breath filled with pain at my brief foray into the kill zone, I had time to see a bullet enter the crowd, striking one man in the hip, which caused him to drop the microphone pole clutched in his gloved hands before he flew backwards. The pole struck a woman in the temple and she collapsed in frosty silence, but I had seen the explosion of blood from the camera guy and was sure the woman would also have a noticeable lump on her dome, if not a concussion. I couldn’t let the Grimms cause any more collateral damage. The reporters were defenseless. And they would die. I took a deep breath and tapped into the well of power, seizing it forcefully rather than wasting time trying to coerce it.

The pool of viscous power rippled in response as if pleased. I didn’t have time to analyze that, so I simply latched onto it and sent it coursing deep down into my body, numbing all sensory receptors so that I could move.

“Ashley, cover me!” She didn’t hesitate. She unleashed a barrage of lead with both pistols as fast as she could. They disintegrated on impact with the Grimms shield, but had the desired effect. They paused. I quickly cast a concealment spell on the satchel and used a gust of air to send it deep into the crowd where I hoped it would remain hidden. I then delved deep into the reservoir of power at my feet and imagined a duplicate copy of the satchel and fastened it to my hip. It was weightless, but I hoped it would do the trick. I didn’t know if they knew about the satchel of books, but if they did and they saw me fleeing without it – when I had been toting it while exiting the elevator – they might turn back to search for it. But step one, I needed them to
follow
us.

I didn’t have a step two for my plan.

I took a deep breath, turning to Ashley with a macabre grin. She was staring at me nervously, no doubt wondering how I was still upright. “Get ready to run.”

Her responding nod was less than encouraging.

“Memento Mori,” I muttered. Her eyes widened, and she made the sign of the cross over her chest.

Which did absolutely nothing for my morale. She had zero faith in the wounded wizard. Maker. Whatever I was now.

I sighed, hoping she wasn’t right.

Chapter 13

I
lurched to my feet, the pain of my wounds now a dull, distant ache. It would have to be enough. I made sure the shield spell stood between us and prepared to hoof it.

I snatched the back of Ashley’s coat and tugged her off to the right, away from the crowd. We ran for several paces with her firing over her shoulder before her guns clicked empty. She muttered a curse, but immediately focused all of her attention on running away, racing beside me with panicked eyes. We were beyond the crowd in a blink, tearing off into the snow-covered grass surrounding the hotel.

Pounding boots tore after us in hot pursuit, somehow sounding like they were gaining on us. Several rounds hammered into my shield but we kept moving, Ashley’s eyes were wild, as she no doubt anticipated being gunned down any second. I heard the attackers’ guns run dry and I really laid on the speed, hoping they would slow as they reloaded.

Instead I heard one of them laugh hungrily, and the clatter of his gun hit the pavement. He was eager to confront us without guns. Which usually meant the person was experienced with inflicting pain via fists or magic. He let out a howl that turned into a leonine roar, dripping with the anticipation of a proper hunt. I glanced over my shoulder at the terrifying sound, fearing the worst. But I was wrong.

It was worse-er than I could have imagined in my darkest nightmares, and I had spent some time on the receiving end of a true master of the art personally sending me night and day terrors.

For months.

Needless to say, what I saw earned an
A-plus
in the nightmare department.

I stumbled a step in utter disbelief, and immediately decided that the only chance of survival required me to run backwards, even if I did lose speed. Ashley soon began to outpace me, not having turned around to look.

Which was probably better for her sanity.

Because a freaking lion was chasing us. With eyes and mane of living fire.

And the top of the lion’s back was about the height of a small horse, making him more akin to a freaking
liger
– yes, they’re real – the hybrid offspring of a lion and a tiger. But this one looked to have fed on annoying wizards and an unhealthy dose of steroids for breakfast every morning for the past twenty years.