Read Online Obsidian Son (The Temple Chronicles Book 1) by Shayne Silvers - Free Book Online
Authors: Shayne Silvers
Tags: thriller, Suspense, adventure, Romance, Fantasy, Urban Fantasy, Paranormal, Magic, Mystery, Action, Bestseller, supernatural, Wizards, funny, Dragons, Werewolves, dragon, Romantic, st louis, Werewolf, Comedy, best seller, wizard, &NEW, were-wolves, were-wolf, weredragons, dragon hunters, were-dragons, weredragon, were-dragon
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Gunnar nodded sagely.
“Pick you up at noon?” He asked softly.
It was already three in the morning. “Whatever.”
“Can you handle the cops? Just tell them it was a… burglar or something.”
“Or something…” I replied testily.
I heard one last thing before I turned away. “Does your mind really store all that stuff you read, or did you just happen to read Poe lately?”
I didn’t answer. My thoughts drifted away from my friend, lost in the unpracticed task of cleaning up the place. I barely noticed him leave, or the bogus answers I gave the cops, but soon all was silent, and I was back upstairs overlooking my wrecked shop, sipping a new glass of fiery absinthe. I spun the coin the Minotaur had given me earlier around a finger, thoughts questing for answers to the night’s events. A gift from Hermes. I hadn’t actually ever met any of the ‘gods’ before.
I grunted, pensive. But at least there were some positives. I now had three books to find — one for Raven & Associates, one for Peter, and one for my mysterious client — and one of those was already found, as long as I could beat the Minotaur in our duel. But I didn’t want to think about the duel tonight.
I wondered what kind of shape-shifter Raven had been. I was almost positive she hadn’t been a demon. As if sensing the risk, she had chosen not to reveal her true form. She had to have a reason. My thoughts grew darker as I watched the snowflakes continue to fall outside the shop’s windows, as numerous as the questions drifting through my mind.
“ Quoth the raven, nevermore .” I mumbled, downing the last of my drink as I began to scribble out a note for Indie to read in the morning — a list of laborers to call for the expensive repairs to my shop, and a vague explanation of how it had happened.
Chapter 8
A t least it’s consistent.” I offered.
“Shut up, Nate.” Gunnar slammed down the hood of his car. Licorice smelling smoke clouded up from the engine block, filling the air with a sickly-sweet aromatic fog. “If you hadn’t made me drive out to that god-forsaken field to pick up your car, we might have made it to the cemetery in one piece.” His shoulders sagged. “Tow truck will be here in a few hours. We can call a cab.”
“Let’s just walk. It’s not far. I could use the fresh air.” I waved away a particularly heavy tendril of smoke creeping towards us. Gunnar nodded, following my lead. I immediately looked around a bit, acting conspicuously nervous.
“What?” Gunnar asked, tensing.
“Isn’t there a leash law in St. Louis?” Murder shone in Gunnar’s eyes. “Never mind.” I smirked and continued on. He had been up all night, researching leads, seeing if it related to whatever Raven had been talking about. Apparently, several bookstore owners in town — and even across the river in Illinois — had been targeted over the last few days, some surviving, but most not. Gunnar hadn’t elaborated on details yet. But I definitely wasn’t the first bookstore owner to be visited by her.
“Why are you so annoying this afternoon?”
I grinned. “Have you ever had Cuban colada ?”
“Cuban… Is that some kind of drug?” He threw up his arms in exasperation. “Damn it, Nate. I’m an FBI Agent!”
“Down, boy. It’s not a drug, but it probably should be. It’s Cuban coffee. A form of espresso laced with sugar. Liquid Nirvana.” I quoted my friend from Miami. “ Nunca comience un día duro sin una taza de colada . Never start a tough day without a cup of colada.”
Gunnar squinted, eyes bloodshot. “Where can I get some?” Whipping out a flask from my pressed suit coat, I passed it over. “You had some the whole time?”
“Of course.”
“You’re a real asshole sometimes, Nate. Capital A.” I grinned. Gunnar’s nerves steadied after a few sips. “This is really good.” I held out a hand for him to pass it back. Instead, he slipped it into his own suit pocket. “You should probably
“Pick you up at noon?” He asked softly.
It was already three in the morning. “Whatever.”
“Can you handle the cops? Just tell them it was a… burglar or something.”
“Or something…” I replied testily.
I heard one last thing before I turned away. “Does your mind really store all that stuff you read, or did you just happen to read Poe lately?”
I didn’t answer. My thoughts drifted away from my friend, lost in the unpracticed task of cleaning up the place. I barely noticed him leave, or the bogus answers I gave the cops, but soon all was silent, and I was back upstairs overlooking my wrecked shop, sipping a new glass of fiery absinthe. I spun the coin the Minotaur had given me earlier around a finger, thoughts questing for answers to the night’s events. A gift from Hermes. I hadn’t actually ever met any of the ‘gods’ before.
I grunted, pensive. But at least there were some positives. I now had three books to find — one for Raven & Associates, one for Peter, and one for my mysterious client — and one of those was already found, as long as I could beat the Minotaur in our duel. But I didn’t want to think about the duel tonight.
I wondered what kind of shape-shifter Raven had been. I was almost positive she hadn’t been a demon. As if sensing the risk, she had chosen not to reveal her true form. She had to have a reason. My thoughts grew darker as I watched the snowflakes continue to fall outside the shop’s windows, as numerous as the questions drifting through my mind.
“ Quoth the raven, nevermore .” I mumbled, downing the last of my drink as I began to scribble out a note for Indie to read in the morning — a list of laborers to call for the expensive repairs to my shop, and a vague explanation of how it had happened.
Chapter 8
A t least it’s consistent.” I offered.
“Shut up, Nate.” Gunnar slammed down the hood of his car. Licorice smelling smoke clouded up from the engine block, filling the air with a sickly-sweet aromatic fog. “If you hadn’t made me drive out to that god-forsaken field to pick up your car, we might have made it to the cemetery in one piece.” His shoulders sagged. “Tow truck will be here in a few hours. We can call a cab.”
“Let’s just walk. It’s not far. I could use the fresh air.” I waved away a particularly heavy tendril of smoke creeping towards us. Gunnar nodded, following my lead. I immediately looked around a bit, acting conspicuously nervous.
“What?” Gunnar asked, tensing.
“Isn’t there a leash law in St. Louis?” Murder shone in Gunnar’s eyes. “Never mind.” I smirked and continued on. He had been up all night, researching leads, seeing if it related to whatever Raven had been talking about. Apparently, several bookstore owners in town — and even across the river in Illinois — had been targeted over the last few days, some surviving, but most not. Gunnar hadn’t elaborated on details yet. But I definitely wasn’t the first bookstore owner to be visited by her.
“Why are you so annoying this afternoon?”
I grinned. “Have you ever had Cuban colada ?”
“Cuban… Is that some kind of drug?” He threw up his arms in exasperation. “Damn it, Nate. I’m an FBI Agent!”
“Down, boy. It’s not a drug, but it probably should be. It’s Cuban coffee. A form of espresso laced with sugar. Liquid Nirvana.” I quoted my friend from Miami. “ Nunca comience un día duro sin una taza de colada . Never start a tough day without a cup of colada.”
Gunnar squinted, eyes bloodshot. “Where can I get some?” Whipping out a flask from my pressed suit coat, I passed it over. “You had some the whole time?”
“Of course.”
“You’re a real asshole sometimes, Nate. Capital A.” I grinned. Gunnar’s nerves steadied after a few sips. “This is really good.” I held out a hand for him to pass it back. Instead, he slipped it into his own suit pocket. “You should probably
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