Grimm: A Novel In The Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Series (The Temple Chronicles Book 3) (12 page)

I was waiting for the speaker to finish, ignoring the discreet glances of several more of my Board Members, who seemed more intent with my reaction to the speaker’s words than the speech itself. Almost like they already knew the details… They seemed a tad concerned at my obvious display of disinterest, and I could feel their calculating eyes planning ahead for the next several days based on a million subtle clues they imagined they were cleverly deciphering from my body language.

It was enough to almost make me laugh aloud.

They thought they could read
me
? Every single move and reaction I made was deliberate, a disguise, purposely shown or hidden to lead them exactly where I wanted them to be. It was instinctual for me. These men and women thought they could out manipulate
me
? I was a
Temple
. I had attended dinner parties with more intrigue than they would experience in a lifetime.

But the thing about being known as a worthless, billionaire playboy was that people often forgot that I was eidetic, with a genius level IQ to boot. My cover persona was so blatant and obnoxious that many forgot this small fact. Which was purposeful, and I wielded this power like a razor in the night, quietly moving the chess pieces on the board to my desires, none the wiser.

I forced myself to take a soft, deep breath. But Mallory had been right. They didn’t mean harm. Some of them were even ex-employees of the company while others had spent more than a decade serving on the Board for my parents. They thought they were doing the right thing. They just didn’t know any better. We weren’t enemies. They just needed… guidance. A firm hand. I glanced about the room. A
firmer
hand if they had thought this was going to fly with me.

They had worked very hard to broker this deal, without informing me ahead of time, which settled a threadbare cloak of barely constrained rage over my figurative shoulders.

Even if I hadn’t been distracted with thoughts of the Brothers Grimm actively hunting me, I would have had the same response to the speaker’s pitch.

Not
no
, but
hell no
.

Having already decided my response, I mentally began planning my day, idly tapping the satchel at my feet with my heavy winter boots. The satchel that held the two books that the Brothers Grimm wanted very badly. One was a book of summonings, and was how I had met Barbie the nympho-sprite in the first place. Some of the creatures in that book would be a fine catch indeed for the Brothers Grimm. The book was essentially a free buffet menu to them. Open the cover, pick a page at random, perform the ritual depicted on the page, and a victim would be forced to answer the call – forced to appear against their will, trapped inside a nice summoning circle all neat and hogtied as you please for the Grimms to decapitate.

You see, with summoning rituals the creature called upon rarely had the power to stand up to the summoner – as long as they performed the ritual properly – and the pages in this book were very specific, leaving little room for error, and as a result, no way out for the victim. Well, Barbie’s page had been smudged, causing a slight embarrassment for me when I first summoned her, but that is neither here nor there.

I shivered at that memory, and thought about the implications of the other creatures being called to their deaths. I had to keep the book out of the wrong hands or it would essentially be my fault that they were all killed.

The other book was the original edition of
Grimm’s Fairy Tales
, or
Kinder- und Hausmärchen
in German. But it apparently was not only the first copy of the book, but actually held spells as well.

Of some kind or another.

I had flipped through the pages late last night, careful to make sure the protective ward remained intact so that the Grimms couldn’t trace it’s location. Barbie had hinted at that being a likely possibility and I wasn’t about to take any chances.

The first half of the book held the original stories: Snow White, the Princess and the Frog, and many, many more. Of course, these were the true, original tales, not the friendly
Disney
versions. For example, rather than kissing the frog, the Princess had dashed his body against a wall.

This was the
least
violent of the stories.

But then there was the second half of the book. It read more like a travel log, handwritten in big, loopy cursive German script. I wasn’t fluent in German, but I caught enough recognizable words to get the main gist. It described creatures they had encountered while traveling the German countryside, and how they had murdered them.

Interspersed in the journal entries were sketches of supernatural creatures I had neither seen nor heard about before – likely long extinct thanks to the Grimms hunting parties – and numerous depictions of diagrams, star positions, and plenty of vaguely alchemical or scientific calculations of some kind filling the margins. I shivered, glad that I couldn’t read the language. The pictures had been gruesome enough.

I had scoured the text for one specific entry to no avail. I had been told that the book held the power to permanently lock away the Grimms or possibly kill them all. I didn’t know if it was true or if it was in fact the opposite – a spell capable of drawing every Grimm in the universe to a single location in time and space. Cold fingers danced down my spine at the thought.

Whatever it was, the Grimms didn’t want anyone else having access to the book. They had lost track of it at some point in recent history, and I had – completely by dumb luck – stumbled across it and decided to purchase it. Up until last night I hadn’t really spent any time studying the tome, much to my embarrassment given the present circumstances. I had always told myself I would make time to study it…
tomorrow
. But, you know…
life
always seemed to get in the way.

After barely surviving my first encounter with a barely corporeal Jacob Grimm a few years ago I had grown complacent, despite Barbie’s persistent warning. I had thought he and his brothers safely locked away in a prison of sorts, and had been told that the book in my satchel was all they needed to escape. Perhaps that had been why I hadn’t been too keen on reading it. I hadn’t wanted to accidentally rub the proverbial lamp and let the genie out. Not that any of that mattered now. They had found their own way back, just like Jacob had told me he would. Perhaps if I could find out how he had accomplished this I could send him and his brothers back to the void. I grunted to myself, earning a few pointed looks from a Board Member sitting to my right. I ignored him.

And now Jakey and his brothers were coming for me. Not just to kill me for a personal offense, but now they were even going to get paid to do so! Talk about Karma. My arrogant pride had come full circle. The Minotaur would be hooting his nose ring off at the irony.

I was pretty sure I would need Barbie’s help to either send them back or defeat them in battle.

Barbie had led me to believe that she had been involved in some capacity – a few hundred years ago – in imprisoning them in the first place. Or that she had at least witnessed it. I mean, she was powerful with a capital P, but I didn’t really get an overwhelming combat vibe from her. Sure, she was sadistic, hyperviolent, and savored murder by sex, but I hadn’t ever really seen her Hulk out or anything, so wasn’t sure what she could do in battle. Which was sounding more and more likely.

I really could think of only one choice. I couldn’t watch over and protect all my friends at once. I could only be in one place at a time. So I needed to bring the Grimms to me. I just needed to figure out how.

Someone cleared his throat, bringing me out of my reverie. I looked up to find everyone watching me expectantly. I put my worthless, billionaire playboy face in place, full of entitlement and general boredom at adult life. “Oh, thank god. Is he finished?” The gentleman beside me nodded, lips tight. “Good.” I swept my gaze over each face for a few seconds, watching my Board squirm uncomfortably. “No.” I took a sip of my water bottle as the room grew brittle with tension. “Now, is there anything else?” I asked, setting down my drink.

Ashley held a fist to her mouth and coughed lightly. She hadn’t needed to mask it. The room suddenly roared with arguments, muffling her expulsion.

I let the sound build like a tidal wave for a handful of seconds. Then I held up a finger, breaking the sound wave like a cliff face suddenly rising out of the ocean, stopping it cold. I pointed at the man standing by the screen who was also taking a drink of water. “You’ve heard my answer. If you have anything to refute or add, I will give you thirty seconds to sell me. Give me the high points. I’m just a worthless heir after all, and you used a lot of big words.”

He blinked, sputtered a bit, and then composed himself.

“We will pay ten times earnings for the last fiscal year. Your company’s profits have plummeted since your father’s… departure. We are offering you a golden parachute. An easy way out.” That was an unheard of offer. Easily double the industry standard.

“Now you’re speaking my language.” I finally answered, forcing myself to sound slightly interested. Several Board members seemed to relax in restrained triumph as the speaker babbled on a bit longer, biting onto my response hook, line, and sinker. I tuned him out, but still let on that I was completely focused on his words, nodding here and there convincingly.

But I was really assessing my Board with borderline murderous thoughts. They had set up this meeting behind my back. I could sense Ashley studying me, knowing I wasn’t truly listening and that the other shoe was about to drop. I ignored her.

There would be repercussions for their actions.

Starting today.

No doubt the golden parachute would also be quite lucrative for each of the Board Members, seeing as how we collectively owned the majority of the publicly held company’s shares. But I was the largest shareholder by far, and the heir to the company’s founder, so my word was law. The speaker finally finished his spiel. I tapped my lip with a finger. “Thank you for your time… but my answer stands. Temple Industries won’t be sold.” A slip of rage escaped my carefully controlled façade as a sudden thought hit me. “Especially not to a German company.”

The Grimms were German.

“We started here on US soil. I wouldn’t be able to look myself in the mirror if I took those jobs away from American workers.
St. Louis
workers,” I amended. “Some of them have been here for over twenty years.”

“We would be inclined to leave your plant operational if that is a condition for your acceptance.” He sounded eager.

I thought about that for a minute. But that wasn’t truly my biggest problem with the pitch. Relocating the company would kill hundreds of jobs, which I of course wasn’t okay with, but even if they kept the St. Louis plant operational, I didn’t want to sell.

Temple Industries was
mine
. The last remnant of my parents’ dynasty.

It wasn’t for sale.

I shook my head. “No.” The room imploded. I crossed my ankles and watched it play out. Sudden declarations of inattention on my part, no goal for the company’s future growth or specific product lines to focus on, no plan for increasing or decreasing R&D, et cetera. I listened, nodding at the appropriate moments, remembering each comment, accusation, and face that dared speak.

“With this sale you could focus on rebuilding your true passion, Plato’s Cave. Especially after the explosion that demolished the building earlier this year. That project requires a lot of focus on your part. Focus that has been taken away from Temple Industries. Think about it, Nate. The company hasn’t been a true focus for you, and it’s suffered as a result.” Of all the people who I had thought might challenge my authority, I hadn’t anticipated Ashley.

My thirty pieces of silver. My Judas Iscariot with a kiss.

Her words were spoken softly, politely, but the voice swiftly cut through the outbursts of men ten years her senior like a hot knife through butter. The room grew silent, tension suddenly as thick as smoke.

I blinked, slowly swiveling to face her with barely masked shock. It was well known that she and I were more than just employer and employee. Everyone knew about her and Gunnar, and that he was my best friend, and that my parents had considered her a surrogate daughter.

And she had just sided against me. You could have heard a pin drop. My vision exploded blue and I couldn’t contain myself.

“No.” I growled savagely, slamming my fist onto the table enough to significantly crack it and send my water bottle splashing to the ground. Several Board members flinched at the impossible power of the strike, suddenly very, very nervous. After all, everyone had heard the news clips and general rumors about my exploits, even if they hadn’t quite let themselves believe.

But that belief seemed to have changed in a microsecond.

I had fought a ‘dragon’ on the Eads Bridge, I had flown through a window to land on a Judge’s lap – even though there was no possible explanation for how I had managed to jump through a third-story window with no balcony or stairway leading to it. I had started riots at
Mardi Gras
that ended with explosions at both my bookstore and Temple Industries. Brutally murdered bodies had been found at several of my properties throughout town. The police and FBI had held me in custody… several times. Regarding both my parents’ murder and other crimes that had gone unsolved. I had allegedly burned down a strip club where a cop’s mutilated body had later been discovered. I had been announced as a firm supporter of magical creatures coming out of the closet at a nationally televised solar eclipse convention, standing arm in arm with senators and politicians. I had even been referred to – several times, and all by respected persons in the community – as a
wizard
, of all things.

All of these wild accusations and unbelievable stories strolled across the newsfeed of their memory as they stared at the cracked table.