Free Obsidian Son (The Temple Chronicles Book 1) by Shayne Silvers Page B

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,