My Boyfriend is a Monster (18 page)

“You know that show ended in the eighties right?”

“Not up here honey,” he said pointing to his head. “That
is one moustache ride that will be forever up here.”

Turning to clear some things off her table she started to feel a little disturbed. “I don’t even want to know what that means.”

CHAPTER 7

ONE: The Enemies Camp

S
tanding in front of a little window watching the rain fall over the vast green country side, Marcus took another sip of his tea. Holding a saucer in his left hand he sipped from the tea cup in his right. Enjoying the rain and the quite it seemed to bring he appreciated the dulling of everything around it. He stood in his private office surrounded by endless displays of antiques from a hundred different cultures and what seemed to be a hundred different centuries. Statues stood proudly among pottery that shared space with ancient weaponry both of the small and delicate flavors mixed in with the large and barbaric.

Racing to every corner of the room was walls of books that had within in it rows and rows. Most of them filled with age-old copies of original press but some were even hand written in languages not spoken in centuries.  A large round table sat in the middle of the room made of oak that some would estimate was fashioned from the very first tools invented for such a Master Piece. Marcus always felt a sense of smug nobility knowing most historians would not even be able to conclude the authenticity of most of the relics he had in this room. They would offer their most educated word to describe it; antediluvian, and thinking most would have to look that up.

Drinking his tea always took him to his little out of place window he had put in just for this purpose. Not even all the wonder and history surrounding him could compete with the simplicity of a window with a view. He would drink his tea at this little window everyday unless called to other matters away from his estate. His flavor of tea was always different since he enjoyed most of them, but always tea and always at his little misplaced view. 

Hearing the echoes of high heels on marble approaching at a determined pace, he knew his little oasis was about to be interrupted. He decided to absorb every last second.

Walking into the imposing office in a tight white business shirt and grey skirt, Carmon suddenly stopped. Looking like she should be wearing glasses she carried a folder under her arm and a phone at her ear. She quietly listened to the other end of the conversation while gently checking her hair that was pulled back into a bun. Finally she ended the call. “That was Merrick,” she said slipping the phone into her pocket.

Marcus kept looking out the
window and enjoying the rain watering the green rolling hills. Taking another sip and placing the cup on the saucer he sighed not caring for the interruption but knowing business was at hand. Walking in front of a giant world map covering the entire northern wall he let the quiet rainy day move on outside and begun to concentrate. “And?” he asked plainly.

Placing the folder on the large conference table she felt a little hesitant about continuing. Turning to her and taking another sip of his tea he raised his eyebrows insisting she continue. Taking a deep breath she relayed Merrick’s findings. “He is getting nowhere, like you predicted.”

Staring at her he began to make her confidence waver ever so slightly since there was much more to disclose. Knowing none of it was going to please him and that it was surely written all over her face she picked up the folder and handed it to him.

Taking another sip of his tea he ignored her and turned toward the map again. Having his eyes away from her direction made her feel a little more comfortable and she stepped back holding on to the folder for the time being.

So far all leads to Nathan’s whereabouts were all orchestrated by Nathan himself. In truth it was the depth of these trails in which he led them that was so impressive to Marcus. There were accounts and documents that took his best resources months to track down, only to lead to the start of a new trail. Wanting to be there when he was finally found all but consumed him. He turned his head slightly. “True revenge is not only a dish best served cold, but not a fucking dish at all unless actually eaten from yourself,” he said calmly turning to slightly more. “And I so want to eat from this dish,” he revealed, a secret well known.

“Yes sir, soon.”

It was always soon and soon had yet to come. Becoming impatiently hungry and all his assets extended fully he could smell it, taste if even. He just had to wait a little longer for the dinner bell to ring, and when it did, he would be waiting eagerly with fork and knife.

Knowing he was in deep conversation with himself she did not listen or interrupt. Only keeping her distance and holding on to the folder until being asked for it. 

Finding the silver lining in Yaroslav deciding not to report back showed the young Chakan had matured in his skills as a fighter. Dying in spectacular fashion proved that. Merrick’s realistic account of how long the battle lasted and the injuries sustained all but confirmed that Nathan, at the very least, was very dangerous. But the gnawing bites of curiosity of how things might have been had the Ukrainian just reported back still nipped at his thoughts. “Fucking Ukrainian,” he said taking his long stare away from the map and turning his eyes back to her.

She could see he was
not directing the comment at her but it still put her at unease all the same. She handed him the folder. “Your suspicions were right,” she said as Marcus took it. “He is most likely not in Asia being protected by the Order.”

“To obvious fucking conclusion,” he stated walking towards the oak table. Knowing if he wanted to be successful he would have to be patient but coming upon the better part of a century he wondered how much more patient could he be. Recognizing he should have known Yaroslav may not have done as instructed if tempted with glory there was no sense debating something that could not be change
d. Besides, he waited this long.
What were a few more drops of moments in a bucket of eternity
, he thought, then wondered if someone more famous quoted that.

“He’s been over every lead over the entire continent, nothing,” she said.

Looking over the report he saw that it went into great detail. “Says here they seem to be very cooperative, how gracious of the cocksuckers.”

“It seems after Yarosl-”

Marcus cut her off immediately with anger. “Do not mention that fucking pig farmer’s name in my presence.” Staring at her for a few moments she just stood silent and submissive. Finally he began reading over her report again. “This accurate?” he asked while his eyes kept reading the page.

“Word for word,” she said confidently since she wrote it.

Reading a little more he felt he got the gist and closed it. “Do you know they use to call that fucking cunt, Yaroslav the wise?” Ignoring his own rule Carmon just nodded and let him continue by being silent. “I mean, could I of made it any more fucking clear, find the boy - report back,” he said not being able to let go of the events that unfolded in the town of Amalfi.

“It was pretty elementary sir.”

Dropping the folder on the table he replaced it with his tea and smiled. “Right, elementary. . . I like that.”

“It does make one wonder how he got the name, the Wise,” she said adding a log to the fire.

“Wise . . . as wise as those pigs he probably fucked.” Putting his tea back on the table in fear his anger would cause it to spill he continued. “Our kind will spend centuries and centuries trying to master one of the Five Rings, some are born with one – one, fucking naturally,” he said waving his hands and grabbing at the air. “Nathanial fucking Caesar was born with all five . . . I mean, did his Kievan mother fuck a monkey? How did this . . . fucking feeble-minded imbecile live for a thousand years?” he asked becoming silent. Taking a large breath he exhaled. “I did make that painfully fucking clear did I not?” 

Carmon did not bother answering since he wouldn’t have heard or noticed her contribution anyways.

Putting his palms on the smooth ancient oak he leaned forward. Taking a long ingested breath he slowly rocked on his hands trying to calm himself. But allowing his frustration (that was painted all over his face) to soak in he felt it racing to his heart and sending him on a trajectory of rage. “I mean, before I give myself a goddamn heart attack . . .”

Now Carmon did not know if he was talking to her directly or to himself. Seemingly he was addressing a room full of apparitions but concern started to dawn upon her and she now debated on answering. Waiting for a response while his eyes searched the room she decided to leave her voice absent and waited to be questioned directly.

His face was still flush as he just rocked back and forth. Seeing many of his kind live for centuries on honor and creed and found in his long experience that they both eventually marched into the inevitable. Beginning to realize it was best to let such things so alien desert his thoughts he decided to let the question dissipate without an answer.

Walking back to his map he left his tea behind wanting to be unencumbered of distraction. Searching the countries in front of him he gazed on them all but being drawn to one area with one word swirling in his mind . . . Family. Thinking it many times before and being wrong he thought of how long it has been. “Time can be the loneliest companion when separated from friend and family,” he whispered and closed his eyes.

Making short work of the thousand year old Ukrainian Marcus began to wonder how he would fair. Always believing that revenge would be best served personally he was beginning to think maybe it was best served as the finale? Letting others prepare such an outcome did not seem to matter as long as it was his fangs sinking into Nathan’s heart and sending the young Chakan to the After. Insurance was needed if he was to proceed in confidence. There were others more powerful than the Ukrainian, more powerful than himself. Realizing there might be some more powerful than Nathan he knew there was one maybe a few hundred miles north of him.

Shifting his eyes to Scotland he knew this Chakan would be there or up in a snow covered mountain in the land of Vikings. The Chakan he was thinking of was a self-proclaimed God named Tyr
e (sounds like Tear, as in, a Tear from an eye). Staring at the Scandinavian countries to the north then back at Scotland his eyes contemplated the idea. Finding the self-proclaimed God was easy. It was the aftermath that worried him. Tyre was anything but predictable bringing nothing but death and destruction to anything he deemed contrary. A powerful weapon if wielded correctly and certain death if not, this made his kind never eager to go looking.

First things first
, he thought walking back to the table. Picking the folder up he lightly tapped it on his opposite palm. “Who to task,” he wondered aloud to the beat of paper hitting his flesh.

Knowing he was engaged in something else she decided not to interrupt but interject. “As per Merrick’s instructions we have been compiling lists of Book Stores opening.”

“Little prick does like his books,” he said already knowing of the lists. “Tell me Carmon my dear, has one opened up under the name of Nathan Caesar?” he asked sarcastically.

“No, but . . .” she teased.

Getting his attention he turned and smiled. “But.”

“If we follow the time line and the lead from Nova Scotia it does not lead to a book store being open. But it does contain a large Fed-Ex order of books being insured and delivered to an address in Chicago . . . a mere two hours from his family.”

Marcus stopped tapping the folder. “You don’t say,” he said holding up the report that didn’t seem to contain that information.

“Information I just found out,” she said holding up her phone.

“God bless fucking technology. Here’s to hoping it’s not another bull shit lead,” he said sipping at his tea and frowning since it had gone cold. Reading his eyes like a book she quickly walked to the little antique table by the window and grabbed the tea pot. Throwing the remaining tea to the floor he held out his cup as she poured. Returning the pot to the table she rejoined him, mentally adding ‘clean the floor’ to her to do list as she passed the puddle.

“I thought he might have gone to Ireland,” Marcus said rubbing his finger on the map.

“The Wolfhounds?” she asked looking at the country then turning to him. “Would he dare come so close?”