To Love A Monster

by Marina Simcoe

  ‘March thirteenth, venue, lunch at noon.’

  With trembling fingers, I opened the browser on my phone and searched for the fair in New Orleans again. It was being held the week of March 13th, and the hotel where it was taking place had a restaurant downstairs.

  I dropped the phone in my lap, only to pick it up again almost immediately and open a travel website.

  I needed a plane ticket to New Orleans for next week.

  Chapter 36

  THE SNOW MIGHT STILL be falling strong in Rocky River, and the weather in Calgary was still far from spring-like, but in New Orleans it was a beautiful, sunny day.

  Feeling the sweat gather under my arms, I took my jacket off, leaving only the thin sweater underneath.

  My oversize purse was the only piece of luggage I took on the plane with me. I would’ve wished for this to be a one-day trip. However, because of the time difference between Calgary and New Orleans, I had to fly overnight to make sure I wasn’t late for my meeting with Cecilia at noon.

  This was my first time in the city, and normally, I would’ve loved to explore French Quarter or go on a paddle steamer cruise. This was not why I came here, though. My sole purpose was to talk to Cecilia. Monster waited for me alone in the woods, and I wanted to be back as soon as possible. Hopefully, with some good news.

  I found the venue of the fair convention easily enough. The four-storey historical building, finished in pale-yellow stucco, didn’t stand out too much from the rest of the colourful neighbourhood, but there was something just a little sinister in the ornate architecture. I could understand why the organizers of the convention claimed this was one of the most haunted hotels in New Orleans.

  The lobby was filled with people, most dressed in an eccentric mix of clothing and headwear. I stopped in the lobby, overwhelmed by all the noise and colour for a moment, suddenly feeling very out of place in my plain sweater, jeans and running shoes.

  How will I ever find her in here?

  Slowly weaving through the crowd, I made my way to the restaurant off the lobby. It was busy here, too. Every wicker table was occupied. I inched along the wall to stay away from the waiters hurrying by and swept the place with my gaze, searching for the woman who matched Cecilia’s description.

  All I remembered from Monster’s story about her was that she had black hair and brown eyes. And neither of these was very helpful—the hair colour was easy enough to change, and the eye colour was hard to spot from a distance.

  So, really, I didn’t have much to go by at all. I realized she had no idea how I looked either.

  I glanced down on the cell phone in my hand—it was ten minutes after noon already.

  Had I come all the way here for nothing?

  A couple at the table nearest to me paid their bill and left, so I lowered myself in the chair and set my heavy purse down.

  “Hi.” A tall brunette appeared seemingly from nowhere and plopped in the chair across from me.

  “Cecilia?” I exhaled in surprise and relief.

  “Who else? Are you here to meet more than one witch?” She leaned across the table and added in a loud whisper. “This is not the right place then. No one here has any real magic whatsoever. You know why I love coming here? Because as different as these people think themselves to be makes me feel almost normal in comparison.”

  She widened her cinnamon-brown eyes at me—gold sparkles glistened inside in the bright sunrays from the floor-to-ceiling windows of the restaurant—then gave me a lopsided grin.

  “I’m glad you found me.” I smiled back. “I was worried, with all these people—”

  “It wasn’t that difficult to spot you, Sophie. Anyone can see you came from way up there.” She waved her hand high over her head, but I understood she referred to the North. “You must be the palest person in the city. And by pale, I don’t mean just your tan-less skin. You stick out like a sore thumb. No offence.”

  “None taken,” I smoothed the sleeve of my beige sweater, glancing at the bright attire on people around as. Some wore all black, like Cecilia. It didn’t make them appear any less colourful as characters, though.

  Cecilia waved one of the passing waiters over to take our lunch orders, and I used the moment to study her.

  Glossy, ink-black hair reached past her waist, with short banks over her perfectly shaped eyebrows. A number of chains and beads circled her neck and wrists, and there was at least one ring one each of her fingers. She was tall, slender, and very attractive. And she did not appear evil to me.

  “Where did you get your magic, Cecilia? How do you turn a man into a beast?”

  It came out a little more accusatory than I intended, but I didn’t apologize for it.

  “My magic?” Her fingers traced one of the leather cords around her neck, sliding down to the amulet on it—a cloudy piece of dark amber, carved in a shape of a flat disk with a round hole in the middle. “It’s hereditary. We’re not allowed to talk about it to strangers. Let’s just say, I come from a peculiar family.” She inserted the point of one finger in the hole in the centre of the disk and twisted it around with another. “Just to make clear, though, even my magic—as strong as it is—can’t turn a good man into a beast.”

  “But you did—”

  “Nope. He already was a beast on the inside—a mean, heartless animal. All I did was make him look like one on the outside.”

  The waiter brought our lunch salads, but I barely glanced at mine, instead watching Cecilia quickly spear the green leaves with her fork.

  “Can you change him back?”

  “Why?” She asked between the mouthfuls, regarding me with curiosity. “He deserved what he got. Why would you even bother asking for him? Do you have a thing for assholes?”

  “He’s not—” I cut myself short to draw more oxygen in my lungs and to figure out a better way to explain myself. “I’m not defending him. He told me all about the night you spent together . . . I mean, the morning after. His behaviour towards you was appalling, to say the least—”

  “He basically called me a whore.” Cecilia emphasized her point by stabbing her fork through the air.

  “And he is very sorry about it, believe me. He would give a lot for the chance to apologize to you. If the purpose of your punishment was to make him realize his mistakes and come to regret them . . . Well, he’s certainly done that. Cecilia . . .” I shook my head, willing to convey through my words everything I was feeling. “He’s had a long time to think about who he was and what he’s done. He’s lost everyone and spent years completely alone with only his remorse. There is a man inside him now, not a beast. There is so much more to him as a person. He is caring, thoughtful, and attentive. And he is striving to be a better man every day. Really, Cecilia. If you wanted to punish him for that night, it happened. If you wanted him to change, he did. Now, please, let him be free again. Let him have a full life.”

  I clasped my hands in front of me, willing the lump in my throat to dissolve.

  “Well.” She cleared her throat. Her fingers fidgeted with the pendant again. “He’s made you care for him.”

  “He’s made me love him,” I corrected.

  Her expressive brown gaze shot to my face.

  “Do you? Do you really love him?”

  I nodded without any hesitation.

  She leaned back in her seat.

  “Like, really?” Her eyes narrowed at me. The scrutiny in her stare was almost offensive, as if she didn’t believe me at all. “His appearance doesn’t put you off at all? You know—the horns, the fur, the tail? None of it repulses you, nothing creeps you out?”

  “It used to. There was a time his looks terrified me. But not anymore. To me, they’re just a part of him now. The horns and the tail don’t matter. I, um . . .” I focused on the untouched salad on my plate. “I actually like his tail,” I confessed. “It’s prehensile and . . . um, dexterous.”

  I felt a hot blush slowly creep up my face.

  Cecilia’s loud laugh made me lif
t my gaze to her face again. From the corner of my eye, I noticed other people in the restaurant stared our way too.

  “You are kinkier than you look, girl.” She shook her head, still laughing. To my relief, the atmosphere between us seemed to get lighter. The initial tension had eased significantly if not disappeared completely.

  The blush on my face burned hot, though, and I steered the conversation back to where I needed it to go, more hopeful now that she seemed to be in a better mood.

  “I don’t care about his appearance, but he needs to be free. He can’t lead a normal life, looking the way he does. He is a prisoner of the estate in more ways than one.”

  “Sophie.” Her voice turned serious again. “You seem to think I can do something about the curse, but I can’t.”

  “You can’t?” Everything inside me dropped.

  “Nope.” She shook her head. “That’s the way this curse works. You place it on someone then let it work its course. Nothing can be done after it has been laid.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Listen.” She fisted the amber disk in her hand. “I was young and a little impulsive back then. And he really pissed me off. Here I was thinking I’d just had the best lay of my life—he could fuck like nobody’s business, you know—but what we had meant absolutely nothing to him.”

  “I’m sorry, Cecilia.”

  “Don’t be.” She waved her hand at me. “I’m glad he is less of an asshole now as you said. He must have changed enough for you to love him.” She propped her chin with her fist, considering something for a moment. “Maybe, I shouldn’t have used that curse, or at least I should’ve defined the time of its power. Like when I made Peyton’s face break out just before prom night. I had set the curse for two days. So the bitch had to go to the prom with a pound of makeup on her face to cover the ugly pimples for stealing Mason from me. But at least two days later she was fine, looking all pretty again and back to her whoring ways.”

  “What you’re saying is that Monster’s curse is forever?” I clarified. “You can’t undo it?”

  “No, I can’t.” She shook her head. “Once it’s been laid, there is nothing anyone can do. That’s why my aunt, Ingeborg, doesn't like it when I use irreversible curses. She says I’m too hot-headed to realize the consequences of my own powers. I never told her about me using this one—she’d be furious. The woman’s almost two hundred years old. Trust me, you don’t want to make her angry.”

  “Who?” My mind was still reeling from her statement that she couldn’t rescind what she’d done to Monster to closely follow her ramblings.

  “My aunt. We call her Inge in the family, for obvious reasons. Her full name is a bit of a mouthful, but it must’ve been fine when her parents named her in Finland, two centuries ago.”

  “Cecilia.” I blinked, shaking my head. I’d lost the thread of what she was talking about, struggling to keep the conversation on track. “So, there is absolutely nothing you can do to reverse your own curse? Shouldn’t there be some counter spell, like anti-venom?”

  “Listen, I laid the curse, but it’s not mine. It’s as old as time. You know The Beast, the rose bushes, the Beauty—the usual.” She eyed me critically. “Well, the beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they say. Don’t get me wrong, you are cute. In that ordinary kinda way. Anyway, like most curses, this one has a provision built in that reverses it once a condition is met.”

  “A condition?”

  She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling.

  “Well, you know how it goes. Until a woman falls in love with the beast—all of him—even despite his hideous appearance . . . Or something along those lines. You said you love him.” She narrowed her eyes at me again.

  “I do,” I whispered.

  My heart sank. If love was all that was needed, why hadn’t it work then? Did I not love Monster strong enough? Were my feelings for him too weak to reverse the curse? I searched deep inside for them. Friendship, affection, trust, and love—warm, caring, and so strong it hurt.

  “I love him,” I confirmed with absolute certainty. “I love him with everything I have. I’ll do anything to make him free again. Please tell me there is something I can do.”

  She leaned back in her seat.

  “I’m afraid that’s all there is, Sophie.” Her voice softened with genuine sympathy, compelling me to believe her. “I was really angry that morning. Maybe, I fucked up some words while laying the curse in the first place?”

  Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them away, refusing to acknowledge my disappointment in public.

  “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.” Cecilia covered my hand with hers. “Please tell him I accept his apology. And I’m truly sorry that I can’t help him.”

  I exhaled a shuddered breath and nodded.

  “Thank you. I’ll tell him that. It’ll mean a lot to him.”

  She squeezed my hand lightly.

  “I’ve gotta go now, hon. My lunch break is over. I have to do another speaking engagement soon.”

  She tossed a few bills on the table and headed for the entrance of the lobby.

  “Cecilia,” I called out to her.

  She glanced at me over her shoulder, lifting an eyebrow in question.

  “What was his name?” I asked. “Do you remember?”

  “You don’t know his name?”

  “He refuses to tell me. He says that name is not important anymore. But I need to know.” I sighed. “His name is all he has left from his past.”

  She nodded.

  “Hunter.”

  “What?” Despite the heat, chill slithered along my spine and spread through to my heart.

  “I don’t know his last name.” Cecilia shrugged but added with confidence, “However, I never forgot his first. It’s Hunter.”

  Chapter 37

  I HEADED UP THE DRIVEWAY, expecting to catch the familiar flash of Monster’s brown fur between the tree trunks any minute.

  It wasn’t the usual feeling of warm excitement that reigned over me as I approached the house this time. Heavy dread and trepidation sat deep, weighing on my heart.

  I spent close to two days travelling back to him from New Orleans—two flights with a layover to get to Calgary, then two more flights to Rocky River, each airplane smaller in size than the previous the closer to town I got.

  It was late afternoon. I was tired, but I didn’t want to spend the night in Rocky River. I needed to see Monster. I needed him to tell me that his name was just some insane coincidence, even as deep in my mind I knew it was not.

  Hunter Reed, the man of my nightmares, may not be the only one with that first name. However, there were simply too many other things to ignore. Like Hunter, Monster came from a prominent family, with both parents passed away. Just like him, he went to university in New York State. The timeline of the events also added up.

  Everything simply could not be coincidental.

  While waiting at one of the airports on my way here, I looked up his name for the first time ever. Hunter Reed, the heir to a vast fortune after his parents’ untimely death, had not been seen in public for years.

  According to some accounts, he remained on the East Coast of The United States after dropping out of university for non-attendance. Others claimed he was spending his days in the wilderness of northern Canada, disillusioned with the world and living completely off the grid. Yet some reported having seen him in countries like Taiwan and Cambodia, doing humanitarian work under a number of fake names, living the legacy of his benevolent parents.

  The last pictures of him were from his first year of university, over six years ago. I stared at the painfully familiar face—breathtakingly handsome, if it wasn’t for the arrogant smirk and cold, detached expression in his eyes—and saw nothing of my Monster there.

  How could it be the same person?

  Monster would never lie to me.

  Yet he never shared his name.

  I stopped the truck in front of the entrance, not bothering to park it in
the garage.

  Monster was still nowhere to be seen, and I assumed that he must’ve gone to another part of the property, maybe to the river for a swim. In any case, he would have sensed me by now, and he’d be here soon.

  Anxious to do something, anything, about the dark suspicion gnawing at me from the inside, I went straight into the kitchen and grabbed a heavy meat cleaver out of the knife block then ran up the stairs to the octagonal glass observatory on top of the roof.

  Here, an antique writing desk stood next to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. I knew that Monster stored all correspondence I brought for him in the ornate hatch of the desk. He always locked it, and as expected the key was nowhere to be seen.

  I would have never done this before, invaded his privacy. His mail arrived at Bob’s Place in envelopes with my name on them, and I always delivered them unopened to him, not once considering looking at the contents.

  Now I had to know.

  I inserted the meat cleaver between the desktop and the cover of the hatch and wrenched it up with all force I had. The lock broke, letting me roll the cover open.

  The papers were organized in neat stacks. With shaking fingers, I shuffled through them, uncertain what exactly I was looking for. I needed indisputable proof—in black and white—to believe the unbelievable.

  The heavy front door downstairs slammed shut, and I heard Monster’s steps in the living room.

  “Sophie?” he called, his voice cheerful. My heart clenched for a moment with the desire to run to him, to let his arms wrap around me, to pretend none of this was happening right now, but then my gaze landed on the piece of paper in my hand.

  Our lease agreement, the last page signed Hunter Reed.

  Everything inside me went numb at seeing his name, the proof I searched for.

  Clutching the paper in my hand, I moved to the winding staircase that led from the observatory down to the second floor.

  “There you are.” Monster lifted his head at the noise of my footsteps. “What are you doing up there—” His voice cut off, as his gaze flicked from my face down to the piece of paper crumpled in my hand. “Sophie?”