The Unfortunate and Odd Life of Bennett Monroe (The Wayfarers Chronicles #1)

by S. M. Baker

  Pushing his thoughts away violently he sunk into the chair to Nickola’s left, smiling tiredly at the man who looked like he was asleep, hunched over the large wood surface of the table. The same woman who’d led him to the guest room last night appeared at his side, so silent Bennett jumped, muttering.

  “Jeez.” When he finally spied her. In one hand was a pot, clutched in the other was an empty teacup, painted with delicate gold and green designs.

  “The master insists on coffee most mornings,” Bennett paused to allow himself a sliver of humor at her scandalized tone. “But I thought you might do the sane thing and have a good cuppa instead.” Bennett smiled at her, and let her pour the amber brew, which smelled strong and heady, into the delicate cup. Just as she lifted the spout and began to turn Bennett asked,

  “What’s your name?” The girl paused and looked at him for a long moment, her eyes sharp and shrewd. She must have found what she was looking for because a few moments later her eyes softened, the edges of them smoothing back into twin almonds on each side of her face.

  “You, sir, can call me Agatha.” She clacked her tongue, then disappeared through the door before Bennett had a chance to ask what was for breakfast. Nickola’s head snapped up, his eyes open, but blurred with sleep. Muttering a garbled

  “Mor--ing” his head stretched back down towards the table, before snapping up once again. When Bennett met Tesla’s eyes, they were far clearer than they had been only moments before.

  “Good morning Ben,” he said purposefully. “How did you sleep last night?” Reaching for the milk Bennett ignored Nickola for a moment under the pretense of pouring the white liquid into his tea.

  “I slept fine.” He answered as he gently returned the small pitcher to the table. As he stirred his tea, Bennett decided that it was pointless to try to correct Nickola on his incorrect use of his name. The man was obviously using it as some sort of dig, but although it rankled Bennett, it didn’t bother him enough to cause any more of a stir than his unusual presence already had. Just as Nickola opened his mouth again, Cynthia stalked into the room and sat down pointedly at Bennett’s side, glaring at her father resolutely. Tesla smiled indulgently at his daughter, but when she finally glanced away to pour milk in the teacup Agatha had settled in front of her Nickola shot him a murderous glare. Bennett didn’t know whether to be worried or to laugh. Choosing to laugh inwardly Bennett turned his focus vigorously to his tea and tried to fade into the background. He’d been in the shadows one way or another nearly his entire life, being held in the spotlight when it wasn’t life or death situation made Bennett supremely uncomfortable.

  “How did you sleep, Darling?” Huffing, Bennett watched with growing amusement as Cynthia pointedly glared at Tesla, face still downturned.

  “I slept fine, father.” Bennett could see the man wince, and for a moment he felt a stab of sympathy for the man, but it was gone with the next breath. Amusement tickled his chest as he watched Cynthia eviscerate Tesla with her eyes, lips pursed in annoyance.

  “So, are we going to talk about how you two ended up here, or am I to be left to make wild and inaccurate guesses as the morning drags on?” Cynthia shared an amused and exasperated look with Bennett, who caught the glare Tesla was giving him from the corner of his eye.

  “Yes Papa, I will tell you, when you decide to be an actual adult and stop staring at my partner like you want to lobotomize him with a scalpel. What was it with these people and threats that involved body parts? Bennett thought.

  “Oh, alright darling. I’ll behave. Now tell me what happened and why you showed up here with him, looking like you’d been dragged through a hurricane.” Bennett hadn’t thought they’d looked that bad, but then again he’d been more than distracted after their last assignment.

  “We had an assignment go south after completing it, and needed somewhere safe to rest for awhile.” Before her father could explode like he appeared to be ready to do Cynthia continued. “We’re fine Papa, I promise. There were some personal things that occurred on our assignment, and neither of us wanted to report back to our master anytime soon.”

  “What per-”

  “It’s not my story to tell.” Swallowing thickly Bennett was reminded once again of his mother's face, and how her eyes had filled with tears as she wrenchingly agreed to abandon him. A surge of resentment rose up inside him. They should have never left him; they should have kept him no matter what. He was their son for heaven’s sake.

  “Alright Darling, just be careful now, would you?” Tesla’s voice startled Bennett from his musings, and as he turned his eyes towards him, the resentment faded into guilt and a nearly overpowering sense of grief.

  “If you’ll excuse us now father, Bennett and I have something to talk about, and a master to report too.” Nodding Bennett watched through dull eyes as Cynthia rose gracefully from her chair and stalked passed him, letting her hand run across his shoulder lightly as she passed. When she exited the room, Bennett’s eyes following her in fascination a dark emotion that surging inside his chest. A pointed clearing of a throat jerked his eyes to Nickola, who was staring at him sharply.

  “Be careful with my daughter Ben, I would hate to have to kill you.” He didn’t sound like he would hate it. Bennett thought dryly. In fact, Bennett thought the man would very much enjoy it if Bennett gave him half the chance. Bowing his head politely he stood and exited the room in the same direction Cynthia had gone. Once he was out of sight his shoulders slumped, and he took a large gulp of air, rubbing his hand across his forehead.

  “Sorry about my father. He can be intense.” Eyeing her sharply Bennett watched as she melted from the shadows.

  “I think intense is an understatement.” Cynthia grinned at him, all feline edges and chaotic humor. Bennett and Cynthia swept through the large house, gathering what they needed and leaving behind things that they’d, or at least Cynthia, would come back for. Opening the large stained glass entry door, they stepped out into the milk-fogged streets that hung low in the air and danced around their feet as the damp cold sunk into their bones.

  ~~~

  They walked through the milk-white mist, carrying the appearance of half beings who were made of shadows and dreams. Perhaps they were made of shadows, adorned only with bright colors and memories that could be neither remembered or forgotten.

  “Do you ever wonder if we’re really in a padded room somewhere, with our hands strapped and bound, everything here just our minds way of coping with madness?” Sometimes Bennett wished it was just that: a fantasy. His heart twisted at the idea of Cynthia not being real.

  Scoffing loudly Bennett could hear Cynthia roll her eyes. “Like my mind would ever create someone like you to be my partner.” Choking a tired laugh Bennett was halted mid-step by their elusively familiar door; it was shoved into the side of a carriage—of all things—the chipped green contrasting with the crisp black material of the carriage. The large ornate wood door was jarring and bizarre in its current placement.

  “They couldn’t have put it on the wall of an empty ally?” Asked Bennett disbelievingly. The they he was referring to was really only the dragon secretary Margery.

  “Beggars can’t be choosers.” Cynthia sang, gathering the folds of her bright green dress into her hand, darting forward to wrench open the reluctant door with her free hand.

  “See you soon Darling.” Then--without warning--she threw herself in and disappeared into the darkness. Bennett remained hovering outside the odd doorway, dreading where it would lead. Taking a breath, he muttered under his breath

  “Here goes nothing,” and threw himself into the black abyss, to the master and his manipulations which awaited him on the other side.

  Chapter Seven

  As Bennett emerged on the other side of the doorway he found himself in the waiting room, the familiar click-clack of Margery’s fingernails echoing within the crumbling space. Cynthia was standing to his right, staring at the door, guarded eyes painted with a dull disinterested bo
redom.

  “Hello, Stranger.” He hummed, plastering a broad smile on his face. The click clack paused as Margery glanced up at him through the tops of her pointed glasses. Lips downturned she glared at Bennett.

  “Mr. Monroe.” Her eyes carried ire in the form of a bright flame. Bennett shrugged, smiling even wider as he dug his nails into the back of his neck. He knew he shouldn’t bait her like he was, but Bennett honestly couldn’t help it. If he didn’t do something Bennett feared he’d rip right out of his skin. He caught Cynthia’s exasperated look as she flicked her eyes toward him before trailing them lazily back to the door. She seemed to understand, despite the fact she thought he was acting silly. It was amazing what Bennett could now read on her face, where before it was all blankness and cat-like amusement. He couldn’t believe how much he’d been ignorant to, although large parts of Cynthia remained—and he suspected always would--a mystery.

  “How long until he’s ready for us?” Margery glanced at Cynthia, expression marginally less annoyed, although her pointed features always seemed—at least somewhat—exasperated. Glancing down at the surface of her desk Margery didn’t look back up. Instead, she refocused her eyes on the typewriter, the steady stream of click, clack beginning once again.

  “You’re scheduled for an appointment in ten minutes.”

  “Great,” Bennett muttered quietly under his breath, the sharp flick of Margery’s eyes revealing that he hadn’t been as quiet as he’d first believed. Time passed slowly. Bennett attempted to amuse himself by solving riddles in his head, but after the fourth one, his head hurt so he was forced to turn his attention back to the crumbling room, eyes catching on a large crack that revealed some of the inner wall. Cynthia seemed perfectly content and relaxed. Bennett envied her ability to appear at least calm, while he felt like an exposed nerve, ready to snap.

  “He will see you now.” Margery rose from her chair, smoothing her knee length pencil skirt as she did, then walking to one of the far doors and delicately pulling it open. Bennett strode forward first, the bundle of nerves tightening around his chest prompting him to action, limbs shaky with energy. As they entered the damp metal room, Bennett found the suspended throne, a contortion of metal and red velvet, just how they’d left it. He wanted to rip the entire room apart and strangle his master with his bare hands. Shoving the violent emotion away he instead focused on taking deep pointed breaths, trying to force himself to disappear systematically. Usually, this came with a very little effort, but this time Bennett found the task momentously difficult. Still, after a few minutes of struggle he managed, and in place of the anger and grief twisted up inside his chest, he instead was filled with a dull calm.

  “Good, I was afraid I might have to knock you out to prevent you from doing something foolish.” Cynthia drawled quietly just before a tall, almost sickly thin man melted from the shadows. His hair was a bright hue of bronze and his eyes liquid, bottle blue.

  “Hello, Friends.” It was the roll of the r and the way his eyes lit upon Cynthia that alerted Bennett to the fact that this was no ordinary mouthpiece if he was a mouthpiece at all. The suspicion that this was their master's real face weaved its way inside his chest.

  “Master,” Cynthia purred, dropping into a deep curtsy, knees hovering just above the concrete beneath the folds of her bright dress. Their master grinned down at Cynthia, pleasure seeping from his shark-like smile. While a smile, though sometimes annoying, look good on Cynthia’s face, their master simply appeared deranged, and Bennett supposed he was.

  “Master.” He bowed carefully, tempted to stand where he was, and stare at the blue eyes now focused on him in contention. Teeth grinding together he turned his face upward to find his master's expression pleased, though muted compared to when he stared at Cynthia. Bennett wanted to get her away from him as fast as he could. Something about the way he gazed at her made Bennett’s skin crawl. He could feel her unease growing at the silent perusal, but she admirably held it in, instead of carrying the appearance of a curious feline. Whatever temper he was in over his parents was gone, as if the breeze had simply blown it all way. Along with it, his whiney and childish attitude melted from him, leaving Bennett returned to himself once again.

  “It’s nice to meet you in person master.” Blue eyes refocused on him in curious surprise. A smile bleeding of madness curled at his lips before he laughed softly.

  “I knew I liked you for a reason.” He turned sharply on the heel of his shiny black dress shoes, his dark coat flaring out around him. Carelessly their master seated himself on the bright throne, head rested in his palm, legs crossed casually. Eyes shimmering, he grinned down at them.

  “You may call me Eryx.” Bennett bit his tongue with such violence he thought it might begin to bleed. Their master seemed to believe he was granting them a great honor like they were ants that could be crushed beneath his foot, not as living and breathing human beings. He hadn’t expected much else from Eryx, but it rankled him non the less.

  “Thank you Eryx.” Nearly hissing the words through his teeth Bennett stretched an uncomfortable smile across his face, expression one of tense politeness.

  “Today I have an assignment of great importance for you.” Snapping his fingers Margery appeared from the shadows, carrying a familiar manilla envelope. He had to take a second glance at her as she handed him off the envelope. She appeared to have a red stain painted across her cheekbones. When she fluttered her eyes upwards towards Eryx who sat casually observing from his twisted throne, Bennett felt the urge to be sick. That someone, anyone, would ever like that man—Bennett used the term lightly—was beyond reason and words. Curtsying clumsily--particularly in comparison to Cynthia--Margery turned with a flourish, glaring at him as she disappeared into the shadows.

  “Forgive her, she’s a wonderful secretary, but horrific at just about anything else: particularly dealing with people.” Then why did you hire her, if her job was dealing with people? Bennett thought.

  “Did you say something?” For a breath Bennett froze, he even lost track of his breathing, though he was alive, so he must have continued to do that at least. Had Eryx been able to hear his thoughts? Had he said them aloud?

  “No, I didn’t say anything.” Bennett choked hastily, wincing internally at how guilty he sounded.

  “Hmm.” Flicking through another page of the file with an opulent motion Eryx ignored Bennett, much to his relief.

  “I want you to ensure that a treaty of sorts occurs and that nothing interrupts its place in history.”

  “Where, Milord, does this treaty occur?” Cynthia purred, voice molten with warmth. Eryx turned his gaze towards her, everything about him charmed with pleasure.

  “In Scotland, before it was known as such. I believe the barbarians, as they were referred to themselves as the Picts.” Bennett inhaled sharply through his nostrils. They’d been sent back on many missions, but the people that their master was referring to were very strong. That was putting it lightly. They were more than strong; they’d chased out the Roman army, and were sole holders to their land until the British finally managed to subdue them. They still resented their loss to this day. He knew from personal experience what it was to come between a Scotsman and something he desired.

  “Thank you for the honor of entrusting us with this task.” Bennett bowed with a flourish, walking to Cynthia he waited as she curtseyed and then rose.

  “Good luck. I expect good news when you return.” Eryx called as they walked towards the suspended door that had melted from the ground at their masters flourish. Yanking open the doorway Bennett herded Cynthia through first, instinct telling him not to allow Eryx to glance at her any more than he already had. He could feel her shoulders relax marginally. Taking one last glance over his shoulder, Bennett spied their master gazing at him with a calculated look curved across his face before he disappeared into the abyss.

  Chapter Eight

  They emerged on a cliff, the highlands around them rich with green, and wet with the
spring rain. As soon as they stepped out of the darkness Cynthia raced ahead of him and began to pace wildly, face a flurry of anger.

  “I can’t believe that vile, despicable, horrid thing..” Cynthia continued ranting, but Bennett lost track of the words. Letting her continue to vent he moved to observe the area around them trying to figure out where they were exactly. He was so busy with his observation that he’d missed Cynthia go quiet, and the mischievous smile that curved across her lips as she stared contemplatively towards his back.

  “Ack,” Bennett coughed when he felt arms wrap around his neck, and the distinct weight of another person hang from his shoulders. The weight suddenly lifted. Bennett spun around and found Cynthia laughing, a wide and free smile stretched across her lips.

  “What was that for?” Bennet asked, rubbing the column of his throat. Loath as he was to be the one to cause the smile to leave her face, he’d really rather not be strangled at odd intervals for her amusement and joy.

  “You looked far too moody.” Bennett wanted to point out that moody was relative considering the last few days, but remained silent.

  “Well thank you for surprising me.” He muttered with sarcasm, inwardly pleased by the smile that curved her lips.

  “So,” Cynthia drawled, drawing out the word as she playfully jaunted in his direction. “What did the file say about the two...Clans, was it that they are supposed to be joined?”