by S. M. Baker
As Cynthia made herself comfortable--in what Bennett had come to call his chair—he marched into the kitchen; partially to gather his wits, and the other to avoid Cynthia and the emotions and panic twisted around his heart. With deft fingers and practiced ease he set about making tea, letting the familiarity of the action soothe his frayed nerves.
“Do you have any food?” Cynthia called from the living room. As he reached up to rummage through the open shelves above the countertop, Bennett couldn’t help the surge of frustration that rose in his chest. They were both a bit--putting it lightly—frayed, minds dulled by the exhaustion and upheaval of the past few days. That's how Bennett saw things, though he couldn’t necessarily speak for Cynthia, though he thought he was right in his summary of the state of things. Settling his hands on the dark wooden countertop, Bennet breathed through his nostrils.
“Yes, as I’m sure I mentioned before: I have food.” There was still a ribbon of frustration that leaked through his voice, even though he’d done his best to hide it. Overall, however, considering his mood Bennett was pleased with how neutral his voice sounded. He heard Cynthia sigh deeply, then the click, clack of her boots.
“I was just asking. I apologize if being chased by monstrous creatures and sword wielding Scots gives me an appetite.” Amusement licked away at the annoyance huddled inside his chest. Bennett ignored her and returned to rummaging through his shelves until he finally managed to find the half empty box of shortbread cookies he’d been searching for, gifted to him by the last date he’d stupidly allowed to come over. It had ended in the usual disaster, and when she stormed out midway through dinner, he hadn’t bothered to return the box, instead of shoving it away with the rest of the remains of dinner.
Flipping on the burner, the copper kettle was settled atop, Bennett gathered together the remains of the pre-prepped and boxed food he had left, shoving them all on a large platter-like plate, a chip wedged in the edge.
“Go back to the living room.” Huffing in response Bennett turned to watch Cynthia stalk from the kitchen, curls bouncing almost angrily in response to her harsh steps.
A few moments later, food laden in his arms and clutched between his fingers Bennett entered the living room, careful reluctance hidden beneath the blankness of his face. Settling the food and tea onto the small coffee table Bennett seated himself on the couch, across from where Cynthia posed quite dramatically in Bennett favorite chair.
“Are we really not going to talk about it?” Sighing, cheese and cracker hovering just outside of his mouth Bennett slumped. Settling the food back on the plate he threw his head back, eyes gazing at the ceiling before they fell closed.
“Didn’t I say we would talk about it.” He knew he wasn't patient enough, but the last few days had torn that from him, and he hadn’t yet managed to gain it back. Sighing again Bennett scrubbed his eyes. Then with a large breath, he tilted his head and met Cynthia’s gaze head on.
“We both know if we return, having failed an assignment Eryx will kill us, or do something far worse. We either need to fix it or find some way to destroy him, before he destroys us first.”
“I always knew he was power mad but..” Cynthia trailed off, looking truly distressed. Bennett felt his ire falter in the wake of the fear played so preeminently across her face.
" I know, neither of us wanted to contemplate just how insane he really is." He sucked in a sharp breath of air.
"If you have any idea of how to get out of this I’m all ears." Bennett had no idea how they were supposed to avoid, or destroy, someone who could walk through time. He felt foolish for not considering this, or something of a similar nature, happening and preparing for the outcome. If he'd practiced, and spent more time devoted to learning the limits and functions of his power instead of trying to have a normal life maybe things wouldn't be as dire as they were.
"I have someone we could talk to, who might know more about Eryx, and how to stay alive, and better yet destroy him." Cynthia paused, biting her lip. "But you're not going to like who it is, and their existence in your present." Bennett felt tendrils of curiosity twist into his mind. Visibly shaking his head, he sent Cynthia a tense, half guilty grin.
"At least now we have a starting point." They smiled tensely at each other and finished the remains of the spread of cheese, fruit, and crackers. Wiping at his mouth, Bennett took a gulp of tea and settled himself back into his seat.
"So where can we find this mysterious person whom I shall dislike?" Cynthia rolled her eyes, swallowing the remains of the last bits of cracker and cheese.
"Downtown, where he usually resides when he's here. "
"Shall we?" Bennett asked, gesturing grandly towards the door, his eyes catching a glimpse of Pythagoras glaring at him from the corner of the room as he stalked towards the back of the house, tail flickering in annoyance. Bennett watched as Cynthia visibly dragged herself together, regretful that he'd been the one to remind her just how damned they really were.
"I know, neither of us wanted to contemplate just how insane he really is." He sucked in a sharp breath of air.
"If you have any idea of how to get out of this in all ears." Bennett had no idea how they were supposed to avoid, or destroy, someone who could walk through time. He felt foolish for not considering this, or something of a similar nature, happening and preparing for the outcome.
Chapter Eleven
Bennett stared at Tesla, who was seated unassumingly in the small tea shop, sipping carelessly from the mug placed before him.
“Well?” Dragging his eyes to Cynthia’s impatient form, Bennett had the sudden urge to shake her.
“Why is Nickola Tesla sitting in a tea shop, in the year twenty-sixteen?” Rolling her eyes Cynthia huffed loudly, then bit softly at her lower lip, a look of insecurity flickering across her face, then fading just as quickly as it had appeared.
“I’ll let him explain that.” Stepping forward she pushed the heavy wooden door open as it groaned in protest. Pausing, she glanced back over her shoulder.
“Well? Are you coming in or not?” Then Cynthia let the door close reluctantly behind her. Taking a deep breath Bennett followed after, shoving his hands in the large pockets of his jacket as he entered the shop, and met Tesla’s grim eyes from across the room.
~~~
“Hello, again Ben.”
“Bennett actually,” he ground, meeting Cynthia’s eyes for a moment before they returned to the man who should have been long into his grave.
“When my daughter said you were one of her associates I didn’t quite believe her. I hate it when I’m wrong.” Bennett remained silent, wrapping his hands around the mug the server placed heavily on the table in front of him.
“No offense Tesla, but I hardly think we’re here to discuss the merits and disadvantages of you being wrong.” Eyes growing stormy Nickola stared at Bennett in silence. After a long period of stillness Tesla broke out into deep bellyaching laughter. Bennett could have hit him. Every eye in the small shop slid in their direction. Cynthia looked just as uncomfortable as Bennett felt, though she had a resigned look painted across her face.
“Oh, my dear, dear Boy. You’ll do nicely, nicely indeed.” Not sure what the cryptic words meant, nor able to keep up with the man's rapid moods Bennett ignored Tesla’s words and instead gulped down another mouthful of London Fog, trying to keep the scathing words already on the tip of his tongue from spilling into the open air.
“So explain to me how a man who should be dead is alive and sitting in a Portland tea shop?” Bennett paused unable to help the next words from spilling from his lips.
“You look spry for over one-hundred-and-forty.” There was no answer, and both men sat staring at one another for a long time sipping their tea, on Bennett’s part muttering witty insults in his head. Cynthia’s small hand crawled its way up softly to the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Glancing away from her father Bennett turned his attention to Cynthia, only to find her gazing out the window, her dress s
urprisingly not drawing any more attention than a pretty woman usually garnered. As surprised as Bennett should have been he wasn’t, this was Portland, and weird had been its moniker for as long as he had known it.
“Should we take this discussion somewhere more...discrete?” Resisting the urge to snort Bennett nodded, a grim expression filtering across his face. The city was alive, people on the street in droves walking to and fro. Diving into the madness with gusto Bennett didn’t wait for Tesla to follow; he simply grasped Cynthia’s hand and disappeared into the chaos.
“Bennett.” Cynthia hissed, voice muffled amidst the sounds of life that cried and shouted out around them.
“What?” He muttered back, a roguish smile curled on his lips.
“My father has no idea where we’re going.”
“He’s a smart man. He’ll figure it out.” They traveled like they were in a Doctor Seuss book all the way back to Bennett’s small shop. One left, two rights, back twice, and then left again. The combinations were endless, and the people continued to crowd the streets until they reached the block Bennett’s shop was on, which was eerily silent. A block behind them Bennett spied Tesla’s rapidly approaching frame. Pointing with one finger, he tapped Cynthia on the shoulder to gain her attention.
“See? I told you he would follow.”
“That's not the point Bennett.”
“Then what is?” Cynthia took a frustrated breath and then took one look at Bennett and his teasing smile before deflating physically.
“Nice place you’ve got here Boy.”
“I’m not even going to ask how you know it's mine.” Bennett hurried towards his door, hand cold without the warmth of Cynthia’s small palm clasped in his own. As he unlocked the entryway to his home Bennett took a moment to observe the strange woman who knew more, and less, about him than anyone else. She was still a puzzle to Bennett, all the bits and pieces of her scattered throughout time and space, but oddly--or profoundly--he found her presence and companionship more comfortable than almost anyone else; even if he wanted to pull his hair out over her myriad of moods and catlike enthusiasm for chaos. The three trudged through the shop and up the stairs, although Bennett noted with satisfaction Tesla eyeing one of his rarer items with curiosity and interest before he disappeared up the stairs. They settled themselves on the couch and chair respectively, unleashing pythagorus’s wrath as he was chased from his spot lounging on the leather chair, backed by a faded wool blanket.
“So, where shall we begin?”
“I always find the beginning the best place to start.” Tesla sighed, looking disgruntled.
“ My Dear Boy, you have no imagination.” Bennett sighed, running a frustrated hand through his hair.
“Tesla.” He watched in satisfaction as Nickola’s shoulders slumped, and as he raised his head to gaze at the ceiling.
“Alright, Boy, I shall start at the beginning; even if the beginning was quite some time ago indeed.” Taking a shuddering breath, Nickola cleared his throat, then began to speak.
“My story—all our stories really—began before we were born, in a time ruled by kings and blood, sacrifice and war.”A shuddering laugh left his lips. “Everything started with the twelve. Twelve men who ruled, craved and breathed power, twelve who had the knowledge to conquer the world. Still, they were wise enough to know they needed another, a face to rule and do their bidding—even as unaware of it as he was—thus came Caesar, ruler of the Roman Empire, adopted father of Eryx, our elusive and power-mad master.” Bennett felt the air leave his lungs. “You are the son of the first of the twelve, the most powerful of them all. Eryx is set on destroying you, controlling you, because he has but a drop of power, compared to the ocean that dwells within you.”
“If that's true, then what about my parents? The ones I was forced to convince to abandon me?”
“Do you honestly think your father wouldn’t have the power to place you where their dead baby lay, just after he’d been placed in the hospital bed?”
“My father killed a baby?” Sickness swelled in his stomach at the thought of it.
“No, the baby had already passed from the world, your father simply placed you inside his bed and altered things, so the nurses were adamantly convinced you were their baby. Besides, your parents were a descendant—a distant one—of your father's cousin, so he hoped when your powers began to appear it wouldn’t be so shocking to them.” Bennett had the urge to scream. Just when he’d believed to have found his place, his history, even that was ripped out from beneath his feet.
“So you knew my father?” He asked quietly, something like betrayal twisting in his chest. At least the parents he’d found had to be convinced to abandon him. What excuse did his real father have? Not that Bennett wanted to believe what Tesla said, but he had a sinking feeling he was telling the truth, as much as Bennett despised it.
“No, I know your father.” The distinction was small, but it ripped everything Bennett had ever known or had come to know, to shreds.
“What?” Bennett heard himself whisper, not fully aware of what he was doing, mind dull and far away.
“Although he never told me about you. Still, the resemblance his is startling, except you don’t have his eyes.” Some part of him felt relieved that his eyes were his own. He nearly laughed at himself for the thought. Here he was again unknown, and unknowing of where he had come from.
“Why was I left with them?” It hurt to acknowledge that the people he’d come to believe to be his flesh and blood weren’t really his parents. Not that they weren’t related, but he doubted that would have made a difference when they found out the truth. His father had even stolen their grief from them.
“I can only tell you guesses. I have no knowledge of the varied reasons that pushed him to his actions. I can, however, tell you that he had many, many enemies, and when Eryx decided to commit himself to the twelves destruction, I gather he most likely didn’t have much choice.”
“Just who is Eryx? Really.”
“He was—no is—Cesar’s adopted son.” There was a pause as Tesla let the truth of his words to settle into the tense room. “I’m not sure of the hows, or the why’s, but he has the ability—on a far smaller scale—to travel through time. When he realized that his adopted father was destined to die, assassinated by his own people, and then further realized that The Twelve were really only using his father...Eryx went a bit mad. He started to twist and change time, changing things in the past to effectively change the present, and future. However, he didn’t have the power to ensure change the way you do. So, he tore apart the timeline, and used those related to the twelve in order to find you and use you.”
“But why is my power so different.” Bennett heard himself ask, still feeling like he wasn’t present.
“Because you don’t have the backlash that the majority of us have. Most who can rip through time feel the effects of reality changing. You, however, are immune to that.” Bennett’s gaze turned towards Cynthia, his chest knotted in worried concern.
“I don’t feel the effects.” She gave freely, looking in confusion towards her father, who smiled knowingly.
“That's because he’s been protecting you from the fallout.”
“B-but how? I didn’t even know there were such effects.”
“I’m not sure entirely. I heard your father once mention something about protecting your mother, but it wasn’t my place to ask.”
“Then pray tell, where is my father? So I can ask him myself.” Bennett drawled, feeling a terrifying blankness engulf his chest. Tesla’s expression dimmed.
“I’m not sure. I haven’t seen him in more than ten years. The last time we met he was running through the streets of New York, a jagged smile on his lips, being trailed by the woman I had come to know as your mother, his wife.”
“However, returning to the main point. You need to kill our dear master, before he gets rid of you, and anyone else that hinders him on his path towards his goal: the reconstruction of the Rom
an Empire.” Bennett shuddered at Tesla’s words, his complicated family momentarily forgotten. Many great--and terrible--men had tried the same thing. At least they were held tight in time’s grasp, unable to reach into the past and pull their goals to the future. Bennett could picture the madness Eryx would bring if he could stop his Empires—and fathers—destruction. Some things needed to be destroyed so that better things could take their place. Without its destruction, who knows what else of history—that was out of his—and everyone's grasp—would change. The war and bloodshed with Eryx as a silent leader and partner would be astronomical.
“And how do we destroy someone who has so much power, and has been working towards his goals for the past two thousand years, give or take?” Bennett could picture the man who had seated himself on the twisted throne, the madness and hunger for power that had lit his eyes, and bled into his expression. He wouldn’t hesitate to destroy anyone that got in his way.
“Despite what he has led everyone, including himself to believe, he is mortal. He can be killed. Here.” Tesla reached into his side, pulling out a long dagger from thin air, smiling humorously at Bennett’s startled gaze.
“Learning to use pocket dimensions is vastly helpful.” He supplied, a modicum of his jovial attitude returning. His expression dimmed to graveness, and he continued to speak. “This dagger is dipped in a cocktail of poison that will kill him. All you have to do is leave a mark.” A dark smile twisted across Bennett’s face as he, Cynthia and Tesla plotted and planned to kill their master.
