Mark of Cain (Immortal Mercenary Book 1)

by Conner Kressley

  Looking up in the distance, another curious oddity caught my eye.

  Along several of the trees that formed the nearly impenetrable tree line surrounding the village, red circles had been drawn. And it looked to me like they had been drawn in blood.

  What the hell had we walked into?

  We neared the largest house there. It sat at the end of a cul-de-sac, glistening in pearlized white paint and golden accents like something out of a Dynasty fan’s wet dream.

  Large fountains shaped like cherubs spit water out into gazing pools in the front yard.

  Fun fact: Cherubs don’t actually look anything like the baby faced cuties art and history would have you believe. They actually look more like those freaky ass kids from Village of the Damned, the ones that made an entire generation of men in the 60’s seriously consider mass vasectomies.

  But that was neither here nor here.

  We settled in front of that huge house, glaring at it like it held the keys to our fate.

  And then we turned and walked right past it.

  Behind it, sat a single-wide camper trailer. It was streaked with rust, the windows were covered with crate paper, and there was a curtain hanging right where a door should be.

  We marched right toward it.

  “Seriously,” I said, my body tensing up. “You’re taking us to the castle?”

  “Castle?” Merry asked, looking at me like that must be a joke. “Don’t you mean behind the castle?”

  “In Romani culture, things are different,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “These huge mansions aside, importance isn’t judged by luxury or grandeur. It’s reserved for the old, for the wise. The young and foolish, they need more. Their minds are weaker and less wizened. This simplicity of this place, the age of it, it’s the greatest sign of Romani respect I've ever seen. It has to be for a king.”

  As if on cue, the curtain pushed back and a man, looking about as old as I actually was, came hobbling out. He had an old stick that doubled for a cane, and his kingly garments were a pain of overalls and a faded red baseball cap that used to signify his allegiance with the Atlanta Braves.

  All those surrounding us dropped to their knees, eyes pinned to the ground underfoot.

  “Your majesty,” one of them said, not daring to look up. “We have brought you the murderer and his companions.”

  “I can see that,” he said, slowly making his way toward us, using the cane to brace himself. “I can also see that he got the better of one of you.” He motioned to the man who had received a broken nose for his trouble back when we first arrived before looking up at me. “That’s the young for you.” He smiled a toothless grin. “They don’t bother learning anything until it’s too late for ‘em to use it. I s’ppose we’re all young to you though, aren’t we?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “My granddaddy told me about you. He was just a boy when you came here the last time, but he remembered you all the same.”

  “You are an O’Leary,” I said, moving just a fraction forward.

  One of the guards tensed, as if ready to knock me back, sevenfold curse or not, but the king nodded ever so slightly and kept him still.

  “Of course I’m an O’Leary. There’s never been nothing but O’Leary’s on the throne, murderer. And there never will be.”

  “Holding tight to that ‘murderer’ moniker, I see,” I said, folding my arms over my chest.

  “Well, I certainly can’t say your real name, can I? And why not?” he grinned in return. “It most assuredly fits.”

  “So do a lot of things,” I answered. “Did your grandfather happen to tell you what I did the last time I was here?”

  “He most certainly did,” the king said, leaning against his cane for balance. “He said you ate our food, and screwed our women, and just had a hell of a time.”

  I saw Merry’s jaw tighten as the words spilled out of the decrepit ruler’s mouth. This obviously wasn’t what she was expecting to hear.

  “That’s not all I did,” I answered.

  “He told me that too,” the king admitted. “He said you saved our people from a monster that would have destroyed us all.”

  “From The Black,” I clarified. “I roped it up and put it on a leash. I handed it to you and you just used it to try to kill me.”

  “Oh come on now.” He shook his head, jowls flapping as he moved. “We both know that wasn’t going to kill you. Nothing would. But I couldn’t just let you walk right in. You ain’t the only person trying to enter our sacred land, and after everything that’s happened, I can’t let anybody who might have been looking think you caught us with our fly down.”

  My mind flashed back to the blood red circles on the trees.

  “What?” I asked. “What is happening?”

  “Something that I wish to God wasn’t,” he admitted. The king of the gypsies nodded. “You saved us all those years ago. You kept our race alive, made this moment possible. And that’s why doing this is going to be so damned difficult.”

  “O’Leary,” I said, moving as far forward as I could. “What have you done?”

  “It’s those witches,” he shook his head. “That damned lunar coven. They got in somehow, and they brought monsters with them. They’re tearing us apart. Done killed twelve of our children. They’ll only stop one way.”

  “Of course,” I breathed. I should have known. The witches who blackmailed Merry knew what her situation was. They knew I’d likely come here to help her with it.

  Damn my beautiful, bleeding heart.

  “You’re going to give me to them?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “You and the woman,” he responded. “They want you both. I’m sorry.” He shook his head again. “But you won’t be going alone. I wish I could go with you, but as you can see, I’m too old and useless for things like that. You deserve that respect though, murderer. You deserve to be delivered by the best the Romani has to offer. So that those bitches know the severity of what they’re doing. And that’s what you’ll get. You’re going to be handed over to those criminals by the best the Romani has to offer; by my son, the heir to the kingdom.” He turned back and yelled toward the camper. “Patrick!” he yelled.

  A tall, handsome man with dark hair and matching eyes came walking out. He was big and muscular, strong looking.

  “Meet Patrick O’Leary, future king of the Romani, and your guide.”

  I heard Merry gasp and my heart dropped. “He said his name was Blancher,” she muttered.

  “Don’t say it,” I whispered back at her.

  “It’s him,” she ignored me, moving forward and whispering low enough to keep this conversation between us. “The prince guy, that’s the man I met all those years ago.” She swallowed hard. “That’s Amber’s father.”

  I groaned.

  “Of course he is.”

  20

  There was no talking after that. Of course, I tried to convince Old Man O’Leary that he wasn’t making any sense and that we could get through this. But there was no use.

  He just spun around on that little stick thing and went toddling back into his camper castle with all the fanfare of Queen Elizabeth outside Buckingham.

  My body tensed at the realization.

  I was going to be handed over to these witches, the lunar coven or something. The name didn’t ring a bell, but I couldn’t be sure I had never tangled with them before.

  After all, I did have countless centuries of mental backlogs to sift through.

  Still, what did they want from me? Whatever it was, given the fact that they were going to these lengths to get it, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be inclined to help them out.

  I mean, if you wanna borrow a cup a sugar, you walk up to someone and ask them for it. You don’t have them drugged, kidnapped, kidnapped again, and brought to an unspecified place inside a magically hidden ethnic community sitting on the side of a mountain.

  You go through that when the thing you’re after is precious, wh
en you know, without a doubt, that the person you’re trying to get it from would rather die than part with it.

  Unfortunately for this lunar coven, I couldn’t die. And I could count the things I’d care about parting with on one hand and still be able to type freely.

  Which, left me even more confused than ever.

  I did know one thing for sure though. I knew that I wasn’t just going to stand there and allow myself (or Andy and Merry for that matter) to be taken.

  I was going to fight. For whatever it was worth.

  Turned out it wasn’t worth much though, because I felt a hard hit against the back of my head, saw stars, and then nothing else.

  “Damnit,” I muttered, and slid to the ground.

  I woke in a cage. It wasn’t the first time that’s happened to me in my life. There were two instances in the Middle Ages, once during the colonization of the United States, and a particularly sticky situation in 1989 that I’d rather not think about right now.

  Still, I had always hated it when that happened in the past, and today was no exception.

  I moaned as I sat up, rubbing the back of my head and surveying my surroundings.

  Merry was sitting right beside me, holding a plastic bag full of water that very likely used to be ice. I figured she was holding it against me, given how cold my forehead was.

  Andy was on the other side of the cage, looking through the bars and paying much more attention to our surroundings than my injuries.

  Not that I blamed him. I’d heal, and while that was happening, we were still trapped in a cage that sat in the back of a moving wagon.

  Looking past Andy, I saw the road in front of us.

  We were being pulled by horses down a long dirt lane surrounded by dense forest on either side.

  A group of Romani walked alongside the wagon; not as many as before, but still enough to keep us in place.

  And Patrick O’Leary — future king of the gypsies, and current baby daddy of Merry’s little girl — sat in the wagon’s ‘driver’s seat’ holding the horses’ reigns.

  “Are you okay?” Merry asked, offering me the soggy plastic bag.

  “Better than the guy who did this to me,” I guessed, waving it away.

  “Started bleeding from his nose,” Andy said, not bothering to turn back to me. I guess he figured I was made out of tougher stuff than Merry did. “I think he’s all right though. They got him into a bed petty quick. I guess they figured it was worth it to keep you under control.”

  “What about you two?” I asked, looking from one to the other. “Did they hurt you?”

  Andy turned to me. His eyes was swollen near shut and he more than a few cuts and scrapes across his face.

  “We’re fine,” he said.

  “Jesus Christ!” I said, my teeth grinding together.

  I moved toward him, my hand outward for some reason.

  He pulled away.

  “I told you I’m fine,” Andy said.

  “The hell you are!” I answered, breathing loud and heavy. “They beat the fuck out of you!”

  “Only because I did it first,” he answered. He shook his battered head. “They were coming toward us. You were on the ground. I did what I thought I had to.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” I said, setting my jaw.

  Andy’s dad’s face flashed through my mind. I saw him lying there, bleeding to death in my arms. And then I heard the last words he ever said to me, the last promise he ever asked me to make.

  He wanted me to keep his son safe, to make sure his little boy didn’t have to go through the same crap he did.

  And look at us now. I was leading his son right into the shit storm.

  “Besides,” Andy said, grinning as much as he could. “You’re one to talk. Look at that damn thing on your face. I didn’t think you could get any uglier.”

  My hands went to my scar, to the mark the Big Guy put on me when he cursed me to this eternity. Could Andy see it too now?

  “I think it makes him look distinguished,” Merry said, smiling over at me. “Like he’s been through stuff.”

  “You have no idea,” I answered. They were the most truthful words I had maybe ever spoken. “But how are you seeing it, Andy?”

  “Probably for the same reason I can’t anymore,” Merry replied.

  Okay. That was weird.

  “Something about these woods,” Andy said, scooting toward me. He kept his voice quiet enough for this conversation to remain between us. “It must be messing with whatever makes people like me not be able to see the damn scar, and lets people like her do it.”

  “What do you mean ‘people like her’?” Merry asked, her nose scrunched up.

  “Annoying,” Andy answered. “I mean annoying people.”

  “It’s the lunar coven,” I answered. “I’ve been in these woods before. There was magic in them, but nothing like the kind that could screw with the shielding on my mark.” I looked forward again, this time much more intensely. “They did this, and I’d bet all the money in my 6th 401k that it’s the reason for the red circles around these trees.”

  I looked around. The red circles were everywhere, and now that I was closer, I could see what they really were.

  Moons.

  “What does that mean?” Merry asked.

  “It means they’re here, they’ve set up shop, and they’re strong as hell,” I answered.

  “That’s comforting,” Andy muttered, huffing loudly. “So, where does that leave us, other than halfway up shit creek?”

  “It leaves us thinking about our options,” I answered. “Including any trump cards we might have in our pockets.”

  “Got a machine gun back there I didn’t see?” Andy asked, and as I looked at him to answer, I winced at the state of his face again.

  Someone was going to pay for that, and they were going to pay a lot more than sevenfold.

  “No,” I said. “I’m talking about something more powerful.” I turned to Merry. “You been trading any longing looks with your one night stand over there?” I asked, looking forward at Patrick.

  She took a deep, depressing breath. “I… I don’t think he remembers me, actually.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Well, it was almost ten years ago, and it’s not like I look exactly the same as I did back then.” She looked downward. “He looked me right in the face and didn’t even blink.”

  “Then, he’s faking it,” I answered. “He remembers you.”

  “How do you know?” she asked, looking back up at me.

  “Because I’ve seen you, Merry,” I answered, looking her up and down. “Trust me, he remembers.”

  She stared at me for a second, but didn’t say anything.

  It was Andy who broke the silence.

  “Well, even if he does, it doesn’t seem like he’s prepared to do much about it.”

  “What do they want with me?” Merry asked, taking a deep breath. “I mean, I get why they want you. I mean, you’re you. But I’m just a person. I’m a freaking waitress for God’s sake. I’m not some special creature. I’m not Cai-”

  “No!” I screamed.

  “Let her say it,” Andy said, his eyes widening. “Let her say your name. It might actually help to get us out of here.”

  “Or it might send these trees down on top of us,” I answered. “It’s too unpredictable. We can’t risk it, especially with the kind of magic floating around in this place. There’s got to be another way.”

  Before I could ponder what that other way might be, the wagon pulled to a stop.

  I watched as Patrick stood up, turning to us and to his people.

  He was handsome guy, if you’re into that absurdly muscular, chiseled jaw type.

  A hush fell over the crowd, as he prepared to address them.

  He would lead them soon, the instant his father died. And they were all aware of what that would mean.

  “We’ve been through a lot,” he said. And even his voice was attractive.

>   Son of a bitch.

  “We’ve watched as monsters have destroyed our homes, clawed at our children, and terrorized our nights with their preying howls.”

  Claws? Preying howls?

  The lunar coven had sicced werewolves on the gypsies.

  “But it ends here. It ends now,” Patrick answered.

  I stood to meet him and something strange flashed through his eyes.

  He raised his hands high into the air. Opening his mouth, he yelled, “Incratis!”

  A flash of light shot through the air, and when it passed, every one of the gypsies Patrick was addressing were unconscious and lying on the ground.

  He rushed toward us, that curious flash now dominating his eyes.

  Pulling a key from his pocket, he opened the cage and climbed in.

  “Meredith!” he said, his voice shaking. “I can’t believe it.”

  He wrapped her into his arms and squeezed her tightly.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  I leaned closer to Andy. Smiling, I nodded.

  “Told you he remembered her.”

  21

  I stared at the unseemly show of affection going on in front of me. I had had a lot of one night stands in my life. Living both in ancient Rome and through the 60s will do that to you. But I had never — not ever — looked at one of my ‘hit ‘em and quit ‘em’ booty calls the way Patrick O’Leary was now looking at Merry.

  It was like she was a present he was about to open on Christmas morning. Or, the world’s best hot dog slathered in chili and cheddar cheese, or the Northern Lights or something.

  It was intense.

  “That’s enough,” I muttered before I could stop myself.

  I wasn’t quite sure why I said it, probably because I had never been the type of guy who had ever been comfortable with public displays of affections.

  Blame my massive parental issues for that one.

  Still, we had work to do, and I was pretty sure we weren’t going to get it done by pawing at Merry’s back like a lovelorn cat with a scratching post.