Mercy (29 page)

“Kla … you need to rip it out of his head or I’m going to stab him through the heart.” Cossisea sounded sad, matter of fact, and innocent all at the same time. She stared at her sword, her eyes filled with a sharp Ruby Red.

Pux turned white, and he leaned into himself, shivering violently. His teeth chattered as Klavotesi rubbed his fingers together and pressed them against Pux’s temples. The blazing ache across his mind turned into unbearable pain. Pux collapsed and Klavotesi knelt with him. It felt like branches stabbed him, reaching into his brain and pulling things out. He closed his eyes unable to focus, think, or act as Klavotesi took everything from the past few months. He took the days on Avristar, finding Shimma, becoming human, being with Kaliel. He took all of it and Pux couldn’t stop him.

After what seemed like forever it was over, black and red eyes looming over him, a snicker rising from the Ruby one, disappointment and surprise from the Obsidian one. Pux wanted to pass out, he wanted to transport, and he needed to be in his bed. He craned his neck, muscles feeling stiff as a board. They retreated to the middle of the road and clasped hands, the red sword slashing through the air, ripping through the fabric of time and space.

Pux dropped his head into the shale gravel, little rocks poking him in the back of the head and neck, not making anything any better. He made a terrible mistake. The darkness around him was like a thick rope, making it impossible to see anything. Headlights appeared some time later, passing Pux like he was road kill. He held his hand up, noticing reddish brown fur on his knuckles. His eyes widened and without another thought he focused on his bedroom in Thunder Bay and squeezed his fist. He didn’t know he was doing it until he felt the bed beneath him and passed out.

O O O

Shimma sat at the tiny two-person table, swirling her scotch on the rocks. Lately the apartment had a smell she couldn’t get rid of—teenage boy—and she resorted to meeting her clients in run down little cafes like this one. The table was uneven, rocking back and forth on its legs every time she shifted in the uncomfortable eighteenth century upholstered chair.

She wore traditional long flowing skirts and babushka, not looking to impress the guy but wanting to be the part. She knocked back the rest of the scotch, savoring the burning feel in her throat. Her phone buzzed and she kicked her purse, hoping it would stop. From her vantage point she had a good view of the front door, red peeling paint, loose handle. A guy in a business suit came in, went to the front counter to order and looked around. Shimma glanced at the cream-colored tabletop and bent to her purse, looking for the beat up cards she carried in a navy blue cloth. Anyone that pulled tarot cards out of a box was a fraud. She had this deck since the middle ages, and even though the cards were worn she preferred them over the new crap on the shelves in bookstores.

How tarot cards ended up in everyday stores was beyond her. She remembered when tarot was sold on the black market in the underground occult shops in Europe and India. She remembered when it was forbidden knowledge, and those who did manage to acquire a deck were considered mystics of the finest caliber. These days any idiot could learn tarot and pretend to know what they were doing.

Shimma didn’t necessarily need the cards but they added a nice touch to the table. The guy slid into the chair and she glanced at her purse, the phone still buzzing like it had caught some virus. She held up a hand to the guy. “One moment,” she said; her Russian accent thick. She grabbed the phone and clicked the answer button. “Vat za hell do you vant?”

“Help.” The line went dead.

Shimma would recognize Pux’s small voice anywhere. She glanced at the guy, contemplating the severity of Pux’s cry for help and her need for money. “Vat is your problem? I don’t have all day.”

The guy looked nervous. “Um, I think my wife is cheating on me. I wanted—”

Shimma narrowed her eyes. “You bring money?” She held her hand out and he filled it with a thick wad of bills. The phone buzzed again, and she sighed, scrunching the money in her fist and pilfering through the man’s mind. “This not worth my time. She cheats a lot. You cheat a lot. Leave her, you be happier.” She gathered her purse, shoving the money into it and stormed out of the café.

The apartment was only a couple blocks away. She took the steps two a time, everything from her necklaces, bracelets, and coins sewn into her skirt jangling. She pulled the keys out of her purse but the door wasn’t locked. She pushed it open and found Pux sitting at the kitchen table, head in his hands, shoulders shaking in full on sobs.

He wasn’t human anymore.

Hair ran the length of his arms. His ears were perky and pointed. Strands of reddish brown human hair wafted to the floor, piled around him. She dropped her purse near the shoe rack, her mouth open. She flicked on the kitchen light, the single chandelier hanging above the table coming to life.

“What the fuck happened?”

He looked at her, his hairy face splotched with red, bloodshot eyes. He sniffled and dragged the back of his hand across his mouth and nose. “They came for me.” He hiccupped and buried his head in his hands.

Shimma felt something like lightning lance into her. She stomped towards the table and slammed her open hand on it, completely pissed off. She knew this would happen. “Who?”

Pux opened his mouth to speak but words didn’t come out. She ripped a chair out from the table and sat, her face looming near Pux’s. He caved, holding his arms to his chest as another spasm rippled through him. “The Ruby and Obsidian Flames.”

Shimma stood. “Fuck no.” She paced, not wanting to face them. They were the worst of the various threats. Zephyrs, Grindmars, Vultures, and Daed were easy. Most of them were part of terrorist groups or enlisted to bounty hunters. Vultures were uniquely grotesque but the necromancers among them were easily defeated. Cossisea and Klavotesi were a destructive force squared. Put together they could wipe out the east coast with a flick of their wrist. She didn’t want to see what kind of destruction they would cause.

She didn’t wait for Pux to explain. She stormed down the hall and grabbed the suitcase out of the closet, frantically packing her things. Anything the airport wouldn’t look at her funny for. She ripped off the gypsy wear and tossed it in, pulling on jeans and a plain white tee. Pux appeared in the doorway.

“You’re leaving?” His voice was crackly and shrill.

She glanced at him. “You better get back to Avristar. Where’s the whistle?”

Pux glanced at his hands. “It was in the Camaro.”

Shimma stopped, her eyes round. She put her hands on her hips. “Where’s the Camaro?”

“At the bottom of a lake … they ran me off the road.”

Shimma gritted her teeth, more than livid. “How the fuck did you
get
here?”

Pux sunk to the floor, banging his head against the wall as he fell. His legs were still human legs, clad in baggy jeans, feet exposed. “I transported.”

Shimma gulped. She could take a cab to the airport, the car didn’t really matter but she was pissed he ruined it. Her stuff was in there too … nothing she desperately needed, but stuff she would have liked to take with her. She continued packing. “We’re all going to die,” she muttered under her breath. She kicked Pux’s leg, trying to get him to move out of her way as she rolled the suitcase down the hall.

“You’re really leaving?” Pux struggled to his feet, straightening out the sweater around his transmuting body. Another ripple moved through him and another coat of fur appeared on his arms. She didn’t want to watch the transmutation in reverse—it wasn’t nice.

She stopped by the door, sliding on a pair of flats. “The rent is paid until June.”

Pux lumbered to the end of the hall, falling against the wall, one arm clutching the other. “How am I supposed to get home?”

Shimma shrugged. “There are other ways to call the boat.”

“I can’t let anyone see me like this! You have to help me—stop it—make me human again.”

Shimma scoffed. “It’s too late for that.”

Pux exploded. “How am I supposed to help her? They’re coming for her—they know everything! They took it out of my head.” He stuttered and slunk down the wall, twitching as his fingers burst into claws. He let out a loud cry and punched the wall with his fist, leaving a dent.

Shimma steeled herself. “You don’t get it do you? They’ve been waiting. Kaliel is more of a threat to herself and everyone around her than she is to the fucking Valtanyana. They’ll come
after
she causes another apocalypse.”

Pux gulped, his brown eyes shifting to the luminescent caramel eyes of a feorn. “If they’re not coming, why are you running?”

Shimma pulled open the door. “I’m running from her.” She left Pux writhing on the floor in the middle of the transformation. She clamored down the steps, unwilling to look back.

She couldn’t do this again.

She thought Krishani might look at her, might form a friendship with her, but his entire focus was on Kaliel. Shimma let out a growl. She didn’t know what it was about Kaliel that kept him possessed. She turned him into something that died over and over again in a never-ending cycle of pain.

And he still loved her.

There was special torture reserved for things like Kaliel. Shimma had to leave before she got mad enough to capture Kaliel and skin her alive.

***

Chapter 27
Hermit Crab

Krishani hunched over his bed, binder spread below him, pen in hand, painfully transcribing assignments he was behind on. His mind was so fractured lately, between all the blacking out from meds and being attacked by Vultures and Klavotesi he wasn’t altogether sure he had a lot of hours of consciousness left. Every time sleep encompassed him he worried he wouldn’t wake up.

Hands smoothed over his shoulder blades, working out kinks in his muscles. Kaliel made studying and writing stupid assignments much better. He tilted his head, wincing at the pressure of her fingers tiptoeing along a thick knot. She smiled. “Don’t tense, you’re making it worse,” she murmured pushing her finger into the spot. A sharp pain ran up the back of his neck and he dropped the pen, a gasp escaping his throat.

She laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “You’re impossible you know that right?” Her hands fell off his back and she laid on the bed beside his binder, her feet on his pillows, hazel eyes boring into him.

He picked up the pen and tried to focus on the blurred page. “Remind me why I’m doing this?”

She bent her knees and stretched her arms above her head, making her t-shirt rise a little, showing off her belly button. He wanted to be doing something else with her in his room, but Elwen was home and the walls were thin. He really wanted Elwen to get a grip and leave. Kaliel yawned. “So we can graduate together.”

Krishani groaned. “Why is it so important to you?”

Kaliel fixed him with a look. “We’re so close. After thirteen years of excruciating work, we have something to show for it.” She sat, their faces close, and it looked like she was about to kiss him but his phone buzzed and he pulled away, wanting to answer it in case it was Dr. Grant with test results. The radiation treatment on the weekend left him exhausted and even though she came over whenever she could, half the time he was lost in the inky blackness of a dreamless sleep. He put the phone to his ear, heavy rasping on the other end. He bolted off the bed, holding up a hand to Kaliel as he trailed out of the bedroom into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

“Who is this?” he hissed, hoping she couldn’t hear. He put a hand to his other ear, listening close, but the rasping turned to wheezing and ended in a fit of coughs. “Come on, talk to me,” he growled; hoping he could get something before whoever it was died on him. He assumed it was another Vulture, another message from Darkesh, although last he checked, they didn’t know how to use cell phones.

“I did something bad,” Pux said, his voice quiet but clear.

Krishani’s eyes widened and he went into the bathroom and closed the door, sitting on the closed toilet seat. He braced his elbows on his legs and leaned forward. “What did they do to you? Can you get to the hospital?”

“No hospitals …” Pux whispered. “I’m not human … anymore.”

Krishani’s eyes widened. “Where the hell is Shimma?”

“Gone.”

“Did they take her?” Krishani’s pulse hammered as he tried to stave off a seizure. He couldn’t afford the breadth of emotion he wanted to feel. He was too worried if his heart rate spiked, if he over exerted himself, if he got in a fight, the body would die, leaving him to the world of hunger and shattered memories.

He couldn’t lose Kaliel, not like that.

“She left,” Pux managed.

“Bloody hell. Tell me everything.”

Pux told him about Klavotesi and Cossisea ambushing him on the road and siphoning memories of the past few months from his head. Krishani cursed. He heard a thud on the other end of the phone.

“Pux? Pux?” he hissed, hoping to get the feorn’s attention before he passed out.

“Huh?”

“What’s going on right now? What are you doing?” He tried not to sound alarmed but this was bad. Things were going to happen a lot faster than he wanted them to. He didn’t have much time and while he was becoming a piss poor protector with each passing day, he didn’t want it to end. Life was semi perfect, normal. He had everything he used to have on Avristar, but instead of meeting every day at the cave, they met at his flat, and isolated themselves in his bedroom.

“Took lots of pills … so much pain,” Pux said, the phone cutting out.

Krishani tried to call back a couple times but it didn’t work. He left the bathroom and banged on Elwen’s door. The other man didn’t answer so he tried the handle and found his ancestor stretched out on his futon couch in a blue dress shirt and gray slacks, his leather shoes neatly lined up against the wall beside his desk. He cracked an eye, peering at Krishani with an air of boredom. He smirked.

“Does she remember yet?” Elwen asked.

Krishani closed the door behind him. “No.”

“You’re going to die before she remembers.”

“I’m trying not to.”

“Aye.…”

Krishani glared at him and he sat, allowing Krishani a space on the futon, but the boy didn’t take it. “We have another problem.” Elwen glared at him. “We have a lot of problems.”

“Tor is waiting for something. I don’t know what.”

Krishani didn’t want to talk about Tor. He was thinking about going down to Sioux Narrows and facing him but he didn’t want to risk driving and crashing, and with what happened to Pux.… “Cossisea and Kla ran Pux off the road. He’s not human anymore.”

Elwen let out a low whistle and rubbed his hands together. “So they sent another assassin to do what you could not do.”

Krishani hung his head. “Things are different.”

“Aye, she loves you, but she doesn’t know what you are.”

Krishani pressed his lips together, thinking about the day he kissed her. “Actually … never mind … you need to go to Thunder Bay and help Pux.” Krishani had told Kaliel what he was, and she accepted it. Of course, she didn’t know exactly what Wraiths were but she knew they were pure darkness and it didn’t make her recoil from him. She wasn’t getting any closer to figuring things out about herself, but one time she tried to say she was a dark thing too and he stopped her. She was never dark, she couldn’t be. She had to believe that.

Elwen moved to the computer and sat on his big leather chair. “You do realize I
am
trying to work in this filthy town right?”

Krishani shrugged. He didn’t give a shit about what Elwen was trying to build. Resorts, apartments, it was lost on him. “Bring him food. Make sure he’s not dead.”

Elwen nodded, his hand on the mouse, clicking at things on the screen. “I can go tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” Krishani turned, preparing to return to Kaliel. He pulled the door open a crack.

“Klavotesi won’t give her an easy death.”

Krishani slammed the door and turned, pressing his back against it. “We agreed on grad.” He knew he was lying but he couldn’t help it, anything to shut Elwen up.

“You won’t last until grad,” Elwen said, not looking at him.

Krishani gritted his teeth. “I don’t have a choice.”

“And what exactly are you going to do?”

Krishani looked at the floor. “She has the golden pocket watch … Tor gave it to her when she had a concussion.”

Elwen looked at him, his expression cloudy. “You mean when her host died.”

Krishani gritted his teeth. “Yes.”

Elwen studied him for a long moment. “I don’t think you’ll do it.”

Krishani pulled the door open. “Trust me; I know what I’m doing.”

Elwen laughed. “You can’t be with her forever. You know that.”

Krishani didn’t answer. He slammed the door and continued down the hall, wanting to be in the only place that felt like home, her arms.

O O O

Maeva was proofreading Michael’s work when he came back, a distressed look on his face. “Something is wrong,” she said automatically, knowing that look. He hung his head and nodded slightly. “Medical emergency?”

He moved to the bed with the gracefulness of a lynx and sat on the edge, his fingers covering hers. “Not that bad. Tom can take care of it.” He seemed somber, afraid, but Maeva was used to this. Time seemed to slip away on them, days and night blurring together, spring exploding out of trees, the lake melting. She remembered last year when she felt like her life was tedious, days dragging on forever. Now it seemed like they couldn’t last long enough, sun setting before she wanted it to. She avoided his penetrating stare feeling the familiar urge to fold herself into him and close her eyes, safely isolated from the world.

Michael was very good at avoiding her questions, and at distracting her with his lips and fingers brushing along her skin. She didn’t want to drink him in like an obsessed teenager, but she couldn’t help it. She’d never known anyone who looked at her the way he did, or touched her in all the right places or held her like he never wanted to let go. For the first time in thirteen years she felt so wanted, so needed, so important. And she didn’t understand it. Assassins weren’t supposed to fall in love with their victims. That only happened in movies and she was far from star material.

She considered herself borderline boring. She faded into the background most of the time. The only time she shone was when Michael was around. His attention made people envious—especially Amber, Colleen and Kelly. She tried to avoid them, but they cornered her and asked what she did to make Michael talk to her. Her answer didn’t please them but it was the truth. She ignored him and he didn’t ignore her. She caved and things happened. Amber made some comment about Maeva being the ugliest girl in school and they walked away, mystified and stunned.

She sighed as Michael kissed her bare shoulder. “More paperwork?”

“They’re getting my medical records from Leeds,” he mumbled, his focus entirely on her body. She inched away and twirled the pen between her fingers. He had to graduate with her; he couldn’t keep handing in these atrocious assignments and hoping they’d pass him despite all the spelling and grammar errors.

He tensed; his expression grave. There was more going on but sometimes it was painful to bother him about the cancer. Chemo left him weaker than she thought it would and these days he was working at half his usual strength. She noticed it now—shortness of breath, aches he tried to hide. The first time she went in his room her heart sputtered at the full pharmacy on his bedside table.

“What about elementals?” She had done a little more research on her own non-humanness, but wasn’t sure if she was on the right track yet.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t lean forward and drown out all her questions. Instead, he seemed inquisitive and thoughtful, a little perplexed. She immediately thought she was wrong.

“I read something.…” Her cheeks flushed. She twisted her hands, hoping he would give her something, anything. It was hard enough knowing there were assassins out there willing to take her life, not knowing why they wanted her was tormenting.

A ghost of a smile found his lips. “I think you’ll know when you find it.”

She poked him in the chest. “You always say that. What about you? How did you know? How did you remember?” She never asked him before, and her thoughts revolved around government experiments, chips programmed in his brain, truth serum pumped through his veins, thousands of images flashed before his eyes on a giant screen. She really didn’t know how he could have been born with the kind of historical knowledge and memories he kept claiming to have.

He sighed. “I never forgot.” He took her hand in his, idly tracing patterns along her palm.

She was frustrated, and turned on by even the slightest movement. Familiar tingles exploded from her midsection outwards and she shoved down the flutters in her stomach. “You act like I’m so fragile,” she said, and in a swift move she pinned him to the bed, straddling him, hands pinned over his head. “I’m stronger than you think.”

Michael laughed and there was something dark behind it. “You’re more dangerous than I am.”

Maeva bolted off him, teetering on the edge of the bed so he couldn’t see the tears in her eyes. She didn’t believe him when he said she wasn’t dark. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He sat, lips pressing into the crook in her neck. “It’s not what I meant either. Tom is worried about us being …”

Maeva let out a haughty laugh. “Safe? You have a dagger next to your bed. I doubt anyone is going to attack us in here.”

Arms circled her, pressure against her skin, warmth drowning her. His lips found her ear. “Not that kind of safe.”

Maeva blushed, her hands covering his. She wanted it too but wasn’t sure she was ready. Michael was all kinds of firsts for her, but that was a big first, and she didn’t want it to be bad. She had enough things in her life to worry about without having to worry about that. She would be happy if she could be with him forever. She belonged to him in all the ways that counted. She turned her face to him, a kiss landing on her cheek. “Even if you weren’t sick … I don’t think we’d … be doing that.”

She squealed as a surge of his inborn strength dragged her across the bed and he pinned her, running his hands along her jean-clad thighs. His weight came down on her, his lips pressing against hers. He pressed his knee between her legs and she let him, feeling an ache in her lower body. She let out a breath, arcing her back, wanting to pull him closer. She touched him greedily, moving her hands up his shirt and over his defined and skinny muscles. She felt the outline of his ribs, chemo making him wiry.

He kissed her fiercely, and she wanted to say yes to everything, wanted to strip off his clothes and let him slowly undress her but the most he ever did was reach for her bra strap and stroke her breasts. His hand found the hem of her jeans and his fingers slipped underneath and she froze. She couldn’t go this far, not yet.

“I can’t—” she gasped and he stopped, nodding once and moving off the bed. She sat, feeling flush as he grabbed his binder and the pen.

“I got carried away, sorry,” he said, the accent making her ache to feel him against her again.

She wiped her face and reached behind her trying to link up her bra but she could never do it herself. He glanced over and politely motioned her over. “Here, I can do it, turn around.” She turned and he reached under her shirt, his fingers slightly cold. He fastened the clasps and dropped his hands, going back to the assignment.