Mercy (5 page)

Maeva glanced at the phone, the forecast reading sunny with chance of light showers, but the sky was an ominous maelstrom of heavy clouds. A quarter sized raindrop landed on her arm and Maeva flinched, dropping her phone into its waterproof case and taking out the flare gun. She slung the pack over her shoulder and climbed down the rocks.

A ripple of thunder rolled across the sky and rain erupted in a thick sheet. She ducked under the canopy of a few trees but cursed her luck. As she looked up, a scream escaped her lips. She froze, her eyes glued to the electric blue eyes of a boy standing awkwardly on the trail. He wasn’t dressed for hiking at all and the first thing that struck her mind was danger. The second was fear and her traitorous fingers squeezed the trigger, unleashing a flare and sending her onto her back. The flare hit a tree, igniting sparks. She opened her eyes momentarily and watched the tree creak and groan as it fell across the path. Flames skated across it, a wall of fire separating her from the boy.

Maeva pushed herself to her feet, too scared to think straight, her terrified eyes meeting his. Frightened bright blue eyes, spiky dark hair, black skinny jeans, and t-shirt pulled over ghostly white biceps. She focused on his eyes, the clearest sapphire crystals she’d ever seen, flecks of deep blue punctuating the irises. Vertigo clouded her vision as her stomach turned to sludge. The flare gun slipped out of her hands before she accidentally fired another shot, her eyes plastered on the boy. He seemed paralyzed, staring back at her like she was a ghost. Seconds ticked by, an incomprehensible tangent of thoughts, words, and images skating through her mind. She couldn’t hold onto a single coherent thought, her entire body on fire with nothing but pure desire, fear, anxiety, and sadness.

She went to open her mouth, forcing herself to find her voice as the fire spread to nearby trees, the heavy rain not enough to snuff it out. She realized too late she was trapped. The boy turned, fleeing the other way down the path and Maeva’s eyes widened.

He wasn’t going to help her.

“Wait!” she cried, waving her hands in the air, smoke billowing into her lungs. She coughed and turned, climbing the rocks, huddling on the stone plateau, rain soaking through her, keeping the fire at bay. She closed her eyes, trying to remember everything they taught in fire safety. She wasn’t supposed to go anywhere, and she couldn’t anyway. She opened her backpack and pulled out the square fabric container, and shook out the shiny fireproof blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders but it wasn’t going to be enough. Fire inched closer to the rocks, obscuring the only escape route. She steeled herself and glanced over the cliff at the water. She could try to jump but her whole body stiffened at the thought. She couldn’t even swim let alone cliff dive into frigid water.

She cleared her tear-soaked cheeks and pulled out her iPhone, hoping it would last against the rain. She dialed the direct line for the fire department and waited; her mind still on the boy, her stomach a muddle of angry butterflies. The phone connected and she let out a breath when it rang.

“Lake of the Woods Fire Department,” a voice answered. Maeva recognized the voice, he taught the seminars at school. She’d known him for almost ten years.

“Commissioner Gold?” she asked, her tone reduced to a squeak. The rain slowed, but the fire raged on as she tried to make a tent out of the fireproof blanket.

“Maeva? What’s wrong?” Gold asked; his voice deep. Maeva caught the panic in him as another rumble of thunder rolled across the sky and she winced.

“Remember when you taught us not to go alone?” she stuttered, trying not to let her teeth chatter. She imagined Gold’s eyes being as round as saucers as she said the words and cringed at the amount of trouble she’d be in when she got home.

“Where are you?” he barked, not bothering to cover up the urgency in his voice.

“Um … hold on,” Maeva said, taking the phone away from her ear and clicking to the compass app. She memorized the coordinates in seconds and put the phone back to her ear. “Forty nine point seven, four five six and ninety seven point eight one five four.”

Gold’s breath hitched. “You’re on Treaty Island.”

Maeva let out a groan. Another tree cracked and fell over and she flinched, willing herself to keep her eyes on the ground. She cast around for a way to tell Gold the rest of it but came up with nothing. “Uh … I started a forest fire.”

“Shit,” Gold said, and the phone went dead.

O O O

The rest of the day turned into an episode of 9-1-1 Rescue and Maeva wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole. She sat in the living room, her knee bouncing nervously, fingernails chewed to the quick, cheeks stained with tears. Gold, his partner Korowicz, and her parents were huddled around the kitchen table. Her mother was sitting, her father standing behind her chair, one hand on the back of the curved polished wood, hints of vitiligo creeping over the edges of his fingers. He was calm, cool and collected as always. Maeva strained to hear their conversation. Her dad and Gold spoke in hushed tones while Korowicz stood there looking menacing with his arms across his uniformed chiseled chest. He kept glancing at her and she gritted her teeth. Korowicz was one of the twelve guys that made up the calendar models for the Burn Fund Charity Drive. She used to have a crush on him but he had such a rotten attitude she felt nothing but contempt for him now.

The back door rattled and swung open, Scott appearing in the doorway. Everyone looked at him and he mimicked a deer in the headlights, his brown eyes widening, his mouth curving upwards to form a smile. “What’s up everyone?” he asked, moving past Gold and finding a seat on the couch opposite Maeva, his smirk disappearing the moment he looked at her.

“I better not be in trouble too,” he said, glancing at the kitchen.

Maeva buried her face in her hands. “Shut up, Scott.”

“What happened?”

Maeva groaned but recounted the details for him with as few words as possible. She left out the part about the boy. Scott was grinning like the Cheshire cat by the time she was finished and she wanted to smack him. She was in trouble, really big trouble and he thought it was funny.

“If I lose my license I’ll have to go with you to school,” she hissed.

The smile drained and he fidgeted on the black microfiber couch. “That’s embarrassing.”

Maeva wished she could stab him with her glare. “For me or you?”

Scott furrowed his brow. “Me. Whatever, tell me what happens.” He stood, his near six-foot frame towering over her. He lumbered out of the living room and down the hall. Maeva closed her eyes, trying to blot out the perfect blue eyes and inky black hair. The boy left her there, he didn’t call for help, he just … left. She could have died. She stood, unwilling to let the anxiety attack creep into her and lingered near the wall separating the kitchen from the living room. Gold looked at her, his blue eyes registering disappointment.

“Something to add, Miss Jonsson?”

“Uh …” Maeva said, playing with her sweater sleeve. She listened idly while they went over the details of the rescue mission and the firefighting brigade that successfully doused the fire. The only thing missing were the final details, the ones she wanted to keep a secret. Her dad turned to look at her, and her mom swiveled in her chair, their eyes, Gold’s eyes and Korowicz’s eyes digging into her. She buckled under the pressure of authority and let out a breath. “I wasn’t alone.”

“You weren’t?” her dad seemed surprised, his eyebrows pulled together.

Maeva shook her head, her fingers rolling and unrolling the cuff of her sweater. “There was a boy in the woods.”

Gold relaxed. “But you shot the flare gun at the tree correct?”

She groaned. “He startled me. And the storm came out of nowhere.…”

“I’ve told you so many times before, check the weather before you go. You never listen to a goddamned thing I say,” Grace’s shrill voice cut in.

“It wasn’t in the forecast,” she muttered, digging her toe in the carpet. She pulled her sleeves over her hands and waited for the scolding to continue.

“I’m putting you on probation, no canoeing after dark,” Gold said, taking control of the situation. Maeva didn’t look at him. “Mr. Jonsson? I’ll need to confiscate the flare gun. I’m revoking your license to carry it. You have a cell phone … everyone has a cell phone.”

Maeva looked at him, relief clouding her face. He didn’t say anything but his expression said he was happy to save her from the wrath of her mom.

Gord nodded, shoving the flare gun across the table. He pivoted to look at Maeva. “I’m further restricting this probation, Maeva. You can use your canoe to go to and from school and work but no more trips.”

Maeva pressed her lips together. She knew that was coming, but she wished they had waited until the firefighters left before strapping on the chains. She looked at Gold, not smiling with her mouth but with her eyes. “Thanks,” she mumbled, pushing off the wall and retreating to her room in the basement.

***

Chapter 6
Hurt

Krishani couldn’t breathe.

His combat boots clacked against the mud as he retreated from the fire. His heart felt like it was disintegrating in his chest, his head buzzing with the sound of a thousand wasps. He felt lightheaded, assaulting ferns along the edges of the path. He breathed in short shallow gasps as he fetched up against a nearby tree, pressing his hand to the bark, then his cheek. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to catch his breath. His chest constricted, making aches scatter along his rib cage. He pushed away the lump in his throat and clenched his fist, anger bursting through his body with unseemly force. He pounded the tree with his fist and pain shot up his arm, registering in the back of his neck. He let out a cry. It felt like the forest was spinning. He got tangled in branches hanging over the path and batted at them with his hands, his vision blurry from tears in his eyes.

Her face, beautiful pale oval face, hazel eyes rimmed with violet specks, black curls falling to the small of her back. He shook his head and tried to swallow, tasting bile in the back of his throat. She looked so much like Aulises, so much like the girl who froze to death in the snow.

His stomach heaved as he wrapped his arms around himself and tried to see the ground. He walked until he heard cars zipping down the highway and slowed, hitting a patch of moss, rocks, and fallen trees, hollowed out by mites. Elwen leaned against a Toyota Corolla on the shoulder, arms crossed. Krishani carefully descended the rocks and without looking at his legal guardian, pulled the passenger door open. Elwen rounded the car and took the driver’s side, silently making a U-turn and heading back towards the main road.

Krishani couldn’t speak.

He stared straight ahead at the overcast sky, the copses of trees on either side of the road flipping by as Elwen pushed the car to sixty. Nine years had passed since Elwen had kidnapped him from a hospital in London, in the body of an eight year old, and by some crazy miracle Krishani had lived. It wasn’t without its costs—doctors, surgeries, treatments, and schooling. Elwen insisted since Krishani was a young boy he needed to go to school like all the other young boys. And regardless of his true age, or his excellent memory, he needed to blend in. Krishani attended grade school in Leeds, but after Lower Sixth he couldn’t do it anymore. He was seventeen; he didn’t have a lot of time left to find her. She wasn’t in Leeds, or the UK, or Europe. Krishani wasn’t sure she was real until Elwen used his scrying tools to track North America and noticed Lake of the Woods had an abnormal energy signature. Elwen spent most of his time studying metaphysics, magic, and religion. That included subjects stemming to sacred geometry, ley lines, and ancient artifacts. He spent a lot of time working in museums. If there was something Elwen couldn’t do because of his lack of abilities, his intelligence made up for it.

Elwen was certain the girl was in Canada.

Krishani flipped the heater on, feeling the chill in the core of his bones, like liquid nitrogen being fed into his veins. He shuddered and held his hands in front of the heater, welcoming the warmth. As a Vulture, all he knew was the cold, an endless sea of it, except when feeding. Human souls were full of sunshine. It was one of the reasons the hunger became so intense, it was connected to the idea of being warm.

In that world, warm never lasted long.

And in the body he possessed, death was only another moment away.

He couldn’t expect to live forever.

Elwen turned at the lights. The town rolled into view, nothing but dilapidated buildings, commercial stores and bungalows on treacherous hills. Elwen stayed on the Seventeen until it became Main Street, the only quaint setting in the dismal town. Elwen pulled into one of the stalls on the street itself, in front of the Candy Corner. The strip had a bank, restaurants, and vintage clothing shops lined up along it. Storefronts saluted as though in uniform. Beside the Candy Corner was a store window with a big “For Lease” sign, the phone number in giant blue letters. Elwen went for the glass door beside the Candy Corner; “One Hundred Five” stamped on it in and unlocked the tumbler. Beyond the door was a double flight of stairs leading to their second story flat.

Krishani followed Elwen up the yellowing steps, the walls clad in unfinished drywall until they reached the short hallway and their off-white door. Elwen unlocked two tumblers and turned the knob, shoving his shoulder against the door. His loafers didn’t make a sound as he crossed the wood finished floor and dropped his briefcase on the back of the beige couch.

Krishani didn’t expect Elwen to say anything about what happened in the forest, but there was a reason Krishani made him pull the car over, a reason he made him wait while Krishani searched the area. His lungs threatened to collapse recalling the violet-rimmed hazel eyes. He hastily unzipped his combat boots and left them, trudging across the floor and falling onto the couch, his head in his hands. He listened as Elwen busied himself in the kitchen, turning on the tap, filling a kettle.

“Was it her?” Elwen finally asked.

Krishani groaned feeling nauseous. He tried to stave it off, and clenched his teeth. “Yes.” He didn’t have to look at Elwen to see the look of triumph and arrogance on his ancestor’s face. Elwen was right, the girl was there.

Elwen neared the back of the couch and put his hand on it but Krishani refused to meet his eyes. “Does it hurt?”

Krishani took his head out of his hands and stared straight ahead at the flat screen, the Xbox, the short bookshelves, and the latticed windows. He felt like his heart was tearing in two it hurt so much. He took a deep breath. “Yes.”

Elwen patted the couch. “Good.” Krishani heard footsteps retreating and the sound of the fridge opening. “Are you hungry?”

Nausea got the better of him. “No,” he said as he bolted off the couch and down the hall to the bathroom, pushing the seat up and vomiting. His arms shook as his stomach heaved, another mouthful erupting from him. He closed his eyes and tried to regulate his breathing but his whole body trembled as his knees buckled and he slid to the floor, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He fell against the wall, his eyes finding the ceiling until he had the strength to move. Bracing himself on the toilet seat he pushed himself up, slammed the seat down, and flushed. He turned to the sink and shoved on the cold water, using his hand to cup a mouthful. He spit it out and braced on the sink with both hands, fingers alive with tremors.

He dared a glance in the mirror at himself: bloodshot blue eyes, sickly pallid face, wildly tangled shorn black hair. “Don’t die,” he told his reflection, hoping he could hang on long enough. She had no idea what kind of danger she was in.

O O O

Elwen stared after Krishani as he slammed the bathroom door. The white walls were jaundiced from the previous tenant’s smoking habits. They tried to repaint, but the yellowish tinge leaked through. Flecks of white dotted the baseboards, some quick attempt to fix the place before the sale. Elwen didn’t care for the flat. He took the first room on the right, making it an office with a futon while Krishani took the one across from the bathroom. It resembled an infirmary.

In nine years Elwen hadn’t thought about his decision to take Krishani in and give him shelter from the horror he faced for most of his long existence. He regretted too many of his decisions to spread them all out in his mind, ticking off each one with a mental pencil.

The girl was unexpected.

He distinctly felt nothing but an empty void towards her. He knew her for a fraction of a millisecond in his own infinite existence, the impression she made on him scant. She was a catalyst, a means to the end of the Ferryman. His fingers gripped the back of the couch tighter as he thought about his conversation with Tor. He said Krishani would be the best Ferryman. He’d push the darkness away from Terra and light would prevail. Back then people believed in all sorts of obscure prophecies and Elwen hung on every word.

But the land was full of empty promises.

Part of him wanted to believe Krishani was in there somewhere, amidst the hunger and wretchedness. He saw it in the eyes of the eight-year-old boy he kidnapped nine years ago.

Desperation.

Remorse.

Helplessness.

Krishani didn’t want to be a monster any more than he wanted to be a hero. He was just a boy in need of a normal life. Elwen gave him that, even if it came with every medical procedure known to man and every drug they’d ever created. Krishani had a high pain tolerance, and an immunity complex. What Krishani took now would kill most people, but unfortunately, they’d reached the end of their rope. There was nothing stronger on Earth, and they couldn’t go to Avristar.

Elwen sighed and rounded the island in the kitchen, the kettle steaming. He pushed the tin lid off the box and pulled out a tea bag, dropping it in a mug and following it with a splash of scalding water and milk. He pulled a spoon out of a drawer and stirred, sitting on one of the three stools on the other side of the island. A stack of paperwork rested on the end of the island, awaiting his signature. It was enough for them to live in Canada for a period of time. Elwen had diplomatic immunity, another perk of being immortal and knowing how to forge documents like a pro. Krishani had an official birth certificate, UK driver’s license, and passport. Nobody would think of him as anyone but Tom Norton’s son.

The bathroom door opened and closed, followed by the bedroom door opening and slamming shut. Elwen sighed and sipped his tea, grabbing the stack of papers and a pen from the end table beside the stainless steel fridge. Elwen could handle the small details if Krishani could handle the bigger problems, like the girl that could kill them all.

O O O

Tor pulled into the gravel parking lot at Big John’s and stopped in front of a railroad tie. He turned off the engine to the Tempo, and pulled the emergency brake, cutting off a Billy Idol song. He hadn’t changed the cassette in twelve years, not since landing in a hospital in Lake of the Woods and giving Kaliel a normal human life. He threw an apron on over his jeans and muscle shirt, still as burly as ever and stalked around to the back of the diner. Charlie, the kitchen manager, stood by the corral, power washing the patch of pavement John had installed last year to bring the place up to code.

It was the crack of dawn, the sun sending a mist of light through the tall evergreens surrounding the restaurant. Tor smiled. Charlie was a good guy for a human. He was built like a fridge, and belonged in Jamaica. Over six feet tall, long black and brown dreadlocks hanging to his waist. He wore restaurant scrubs, black slacks, the white apron folded and tied around his waist, a V-neck polyester shirt covering his thick chest.

“Hey, Christian,” Charlie said, his face breaking into a smile, his Jamaican accent shining through.

Tor nodded as he lumbered towards the back door. Charlie held out his fist and Tor bumped it. “Morning, Charlie,” Tor drawled, his voice resembling an unidentifiable North American accent. Tor used to speak every language ever created, but, trapped in a human form he could only speak about six of them fluently. At least it impressed the servers.

He grabbed the handle for the walk-in cooler and stepped inside, surveying the perfectly organized shelves for the morning’s prep list. The thing about being inconspicuous and staying off the radar was you had to work really hard to make sure nobody recognized you. A low-key prep cook at a tourist restaurant in Lake of the Woods was the perfect way to watch out for Kaliel and anyone else that might show up. He didn’t mind the work, even though he used to be the High King of Lands of Peace. Being Christian De Luca was much easier than being Tor.

He pulled out the veggies for the day which included an assortment of peppers, zucchini, carrots, onions, and cucumbers. Big John’s was a big deal in Lake of the Woods. They had a tavern attached called the Mineshaft, and a big patio overlooking the water. Most people coming to the area stopped by Big John’s at some point, whether for the food, the fishing, or the alcohol. Tor would have loved to bartend but that meant serving customers, and it meant someone might recognize him. The only people he wanted knowing him were the people paying him and the people working with him every day. That included John, Charlie, Smokey, Sweetness, and Jen, who refused to let him give her a nickname. Charlie’s real name was something he couldn’t pronounce if he tried and he half wondered what Kemplan was thinking when he created African languages.

Tor grabbed a red pepper and began julienning it. In the past twelve years he’d seen Kaliel a total of sixteen times. Gordie Jonsson had a habit of taking his family down at the beginning of the fishing season, constantly trying to show his son how to use a rod and tackle. The rest of the summer Gord showed up once a week by himself. He’d order a burger and fries, spend the afternoon fishing, and head home. The past three summers Kaliel came with him and they talked about canoeing. She seemed happy, normal even, over salting her fries, dunking them in ketchup. She drank iced tea, yammered on about singing lessons and applying for the University of Toronto’s music program. Gord was a stoic listener, never interrupting her steady stream of teenage babble. She did her best to include him in the conversation, stopping every once and a while to ask him about the factory before launching into another long story about the dorms she could live in. Tor’s chest squeezed whenever he caught her talking about life after high school. She had twelve years of a normal life, but there wasn’t anything normal about Kaliel. One day she would wake up and know exactly who she was and exactly what she had done.

His only hope was that he got to her before she did something stupid.

Again.

***