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.
She hated the way their moments came and went, one second they were entwined, unable to think about anything
but sex and the next, it was icy. He put his walls up and it was impossible for her to get through to him. “How did you remember?”
He turned in the chair and studied her, but she wasn’t willing to give up. She had to know how he could know what she was, but with all the searching she did, she couldn’t find a single thing that made sense.
“It’s called the walk-in theory.”
She never heard of it before. She tried to prompt him with her eyes and he let out a sigh. “It works in two ways. Most of the time, a Poltergeist, Spirit or Wraith will enter the body and force the host out.”
Maeva listened, trying to keep up with all the jargon. She knew what a Poltergeist and Spirit were, but Wraith still bothered her. The word itself sent chills up her spine. “What is the host?”
Michael blinked. “The person born in the body.”
Maeva nodded, adding to the mass of notes in her head. She drew imaginary connections between things she had found and things he was willing to tell her. Half the time she’d explain what she found and all he’d say was “no, that’s not how it works.” She found a lot of theories on the way things didn’t work.
“And the second way?”
“The host died, and the body is a shell, open for anything to take it over.”
Maeva smiled. “Like the hermit crab.”
Michael shrugged. “More or less.” He turned back to the desk.
She thought for a long time. “I’m still confused about how that …”
“Wraiths don’t die. They jump from body to body.”
Maeva felt a pain in the center of her chest, guilt welling into her. She couldn’t break down in front of him. She closed her eyes and shoved away the heavy feelings. “Are you trying to tell me you’re a Zombie?”
Michael laughed, and it was everything she needed. “Zombies don’t have souls, just decaying bodies.”
And it was too much. Maeva felt knots in her stomach, guilt in her throat, and she couldn’t help it. She felt sorry for Michael, having no release from what he was, having to move from shell to shell. She couldn’t fathom how many lives he’d had, all tangled together, memories piled on top of each other. And he was falling apart. Ultimately, his body was decaying. “But you …”
He flew off the chair and cupped her face so hard she let out a protested cry. He put his hands on either side of her face, pressing against her temples, forcing her to look into his desperate blue eyes.
“I’m alive,” he said, pressing his lips against her eyelid. Her eyes watered as his lips lingered, silencing the words in her throat. She pushed against his chest, needing to breath. He stumbled back, falling against the dresser.
“You could be dead any day now.”
Aches untangled from her heart and trailed down her arms and torso, spreading into her thighs. He looked wasted, defeated, the shell of a boy she used to think was strong and dangerous and caustic. When she first saw him, the look he gave her burned through her, scaring the daylights out of her. His look still had that effect on her only it left her bruised and broken, her insatiable need for him stronger than anything she’d ever felt.
A knock interrupted the tension between them. “Maeva, it’s ten,” Elwen said from the hallway.
“Give us a minute,” Michael said, moving from the dresser and sitting beside her. He took his hand in hers. “I promised I’d make it to grad.”
She nodded, feeling heavy sobs in her chest. Grabbing her backpack, she slung it over her shoulder and opened the door. She didn’t want to leave, but keeping Grace happy while keeping her relationship as discreet as possible required compromises like a ten o’clock curfew. Even though she was eighteen, her mother made the rules in the house, if she didn’t like them she could move out. Maeva had contemplated that but Elwen creeped her out and she couldn’t imagine living in the tiny flat and seeing all of Michael’s symptoms. His illness bothered her enough without being around him twenty-four seven. She slid on her flats and unlocked the dead bolts.
“Maeva?”
She found Michael standing behind her, a pleading expression on his face. She hugged him, feeling his arms wrap around her tight. “I’m sorry … for everything,” he whispered in her ear.
She frowned, and said the first thing that came to mind. “Me too.”
He released her, an odd expression on his face as she tucked her head to the floor and left, pounding downstairs to her Sundance.
***
Chapter 28
The Powers That Be
Krishani didn’t want to do this.
Elwen returned from Thunder Bay and confirmed everything Pux had said over the phone. He was a feorn, and worse, he threw up any processed food. It ruled out almost everything except fruits, vegetables, and fresh bread. Elwen said he’d have to go back in a week and bring him more. Krishani gripped the steering wheel harder, his eyes watering. He was unraveling. He thought he could ignore it, reveling in all her simplicity, but Cossisea and Klavotesi knew where she was, and they weren’t going to stay away. Darkesh would come for her, and Krishani wasn’t strong enough to fight the Valtanyana.
He passed walls of rock on either side of the road, the bridge to Sioux Narrows coming into view. He hit the brake, hating the way Elwen’s car handled. It took forever to stop and he had to put more pressure on the pedal, making the car shudder abruptly in the middle of the road. He wrenched the steering wheel, pulling into the lot at Big John’s and cranked the emergency brake, his pulse singing in his ears, begging him to drive away. He lied and said he was at the hospital today, radiation therapy part two, but he couldn’t do it anymore—biopsies, chemo, radiation. He had bruises everywhere and the tumors kept growing, appearing in his lungs, stomach, and liver. He heard Dr. Grant talking to one of the nurses about him during the radiation. She said she didn’t know how he was still alive. Most patients didn’t make it to this stage, and if they did they were permanently hospitalized. They didn’t drive, or go to school or go on canoe trips with their girlfriends. They wasted away in hospital beds, everyday a struggle to get one more breath and one more meal past their throats.
Krishani threw up everything he ate but he forced it down, hoping it would somehow trick the body into thinking it wasn’t dying. He opened the front doors and slipped past the hostess into the lounge. He moved past the bartenders and slammed into the kitchen, looking for Tor. He passed the line cooks and headed towards the prep area, finding Tor deep in concentration. Knives were at work on three different cutting boards, but Tor wasn’t touching them. It was something out of Fantasia. He gasped and Tor opened his eyes, crackling gold irises catching Krishani off guard. He stepped back as knives fell on the counters, and everything stopped.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” Tor said, his eyes filling with a fake hazel tinge.
“Yeah?” Krishani spat. “You know it’s turning to shit because of what you did don’t you?” He was so angry and in so much pain he couldn’t think.
Tor stroked his jaw, tilting his head to the ceiling. He looked relaxed, indifferent. “I thought I did you a favor.”
“After nine thousand years?” He couldn’t believe Tor’s insanity. Keeping her imprisoned for so long and this was a favor?
Tor locked eyes on him. “You’re lucky that body lasted so long.”
Krishani put a hand on the metal counter to brace himself, feeling ready to collapse. He winced, trying to hold on. So it was Tor that gave him almost ten years away from Darkesh, an almost simple human life. Tor made this entire chance with Kaliel possible but he didn’t, or couldn’t make it last. He gritted his teeth. “Cossisea and Kla found Pux. They’re coming back.”
Tor crossed his arms and took a step towards him. “I’m counting on it.”
Krishani fought against his buckling knees. “Are you trying to cause an apocalypse?”
Tor snapped his fingers and shiny gray scales ran up the length of his arms, his fingernails becoming thick black claws. His face became a leathery mask of scales, tiny horns pro
truding from his chin and cheeks. He spread his black lips in a smile, the light catching a glint of his silver tongue.
Krishani quaked. He’d never seen the High King’s true form. Morgana said they trapped him in a human body, but this wasn’t anything human. He pulled himself up and bent over the metal counter, trying to regain his strength as Tor leaned in, his draconian face near, gold-lightning eyes crackling every couple of seconds.
“You need to understand something about revolutions, boy. You’re not dealing with some pansy ass vampires. The Powers That Be are the oldest beings Across the Stars. They could turn you to dust by looking at you. The Lands could be wiped out in mere seconds by their hands. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”
Krishani tried to find his voice. “But she’s just a girl.” He couldn’t let Tor turn her into something unrecognizable. It went against everything she was, everything she meant to him.
Tor towered over him and Krishani felt defeated. Tor was one of them; he could kill Krishani with a look. “She was created as a weapon, a counterbalance to the kind of power that could force the stars to collapse.”
“Collapse?”
Tor slammed his hands together and the illusion dissolved, his skin becoming tan, his face reverting to its human qualities, even the brown hair pulled back into a long ponytail. “Everything would cease to exist, even them.”
Krishani pulled himself to his feet and swayed a bit on his heels. “I need your help.”
Tor cracked his knuckles and went back to work, taking up one of the knives and doing things the old-fashioned way. “I’ve already helped you.”
“Stop them. Do something other than watching and waiting,” Krishani snapped.
Tor smiled. “I’m cooking.”
Krishani balled his hands into fists. “Stop pretending you’re normal! You’re one of them.”
Tor shot him a withering look. “Yes, and that’s why I know how to deal with them. Enjoy the time you have left. You won’t live long enough to see her supernova.”
Mercy Page 31