Mercy

by Rhiannon Paille

  “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

  He shrugged, leaning over his plate and stealing a glance at her, his stunning blue eyes lancing into her. “You didn’t believe I could be proper?”

  She laughed as she tried the asparagus. “This is amazing.…”

  He paused between bites. “I told you I could cook.”

  She rolled her eyes. “People say things like that all the time. It usually means they can make a mean mac and cheese.” She looked at her plate. “This is five star quality.”

  Michael grinned. “Emerald.”

  She frowned, not following and he swallowed hard, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Restaurant grade, Emerald is the highest.”

  “When did you work at an Emerald restaurant?”

  His eyes darkened and she put another piece of chicken in her mouth. “In Paris, eighteen thirty eight. I was a sous chef.” He brought his plate to the sink, taking a bottle of PowerAde out of the fridge and downing it. Maeva finished and brought her plate to the sink herself. Music filled the room as he turned on the radio and pulled her to him, moving in slow circles to a song she knew by heart.

  “You should know … I saw them at school.”

  Maeva clutched him tighter, not wanting to talk about the enemies she’d seen in the restaurant. “I can’t do this. I can’t fight them.” She melted into him wanting to erase all the danger entrenching them.

  He rubbed little circles on her back. “We might have to run.”

  Maeva sputtered. “Run? That’s the worst idea ever.” She pulled back to see his mangled expression. “You won’t survive on the road.”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his hands trailing over her upper arms. She wanted to revel in every touch but she couldn’t, not right now. The song hit a swell and she bit her lip, stopping herself from humming along with Adele. She felt the song in her bones, the lyrics feeling scary accurate. It made her dizzy as he turned in another slow circle to the song.

  “You won’t survive here,” he said quietly, running his hands down her back.

  She grabbed his slate gray shirt in her fists and pressed her head to his shoulder. “Tell me what I am. Tell me what I meant to you.”

  He pulled her close, his lips on the strap of her tank top. “I can’t talk about it.”

  She put her hands on the sides of his face her eyes boring into his. “Yes you can. Tell me, what did I mean to you?”

  He looked pained, and not in a medical way but she made her expression as stern as possible, begging him to tell her something. She was falling apart inside, fighting against all the emotions because she didn’t know if he cared or was just using her because it was convenient. She didn’t know if he loved her or if this was all part of his plan, make her comfortable, lure her with sexy kisses and sad looks and when she was least expecting, drag her into the forest and torture her for days. A tear slipped down her cheek and her resolve crumbled. She didn’t want to die, but she couldn’t hide forever. Michael wasn’t going to live much longer.

  He broke eye contact, pulling her into his arms, his chin digging into her shoulder blade. He crushed her to him, and she felt his heart thud against hers. “You were everything,” he whispered and she broke down, letting tears escape as she went slack in his arms, forcing him to hold her up for once. He gripped her hard, her legs rubber as she kissed his shoulder, moving her lips up his neck until they hovered over his ear. She was shaking, trying to control the sobs stuck in her chest.

  “I promised myself I wasn’t going to do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Fall in love with you.”

  He pulled back and brushed hair off her face. “You love me?”

  She nodded. “And I didn’t know why because you never told me …”

  “Shh … don’t …” He wiped a tear off her cheek. She let out a slow breath trying to calm all the terror and anxiety coursing through her.

  “I feel like I’ve loved you forever.” Her stomach roiled and she shook, trying to make the anxiety attack stop. Michael leaned forward, his breath ragged, his forehead knocking against hers.

  “I know I’ve loved you forever,” he whispered.

  She felt his hands cupping her face and she wanted to close the distance between them but she didn’t want to at the same time because Adele was right, their love hurt. The walls she built on the inside to keep her from ever being weak in front of other people shattered, leaving her a pathetic, fragile girl in his arms. She let it out, every doctor’s appointment, every time he blacked out, every time he retreated to the bathroom—it weighed on her like rubble after a hurricane. She couldn’t take feeling like she hadn’t seen him in years, and she’d have to say goodbye all over again.

  He rocked her, trying to soothe her but he couldn’t make it go away. He couldn’t take back the cancer and he couldn’t take back what she was and he couldn’t stop them from finding her.

  “Make love to me,” Maeva whispered. She couldn’t stand being so close to him and not feeling him everywhere. He didn’t answer, but threaded his fingers through hers and pulled her down the hallway. She swallowed the lump in her throat as the bed came into view and she turned, putting her hands on his neck and kissing him with a fevered hunger she didn’t know she could feel. She sunk onto the bed and he followed; his movements supine. She pushed his shirt over his head and sat briefly, his hands finding the clasp on her bra, undoing it. She slid off her shirt and shivered; the cold raising goose flesh on her skin. She pulled him on top of her, feeling his hands on her sides, against the hem of her jeans, his lips pressed to her ear lobe.

  “I can’t—you don’t remember.”

  Maeva sighed, her hands trailing his back. He propped himself on his elbows and fixed her with a look that said as good as it was, they had to stop. “I don’t care. I’m never going to want anyone else.”

  Michael caressed the tops of her arms making her tingle as he nodded deftly and moved so he was on his knees, unbuttoning her skinny jeans, peeling them off her. She gulped, nervous butterflies in her stomach. He paused again, conflict crossing his eyes. “I don’t have protection.”

  Maeva flushed, the blush creeping to the tips of her ears. “There’s one in my bag.” Michael moved off the bed, leaving her in nothing but her underwear and returned with the backpack. She sat up, self-consciously rifling through the contents until she found it. She’d never be brave enough to walk into a store and buy a box but that’s what health class was for. She handed it over, trying not to deflate the heat between them. He could reject her, put the wall up and act like the boy she met in the forest months ago.

  He shot her a dubious look. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded, and before she lost her nerve, she inched to the edge of the bed, reaching for his jeans. She glanced at him carefully, and his eyebrows pinched together.

  “It’s very hard to concentrate when you look at me like that.”

  “So don’t think about it,” Maeva said, her heart thrashing, her body wanting to flare like the sun. She desperately needed him to close the distance between them, and when he did, all her fears were met with satisfaction.

  O O O

  Krishani woke to the sound of wind shuddering against the building. He rolled onto his side and replaced his arm around Maeva. She curled into herself, too afraid to leave. The idea of canoeing in the dark with two psychopathic assassins on her tail was enough to make her stay put. She played songs on her iPhone for him long after their almost first time. Listening to music was sometimes better than speaking. He liked the lyrics, and kept his hand entwined with hers until he fell asleep, the song she liked the most looped on repeat. Its soft vocals wafted through the room, the volume turned to a whisper. He felt the rain outside, another excuse for her to miss curfew and spend the night in his bed. He indulged in the feel of her, wanting the moment to last forever. The song looped again. These lyrics talked about her feeling him before she ever met him, and telling him she loved him, even t
hough she didn’t know him, not with the amnesia.

  These lyrics talked about how they’d have to say goodbye.

  He pressed his hand to his chest, another tremor rippling through him. He pushed the blankets off, ready to stumble to the bathroom, but stopped, the pain settling into a dull lull. He didn’t know how much he needed her until he found her huddled in the snow, waiting to die. Everything he did with her after that was instinct and anger. Anger because, despite being a Vulture, he found pieces of the boy he used to be and wanted to hang onto that, knowing how fragile and fleeting moments like these were.

  A single morning waking up next to her wasn’t ever going to make up for the nine thousand years without her, and the souls he devoured because of it. No matter how much time he stole with her, he’d never be ready to say goodbye.

  ***

  Chapter 30

  Home

  Maeva was terrified. She crashed through the brush at an incomprehensible speed, lungs bursting, limbs heavy, head throbbing. She pushed vines and broad leaves out of the way, stepped on a prickly weed and cried out, glancing behind her at a thin overgrown path. She dragged in a breath, air sticky in her lungs, and pushed herself to her feet, staring at pretty tiger lilies, lady’s slippers, and palm trees. Sweat coated her neck in a slick sheen and she wiped it away, pressing her fingers to her cheek. She heard the sizzle before she saw it, land shifting, petals turning brown, trees hollowing out, leaves disintegrating.

  Little Flame.

  A sharp buzzing rattled in her ear and she opened her eyes, a gray comforter tangled around her bare legs, sun slanting through cracks in the blinds. She decompressed the dream, knowing it was about them. Her chest cinched as she pressed her cheek into the pillow, wanting to see the rest of it. She rolled onto her back, steady breaths of the boy next to her wheezing in and out. She stretched and kicked the blanket out, being careful not to wake him. He didn’t sleep well, tossing and turning. Right now he was curled on his side, hugging his pillow. Memories of last night warmed her, and she was acutely aware that most of her clothes were on the floor.

  They hadn’t gone all the way, but she wanted to and he wanted to. He kept saying she didn’t remember. She tensed, thinking about the other thing he said last night. She was everything. She pulled the blankets to her chin. Michael had this power over her, an invisible string between them, drawing her up and making her life matter. Before him she didn’t know love, and she didn’t know fear or pain. The buzzing interrupted her thoughts. She glanced at the end table on the far side of the room, and realized it was her iPhone. She dragged it off the end table and slid her finger across the face.

  “Hello?” she said; her voice groggy.

  “Maeva?” a small voice answered, sounding nothing like Rob.

  She tensed and moved the blanket off her, sitting up, and retrieving her bra off the floor. “Rob?” She hooked the black bra around her ribcage and turned it around, pulling the straps over her shoulders while balancing the phone in the crook of her neck. Of all times for Rob to call he had to pick this one.

  “It’s me, are you busy?”

  Maeva glanced at Michael. “Uhh … no.”

  “Good … well not good, I have bad news.” She heard shuffling on the other end of the phone and the squicky sound of the fridge door opening, plastic bottles rattling.

  “What kind of bad news?” Maeva asked, knowing this was Rob and his bad news was likely to involve rescheduling a trip to Kenora or failing a class at college. Rob was so normal it hurt sometimes. She wished she could have a normal boy and a normal life.

  Rob hiccupped on the other end. “The kind that doesn’t let us see each other again.”

  Maeva frowned. “What happened?”

  Rob let out a shaky sigh and she could tell he was trying not to cry. “Don’t get mad at me. I didn’t plan for it to happen like this and there’s nothing I can do. I called because I wanted to say goodbye.”

  Maeva leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees, running a hand through her thick black hair. Agitation coiled into her and she trembled, realizing he was serious. “Tell me what happened, what changed?” She thought about all the times he said he would be there for her; help her through the tough times with Michael. She made him promise to spend a weekend there when cancer took Michael away. She didn’t know how she’d function without her best friend.

  “Shimma and I got in a big fight and she left.”

  “Oh.”

  “And I have to go back to my home country.”

  Maeva frowned. “You mean Toronto?”

  “I—I can’t go back there. I meant Norway.”

  Maeva gulped. “When are you leaving?”

  “Uh … as soon as I can get there,” Rob said, sounding uncomfortable.

  She didn’t want to lose him but she didn’t have a solution. This wasn’t about her; he had to do whatever he needed to do. She shifted, her thighs sore where her elbows had dug in. She sat cross-legged, avoiding strips of glaring sun.

  “Are you okay? I could go there and we could say goodbye properly.…”

  He sniffled on the other end of the phone. “I’d really like that but it’s not possible anymore.”

  “Did you want to come to me?”

  “I can’t—”

  Maeva felt sad. She slid off the bed and onto the floor, her hand on Michael’s shirt. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No! I’m the one that fucked up. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

  “Like what? Rob … you’re scaring me.”

  “I never meant to.…” Rob said, shuffling down the hallway, a door slamming behind him. She heard him sit on a creaky mattress.

  “Just spit it out.”

  Rob let out a long breath. “I crashed the car and—”

  Maeva’s heart dove into her throat. “Oh my god you crashed the car? Are you hurt?” She stood, meaning to leave the room. Scooping up Michael’s shirt, she threw it over her head.

  “No, I’m fine. Shimma was really mad. I can’t see you. Please, just say goodbye.”

  Maeva blinked, putting the pieces together. Her chest squeezed as she stubbed her toe on the corner wheel and let out a yelp, falling on the bed and grabbing her toe. She bit her lip as Michael woke, letting out a groan. He rolled over and looked at her, a dizzy expression on his face.

  “Where are you?” Rob asked suddenly, obviously hearing Michael.

  “Uh …” She blushed as she moved off the bed and took careful steps across the floor, grabbing the doorknob. “At Michael’s.”

  “You slept with him?”

  “Who is that?” Michael asked as she opened the door.

  She wanted to crawl into a hole. She mouthed Rob and Michael held his hand out for the phone but she shook her head and stepped into the hall, pulling the door shut behind her. Cool air hit her bare legs and she rubbed them together. “No … we just …” She didn’t want to finish that sentence with what they almost did. There was a lot of touching, but Michael couldn’t go that far. He didn’t have a lot of strength left.

  She turned around, and blinked at Tom Norton, standing by the island in the kitchen, fully clothed, coffee in hand, newspaper in front of him. She froze; her mouth open, eyes wide. He did a once over, checking her out and she wanted to die inside, his expression incredulous. She pivoted as the bedroom door opened and Michael crossed the floor in his boxers, heading for the bathroom. She couldn’t believe her freaking luck.

  “I have to go,” she said, hanging up, closing the bedroom door behind her and tossing the phone on the bed. She ripped off Michael’s shirt and found her clothes from last night. She combed her hair with her fingers, glancing at herself in the mirror above Michael’s dresser. She pulled the shirt over her belt and stepped into the hallway, trying to seem casual as she headed to the fridge and grabbed the carton of apple juice.

  Tom fluffed out his newspaper as she searched for a glass. She tried not to make eye contact with Michael’s uncle as she poured th
e juice but his scrutinizing gaze was on her and her cheeks felt hot. If he were Grace and this were her house, she’d be in so much trouble. Her stomach dropped as she thought of her mother. She did leave a message saying the winds were too bad and she was crashing at Rachel’s but she never did call Rachel to confirm the cover.

  “I wasn’t born yesterday you know,” Tom drawled. Maeva hated him and his smooth indifference, the way he looked at her like she was naked. She nonchalantly took a sip of juice to avoid talking to him. “His t-shirt, last night’s clothes, it doesn’t really make a difference.”

  Maeva wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. “Nothing happened.…” She felt incredibly awkward admitting to Tom Norton that she didn’t have sex with her boyfriend but he wouldn’t stop staring at her.

  He raised his eyebrows. “I’m well aware,” he said, punctuating his every word with sharp syllables. “I do sleep in the room next door.”

  Maeva felt heat rush to her cheeks and the tips of her ears. She couldn’t imagine Elwen listening to everything else that happened in Michael’s room last night, all the whispering, moaning, and bed creaking. She downed the rest of the juice. “Uhh …”

  Michael appeared in the hallway, in his usual motif: black everything. Maeva glanced at his belt, expecting the dagger to be pressed against his thigh but it wasn’t. He joined her and Tom in the kitchen, grabbing orange juice. He didn’t like it, but he drank it because of all the vitamins. “Are you going home?” He placed a kiss against her temple. She shrank away holding her arms against her chest.

  “Before my mom freaks out.” She gave him an apologetic look. She wanted to stay for breakfast; he probably made really good breakfast. Tom drained his coffee cup and stood, grabbing a briefcase on one of the other stools. He put his shoes on and grabbed his keys off a hook near the front door.

  “Michael?”

  “What?” Michael asked, his hands braced on the island.