Cruel Mercy (Book 2)

by Lola StVil

  What if the class is right and I might blow at any moment?

  As my thoughts race out of control, I notice the room has gone silent. I blink and look around, pulling myself out of my head and back into the room. George is on his feet, looking at me with a hatred so pure I feel myself shrink back.

  “Your father killed my mother. I grew up without a mother. Because of you.”

  He spits the words at me, and I can hear the hurt and anger in every syllable. He’s looking for someone to blame. I want to tell him I’m sorry for what Malakaro did. I want to tell him I hate Malakaro more than he ever could. I want to tell him what he did isn’t my fault. I don’t have time to even form the words. George raises his hand, and in slow motion, a large red fireball flies directly at my chest…

  The fireball is coming straight at me. If it hits me, I’m dead.

  And they think I’m the bad guy!

  I duck down just in time and the fireball sails over my head and smashes a chunk out of the wall at my side.

  “What the hell?” I snap at George.

  He doesn’t respond. He just stares at me. His eyes are cold and there’s no trace of remorse there. I get that he’s pissed off, but guess what? He’s trying to exact his revenge on the wrong person. I am not my father, but I’m pretty sure that truth would be lost on George. He is consumed by anger. George fires at me again. I’m prepared this time, and I throw a laser of my own power into his fireball, disintegrating it in midair.

  I stand up, my chair scraping noisily along the tiled floor. I don’t want to blast him with my power. Chances are it would kill him. Instead, I throw myself on him, knocking him to the floor. I punch him in the face. Once. Twice. I can feel his flesh mushing beneath my fist. I feel the warmth of his blood as it coats my hand. I pull back my fist for a third punch when I see he’s had enough. His nose is bleeding and bent slightly to one side, and his left eye is already swollen closed.

  I know I’ve gone too far, but in my defense, he was trying to kill me.

  I stand up, noticing for the first time the deathly silence that has fallen across the classroom. I go back towards my seat, and my steps seem to break the trance that everyone has fallen under.

  “What did you do?” a girl shouts, kneeling beside George.

  The classroom erupts in a cacophony of accusations all aimed at me as though her words made everyone else braver too. My head feels ready to explode. I want to shout and scream, make them understand that I was only defending myself. I want to ask them how many of them wouldn’t have done exactly the same thing in my position, but I don’t.

  I know it would be useless. They’ve made their minds up about me. The noise in the classroom has reached a fever pitch when the door opens and Mrs. Hale comes back in.

  “What is going on here?” she demands, her voice betraying her shock at the screeching students and the banging of hands on desks.

  The noise stops instantly. The girl kneeling beside George speaks up.

  “Nix attacked George,” she says.

  Mrs. Hale notices George, who has gotten himself sitting up, for the first time. She gasps when she sees the blood still pouring from his nose.

  Her head turns in my direction.

  “What happened?” she asks.

  “He fired his power at me, so I made sure he didn’t get to do it again,” I say, my voice sounding eerily calm even to me.

  Several students shout up at once.

  “Nix just attacked him.”

  “George didn’t do anything.”

  What?!

  “We thought Nix was going to kill George,” a voice adds.

  “Lay it on thick, why don’t you? If he hadn’t fired at me, none of this would have happened,” I protest.

  “That’s enough,” Mrs. Hale says, holding up a hand for silence.

  She walks over to George and helps him to his feet. She runs her hand over his face, healing his nose and eye.

  While her back is turned, I try to keep my eyes firmly on the desk in front of me, but I can feel them staring at me. I catch a particularly nasty smile from one of them.

  That smile tells me everything. They know. They know I’m not my father. They know I’m nothing like him, but they don’t care. They saw a chance to cause trouble for someone, and they took it.

  Motherfuckers.

  Mrs. Hale turns to me.

  “Come on,” she says.

  She heads for the door and stands in the doorway, waiting for me to follow.

  Part of me debates ignoring her and just sitting here. I’ve done nothing wrong. Why should I be the one to go to the headmistress?

  But I don’t argue. What’s the point?

  I cross the room and go into the corridor. I hold my head up high and don’t so much as glance at any of them.

  “What really happened?” Mrs. Hale asks as we walk along the corridor towards Mrs. Greenblatt’s office.

  “What really happened is you chose a terrible topic to discuss,” I fire back.

  Mrs. Hale’s eyes open wide in shock. It would have been funny in any other circumstances, but today it isn’t. She really doesn’t see what she’s done.

  “People are angry at your father,” she tells me.

  “I’m aware of that. I’m one of them. But the kids in there didn’t care about that. They just wanted to attack me. And they did. It’s funny. The only person in that room who actually had a reason to be angry was George, and he was the only one who got hurt.”

  “Why did you hit him? Were you angry, Nix?”

  Oh, this gets better. She’s playing therapist now.

  “I was a little angry when his fireball nearly decapitated me, yeah, but I only hit him to stop him.”

  “I’m very disappointed in you, Nix,” Mrs. Hale informs me as we reach the office.

  “Well that’s something we have in common then,” I say quietly.

  I sit in a small room that opens off Mrs. Greenblatt’s office while I wait for my parents to arrive.

  I wish for the hundredth time that day that Bex was really my father—then none of this would have happened.

  Mrs. Greenblatt (aka The Face) opens the door to the small room and signals with a nod of her head that she’s ready for me. She is giving me the look that could turn the most terrifying demon into a blubbering wreck.

  I stand up and make my way into the office. My parents sit on either side of an empty chair. I take the empty chair, and The Face begins her interrogation.

  “What happened?” she asks me.

  “Exactly what Mrs. Hale told you happened,” I say.

  She’s not going to believe me, so why bother?

  Mrs. Greenblatt perches on the front of her desk before me.

  “Well Mrs. Hale is under the impression that someone was teasing you and you beat him to a pulp.”

  I open my mouth, but she holds up a hand for silence and goes on.

  “I find that quite hard to believe. I’ve known you for a long time, and you’ve never struck me as the sort of boy who can’t take a bit of teasing. So I’ll ask you again. What happened?”

  “Mrs. Hale was talking about Malakaro,” I say.

  I can’t bring myself to refer to him as my father.

  “She was explaining what a nice guy he was in general, you know? It seems Malakaro killed George’s mother. He didn’t take too kindly to that, and frankly, I don’t blame him. But this went way beyond teasing. He launched a fireball at me, which I ducked. The second one, I deflected, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to stop. So I stopped him.”

  The Face takes a moment to consider my words.

  “I understand where you’re coming from, Nix. I really do. But we don’t tolerate violence in this school, as you well know. There must have been a better way to deal with what happened.”

  I feel my temper flare up.

  “Yeah. I could have let him blow my head off,” I snap.

  I can’t listen to any more of this. I’m sick and tired of this shit bein
g my legacy. I stand up and make for the door.

  “Maybe that’s exactly what I should have done,” I say as I storm out.

  I march angrily towards the exit. I don’t know where I’m headed, I only know that I can’t face another moment here. Not today.

  I hear light footsteps running behind me, and as I push open the exit and feel the fresh breeze on my face, my mother falls into step beside me.

  I wait for the lecture, but instead, she surprises me.

  She grins. “I would have done the same thing.”

  I feel some of the tension leave my shoulders, and I grin back at her. It doesn’t stay in place for long as I think about what I’ll have to face tomorrow, and the day after that and for the rest of my life.

  “I’m so sick of Malakaro coming back to haunt me,” I tell her. “It’s like everywhere I go I have a target on my back because of him.”

  She gets in front of me and turns back to face me, forcing me to stop. She puts her hands on my shoulders and waits for me to look at her face.

  “You’re strong, Nix. And you’re good. Take no notice of the people who don’t see that. They don’t matter. The people who do matter know you, and they know you’re nothing like your father.”

  “But what if I am like him? I just broke someone’s nose.”

  “Oh, Nix. If only I could make you see how different the two of you are. Your father would have killed him with much less provocation than you had. And you only did what you did because you knew you had to stop him. It’s not like you did any lasting damage.”

  She’s right. I am not him. I’m not!

  “I’m not going to grow up to be like him. I hate him and everything he stood for,” I announce.

  My mother nods.

  “That vow right there? That’s the difference between you and him. The fact you want to prevent evil from flourishing tells me everything I need to know about your intentions.”

  “But how do I make other people see that?” I ask her.

  Her face flashes with a momentary sadness.

  “Some people will always believe the worst of others no matter what they do. But that’s their problem, not yours. You need to concentrate on you. And I think you need some closure.”

  I nod. Closure sounds good. And easier to do than erasing all of Malakaro’s bad deeds from my memory.

  “I think it would help you to visit the graves of some of his victims. Really see the horrors he committed. And that will show you beyond any doubt that you are nothing at all like him.”

  I nod.

  “Okay,” I agree.

  I’m not sure I’m ready to face the horrors he inflicted on innocent people, but if my mother believes it will help me move on, then I’m willing to try.

  My father exits the building and comes towards us. He’s holding a sheet of paper.

  I just know it’s the official notice telling my parents I’ve been suspended. I’m going to miss the game. We’ll lose, and it’ll all be my fault. The Daraquins will forever think we’re losers, just because I couldn’t keep my temper.

  There’ll be no cheerleaders chanting my name; they’ll be like everyone else—sneering and judging me. Only they’ll be right. My temper has cost the school greatly.

  I can feel my temper rising again. How is this fair?

  A frown crosses my father’s face briefly as he sees the barely concealed anger on my face.

  “Nix? What is it?” he asks.

  I shake my head. How can I make him see how important this game is?

  He doesn’t care what the Daraquin team thinks of us. Whenever Lucas or I tell him the things they say about the school, and his decision to send us here, he just smiles a mysterious smile and says, “They’ll see.”

  He doesn’t press the issue. Instead, he hands me the sheet of paper. Before I can read it, he explains.

  “That’s the extra credit essay you’re to do for Mrs. Greenblatt. She wants you to know this isn’t a punishment for protecting yourself. It’s a punishment for the way you were so quick to run away from the consequences of your actions.”

  “So she believes me?” I ask, almost afraid to hear the answer.

  He nods. “Of course she believes you.” That should have made me feel better, and it did—a little. But for the most part, I still feel like crap. Why did I have to be his son? Why couldn’t Malakaro be someone else’s problem? I try to get around it, but when I feel this bad about who I am and whom I am related to, I always end up in the cemetery…

  As I walk, lost in thought, between the graves of my father’s victims, my mind keeps coming back to one thing. The last words my father ever said for me:

  “Tell my son my steps are not his steps. My pain is not his path. And tell him I left him with family, so I left him with everything.”

  My father wasn’t right about much, but he was right about two things. I am not him, and I won’t follow in his footsteps. And the family he left me with are my everything. The greatest evil that ever walked this earth knew I had a choice. A choice to be good. And I am going to take it.

  I notice a woman up ahead of me kneeling before one of the graves. She is crying loudly. I try to duck behind one of the larger tombstones so she can grieve privately, but I’m too late.

  She offers up a watery smile when she spots me.

  “My mother,” she says, nodding towards the grave. “People tell me she died a hero. Personally, I’d rather her still be alive.”

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her.

  It’s not enough, but I don’t know what else to say.

  She stands up.

  “I’m Amelie,” she says with a smile that’s mostly empty of tears now.

  “Nix,” I respond.

  “Who did he take from you?” she asks.

  It’s a good question. Everyone? No one? Myself?

  It’s not so much about what he took from me, but rather what he left me with.

  “He ruined my entire life,” I say, sidestepping the question.

  It doesn’t work,

  “What happened?” she asks.

  Her face is kind, and her concern seems genuine. Maybe she won’t be like the rest of them. Maybe if I tell her who I really am, she will see it’s not my fault. That I am not him.

  “Malakaro was my father,” I say.

  Her face changes. Gone is the open, warm expression. In its place is a rage I can almost taste.

  Well, that didn’t go as I had hoped it would.

  “How dare you come here? How dare you walk among his victims, gloating? You should be ashamed of yourself. You and your whole family should be ashamed of yourselves.”

  The anger seems to drain out of her as quickly as it came, replaced by a deep hurt. I don’t want to make her pain worse, but I know I have to say something. I don’t know what, so I settle for the simple truth.

  “Being here, seeing what he’s done, I think you’re right. I am ashamed. But I’m not him. I’m nothing like him. And I never will be. I will protect the innocent at all costs.”

  I look her straight in the eye as I make the vow. I have nothing to hide. She seems to see that I am genuine. Her face creases in thought for a moment, then she nods once, as if confirming something to herself.

  “Are you serious about wanting to protect the innocent at all costs, Nix?” she asks, just as serious.

  “Yes, I am. I will do anything to show people I have chosen to be good.”

  “Then prove that you are nothing like your father,” she says.

  Her eyes hold mine, almost challenging me. I don’t know if the challenge is agreeing or refusing, but I know I won’t refuse her.

  “How do I do that?” I ask.

  I really hope she has a way I can prove it. I will do anything. Whatever it takes.

  “Have you ever heard of the Shadow and Serpent?”

  Shadow and Serpent sounds like a pretty cool video game, but judging by the serious look on Amelie’s face, it’s something less fun. I admit to her that I have never
heard of it. She studies me and shakes her head sadly.

  “I didn’t think you would have. We like to keep a low profile. On one hand that’s good, but on the other hand, it means we can’t always reach the masses the way we’d like to. Look, I really think we can help each other,” she says.

  “How?” I ask.

  “You say you want to protect the innocent at all costs. There’s a great evil coming, Nix, and we are committed to stopping it. Help us. You can show us that you’re nothing like your father. You can be a part of something big. Something good. And maybe it’ll give you the closure you seem to crave.”

  It’s like she can read my mind. All I’ve ever wanted was a way to make the world see me as more than just the son of the greatest evil ever. And according to Amelie, there might be a way to do just that.

  “Will you come with me to meet some of the others and talk about how you can help?” she asks.

  Amelie phrases her words like a question, but it sounds more like a demand. It doesn’t matter. Her sadness is gone, replaced by a fierce determination. Right now, I would agree to go to the depths of Hell with her if I thought it would show people that I’m not evil.

  “Yes,” I say simply.

  She nods once and turns and begins walking away. I follow, quickening my pace until I’m almost jogging to keep up with her.

  We don’t go far. She leads me to a far corner of the cemetery and stops before a large grey stone crypt. The crypt is inscribed with the name “Garrick” and, below that, a phrase in a language I don’t understand.

  I want to ask Amelie if her last name is Garrick but something stops me. I have a sudden cold feeling in the pit of my stomach and I don’t want to know more than she is willing to tell me.

  I feel like we are walking into danger. I push the feeling aside. She’s already told me a great evil is coming. Of course it’s going to be dangerous. But no one ever said being good and standing up for those who can’t stand up for themselves would be anything but dangerous.

  I accept my fate as Amelie glances around her. Once she’s satisfied that we are alone, she reaches out and opens the crypt door. I shudder inside, waiting for the drawn-out creaky sound, but the door opens smoothly, silently.