Mercy (16 page)

Elwen shrugged. “Does it really matter? You have to end her.” Krishani shot him a reproachful look and he backed out of the room. “She’s dangerous.”

Krishani flattened his hand against his chest, stifling a coughing fit. His heart cinched, making him lightheaded. “It’s so hard to believe.”

“What?”

“That she did this to me.” He sounded defeated and Elwen didn’t have an answer. He put his hand on the doorknob, his eyes on the floor. In that moment, Krishani understood with blinding clarity why Tor brought her back. “He wants to use her.”

“What?”

Krishani nodded, years of battle strategies flickering through his fragmented mind. “The best weapon is the one you don’t see coming.”

Elwen’s hand fell off the doorknob, his footsteps retreating. “You certainly never saw her coming did you?” he called from a safe distance.

Krishani growled, grabbing the dagger and flinging it at the wall. It stuck the opposite side of the hallway and he left it there, in too much pain to move.

***

Chapter 17
Accidents

Maeva slid into the eight-seater booth and let out a long sigh. Winter break was killer. Howling winds whistled across the lake, and everyone’s extended family came to town. She served the same aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents as last year, most of them having to split their families between multiple booths. Downtown seemed festive with Christmas lights hanging off street lamps and decorated evergreens outside every shop. Dino hung a wreath over the door to Red Boot, and added yam fries to the menu.

She slid off her flats and tucked her bare feet under her. Untying her apron she spread it out on the table, organizing bills and change, separating what was hers, the kitchen staff’s, Dino’s. She was waiting on her order, hence the whole loitering after her shift thing. The restaurant was almost empty, a young couple in their twenties sitting at a booth with a picture of a wheat field and puffy white clouds against a cerulean sky above their heads.

She counted out the bills and slid her hands into the apron, her fingers stopping on the receipt from “R.” She’d kept it, and thought about calling him a million times but didn’t know what to say.

Steph had left the day after Boxing Day for her week of skiing in Timmins. They didn’t talk much anymore. Steph showed up for Math class and sat with her, but Mr. Zimmerman was such a dick about notes it was impossible to get more than a few words in before and after class. Frankly, Maeva wanted to spill about Michael but fear rose in her throat, constricting the muscles so tightly that even if she tried to speak nothing but terrified hiccups came out.

She gulped, remembering the way his fingers trailed down her cheek, igniting butterflies in her stomach. She hadn’t really thought about it, but he looked like he was in pain. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was beautiful before he stepped out of the shadows and ruined it all. The waterfall was small but it existed. She remembered the way water trickled over a bulging whitish yellow icicle, the way ice covered sheets of red metamorphic rock, creating a protective shield around it. She wanted to go back, but fear twisted her stomach and she … couldn’t.

She pulled out the receipt and read the short note from “R” for the twentieth time that week. She wanted to forget about Michael but every day for the past three and a half months he sat beside her in Photography. Sure, the class only lasted an hour, and in November Mr. Weir let them touch the vintage cameras, placing one on each desk. She abhorred the partnering, as did Michael. He seemed to know everything about cameras, constantly interrupting Mr. Weir to correct him. When they began constructing light boxes he watched her, and she did it herself, feeling self-conscious the entire time. She hated his eyes on her. If he kept staring she was afraid he’d burn a hole through her sweater.

That’s what she needed, spontaneous human combustion. She smiled to herself humming a few notes to the song. All she needed to do was burst into flames in the middle of class. She laughed at the absurdity and folded her apron. The wooden doors flapped and Rachel came through, a plate in hand. She set it down in front of Maeva.

“Your dinner, madame,” she said in a fake British accent.

“Thanks,” Maeva said, smiling. Rachel was great, acting like an older sister to the girls that worked there. She pushed the bills in her direction. Rachel scooped them up and sat across from her counting them out while Maeva dunked a chicken finger in the honey dill sauce.

Rachel looked up when she was done counting. “Are your folks back yet?”

Maeva shook her head, a mouthful of chicken preventing her from talking. Another reason winter break was treacherous and mean. Scott was out there in Timmins with Steph, and her parents were on some ice-fishing trip in the woods. As she understood it, her dad was doing the fishing and her mom was curled up by a fire with her Jude Devereaux novels. They wouldn’t be back until after New Year’s.

Rachel slumped, her light brown hair bouncing on her shoulders. She bit the inside of her mouth. “You sure you don’t want to stay with me for a couple of days?”

Maeva swallowed. “I’m fine.” The butterflies in her stomach multiplied and died, turning into a slosh of storms. She was far from fine, but she wasn’t about to confide her deepest secrets to her boss.

Rachel slid out of the booth and was almost through the doors when she paused, her fingers stopping it from swinging. “Do you have anyone you can call?”

Maeva thought about the receipt and a blush touched her cheeks. Rachel came back to the booth and pushed her hip against the table. Maeva tried to concentrate on eating her French fries but her lips spread into a wide smile, giving her away.

“Spill it.”

Maeva couldn’t speak so she pushed the receipt at Rachel and let her read the message for herself. She slapped it on the table when she was finished. “You haven’t called him yet?”

Maeva shook her head, the sloshing storms making her tongue stick to her palette. She stuffed another dry French fry into her mouth and chewed, but it only made it worse.

Rachel squinted at the bill. “This is from three weeks ago.” She seemed appalled and surprised at the same time. Maeva knew Rachel well enough that if a stranger at Red Boot gave her his number she’d be calling him the next day.

Maeva forced the dry potato down her throat. “I know.” She choked, her voice ragged.

“Was he cute?”

Maeva shrugged. “He was … skinny.” She thought about the way his face lit up at the sound of apple pie and how comfortable she’d felt around him. The only reason she hadn’t called was because of that blonde girl. She didn’t know if they were going out or something. But, did guys really give out their phone numbers to other girls when their girlfriends were right there? She sighed.

“Skinny? That’s it? You have to call him.”

“Fine. I promise I’ll call him.” She reached for the receipt but Rachel held it to her chest, retreating to the kitchen. She came back, cordless phone in hand. Maeva’s heart dove into her throat as she held it to her ear. It was already ringing. Rachel sat opposite her and mouthed “sorry” in her direction. Maeva glowered at her as the third ring sounded.

“Hallo?” a woman answered. Maeva looked at Rachel, fear and confusion in her eyes. She cleared her throat.

“Hello?”

“Hallo,” the woman said again, a thick European accent coloring her words.

“I … I think I have the wrong number,” Maeva said, pulling her eyebrows together. She couldn’t believe it, the only guy to give her his phone number and it turned out she called some old Swedish biddy.

“No … you have the right number,” the woman’s tone was flat, but the accent didn’t leave. Silence ensued. Maeva waited until it sounded like she dropped the phone on the floor and someone recovered it.

“Shoot, sorry, hallo?” he had the same accent and for a moment she thought she was imagining things. “Hi, sorry?” he said, sounding normal.

Rachel looked at Maeva expectantly. She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s him,” she hissed, putting the phone back to her ear. “Hello? Um, you probably don’t remember me, I’m Maeva … I was your server the other day … week.”

“I remember,” the boy said. She heard a bedroom door shut.

Maeva panicked, looking at Rachel for something to say. Rachel motioned with her hand to keep talking and mouthed “how are you” at her. Maeva blushed deeper. This was the most awkward conversation ever. “How are you?”

“I’m good … fine … okay. You?” the boy asked.

“The same.”

There was a long pause. The boy didn’t say anything and Maeva tried to fill the awkward silence. “So … I don’t really know your name …”

“P … Robert. My name is Robert. You can call me Rob. That sounds good right? Rob sounds good?”

Maeva smiled, so she wasn’t the only nervous one. She heard him flop onto his bed. “Rob, yeah, I guess it works.”

“Are you at work now?”

“Yep. Are you at home?”

“Yep.”

“Who was the girl on the phone?”

“My cousin. I live with her in Thunder Bay. I’m originally from Toronto and she’s from Oslo, that’s in Norway.…”

Rachel slipped out of the booth and put a hand on Maeva’s shoulder. “Thank me later,” she whispered, going into the back. Maeva noticed the open sign in the front window was off, and she could leave anytime.

“I know where Oslo is.”

“Oh. Anyway, I got in a row with my parents and I’m hiding out here with Shimma until I figure out what to do.”

Maeva frowned. “You got in a row?” It sounded like something Michael would say in his sexy British accent. She pushed away the thought, not wanting to associate the word sexy with Michael. He was scary, deadly, poisonous, insane, psychotic. She ran through all the words she could think of, and blotted out what Rob was saying about getting in a fight with his parents and running away to Thunder Bay. It sounded fishy, because if she were running away, Thunder Bay wouldn’t be her first choice.

“Are you doing anything for New Year’s?” she asked. She focused on the window and the very dark night outside. She’d have to freak herself out for the third time this week and walk the frozen lake alone.

“Nope.”

“Do you want to hang out?” She smiled and tapped her foot against the carpet. Talking to Rob was easier than she thought. He listened, he responded and he didn’t scare the crap out of her.

“That sounds awesome,” he said.

She hung up, finished her food, and drove to St. Mary Harbor. She sat in her car for a long time trying to get the nerve to walk across the lake. It took her a good forty-five minutes to convince herself there weren’t shadows in the trees, or Michael waiting for her behind Earl’s Garage. There was nothing for her to be afraid of, except for thin ice, hypothermia, drowning in the lake … she hyperventilated as she slammed the car door shut, the hunk of metal warm in her gloved hand. Her dad had replaced the tires but Earl hadn’t fixed the ignition.

She took off past the harbor, flashlight in hand, howling wind in her ears. She crunched through snow squalls, her heart hammering with every step. She hummed a song she wrote when she was twelve under her breath, trying to keep her mind off everything but the light on her back porch. She shone the flashlight up ahead and quickened her pace, practically running across the lake. She hopped onto the one-foot tall cement platform, and swung the screen door open. She dug her key into the dead bolt and twisted the handle. She purposefully left the lamp in the front room on, so she wouldn’t have to paw around in the dark when she got home. She pocketed the keys and hung up her jacket, heading to her room in the basement.

Once snuggled into her bed; she grabbed one of the books off her headboard. This one had a sexy archangel. She read a few chapters and swooned. She didn’t like Michael, but she wished someone noticed her the way he did, only without the psychotic outbursts and knife throwing.

O O O

Maeva thrust herself off the edge of the cliff, and woke to the feeling she was falling. She dragged in a shaky breath and let it out. She closed her eyes, a river of magma flowing behind her eyelids. She gasped and propped herself on an elbow. She reached for her lamp, made out of an eighteenth century doll. The shade was her umbrella while the base of the lamp was her face and body. She wore a beautiful black and red lacey dress, her feet clad in black pointed pumps.

Maeva fell back into the pillows, the recurring dream fading slowly. She grabbed the journal on her headboard and opened it, jotting down the few images she had seen. She thought she heard a name before she threw herself off the cliff. She wracked her brain for the name and scrawled a few letters on the page. Kaylee? Kali? She snapped the book shut and hugged it to her chest. Dreams like that were frequent, but they didn’t make any sense.

O O O

Maeva hit the grocery store for milk before her shift the next day. New Year’s was only a couple days away and she brimmed with excitement over seeing Rob. For the first time ever, she actually had a date. She opened her trunk and loaded the milk and other groceries into her Sundance. It was cold enough outside she could leave them there until summer and they wouldn’t go bad.

She spent the last couple of days focusing on work, ignoring the scary lake and her dreams. She had another closing shift, and was seriously thinking about taking Rachel up on her offer. The only problem was she hated being given an invitation out of pity. It was one thing for Rachel to want Maeva over, another thing entirely to be doing her a favor. No matter what her parents were like they weren’t raging alcoholics with violent tendencies. They weren’t that bad. It wouldn’t matter soon anyway; her eighteenth birthday wasn’t far away. Essentially, after grad, she and Steph could go to the University of Toronto and live in the dorms together, unless her boyfriend had other plans.

She pulled onto highway seventeen and hummed along to the cassette. It was an old Ani DiFranco tape, something Earl had given her. She loved the croony, angry vocals and the punchy strange lyrics. As usual, her choir sang at Choralfest, and made an appearance at the church on Valley Road before winter break began. Her parents didn’t bother showing up for the duet she had with Charlotte and the people that told her she did a great job, were teachers and parents of students who didn’t like her.

Lost in her thoughts she missed the turn on Second Street and flipped her left turn signal on, turning down First. She paused at the back lane, prepared to make another left when a beige Cavalier went head first into the traffic light on Main, right in front of the Public Library. Panicked, she pulled to the side of the road and yanked her seatbelt off, jumping into the middle of the street. It was quiet, other cars passing the Cavalier politely, nobody bothering to stop.

She wrung her hands along her sides and flipped the bird to a guy in a truck. He continued to make his left turn down First like nothing had happened. Maeva eyed the traffic pole, the wind making it sway dangerously back and forth. She glanced at the driver, and all she could see was someone in a black leather jacket slumped over the steering wheel. She crossed the road when it was clear and tapped on the window, trying to see if they were okay. They stirred, pushing themselves up slowly, their face covered in blood. She grappled at the door handle, trying to open the door. Reflections of the street and her face bounced off the window and she wasn’t really sure who it was.