The captain rubbed his face, “Gray buildings and big houses. That could be anywhere.”
“I know. That’s why I told them that I needed to come along, because sometimes I’ll have the same dream again, but with more detail.”
“So why would coming along matter? You had the dream at your home, right?”
Mercy looked over at Scythe, clearly unsure about what to say, “It just does.”
Scythe rolled his eyes. He and Reave both knew that there were elements of untruth in her story. It was nearly impossible for someone like Mercy to lie to a Kin; even a Human would have spotted her tells a mile away.
The captain was not amused about it. “Okay, I’m obviously missing something here. Are you two planning on letting me in on it?” When neither one replied, he continued, “Well, you’re moving out tomorrow, so if you think of anything else, or if you have another one of your dreams, I want you to let me know. We’re after these terrorists and would like to get them before anything else happens.”
“I don’t want to go to Sonora,” Mercy said, remembering Scythe’s advice from the early morning. “I want to be with my family: my mom and dad and little brother.” She gave him the best adorable little girl look she could muster.
Reave narrowed his eyes at Scythe, “That was shameless.” To Mercy, he said sternly, “I’m sorry, but I’ve got orders, and your cute face and rehearsed lines won’t change them.”
To Scythe’s surprise, Mercy straightened up with a flash in her eyes and spoke sharply, “Rehearsed or not, I still want to go home.”
The captain blinked at the change in her and then decided that she needed to be reminded of her station, “You are not in your city, Mercy. Your opinion doesn’t matter here. You should have thought about that before you left your safe home.”
With a shot of defiance that undoubtably came from the fear that he was right, she declared, “I’m not scared of you, or any Kin.” Ribbons leapt from her body, surrounding her and spreading outward. Since that morning, she had had no trouble controlling the flow of her power, even when asleep. Scythe saw instantly that her ability to manipulate her power easily rivaled her father’s, which meant that she could be very dangerous if she wanted to be.
“Mercy,” Scythe said sharply, moving into the room and pushing his power in a wave past the captain, who only shivered, and into the path of Mercy’s.
Her tendrils curled away from it, some disappearing instantly and others knocked back. With the tightening of her lips, she wrapped them around herself. As they sank into her, she stubbornly tossed her head to the side and pronounced, “Scythe will take care of me.”
Unaware of what had happened right in front of him, Reave laughed, getting up from his chair and moving toward the door. “Well, if anyone can, it would be him. He’s one of the most resourceful, focused, cold-blooded killers we’ve got working for us.” He nodded to Scythe on his way out, “She’s a delight, for a Human, except for the dream thing. I assume it is some kind of Human superstition?”
Scythe didn’t answer, but the captain didn’t seem to expect one. He was already on the way to his office.
Mercy swallowed and leaned back, suddenly more tired than she should have been. She looked from the door to where Scythe stood at the end of the bed and said confidently, “That’s not true, what he said about you.”
“It is,” Scythe said with certainty, “except for the part where I work for him.” The admission left him strangely relieved. He wanted her to know the truth about him, about what he was now. It would make everything so much easier.
“Liar,” Mercy accused, knowing that it was one of the worst insults to the Kin. “I know you.”
“No, you don’t. You were just a little kid when you last saw me; you didn’t know me at all.”
“I’ll prove it.” She sent five ribbons from her body in a straight line toward him.”
It was no work at all to repulse them; she was still recovering and her strength had yet to build up. However, he was sure that it would be much more difficult when she wasn’t hampered by her condition.
He pressed down the instinct to fight that had surfaced when she sent her power at him. The hot-headed scrapper inside of him wanted to go up against her, take it easy on her for a while so it could catalogue everything she could do, maybe even learn a few things, and then smash her flat. The urge was so strong that he backed away the few steps it took him to return to his place at the door. He was shocked by the uncommon intensity of his aggressive condition. It was really excited to be challenged by someone with power because that almost never happened to him. It wanted to know what it could do. Luckily, it wasn’t in control. He was.
“Quit it, Mercy. I mean it.” His tone had a threatening edge which didn’t lighten up one bit when he whispered, “And, don’t use your power casually like that. Your parents didn’t teach you to be that careless.”
She pulled her energy back into herself without a thought. “It doesn’t matter. I know what I know, Scythe. You are not a cold-blooded killer.”
She turned her head sharply away from him, reached over, picked up her discarded breakfast and began nibbling at it. Her appetite had returned, but her stomach still had difficulty handling solid food.
“You used to call me Uncle Scythe,” he said from the doorway in an attempt to distract her from the topic. Her or himself, one of the two.
“You used to hug me,” she snapped without looking up.
“Well, those days are long gone, Mercy. Get used to it.” He turned and stepped outside. He leaned against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest, and began to catalogue everything he could sense in the courtyard. It was only a matter of moments before he added the scent of salty tears to the list.
Chapter 5
She bent over the sink, letting her hot forehead lay on the cool porcelain, and gripped her stomach as it twisted into a knot inside of her. She clamped down on her lips, stifling a moan and breathing heavily through her nose.
“Mercy.”
She couldn’t speak.
“Mercy, are you all right? Do you need help?”
Her eyes squeezed shut over the tears and she managed a whisper, “No.”
It was just her second time out of bed by herself, and she was anxious to prove that she could take care of her own personal needs. She thought she was up to it, but her stomach and wobbly legs didn’t agree. She had been having stomach contractions, muscle cramps and terrible headaches for three days; the more she ate, the more persistently her stomach punished her, until she was afraid to eat anything.
“Mercy, I am coming in.”
The pain lightened up enough to let her whisper, “Please, I’m fine. Just give me a few minutes, okay?”
A pause. “All right.”
She turned on the water, grasped the plastic cup with shaky hands and filled it. She made sure to take small sips. She poured a little on her hands and washed the salt off her face. She couldn’t hide from him that she had been crying, so she didn’t try. She just wanted to feel the cool water on her skin. She would never, for the rest of her life, take water for granted. Each sip was like heaven to her. She filled her cup a second time and slowly savored it. Then her body rebelled again by clamping onto her stomach with iron pincers.
This time, she didn’t say anything when he sat next to her on the floor until it was over and then carried her to the bed in the adjoining room.
“Stubborn girl.”
She nodded, wiping away frustrated tears. Even when he was helping her, he was so distant, with that blank face and cold eyes. She hadn’t seen him smile once, even when she joked; it was like he had grown up to be an entirely different person. He didn’t want to talk to her, unless it was to give her instructions or to ask about her condition. A calm, efficient, heartless man. To top it off, she could tell by the way he turned his head and twitched his nose sometimes that he didn’t like the way she smelled. She had bathed each day with the help of a woman from the captain’s unit
, so she knew she didn’t stink like the first day, but he could still barely stand to be around her. It was stupid, but that really hurt her more than anything else he did.
Her naive goal seemed nearly impossible to her now that she had spent some time with him.
Even though he didn’t have anything to do but watch over her, he was always busy. Except for the rare times when he took short naps on a mat on the floor, he was constantly occupied with things that didn’t involve her. He read heavily, looked up stuff on the smallest computer she had ever seen and worked out.
Watching him go through his drills and routines was both shocking and inspiring at the same time. She had never seen anything like it, or even known that someone could do so many exercises in a row like that. It was kind of scary how strong and fast he was. Or, maybe what scared her was the intensity of his workouts, as if his body were burning fuel while he trained and he couldn't stop until it was all used up. It made her skin jitter just to watch, and they both rested when it was over.
He never just sat and talked to her like he used to. Even when he relaxed, he didn’t take it easy. He meditated.
She watched him read from across the room, slowly studying his features. She remembered how long his thick, black hair had been when she was little. It used to make her laugh like crazy when he leaned forward so that her brother could reach it and then screeched when, with a little help, the baby yanked on it. Once, he let her make a thin, tiny braid that hung down the side of his face; she had thought it looked so cool. Now it was cut short, and the bunches of hair that clustered together naturally curled slightly before they came to tiny points that stuck out in all directions. The new hairstyle made his long Kin ears and wide, high cheekbones stand out even more, and the scars that stretched across his neck parallel to the line of his chin, two on one side and three on the other, stood out prominently with no hair to hide behind.
She was used to those scars, of course. When she was younger, she thought of them as tiger stripes. To everyone else, though, they were intimidating marks, proof of an early struggle with someone intent on killing him violently. More importantly, they were evidence of his survival.
Above his jaw were the full lips of a Human. They were very different from the thin, pale ones the Kin had, although his custom was to hold them in the Kin’s less expressive manner. That’s why she used to love to make him smile, or even grin just a little. She hadn’t seen those lips stretch out in anything but frustration or anger since she had woken up there.
His gray skin was a color she had never seen on any other Kin: it was like metal, except it wasn’t shiny. That particular shade of faded black seemed like it would be cold, but it wasn’t. It was so warm. She used to rub her cheek against his face when she hugged him; she wondered what it felt like now, with the stubble of a few days growth on it. With his hair and skin, he would have taken a black and white photo, if it weren’t for his green eyes. His amazing eyes were the rounder and larger ones of his Human mother, a woman Mercy barely remembered.
She had only met Scythe’s mother once before she had died. Well, it wasn’t really fair to say she had met his mother, since the woman never spoke or acknowledged anything around her. Mercy thought about her own, affectionate mother and wondered for the first time what it must have been like for Scythe, who had been years younger than she was when he had been forced into the responsibility of taking care of his sick mother.
“Scythe,” she said.
“What?” He didn’t look up.
“Thank you for sitting with me and taking care of me.”
He nodded but didn’t stop reading.
She wasn’t about to let him get away with that. At least before he had always been polite.
“Typically we say, ‘You’re welcome, Mercy.’”
“You’re welcome, Mercy. No more talking.”
She sighed. She glanced at the plate next to her, grimaced and looked away.
“Can I play on your computer?”
“No. Talking.”
He was impossible. She tossed her head to the side and stared at the door.
Captain Reave had stood there and said he was a cold-blooded killer, and Scythe had agreed with him. She had thought it was ridiculous when she heard it, but now she knew that Scythe believed it. He believed it and he was fine with it.
She closed her eyes and lay back on her pillows. She wanted to touch him with her power, to know for sure that he was wrong. Then she wanted to prove it to him. But...what if he was right?
“Mercy,” a voice startled her awake. When had she fallen asleep?
She looked across at Scythe, “Hm?”
“Take a drink and then you can go back to sleep.”
“Okay,” she agreed groggily. “Anything you say, boss.” She reached for her glass, took several small sips, and returned it to the table. She waited, but this time her stomach didn’t give her a hard time. Relieved, she sat back and through half-closed lids watched Scythe read. She noticed that he was much farther along in the book than she remembered.
“Scythe, did you lie earlier?”
“What?”
Her lips curved at the corners. That got his attention.
She let her eyes close, which felt so good. “Did you lie when you said, ‘You’re welcome, Mercy’?” She cracked her eyes a little to see his answer.
He sighed and then admitted, “No, I didn’t lie.”
“That’s funny, because I don’t feel welcome.” She turned her head and snuggled into the pillow. “If you’re not lying with your words...then…” Sleep pulled her into its heavy embrace. “Then you’re lying with your face.”
-----------
Scythe had already marked his place in the book, laid it down and risen to stand against the wall by the time the Scere L’Eler captain stood in the doorway. The man didn’t speak immediately, but stared at Scythe thoughtfully for a moment, a crease between his eyebrows.
Despite his relaxed posture, Scythe smelled a hint of fear coming off him. Scythe sighed inwardly. That scent shook a dog that had been sleeping like a puppy all day.
“Sir?” Mercy asked from her bed finally.
He ignored her. “So...did you make the deal before or after you spoke to me?”
Scythe waited.
“How did you know that they would want her?” The man began feed off his own fear.
Scythe shrugged, “That’s what they do.”
Reave looked over at Mercy, clearly unable to see anything significant in the young girl. “Why do they want her? Because she had a dream?”
Scythe didn’t respond.
“You somehow managed to get her orders changed and you got yourself assigned to this duty, but I’ve got no record of any communication made by you. To my knowledge, you haven’t left this room in over two days.” His casual manner had disappeared entirely; in its place was a dangerous resentment that Scythe knew meant the end of their easy working relationship.
He hated to see that tie cut, especially since it was hard enough to find people who were receptive to his assistance on missions, but there had been no other way to get what he needed.
Cutting to the chase, Scythe said honestly, “None of your people helped me, captain.”
The man nodded, accepting the truth of what he said but still distrustful and resentful of his secretive methods. “So, you were able to do this, how?” When Scythe remained silent, Reave snapped, his voice rising, “Let me guess. It’s what you do, right? Well, I know damn well what else you can do, and if I find out, if I hear even a whisper that you have used your little tricks on my team, I will see you locked up, or worse, halfblood, and all the connections in the world won’t be able to save you.” He looked back at Mercy, who was visibly shaking, her hands gripping the blanket tightly. “As for this perverted infatuation with Humans, it is gonna take a lot more than what you have got to stop that particular train wreck.”
“I believe I have been assigned as a special agent, is that correct?” Scythe
said, his voice empty. He didn’t flinch when Mercy gasped. He knew that his gaze had turned cold and hard, which wasn’t going to help the situation with Reave, but it was the best he could do after being threatened and challenged. It was a nuisance to admit it, but he didn’t much like the man frightening Mercy, either.
So dangerous. It was so dangerous to threaten him, because deep down he loved to be threatened. It gave him permission to bite. He wrapped the leash around his fist a few times, yanking on it when he felt resistance.
The worst thing he could have done was let the burning inside, which had been unusually calm over the last few days, loose to rip the man up right there. To begin with, Scythe had worked hard to build his position and injuring the captain would have jeopardized it and its many benefits. He wanted to hold on to whatever bits remained. More importantly, letting go meant taking a big risk, because it could be difficult to control when it was out, and it would want to eat until it was full. Scythe had to admit that the captain had guts for speaking to him like that, but even so, Reave lacked the skills to even touch him, which meant that it would still be hungry for something more the minute the man was down. He wouldn’t put himself in that situation in Mercy’s room without a compelling reason, and a little hot-headed talk didn’t qualify.
Mentioning his status would shut the man down just as easily as a physical confrontation but without the disastrous consequences. As a special agent, he was attached to Reave’s unit as an independent consultant with full autonomy and some limited authority to make field decisions. He wasn’t subject to the captain’s orders; he was just obliged to cooperate with him in the interests of the mission.
Halfblood Journey Page 7
