A Burning in the Bones (Waxways #3)

Chapter 39 Mercy Whitaker

39 MERCY WHITAKER

Everyone had different ways of coping.

Mercy needed to keep her hands moving. It felt like her duty to conduct research on the four remaining captives. One by one, she had them escorted into the surgical theater where she’d last worked with Dr. Horn. After securing them to the table, she’d summon the same spells that he had then. Revelation charms tangled with spectral heightening cantrips. Layer after precious layer until the dark room was full of light. She would look up then and see the familiar, magic-brightened threads that connected each subject to everyone they’d ever met.

None of the guards had an origination thread. It would have been obvious. Like the thread that exists between the bonded. All the texts described it as a deep silver color. Bulkier than most threads as it extended out of the patient’s forehead before diverting in myriad directions. She did notice that each of their captives had a darker thread—like the color of shifting smoke—attached near the back of their skulls. Signs they were actively being manipulated.

Limping across the room, she would attempt to use her scalpel on each of these threads. But every time, the diamond-hard threads began to dull the edge of her blade. This was common with manipulation threads. They were like steel near the subject and like butter near their source. Impossible to sever unless you had the originator of the spell.

Exhausted, Mercy returned the final captive to one of the warded rooms. When she’d brought out Nance Forester to be tested, he’d said nothing to her. Made no apology. Offered no taunting smiles. He seemed almost lifeless compared to the bright creature she’d met in Running Hills. After what they’d just witnessed with Viceroy Gray, Mercy’s desire to gloat had vanished too. There was no glory in capturing a man who was apparently already being held captive. After all, how much of what had occurred in Running Hills was Nance’s fault? How much of it was the voice in his head? It was growing more and more difficult to parse out who was responsible for what evils.

She returned to Horn’s office, still slightly limping. One of the toes on her right foot felt broken. Mercy hadn’t had the chance to inspect it yet. Nearly everyone had dozed off except for Ren Monroe. The girl had not stopped to sleep or rest. Her interrogation of the viceroy had been impressive, even if it had not gone as planned. Now she stood in front of Mercy’s map. The glowing embers had not moved in some time. Mercy hoped she’d have a letter from the houndmaster before long.

“Any luck?” Ren asked as Mercy came to stand beside her.

“All of them show signs of manipulation, not origination.”

The girl nodded. “As we suspected. Gemma said you know one of them. That I wasn’t the only one who cast a spell before the paladins attacked. How did you know something was wrong?”

“Nance Forester,” Mercy explained. “He’s the one who pretended to be our host up in Running Hills, but he was really there to oversee their first test run of the disease. One of his men killed the paladin who was escorting me.” She shut her eyes briefly, remembering the way she’d wrapped one arm around Devlin’s neck, and how she’d arrived empty-handed back at Safe Harbor. A mistake of moments. “When Nance arrived, I thought he was there to help me get home….”

Mercy thought back to that conversation. It had been such a strange moment that she’d never properly extrapolated the clues. The reveal that Nance was not friendly had clouded her memory of that moment. Thinking back, she saw it more clearly. Nance had modulated his voice. His eyes had shifted, too, as he descended the stairwell. Now that she’d witnessed the viceroy’s transformation, she felt confident she’d seen the same in Nance. A darkening of his eyes. An alteration in vocal structure. She should have seen this all before.

“He occupies them.”

Ren glanced over sharply. “Who?”

“Whoever is doing this. He’s not just manipulating them at a distance. It’s like… sometimes he steps forward. Occupies one of them at a time. Think about it as this massive web of information. You’ve manipulated one person, who manipulates another, and another. Essentially, you’ve built this network of people around the city. As we spoke to the viceroy, he must have been listening somehow—and he decided to make an appearance. He stepped in the room with us. You saw it, right? At the end?”

Ren nodded. “We all saw it. His eyes. His voice.”

Mercy’s mind was forced back into the dark spaces of that memory.

“It happened at the party, too. Nance… he resisted my first three or four spells. It was like the magic couldn’t even touch him. But when I cast my final spell, I saw whoever was inside of him leave. Nance felt it too. He had this… shock on his face. Like he knew he’d been abandoned, and that was the first time my magic actually hit him. The departure left him defenseless.”

Ren appeared to be piecing it all together now. “He left your opponent to occupy mine. I’ve been trying to figure that part out. My first spell hit the viceroy, but by the time I’d lined up a second, he was basically invulnerable. Nothing we cast seemed to touch him. Normally, dueling works in the opposite direction. The first ‘surprise’ spell is absorbed by a defensive ward—and then as you break down those wards, they become exposed. I think he was vulnerable at the beginning because the originator of the spell was elsewhere . Occupying your opponent.”

Mercy nodded. “Which means he shifted to protect the viceroy, because he’s more important. But what we’re talking about… shouldn’t be possible.”

“I’ve never heard of anything like it,” Ren admitted. “We’re no longer talking about manipulation. This is beyond that. Someone powerful enough to occupy another living soul. It’s the mind control of hundreds of subjects, spanning across an entire city. There isn’t a wizard alive who should be able to perform magic like that.”

Belatedly, Mercy realized that Avid Shiverian was listening to them. She found the young heir to be quiet, intelligent, and slightly terrifying. “What if it’s something unnatural?” Avid offered. “Like a revenant?”

Ren Monroe shivered. “I’ve fought one before.”

Mercy’s eyes widened. She remembered a few details from their survival story out in the woods. She’d primarily been focused on Cora Marrin’s death, given how it impacted her own entry into Safe Harbor’s medical program. The papers had covered everything. Some stories had claimed that Ren and Theo were pursued by a revenant, but Mercy had never known if that was true.

“The creature we faced had access to unique magic,” Ren admitted. “It could absorb the abilities of anyone it killed. It also drew strength from our nightmares. But revenants are usually hyper-specific creatures that are focused on a particular revenge with a particular person. None of this feels specific. Whoever’s engineering this is attacking the entire city. You heard the viceroy. Their goal is to destroy magic , and we just happen to be the people who still have it.”

The three of them fell silent. Mercy could hear snoring. She wasn’t sure if it was coming from Theodore or Gemma. All of them looked the way Mercy felt. No wonder it was hard to work out a proper theory. None of them had slept.

“What are these?”

Ren’s question broke through her thoughts. The girl was gesturing to the map.

“Oh. Right. Those are hellhound trails. I’ve been conducting research on the disease. Most of the corpses they used to spread the disease were stolen. I think the Makers were covering their tracks. Maybe the viceroy was behind it. I don’t know. But there was one set of bodies they missed. We found them, brought them back to Safe Harbor, and hired hellhounds to track the scent to its original source.”

She reached up and tapped the ember glowing to the north.

“This is Running Hills. Two of the hounds went there. Which makes sense. It’s where I first encountered the disease. But the third one…” Mercy let her finger fall to the southwest. “Traveled to this location. I’ve cross-checked it with every map in the hospital. There’s nothing of significance marked in this location. I was waiting for the houndmaster to report back before acting on anything. Whatever is out there is worth investigating. If we’re lucky, there will be clues that help us.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. Dahvid peeked inside, and he had company with him. His sister Nevelyn, who Mercy also thought was quite terrifying. Four children trailed her into the room like a group of oversized ducklings. None of them were older than twelve. Mercy offered a quiet smile as the group nestled into the room with the rest of the survivors. Nevelyn Tin’Vori crossed the room and Mercy irrationally thought the woman might punch her.

Instead, she opened with an apology. “Sorry about before. I was short with you at the party.”

“You were just being cautious,” Mercy returned. “I can respect that.”

Nevelyn’s eyes swung to Ren next. “Always have to be right in the middle of things, don’t you, Monroe?”

That earned a snort. Introductions were made around the room. Theo pushed grumpily to his feet before offering to make tea for everyone. He seemed, to Mercy, like the absolute opposite of what she’d always imagined Brood to be. The thought of tea reminded her that Williams was down in the basement. She made a mental note to go check in on him. Lost in thought, she almost didn’t notice the boy tapping her shoulder.

“Excuse me, miss?”

Mercy smiled down at him. “Yes, sweetie?”

It was the ward that Nevelyn had been so protective over at Beacon House. He was pointing at the map behind her. She was about to launch into the same explanation she’d just given when the boy cut her off with the kind of startling question that only young children were capable of asking.

“Do you like dragons?!”

Mercy blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Dragons. I always liked them. Even when I was little. My brother, Garth, he’s dead now—but last National Day, he bought me a book. He said it was expensive, but that I should own at least one. I read it every night. Over and over again. Learning about different ones. Do you like them too?”

Mercy couldn’t quite understand his line of questioning. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But what makes you think that I like dragons?”

He pointed to the map. “You have Arakyl’s grave marked. I just thought—well, most people don’t know about him.”

A chill ran down Mercy’s spine. “Where? Which mark?”

Like most boys his age, he was skilled in the art of finding ways to make himself taller. She watched him carefully position two thick books beneath the map before climbing on top of them. That small extension of his height was just enough to allow him to stab his finger down on the ember that was glowing out to the west of Kathor. The unmarked second location.

“… took me a while, but I memorized every burial site. That one is Arakyl’s. Oh! And over here is Gathraxes burial chamber. They always fight about who actually discovered that one. Because the guy who ‘found’ it also found a body down there, so that obviously means someone else…”

Mercy turned away from the boy. Her eyes locked on Ren Monroe with enough intensity that the girl abandoned a conversation she’d been in with Avid Shiverian.

“What?” Ren asked. “What is it?!”

“A dragon,” she shouted, awkwardly drawing the attention of the entire room. “The person behind all of this. It’s not a person. It’s a fucking dragon.”