6. Mercy
6
MERCY
T he weather is dreary tonight, the sky darkened by clouds pregnant with rain. If I were fanciful enough to have a favorite kind of weather—this would be it.
The leaves crunch under my booted feet as I wind through the path up to the Crèvecoeur cemetery entrance, located on the north corner of the Grounds, my three Dobermans trotting alongside me.
The cemetery is the only place where my thoughts seem to make sense—the only place where I feel remotely relaxed and at ease. I am drawn to it almost nightly. There is peace in death, and silence is a true friend to where death lies sleeping.
I enter through the arched copper gate turned green with age. It’s permanently open, welcoming a never-ending queue of the dearly departed. Walking onto the consecrated grounds feels like walking through a thick veil. It’s as if the spirits cloak the cemetery with an invisible barrier, and the draining noise of Pravitia is divinely left behind.
The large granite gargoyles guarding the entrance are weather-worn, the forest surrounding the cemetery slowly engulfing them. Like the earth itself grows weary of these imposing man-made structures and tries to reclaim its rightful place.
Continuing on the overgrown path, my gaze sweeps over the familiar tombstones, some with vines crawling up their facade like venomous snakes, some half-tipped over as if frozen in time and space. I don’t let the groundskeeper upkeep the cemetery much. There is beauty in decay, in letting nature take its course.
Sundae circles my feet, ears perked up, tongue out, while éclair and Truffles run around the tombstones close by, nipping at each other as they play-fight. I throw a femur far into the cemetery and Sundae bolts, sprinting to fetch it.
Naming the dogs after desserts was never my idea. I practically crawl out of my skin every time I have to utter their imbecilic names aloud. But all three never answered to anything else ever since Constantine brought them to me as puppies.
Housing the dogs was meant to be temporary—a favor for a friend. I never thought I’d keep them forever, but somewhere in the two years I’ve had them, I’ve grown … fond of them.
At the very least, they are much better companions than humans.
Sundae bounds back toward me, the clink of her diamond collar piercing the silence around us as she drops the bone at my feet. Picking it up, I pull my arm back, readying for another throw when I freeze, my arm still up in the air. Nearby, éclair and Truffles stop in their tracks, pointed ears perked up as if trying to discern what I’m experiencing, while Sundae lets out a low growl at my feet.
I sniff the air, more as a reflex than actually picking up on anything other than the familiar earthy perfume of the Crèvecoeur cemetery. I can still sense it though—the call. The incorporeal sensation entwines itself around me like an invisible paramour.
It’s time.
Back inside the belly of Pravitia, my momentary sense of peace has been replaced with bone-deep agitation. The traffic, even at this late hour, is a ceaseless drum of noise.
Needing something to do while I wait, I take a clove cigarette out of a thin silver case from my fur coat and light it. The strike of the Zippo echoes in the deserted alley, the flame illuminating the Crèvecoeur sigil—an open hand holding a flame—engraved on its side.
Even with the autumn chill, I’ve kept my coat open, revealing a silk slip dress with quick access to the dagger harnessed around my thigh. I also changed into a specific pair of black stilettos for the occasion. I wouldn’t call myself superstitious , more like … ritualistic.
I have time to stub my cigarette under my pointed toe before the all-consuming feeling comes wafting around me. My eyes sweep the area until my gaze snags on a blonde walking my way. My mouth nearly waters with her approach.
Just a few more steps.
Wait.
The chatter quiets.
Breathe.
My heartbeat slows.
Strike.
I hook my elbow around the blonde’s throat, slapping my other hand over her mouth as I drag her further into the alley and behind a dumpster. She tries to fight against my hold, but I’m stronger.
I don’t need the privacy that this alleyway offers, it’s not as if anyone could stop me. It’s a preference. I like to keep the call of death intimate. Far from prying eyes.
I slam her into the brick wall, collaring her throat, my arm fully extended to keep her in place. Her eyes widen in alarm when she realizes who is staring back at her, a shocked, breathy Mercy escaping her open mouth.
I smile and cock my head.
I might not be a narcissist like a Vainglory, but I can’t deny the flutter in my stomach during these short, sacred moments when my offerings recognize me.
I release my grip from her neck, but she doesn’t dare move, petrified and shaking like a leaf against the wall. Delicately, I smooth my hand over her head, making her flinch as I tuck a few strands behind her ear before caressing her face with the back of my hand.
I greedily take her in like a glutton at a feast. Tears streak her reddened cheeks, plump lips trembling. Slowly, I drag my thumb through the wet tracks on her white skin and lean over, my lips grazing her jaw as her whimpering breaths reach my ears. Unsheathing my dagger with my free hand, I press a soft kiss to her mouth.
“ Mors omnia vincit ,” I whisper against her lips.
Death awaits.
My blade is so sharp, that I barely need to exert any force before my dagger pierces her heart. It’s a swift kill. No need to extend her fate any longer.
Unceremoniously, I pull the dagger out of her bleeding chest and step back as she crumbles to the ground, her eyes dimming.
I study her, now slumped in her last fatal repose, and take a long sated breath, the usual aggravation muted to a low dull.
Taking a silk tissue out of my coat pocket, I clean the blade before returning it to the holster on my thigh. While walking out of the mouth of the alley, I feel a raindrop fall on my cheek. I peer skyward while a few more drops land on my face.
The timing almost feels deliberate.
Like the clouds are craving a similar release to the one I just experienced.
Crossing the street, I open the back door of the idling town car. Jeremial’s blue eyes study me through the rearview mirror but he says nothing as I settle in, waiting for me to speak.
“Have the body brought back to the Grounds,” I order. Checking my phone, I add, “But drive me to Pandaemonium first.”