Page 57 of Grim

ShowingSomeMercy

T he bathhouse reeks of eucalyptus. Some eager intern thought I needed to ‘find my vibe’. I’m about to help her find a new career.

Steam drifts across the ceiling while I sip my cocktail through a Twizzler straw, floating in a pink flamingo.

Sorry, not in a flamingo. On a flamingo.

This isn’t an inflatable floatie. This is an actual bird with real eyes and incredible balance.

The string quartet in the corner has been butchering Clair de Lune for two hours straight.

I told them not to stop until I forgot how to feel.

They’re doing a terrible job at both music and memory erasure.

“Sir?”

I ignore the voice. I’m busy contemplating the water and trying to figure out where I go from here.

Losing Kane left a sour taste that even this top-shelf daiquiri can’t wash out.

My subordinate assaulted me, sure. A reaper attacked the boss—not a good look.

But banishing one of the best to the bureaucratic basement doesn’t sit well with the boss, even in alliteration.

“Sir … there’s a visitor.”

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Clarence? Not now.”

“Tell him I’ve traveled a really long way to be here, Clarence.”

My body stiffens harder than rigor mortis at the sound of that voice. That particular blend of honey and razor wire I haven’t heard in ages.

The intern squeaks, “It’s Mercy, sir.”

“Thank you, Clarence. I can fucking see that, can’t I?”

“Don’t mind him, Clarence. You’ve done a great job.” Mercy pats my assistant on the shoulder and ushers him out of the room.

I eye the lost triplet, agog.

“What’s the matter, D? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. And that seeing ghosts isn’t an occupational hazard for you.”

Mercy stands at the edge of the tile, as if she owns the place.

In a different timeline, I imagine she does.

Arms crossed, coat dusted with ash, wearing a hardened expression that spells a most deviant form of trouble.

Her eyes—still that same electric blue, like a live wire submerged in the ocean.

I am rendered as shocked as I was the first time I dipped my toes into her depths.

She looks exactly like she did all those years ago, though she’s taken on an aura that speaks of hard-earned knowledge. It gives her an unmistakable and devastating patina.

Her auburn hair is braided thick, showing off a jawline sharp enough to cut glass.

Pale skin, scattered with freckles I used to count when we had nothing but time.

Silver scars trace her exposed skin, like cave drawings that tell the story of hard-fought battles, those waged both internally and externally.

“Nice float,” she says sarcastically. “Really brings out your ego.”

“You’re supposed to be gone.” I have no time for flippant comments. I want answers.

“I was.” She strolls in like she still has keys to the place. Like I didn’t spend decades trying to drink away her memory. “Funny thing about being gone—sometimes, you come back.”

“You were banished.”

“Not as permanent a fate as Fate seems to think. Just ask Oedipus or Perdita. You’d think my sister would learn her lesson, but she never was the sharpest pencil in the drawer.”

“Your story should be over. ”

“Trust me, if it were possible, my charming siblings would have managed it by now. But this stubborn little girl never did like a stand-alone. I’m here for the whole series.”

I haul myself out of the pool, water streaming off my bare chest and torso. I dry my chest, then cinch the towel around my waist. “You were sent to the Moonless Mountains.”

“Yes. One of several bones I have to pick with you. Definitely not a prime vacation spot.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t you?” She closes the distance between us.

“That wasn’t the plan. I would never—”

She cuts me off sharply, “I know grace is kind of my thing, but do me a favor, Strawberry.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t forget who you are.”

“I have not. I know exactly—”

“Next time,” her voice is cool as she interrupts, “show me enough respect to stab me in the front, yeah?”

She punctuates the question with a single sharp poke to my sternum. I look down at the place where her finger is touching my bare chest.

“Your sisters …” I falter on the rest of the sentence.

“Are conniving shrews, I know. And you are just the hapless fool that signed the contract, looked the other way, and collected your shiny new title.” She pauses, and the silence stretches between us. “ Death .”

Disdain drips off each letter as it rolls off her tongue. It drips acid.

We both go still. The quartet mercifully stops their musical torture.

“Tell me,” she says, breaking the quiet, “how are you enjoying your promotion? Are all those benefits paying off?”

“I stay busy.”

She looks me up and down, taking in the flamingo, the cocktail, the general state of my existence. “Evidently.”

There is so much she does not know. So much she is assuming, but none of that matters right now. She is here. That is all I care about. That and the exhilarating and terrifying consequences that accompany that truth .

“Enough about me. How the fuck did you get here?” I demand, settling back into my own skin. Remembering who the fuck I am.

“That’s a story for another time, Daryl. But I can give you the highlights.”

“No one has ever escaped the Moonless Mountains.”

“And I can understand why. It was not easy. As I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Yes, I can imagine.” The words fall out of my mouth, but my focus has shifted entirely to the figure before me.

Even more alluring than I remembered. I’ve only been in her presence mere minutes, but the change is unmistakable.

This experience has given her depth and richness like a thick, supple leather.

“So, I was on the cliff’s edge. Free to move around, but with nowhere to go. I could not see. You know, on account of the—”

“Lack of any light source. One might even say, the moonlessness of it all.”

“You’ve got it. Quite dark, and wherever I would put my foot or hand anywhere around me, all I felt was air.

One step in any direction seemed a certain doom.

Jagged rocks and steep descents did not seem like my idea of a party, and where would I go anyway?

I couldn’t see centimeters around me, never mind the full landscape beyond.

So, there I remained, with nothing but my mind and my memories.

The former I used to devise a plan to will more compassion into the OtherWorld. The latter fueled the former.”

“You’re losing me.”

“This is my surprised face.” Mercy flashes me a deadpan expression.

“Then, a short while ago, something incredible happened. A light flickered to existence directly in front of me. I could see. The illumination danced in the air around me, giving me a glimpse of what perils and promises lay all around me. Yada yada yada. Now I’m here. ”

“Did you just yada yada an epic quest?”

“Like I said, D, story for another day. Right now, I want answers.”

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

“I haven’t asked you anything yet, you brick. ”

“It’s a preemptive strike.”

“Has anything strange been going on recently? Anybody messing with anything? Maybe showing a little more grace or compassion than usual?”

My silence hides nothing. Mercy has always been able to read behind my eyes and directly into my soul, the damnable vixen.

“I knew it,” she exclaims.

“It’s nothing. She’s no one.”

“She?”

“Rue,” I say on a sigh, knowing there’s no way to hide any of this from Mercy.

“Go on,” Mercy coaxes, rising on the balls of her feet in anticipation.

“She’s sort of been inadvertently locating lost souls and reopening their portals. We have had a series of crosses from dead cases.”

Mercy speaks slowly and reverentially. “We have been waiting for this. Her energy must have created a spark, allowed me to navigate out of banishment from the strength of her light.” Then another thought hits her, and she finishes sadistically, “I’ll bet my sisters are super pissed!”

“They are. There’s a reaper involved too. It’s messy, Merc. Very messy.”

She takes a sauntering stride toward me, and the sway of her hips hypnotizes. “And you’re just the boy to clean things up.”

“No. I’m not getting involved. And when your sisters find out that you’ve come back from the darkness, there is going to be no stopping the mayhem.”

“And that’s why they won’t find out.”

“Not from me they won’t.”

“You let me worry about staying out of sight. I need you to do something for me.”

“Depends on what it is. VIP seats to next year’s Send-Off? Done. You want—”

“Don’t get smart with me, D. I may show mercy, but even my patience wears thin.”

“I am the one who decides when mercy is shown now, pet .” The way the term of endearment makes her shoulders stiffen paints a grin across my face. “However, it happened; I’m in charge now. And with great power comes a great ME. So, speak your mind, but don’t forget who’s making the rules here.”

“Careful, D,” she warns. “You’re starting to sound like your father.”

“And you’re starting to piss me off.”

“We had plans.” Her tone shifts, soft and inviting. “AfterLife Processing doesn’t need efficiency. It needs compassion. You wanted to change things. You wanted to be different.”

“I’m not helping that mortal mess up the system that we have fine-tuned so precisely. Adding complexities and nuance to something best served with blunt force trauma.” I speak with finality, but the ensuing back-and-forth only escalates in pitch and intensity.

“You will, D.”

“Why?”

“Because the greater good demands it. The needs of the many outweigh the wants of the few.”

“Your utilitarianism smacks of naivety now, Mercy. The world is harsher than that. Putting the self before the herd just makes sense.”

“And your objectivism is disheartening and nauseating. This isn’t you, D.”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t know me.”

“I did. I do. I know the real you.” Her gaze penetrates, more invasive than a polygraph. “Besides,” she coos, “you owe me.”

“Oh, yeah?” I huff. “How do you figure?”

“Ousting me elevated you. All of this in exchange for my eternal darkness.” She gestures to the room around us, eyeing me up and down to punctuate her point.

“I didn’t ask you to help me.”

“I wanted to.”

“Yeah, well, I never wanted you to leave.” The traitorous crack in my voice betrays my hard exterior.

“It had to be. It was the only way.”

“You sound like your sister,” I grumble.

Her upper lip curls. “And you sound like a different man from the one I used to share the moonlight with.”

“Enough talking,” I demand.

“Why?” She looks at me, dumbfounded .

“Because I don’t have the words for this.”

I take her in with one long breath, and the inhale burns. My hand lifts as I wrap it firmly in her auburn tresses.

She gasps at the firmness of my grip.

There is a moment of stillness you could fill with a galaxy. Her sapphire eyes glint, the spark shoots straight into the center of me. Zap.

I desperately pull her to me, and our mouths crash roughly, like thunder before the rain.

It’s a kiss full of promise, longing, and all the what-ifs, colliding in the press of lips and teeth and breath.

It’s a kiss hundreds of years in the making and one I wish would last that long to make up for all the time we lost. Her body flush to mine, I bring my other hand to her lower waist. If I squeeze just a little tighter, I am quite sure I can fuse her to me.

Press her soul into mine and keep her there forever.

I run my tongue along her lips, and she whimpers against my mouth. It undoes me.

She molds to me like she never left. Like no time passed.

Her hands are on my chest, her nails dragging down me like she wants to mark me. Fuck, I want her to. I want—no, I need her to leave marks, scars to prove she was here. That I’m not passed out on that fucking flamingo, dreaming.

Her lips part, and I take full advantage, tongue sweeping into her space. Her moan is soft, broken, and carnal.

My knees nearly give out.

I tighten my grip on her waist, in her hair, like I can keep her if I don’t let go. If I just keep her here, everything else can wait. Collapsing systems. Angry Sisters. Depressed reapers. Let it all burn.

This is the moment I’ve been starved for. A taste of what we lost.

The ground trembles beneath us, a low rumble that vibrates through the tiles and into my bones. I know what it means. I know what this costs. Us together like this—touching, tasting, feeling—it’s a threat to the order. To the balance.

To everything.

Then so fucking be it .

But even as I think this, I know better. I know better than to chase what I can’t keep.

This, whatever this is between us, is as strong a force as a natural disaster. As dangerous too. The thought has me pulling away from the kiss. The action is a lie. I could stay there for a thousand moons. But instead, I break it off quickly, both of us panting for air.

“So,” I say, clearing my throat, “tell me your plan, and I will take it under advisement.”

Mercy’s face stretches into a giddy grin. The strings begin in on Mozart, and Mercy steps closer to whisper her plan into my ear. When she finishes, she bites playfully on my lobe, sending shivers running not just throughout my body, but the entire room.

“You’re in charge,” she says, looking me in the eye. “No one else tells you how to do this job. It’s your name on the gilded nameplate. Make it your own.”

“And don’t you fucking forget it.”

“I won’t.” She smiles. “There’s no rule anywhere that says that the act of death can’t be a merciful one. There is no time limit on forgiveness and understanding. Compassion over convenience. Think about it.”

“I will.” Then, after a beat, “No promises.”

“I’d never want you to make a promise you couldn’t keep.”

She stops speaking, and I wish she wouldn’t. The band crescendoes as she makes her way back out the door.

“Merc,” I say, stopping her. “Where are you going? When will I see you again?”

“When Time and Fate allow.”

She laughs at her own joke; I do not. I don’t speak, waiting for her to give me a real answer to those questions.

“I’ll see you around, D,” she says instead and walks out of my bathhouse and into a new kind of darkness than the one she was immersed in on the Moonless Mountains.

I stare at the ceiling, and feel the weight of every choice I’ve ever made pressing down on my chest.

“Well,” I whisper to the empty room, “this is going to be a disaster.”