Page 83 of A Dance Macabre

Because I knew Dizzy was coming.

It’s Mercy standing in the doorway that makes me freeze.

I don’t want to believe that she’s the one behind this breach in security.

Did she really let Dizzy into our private quarters?

Mercy’s glare burns red. Her movements are hastened, tense, and violent as she charges for a frazzled Dizzy but not before reaching for the heavy bust of a long-dead ancestor.

She swings at her head, the marble statue hitting Dizzy straight across the jaw. Her face swivels hard to the side, her body twisting and falling over the bed.

Letting out a feral snarl, Mercy jumps atop Dizzy, pinning her between her legs as she pummels Dizzy’s face with the statue.

She never stood a chance.

And I’m unable to move from next to the headboard as I behold Mercy's unleashed fury, not an arm’s length away on the bed.

Dizzy’s eyes roll backward, blood gushing out of her mouth and from the thick gashes to her head. But Mercy doesn’t stop. And Dizzy turns unrecognizable.

Macerated flesh. Broken teeth. Limp limbs soaking in a pool of blood.

A pool reeking of betrayal.

Mercy is more red than black, gore covering her hands, arms, and face as she screams in rage. I should command her to stop.

Dizzy’s dead.

Instead, I let her avenge Dizzy’s treason. But my anger is a complex, ever-morphing thing.

And Mercy is not unscathed from it.

The note she left tonight before she disappeared. It preceded a peculiar call from Gemini. Her absence became an oozing abscess. And Dizzy’s reaction to seeing Mercy storming in confirmed my suspicions.

Mercy was involved. Mercy tried to have me killed.

Nausea roils in my stomach. I feel sick at the thought.

Dizzy’s face is now a flattened mess of sinew and bones, the gurgling sounds of death gruesome even to a seasoned ear like mine.

This is crazed repentance.

This is pleading for forgiveness.

“Mercy,” I finally say, pulling off the covers and stepping out of bed.

It’s a soft order, and I’m not sure she’ll even hear me through her murderous daze. But her arm stops mid-air, her other hand still pinning the mess that is left of Dizzy to the bed.

Her crazed eyes fly to mine.

I think even Mount Pravitia has stopped breathing.

Through the blood dripping down her face, her gaze widens as she takes in my enigmatic face. My feelings are a bloodied mess, like the corpse underneath her.

She drops the bust on the ground as if it’s suddenly burning her and scrambles off the bed. I take quick steps to reach her before she even considers running away. I grab her by a handful of her hair, my other hand slamming against her throat. Her eyes are wild, and for the first time since I’ve known her intimately, I find fear splashed against her face.

She doesn’t fight me. Doesn’t even try to pull her hair out of my harsh grip.

I sneer while we stare at each other nose to nose, letting the tension turn deadly around us. Letting go of her throat, I roughly wipe some of the blood off her face, and I don’t miss the small wince she makes whenever my palm smooths over her skin.

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