03   the sea is a good place to think of the future

It's warm against her skin; almost endearing how the sand moves with the curl of her palm. Mercy has a headache. She can feel it, nipping quietly and without hesitance at her temples. It's consistent but soft underneath the skin. Subtle nails dragging against the chalkboard as she pulls the pieces of conversations and split sections of body language together. A bottle of aspirin sits on a white shelf inside. So close, but so far. Her fingers twitch. All Mercy has to do is stand, brush off her black, crinkled beach skirt and walk through the entrance into her house. She just has to make it through the threshold.

But she can't move.

Something keeps her still in the quiet. The air rests steady, and there's a bite to the beach's warmth that Mercy's never felt before. Even away from the beach, sand seems into the seams of her bikini top, clinging to the skin of her back. And in the distance, the waves march forward and retreat; stuck within an infinite loop of push and pull under the Moon's steady watch. The sound crashes, swarming against the buzzing within her skull. It knocks on the hollowness within her chest, filling it, before heaving away again. Mercy sucks in a breath. The Earth presses against her back, rocks jutting into her spine and the sporadic tendrils of grass hesitantly tickling the back of her neck. A subtle reminder that she's still here. Or is she? The ground may hold Mercy close, the open arms of Mother Nature's comfort, but she still feels as if she's tipped the scales of an already off-kilter balance.

It's the flame of a lingering of doubt. The slightest slice of insecurity.

Her mom has always said that Mercy wears her heart on her sleeve. A painting of red waves curling against temples and tight smiles bunching her freckled cheeks. She doesn't cry; very few times have salty tears splashed against her face, leaving cracks in her mask. But if you look closely enough, her eyes are almost transparent—flecked with the gleam of trouble or the cracked stone of pain as the hurt seeps through the jagged lines. The first time she saw Illusion, it's like a camera was grainy. Pixels softened at the edges against each other; Illusion's smile fuzzy but it never lost its sharpness. It has always been otherworldly. The corners upturn and Mercy feels her chest expand and fill in tandem. It's like feeling everything and nothing all all at once. Her eyes close.

They're clearer now. Sharp suit; sharp smile; all sharp lines and constellations. 

          "You're dreaming, you know." Illusion pulls their handkerchief from their pocket, carefully wiping the rock beside Mercy's sprawled out body before sitting.

          "That rock doesn't really exist, you know." Mercy's quip is quieter than Illusion's voice. "Neither do you."

Illusion drops the handkerchief on Mercy's face. "You know that's not how this works. I'm as real as you are."

Mercy is never alone in her dreams. They may be a lonely place, but she is never alone. They're always there. Lurking on the outskirts, watching and baiting their time—patiently waiting for the perfect moment to strike. But Mercy is too tired to care tonight.

          "You're not very real then." Mercy scrunches her nose. She removes the cotton without opening her eyes. The dull pain of her headache still pounds against her temples. A dismissive hand waves in the air. "Leave me be."

And Mercy opens her eyes to blink into the darkness of her bedroom.

Mercy doesn't intend to find Ronan and his fellow Raven Boys within the winding, maze-like aisles of Dollar City—the place where time ceases to exist. She feels a little less lonely in the night, roaming the messily packed aisles with a basket in one hand and fabricated dollar bills in her pocket. They may weight heavy, but if it means a possible escape from her mother, Mercy is going to take the chance. Nobody can deny the perfection of the fabrication within her hands. She's spent time on these dollar bills; minutes of her life studying every fleck and crease within the green papers that have passed through her hands. She's suffered for these dollar bills; viciously pulling them from her dreams as Tywyll leaked from her grey-stained nose.

Without thinking, Mercy wipes her nose.

There's nothing there.

Shoes sound against the floor, a scuffed and squeaky noise ringing through the air as Mercy turns into the stationary aisle, eyes narrowed to locate the small dinosaur erasers that she's run out of. She's particular about her stationary. Without meaning too, Mercy catches the narrowed gaze of Ronan Lynch as he haphazardly chucks a small raven eraser into the basket.

          "Lynch," Mercy greets. She looks to Gansey. "Dick, nice to see you again."

Gansey flashes her a smile, but before he can return the greeting his phone rings. Mercy waves a hand in dismissal as he holds it up. Gansey nods, raising the device to his ear and greeting whoever lies on the other side of the connection. Mercy shuffles slightly, peering into Ronan's basket with judgemental eyes. An assortment can be found within there: raven erasers and dinosaurs pencils stuck between the claws of shitty spray-paints and two-minute noodles. Her gaze flicks to the raven tucked carefully into the crook of Ronan's arm. They appear to be watching, carefully tracing Mercy's movements, ruffling their feathers slightly to bury tighter into Ronan's skin. As if they can crawl beneath his being and live in there. As if they're apart of him.

          "Interesting pet," Mercy says, not unkindly. She reaches out a crooked finger to the bird and they poke at her finger in response.

Ronan grunts. Noah, who Mercy hadn't noticed before, smiles softly. Pale fingers dancing around a crystal snow-globe, Noah holds it to Mercy's face. She traces a nail over the cold glass, watching the flickering glitter float carelessly through the clear liquid. There's a tiny piece of her that envies the small shards. Mercy brushes her feelings aside, looking to Gansey as he holds his phone away from his mouth.

          "Adam thinks he saw an apparition at his place." He says.

Ronan's gaze flicks to Noah. "I'm seeing an apparition right now."

Gansey blanches slightly, wide-eyed towards Ronan and then Mercy.

She stifles a laugh, flicking her fingers. "I'm a King, Gansey. I know all this towns little secrets." Mercy levels both Ronan and Noah. "They know them too, whether they remembers it or not."

Gansey's shoulders drop, and he places his phone back to his ear. "For how long?"

Mercy studies him carefully. There's always been something fascinating about Richard Gansey III. The timeless light catches on his all-American boy disposition: messy hair, grease-soaked cargo shorts and a pinched expression. Mercy leans against the shelves next to Ronan, auburn hair pressing against the metal. It cools her pounding head, offer a small sense of relief. Noah shakes his snow-globe of eternal sunshine. Mercy taps the glass, and he grins. It's Ronan's stark bark of sharp laughter that leads Mercy's concentration to fade back into Gansey's conversation with Adam Parrish—tuning it from mindless humming to real words drifting towards her.

          "Look, I don't know what you're talking about." Gansey pinches the bridge of his nose. "Ramirez? I didn't talk to anyone at the church. Yes, twenty-four hundred dollars. I know that part. I—"

The Aglionby letter. Mercy had thrown the paper on her desk the moment after opening it while Illusion watched without a single thought of consideration. It's not her issue to deal with.

          "At some point it's not cheati — no, you're right." Gansey's tone has shifted to something quietly furious. "You're right, I absolutely don't understand, I don't know and I won't ever."

Mercy raises a brow to Ronan. He says nothing.

          "It wasn't me." Gansey says. "But I'm glad it happened that way. Fine. Take from that what you will."

As Gansey pulls the phone from his face, Mercy feels like she's been hit, and she can't breathe. It's strong, a steady fist driven towards her stomach. The ley line flickers out and her eyes fly closed. Her hand immediately rests on her stomach, dropping the basket to the floor in tandem with Noah's snow-globe as he flickers out of existence. Mercy can feel it—rushing through her nose and pouring onto her Cupid's bow. She smears the black ichor, rubbing it from her face frantically. Gansey reaches out a hand that she smacks away. The clear liquid from Noah's snow-globe seeps into the heel of her Doc Martens. It squelches as she moves away. The world feels cold. Her eyes open. In the churning distance of the Dollar City aisle, Illusion's grin tips and spins in front of her gaze.

Noah reappears beside him, violently glitching in and out of existence before he slams a hand down on Ronan's arm, clutching at the pale skin. He drags the heat from Ronan's arm to battle the cold.

          "Whoa! Way to ask first, asshole!" Ronan says. He doesn't push Noah away. "What was that?"

Noah's eyes are wide.

          "I'll call you back." Gansey says to Adam before quickly ending his call.

The clerk yells something that Mercy can't wholly understand.

          "Nearly!" Gansey's voice is too loud. "I'll be up for paper towels in a minute!" The last sentence he drops his voice. "What's happening here?"

          "Noah took a personal day." Ronan snipes.

          "I lost..." Noah tries to find his words.

          "There was no air." Mercy fills in.

Noah nods frantically. "It went away. The line!"

          "The ley line?"

Noah nods again, slower and more woozy. "There was nothing left for me." He finally takes his hands off of Ronan, flexing out his pale fingers.

Ronan snarls. "You're welcome, man."

          "Thanks." Noah looks down at his feet. "I didn't mean to ... you were there." He spots the destroyed snow-globe. "Oh, the glitter."

          "Yes, the glitter." Ronan says.

Mercy's nose is still dripping into the palm of her hand. She closes her eyes again, tipping her chin up and squeezing the bridge of her nose. Its Ronan's gruff voice that makes Mercy open her eyes again.

          "Here," he shoves a tissue he'd pulled from one of the store's stacked boxes towards her. "Take it."

She presses the tissue to her nose. "Thanks."

          "What's up with Parrish?" Ronan turns to Gansey, looking away from Mercy.

          "He saw a woman in his apartment." Gansey says. "He said she was trying to talk to him. He seemed a little freaked out. I think the ley line must be surging."

Mercy can feel it. She can feel a brewing storm within her stomach that makes her feel violently ill. Reaching for a locket that isn't there, Mercy presses the tissue harder into her nose.

          "Ley line surging." Ronan echoes. "Right. Yeah, I'll bet that's it."

Dollar City no longer feels timeless. Instead, draining. Mercy looks to Ronan and Noah as she falls into line with them, walking out of the store with her bag in hand.

          "I know why you're mad." Noah says quietly.

Ronan sneers. "Tell me then, Prophet."

          "It's not my job to tell other people's secrets." Noah says.

Ronan pulls away from the group, and Mercy loops her arm through Noah's. "We can get you a new snow-globe next time."

Noah looks to her carefully, taking a few moments before finally saying, "Thank you."

When Mercy closes her eyes for the first time that night, she's met with pitch black. She closes them. Open: the calming waves of last nights ocean, Illusion's handkerchief still on the rock. Closed: pitch black. She opens her eyes one last time and the scene has changed. The forest spreads wide around her; leaves of green amongst twisting vines. Far away, water trickles quietly, like a distant lullaby. The flowers—flashes of blues, pinks and red petals litter the meadow's floor are like a breath of fresh air. Illusion appears, sitting perched on the rock, this time Latin scratched jaggedly into the rock in vaguely familiar handwriting. A ladybug hums, darting around before settling on the tip of Mercy's nose. The world around them is old. But Illusion is older.

          "There's someone else here." Illusion says.

Mercy's narrowed eyes shift to them, signifying indifference. Somewhere in the distance a stick cracks. Neither Illusion or Mercy react, the latter shielding her eyes from the flickering lights. She lies patiently, waiting for her nightmare to begin. Tonight's objective: a snow-globe.

A familiar voice echoes, bouncing off the tree trunks. "Girl?"

Mercy looks up momentarily, eyebrows creased and expression concerned. "Lynch?" She looks to Illusion. "What's he doing here?"

Illusion unhelpfully shrugs.

There's a distinct shift in the air—it's colder. The ladybug that was sat on Mercy's nose begins to buzz away as she rises into a sitting position. The forest sings in time with the buzzing of far-off bees. It grows darker, branches gnarled and twisting reaching out towards her freckled body. She stands, pushing them away and moving through the forest. Mercy holds her summer dress in her hands, hiking the fabric above her ankles in order to traverse the terrain easier. It doesn't take her long to find him, situated in a lonely part of the forest where the leaves crinkle and a girl, blonde skullcap tucked carefully over her jaggedly cut hair, wanders into a clearing.

Ronan Lynch doesn't know that Mercy King is there: carefully watching him transform hornets to ladybugs without a single word, only a lift of his hands. Illusion's breathe is hot on the back of Mercy's neck.

          "He's talented."

          "You have me," she replies. "You don't need anybody else."

          "You're sleeping." The small blonde girl says to Ronan. Her voice is scratchy, words grunted and harsh. Ronan crushes berry bushes between his fingers, blood and juices mixing together—red and sheer against his skin. He traces words onto a rock—a replica of Mercy's own that still sits in her clearing.

          "You've done this before." The small girl speaks Mercy's thoughts. Ronan moves away. "Don't forget the glasses!"

Mercy follows Ronan's gaze towards the berry bushes. There sits a copy of Kavinsky's white glasses, a poison between broken vines and wilting flowers.

The blonde girl looks to Ronan: "Take me with you."

Ronan leaves without a trace.

The blonde girl looks to Mercy: "Take me with you."

And Mercy's sight fades to black.