20   you deserve an oscar

Monmouth Manufacturing stands grandly in front of Blue Sargent as her knock on the door is drowned out by multiple voices. Blue pushes the door open with quiet footsteps. It's unexpected for somebody to be home, her nose furrowing at only one familiar tone. Mercy. The redhead doesn't notice her creeping through the doorway, too fixated on the object in her hands and the grey-pale person in front of her. Mercy leans over the counter in the kitchen with a cup of steaming coffee in her cold hands and the stranger's elbows planted on the empty space in front of her. Blue has never seen them before: black suit, crisp and fitted carefully to their thin body. Their mouth is a sharp line, fang-like teeth and a predator's smile.

The day is brisk, unsurprisingly chilling in the mass of empty space that is Monmouth's base level. Blue shivers as the breeze pushes through the open doorway. She can feel it in her bones; the small bumps on her arms that rise and fall with the changing of the temperature. It's an awakening. Something off putting looms underneath her skin, wiring Blue's muscles with static electricity. She's been around Cabeswater's monsters before, this feels something akin to it. As Blue watches, Mercy is quiet, lips pursed and eyes cast down on the spiralling grey casting upwards from her mug. The stranger's sharp nails tap against the bench, loud and pulsating. Mercy seems to be biding her time, waiting, refusing to be the first to let the utterance of a word fall into the breath between them.

          "You're alone."

Blue catches Mercy raise a brow from her hiding place behind the open front door. The redhead sighs. "Am I ever really, Berlin?"

The strangeness of their name doesn't unsettle Blue, rather the expression that contorts their face—the look of sheer distaste. Ber-lin, she sounds out the name in her head and recounts the information that she knows. Berlin: the name of Germany's largest and capital city, lying within the North of the country, a place once so wholly divided.

          "This is your only chance." They say, slowly as their fingers cease their tapping.

          "You don't know that." Mercy says, almost like a petulant child, between snapping teeth and narrowed eyes. Blue has never seen her so unsettled, aching to move through the doorway. But Mercy's next words stop her. "If I help Gansey find Glendower this could be set right."

What? Confusion laces through Blue's pinched expression, ducking her head more closely behind the door and pressing an ear to the wood. She presses her fingers into the handle, feeling the cool gold metal underneath her fingertips. Mercy's history has always been a larger question than any of the answers that the girl has provided—Kavinsky, her family's lineage of Dreamers, Circe King's death—all pieces of a puzzle that their group has never had the larger picture for. Blue pauses, gauging Berlin's answer.

          "You are a stupid girl," Berlin snaps. "No, you really are." They step through the bench like a ghost, hand thrusting into Mercy's chest in a firm hit backwards that sends her stumbling. The mug cracks against the pressure of hitting the flooring, coffee spilling like dark-blood underneath her bare feet. Berlin holds her against the bench. Blue flinches, the action nearly sending her reeling. She catches the door as they continue. "If you think that there's even the slightest sliver of a chance of Glendower forgiving you and your family after what Carys did, it's a wonder that you've even survived until now."

          "You say that like I have the full idea of what happened." Mercy snarls. "She just left me in the dark!" She pauses, eyes wide. "How do you even know if I don't? That doesn't make any sense."

Berlin shakes their hanging head. "You know more than you realise."

          "No, I don't." Mercy says, shoving them away. Coffee seeps into the leg of her pants that ball around her ankles. "You know more than I realise. Tell me. Tell me what happened."

          "I know nothing."

          "Don't turn my words on me!" Mercy's voice is shrill and piercing. Distressed confusion claws at the confines of her chest, aching and heart on display, reminiscent of her on the Fourth of July. "That's not how this works. You're supposed to help me. You're supposed to make it all stop. You promised me."

Berlin surveys her with a cold look. "I promised nothing of the sort. You let me in, Mercy King. Do not charge me with your own decisions."

          "So you're just a fucking liar then, huh." She snaps, throwing up her hands.

          "You're making inaccurate assumptions." Berlin replies with pursed lips. "I am exactly what you needed. What you need. But do not mistake me for the achiever of the impossible."

          "You are impossible." Mercy mutters. She snatches a stray kitchen towel from behind her and drops it to the ground, pressing her foot into the fabric to soak up the spilt coffee. "I can't live like this for the rest of my life and I don't want to."

          "You won't have to." Berlin says simply. "If you listen to me, you won't have to."

          "Why should I believe you?"

Berlin takes Mercy's chin in their cold hands. "Have I ever failed you before?"

Mercy presses her lips together, sickness festering in the pit of her stomach. Her anxiety courses, projecting in the shaking of her unsteady hands and her feet shuffling against the floor. But as she searches, the redhead can't locate a reason to not believe them.

Blue darts through the doorway, hand clutching her pink switchblade in her pocket. "Mercy! Are you home? Who's that with you?"

          "Ah," Mercy scrambles as Blue steps through the doorway, revealing herself. Berlin, a shadow of a person, flickers out of existence. "Left an appointment early. Headache."

Blue nods slowly. "Who was that?"

          "Who was who?" Mercy asks, feigning confusion.

          "The person." Blue says. "They were just there. I heard them."

Mercy shakes her head. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

          "Right," Blue replies. "Is Noah here?"

          "Maybe." Mercy picks up the towel from the floor and dumps it in the sink after wiping off her hands. She steps around Blue. "We can look."

Pursing her lips and eyebrows furrowing, Blue follows, eyeing Mercy's shaking hands. She sucks in a breath, enveloping herself in the familiar smell of old books, chilling mint, the metal twang of the building's pipes and brick walls. Her nose wrinkles as the smell of dirty laundry hits. These boys need a babysitter, she thinks. Those thoughts fade as Mercy picks up the clothes with a grim look and shoves them into a basket. Blue smiles lightly.

          "Noah?" Blue's voice echoes through the room. She drops her backpack on the desk chair and finally lets her fingers pull away from her switchblade. "Are you here? It's okay, I'm not upset. You can use my energy if you need."

The shadows move around Mercy and Blue's eyes widen, studying the way they morph to the shape of her lean body. She shakes her head. Maybe, she's just seeing things. Blue peers into the peak of the roof. "Noah? I just want to talk about what happened?"

Noah's nowhere to be seen.

Mercy pushes open the door to her and Noah's shared room, currently occupied by Malory as she takes a stray couch on the bottom floor. The professor has books open, bags with journals and old library books sprawling from it's bowels. Still no Noah. Not in the bathroom/laundry, the kitchen or hidden amongst the expanse of Gansey's nooks and crannies of research. As Blue approaches Ronan's doorway, Mercy protests.

          "He's not going to like that." She says.

Blue swings open the door anyway, peering inside. Chainsaw's cage sits with an ajar door, clean as a whistle compared to the clutter crowding the rest of the room. Shovels, swords, speakers, printers and more take over the room like an oil spill of something distinctly Ronan. Mercy can feel the energy radiating off the bizarre array of objects: an old suitcase trailing with vines that makes her shiver, a potted tree lighting up the space that seems to hum to itself, a single cowboy boot that causes Blue to look back at Mercy in confusion. A mask, high on the wall, is faintly familiar.

A crash gains Mercy and Blue's attention, closing Ronan's door in a flash as guilt courses through the two teenage girl's for looking through the threshold. Gansey and Malory trail through the threshold, the Dog following closely behind.

          "Of course Iolo Goch would make sense as a companion," Gansey's voice echoes, stripping himself of his jacket. "Him or Gruffudd Llwyd, I suppose. But — no, it's impossible. He died in Wales."

          "But are we sure?" Malory asks. "Do we know where he was buried? That he was buried?"

          "Or if he was just made into nightgowns, you mean?" Gansey turns, catching sight of Blue and Mercy. He locks gazes with Blue, smiling brightly with excitement before nodding to Mercy. "Hallo, Jane. Mercy. Tell me what Iolo Goch means to you."

          "A chest cold?" Blue answers.

          "Glendower's closest poet." Mercy corrects.

          "Very funny." Gansey says to Blue, mirthful.

          "Did you find anything?" Blue asks.

Gansey replies surprisingly cheerfully, "Absolutely nothing."

          "Wonderful." Mercy says, not-so-cheerfully.

Malory lowers himself onto the couch, the Dog laying on top of him as he strokes it's back in an unusual show of affection. "Gansey, I perish for a cup of tea. Can such a thing be had in this place? I cannot possibly hope to survive this jet lag without a cup of tea."

          "I got tea just for you." Gansey says. "I'll make some."

          "Please not with loo water." Malory called after him.

Blue follows Gansey into the kitchen, talking quietly as she takes the towel from the sink and disappears from view. Mercy sits on the floor where her mattress used to sit, uncomfortable underneath Malory's piercing gaze.

          "What do you suppose, King?" Malory questions.

Mercy shifts uncomfortably. "Iolo Goch?"

Malory nods.

          "You are asking the wrong person." Mercy says. "I don't know anything."

          "The line of Carys King knowing nothing?" Malory chortles. "Don't take me for a fool. I may be old but I am not senile."

          "Circe King is dead." Mercy digs her nails into her palm. "And she told me nothing. You probably know more than I do."

          "And what do you know?"

          "I know that there is a sickness within my family." Mercy replies, looking at her hands. "And I know that I need to stop it."

          "A King has more responsibility than you know—"

          "Don't." Mercy says. "Just don't, please—"

Gansey steps through the threshold back into the room and Malory huffs, taking his tea. Mercy's jaw slams closed, glaring at her nails pressing into her skin like they are her enemy. The professor takes the mug from Gansey's hands, pushes the Dog from his lap and holds the tea close to his chest. He stares, looking closely with narrowed eyes, not taking a sip.

          "What else?" Gansey asks kindly.

          "I'd like a new hip. And better weather. Ah — however. This is your home and I know I'm an outsider, so far be it from me to chastise or generally overstep. That being said, were you aware there was someone under ... ?" Malory gestures to a dark area underneath the pool table.

Mercy stands.

          "Noah," Gansey says. "Come out at once."

          "No." Noah replies.

          "Noah," Mercy beckons, "come on. What are you doing under there?"

          "Well! I see you people know each other and all is well." Malory says. "I will be in my room nursing my jet lag."

Malory almost scurries from the room, heaving himself up, walking into Mercy and Noah's bedroom.

          "Noah!" Blue says, exasperatedly. "I called and called for you. Mercy and I both did."

Noah hunches closer to himself, hugging his knees tighter and pressing his chin into the ghostly bone. He looks less alive than usual, eyes smudged in darkness and the edges of his body faded like a shadow. There is no sign of where the darkness from the table ends and he begins.

          "I'm tired of it." Noah says.

          "Tired of what?" Gansey asks.

          "Decaying."

          "It's not going to be forever." Mercy's heart shatters as she stands. The redhead approaches slowly, leaning an arm against the pool table. His face is wet, tears spilling like a river down the crevices of his pale face. "We can fix this."

Blue follows, crouching down. "Oh, Noah."

          "What can I do?" Gansey questions. "We. What can we do?"

Noah shrugs, a ripple movement.

Blue sucks in a breath. "Do you want us to find a way to, um, to properly, to lay ..."

Noah is shaking his head before she can finish. "No. Nonono."

          "It's okay, Noah." Mercy says. "I understand. It's a lot to live like this, isn't it."

          "You don't have to be ashamed," Blue says hoarsely. "You don't have to be afraid."

          "You don't know!" Noah says shrilly, leaning towards hysterical. "You don't know!"

Mercy's brow furrows, frown settling into the lines of her face.

Blue stretches out a hand. "Okay, hey—"

          "Blue, wait—" Mercy reaches towards Blue, catching her hand.

Noah repeats, "You don't know!"

          "We can talk this out." Gansey tries.

          "You don't know! You don't know!"

Mercy pulls Blue back in a flash as Noah somehow stands, the impossibility of it all gratingly dark. Somehow, he is existing on either side of the pool table, filtering through both the material and other connections. Noah surrounds them, goose bumps rising on Mercy's arms. The redhead pushes Blue behind her towards Gansey, bringing up an arm to cover her face from the growing winds. Gansey's maps flap against it's force and the temperature drops.

          "Noah," Blue says in warning. "This isn't you!"

The wind continues to rise, Cabeswater swimming amongst it all in a scent of green freshness.

          "Come on," Mercy calls out. "We talked about this, Noah. Control. Just let go if it's too much."

          "Noah, stop." Gansey interjects.

He doesn't, the apartment door rattling.

Blue pushes past Mercy. "Noah, I'm asking you now."

She walks on wobbly legs, closing her eyes and thinking of herself as a city: impenetrable walls, protection surrounding every piece of her being. Nobody can touch her. And she pulls the rug out from underneath Noah, draining all of her power and cutting off the supplies at the source: her. Mercy can feel it go out like a light. The room settles around them, it all falling silent. Noah sits in the middle of it all, tears streaking his face once again.

His voice is small when he speaks. "You said I could use your energy."

Blue kneels in front of him. "Not like that."

           "I'm sorry," he whispers.

           "Me too."

Noah covers his face and fades into the shadows.

Gansey gazes between Blue and the empty space. "That was impressive, Jane."

When Blue looks up, she swears she sees a flicker of a white smile amongst the darkness, standing over Mercy's shoulder.

But it's gone as quick as it's there.