Prey and Mercy

XIII. Let Me Tell You a Story

Ernest.

Ernest North.

I can't make these things up.

From my position against the back of the couch I watch him shovel mouthful after mouthful of chocolate chip pancakes up to his face. His plate is more syrup than cake with a glass full of orange juice on the side.

The boy has sleep in his eyes from the morning, messy hair, and a five o'clock shadow working its way around his jaw.

There's blood on Prey's hand-me-down shirt, right across the shoulder, that he hasn't yet noticed.

I'm fascinated by the baby-faced slob I see before me and I can't even explain why.

At last he must feel my eyes on him because he slows down, swallow whats left in his mouth, and replaces his fork with a napkin. Ernest wipes hagardly at his lips, frowns. "I'm under the impression that this is new for you."

At my lack of response he looks over at Prey who stands against the island  counter top working his way through a book that could swallow an encyclopedia two times over. He's got both arms bordering the pages, a hand against his lips.

Its the same look he used to get when our mothers would lug us off to the Pantheon to prey to our gods, when his grandfather first shoved a ironwood bow into his hands. I saw it our first year at the academy, how he stood, shoulders back, staring up the statue of Drusoi with such speculated defiance I thought he might just stride out those grand double doors and never return.

Ernest regards it with bemusment. He turns to me, napkin forgotten. "So like...is that your thing? Silence? I hope to hell it's not because this morning I saw...I saw like this bunny rabbit, you know? With...with antlers. What even is that?"

A jackalope. They show up in the spring, as rare as jade vines and corpse flowers.

My continued silence causes him huff with irritation. He tilts his head back–there's a beauty mark on his chin–and laughs. "Come on avenging angel, tell me something."

I'm still gouging how to respond, what words to throw at him. To be honest, I think a part of me fears breaking him.

And I don't want to break this human. I've never had one before. One that eats pancakes with such savagery as to scare away any predator. I bite my lip, eyes on his baby blue ones.

"Prey, are you going to tell me what you're reading?"

Ernest clenches his jaw and frowns hotly before picking the silver fork back up.

"While you were following Thesis around at the Pantheon I was borrowing a book from the anthenaeum. I figure it's probably best to figure out what that mark is on the back of his neck. Maybe even how he survived my poison." Prey mutters.

I watch the human throw his hands up in the air. "You're talking about me, right? Because I'm right here. And I don't have a mark."

"Did you make him pancakes?" I grin.

For a flash of a second a subtle pink blotches his neck. Prey shrugs, "I have a cookbook or two."

"A brunch cookbook." Ernest indulges himself. "With little cute tabs and sticky notes."

I flash him a smile and go to stand on the other side of the island where a stack of books lay. "You actually did pick up cooking just like you said."

My comment goes ignored as I flick through the pages. Prey sighs, mumbles something I can't pick up. "What if it's an old god?"

"Like Zeus?" I ask.