Lord Have Mercy

The dark bushes rustle around us in the cold night wind. I can smell the wet pavement and scent of adrenaline.

“Can you see him?”

I glance back at Iz. “Nah. But he should be here soon.”

She fidgets and whispers, “What’s the plan anyway, boss?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Don’t call me boss.”

She shrugs. “Okay, boss—“

“There!”

“What?”

“He’s here!”

“Oh. Should we charge?” she asks.

“What? No.”

“Well, why not?”

“Just follow my lead.”

“Okie dokie, boss.”

I glare. “Don’t call me boss.”

“Who’s there?” the subject calls.

“Oh, now look what you’ve done,” I hiss.

“Hush! We can still charge him.”

“Fine. Crossbow?”

“Check.”

“Who‘s there?!” the subject of interest yells again.

“Water gun?” I continue.

“I don’t know why you always want to use that…”

“Water gun?” I insist.

“Yes…” she sighs.

“It’s holy water, Iz.”

“It’s holy water, Iz,” she mocks.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Oh, shut up,” she repeats.

“Girls! Really! You need to take training seriously!” the fat monk (AKA: Subject of Interest) in the middle of the courtyard yells.

“Sorry, Baldemar…” Izzy and I say in unison, standing from the bushes.

“You should really learn to be serious for once,” Baldemar huffs. “You’re practically adults and when in the business of slaying creatures of the night, you should be certain that you have all the proper equipment before you’re waiting in the bushes and you should not be yelling when you’re trying to remain unseen. And—really! You should have a plan. Why didn’t you have a plan? How can we trust you to go anywhere by yourselves? Just because you are a descendant of Abraham Van Helsing, Kala, you still need to know how to properly carry out a hunt!” He’s red in the face, breathing hard, just like every other time that he’s given Izzy and me this talk.

“What’s Izzy’s excuse then? If she doesn’t have a case of self entitlement, then what it is?” I question, getting fed up. These exercises that are supposed to prepare us for actual hunts (which mind you, we’ve already been on plenty) consist of hiding in the bushes with crossbows loaded with Nerf darts and pretending that an overweight monk is a deadly Count Dracule. Yes. Highly likely.

“Lack of skill,” Baldemar says dryly.

“Hey!” Izzy yells, scrambling out of the bushes with the water gun, squirting at Baldy the whole way.

“Hey—be careful with that!” he sputters and hightails it back into class weaponry and prep room.

“Hah!” Iz shouts in victory. “That’ll show ‘im!”

I climb out the bushes to stand beside Izzy. “You’re going to regret that, you know.”

“Yes,” Iz says disdainfully. “I know.” But then she grins. “But it was worth it.”

I smile. “C’mon. Let’s get back inside. See what punishment awaits us.”

Iz hooks her arm through mine. “Yes. Let’s do.”

So we walk merrily to the heavy wooden doors, still slightly ajar from Baldy’s mad dash and enter to find Baldy nodding somberly at the abbot and Ms. Penn, the woman in charge of all the women in the Diablo branch.

“What’s going on?” I ask, stopping just inside the doorway with Izzy at my side.

Ms. Penn looks at us. “We have a mission for you.”

“Yessss!” Iz hollers, pumping her fists up into the air. Somehow I can’t find myself to rejoice because something about the abbot’s expression, the way his lips are pressed into a tight, white line, makes me think that this job may be more dangerous than anything we’ve faced before.