Mercy

"Modesty, what are you doing?"

"Helping someone! What does it look like?"

"We shouldn't…."

"Mother isn't here anymore. And besides, I don't care what she says. You won't let her hurt me."

Small arms tugged Jacob's arm and he groaned, trying to snatch back dark curtains as they shredded, leaving him in a world more painful than his nightmares.

"Help me, Credence."

An overbearing sigh followed, before larger hands gripped his other wrist and hauled. Light blared as Jacob rolled with the movement, bile rising in his throat.

His first queasy, white-hot thought was, Those were nice shoes…. His second was to wish he'd never been woken in the first place.

Soft cussing followed, and the girl immediately scolded, "You shouldn't swear, Credence!"

"Well, Mother isn't here, is she?"

"It's not polite, anyhow! He can't help that he's sick."

"Shuddup," Jacob groaned, feebly batting at his head. He was cruelly dragged upright and forced to lean on a narrow shoulder.

"We find a doctor and leave him there," the one called Credence said. His voice was low and urgent, like a soldier watching the sky for bombers.

"Bill can help!" Modesty said perkily.

The boy hissed. "We can't expect him to do everything."

"He'll help us, Credence," Modesty insisted, emphatically yanking on Jacob's arm.

"Can we…." Jacob swallowed the sour taste in his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. "Set me down for a minute?"

Wizards. Blue coat. Something was trying to make sense, but his brain felt like a glob of half-risen dough that had flopped into the dishwater.

"Hospital," Credence said with finality. "We can't take care of him."

"Fine. You call a cab," Modesty said snidely.

The hands around Jacob's left arm tensed, and the shoulder juddered. Uneven breaths rasped in his ear.

"I'm not falling for your wiles," Credence said shakily.

"Oh, come on!" Modesty said, stamping her foot. "I found him! If we leave him there, it's just as good as if I killed him – and that's my soul, isn't it?"

Whatever she was threatening, it held merit for the other kid's conscience, because with a quieter sigh and less grumbling Credence took more of Jacob's weight.

"Just until Bill comes," Credence acceded.

Modesty's tread quickened into a skip and she skittered forward, pulling the two men along. Jacob focused on the asphalt – merciful hues of blank grey – and swallowed each time the ground tried to meld with his head.

"We'll be in trouble," Credence mumbled.

"You always say that, and we never are!"

Wizard. Blue coat. Newt!

Jacob opened his mouth to ask if they'd seen a kid who badly needed a haircut and a few splints, but he shut it just as quickly, choking on a burst of acid in the back of his throat. Credence's shoes scampered to the side.

"He looks awful," Modesty sympathized. "Do you think Bill can fix him?"

"Hush, Modesty," Credence scolded.

A temperamental whine followed, and the child stomped along in silence. Jacob closed his eyes.

Jacob didn't care where they set him. He remembered a hole in the alley, the closing of a door, and the blissfulness of a dark room. It was cold and drafty, like an abandoned church. Hoarse coughs punctuated heavy breathing, reminding him of Claude.

Claude. In the hands of a dark wizard. Grindel-something or other.

Forcing his eyes open, Jacob tried to make sense of his surroundings. He had to get up. Had to find….

He gripped his pocket as the pain intensified in his head, and glass clinked against his fingers. Hope flared in sync with nausea. He was barely aware that he was retching before someone slammed a rusty pan under his reeling head.

"He shouldn't be here," Credence said with an oath.

"We couldn't leave him!"

"He'll pass it on to Chastity!"

"No he won't!"

Twisting the smaller bottle out of his pocket, Jacob peered at the blurred label and decided he was dying already – one wrong medicine could only finish the job. He yanked to cork with his teeth, coughed the last strands of sick from his mouth, and knocked back half the vial. Clenching his teeth, shuddering, he waited for a miracle.

Seconds passed.

One minute, and the headache seemed worse. Jacob squeezed his eyes shut as the ringing in his ears shrieked above Modesty and Credence's voices.

Two minutes.

Suddenly the cramping in his ribs numbed into dull throbbing and the knife was retracted from his skull. Breathing in hoarse gusts, Jacob shakily capped the phial and thanked whatever doctoring witches had created a cure-all medicine and instructed a demiguise to give it to a monotonous, magicless mortal.

"Credence, don't be such a bully!" Modesty continued to bicker.

"Don't call me that!"

Jacob wondered if it was his imagination that the window shutters rattled just as the boy clenched his fists. Modesty's shoes scuffled.

"Credence, d-don't. You'll scare Chastity again."

"Everyone's scared," Credence retorted, and the quietness in his voice chilled Jacob. "The police, the grocer… even Old Bill can't stand to be around us."

"Don't say that!" Modesty pleaded. "You won't hurt us, Credence, I know you won't!"

"Whoah, whoah," Jacob broke in, looking anxiously between the two siblings. He eased to the edge of the bench, trying to make sense of the atmosphere. "What's all this about?"

Credence's left shoulder dropped, like a private who'd forgotten to clean his gun for the third time in a week. "Nothing."

"You're awake!" Modesty said.

Jacob breathed out quietly, longing for yesterday. When wizards and magic were kept to a suitcase and he could have expected Bill to tramp through the rotting, creaky door and start complaining about how Jacob was spreading illness to his patients.

"You know Old Bill," Jacob said.

The siblings shared a dreadful expression.

"Why?" Credence said lowly. His posture was bowed, as though already cowering, but his eyes glinted. For a moment Jacob compared him to a nundu cozying up to another predator. Dangerous.

Wiping clammy hands on his trousers, Jacob told them plainly, "He ain't coming back."

Hurt streaked into grey eyes. "Why not?" Modesty cried out.

"He's…." Jacob swallowed twice. "He's dead." The stabbing feeling returned, this time in the center where he'd once felt content.

Modesty's eyes dropped and she stepped back to sit heavily on the bed. Credence ducked his chin, staring at the molding threshold.

"You kids here alone?" Jacob said, his voice cracking before settling into an even tone.

The children didn't speak. Coughing from the bed turned into a racking wheeze, and Modesty burst into tears.

"What are we gonna do?" she pleaded, hopelessly watching her brother. "Bill said he'd have medicine for her!"

Medicine. Jacob remembered Bill's tirade about wizards and their magic, and the cure-alls that could have saved his patients. He'd said there was a girl with pneumonia….

"Your sister," Jacob said urgently, fingering the bottle. "What happened to her?"

"She's sick," Credence said dully.

"She fell in the ditch," Modesty hiccupped. "There was a funny creature, and a witch, and there were people with wands everywhere casting spells –"

"Modesty, hush!" Credence hissed.

"But it was magic!" Modesty wailed. "It was magic and you know it, and you're just afraid because of that wand you found under my bed!"

"What wand?" Jacob interjected.

Modesty spoke faster, heedless of the interruption. "One of the wizards grabbed Credence. He wouldn't let go of our hands, so we were pulled in, too. That's when Chastity fell into the cistern – only he wouldn't help her, he just…." She sniffled, yanking on the collar of her dress. "He just left us here. Credence, what if he comes back?"

Another sister. Suddenly Jacob recognized them. "You're Mary Lou's kids!"

"She's not my mother!" Modesty shouted. The spoon on the table rattled.

"Look, I need to know about this wizard," Jacob said, glancing apprehensively around the room. The feeling of the dark curtain – the Obscurus as Newt called it – sank cold into his spine. He uncorked the vial. "But first, let me give this to your sister. It helped me. I think it can save her, too."

For Ol' Bill, he thought, confidently holding out the potion.

"What is it?" Credence asked, curling his nose at the vial's contents.

"I promise, it won't hurt her," Jacob assured.

"It's magic!" Credence objected. "If Mum were to find out – "

"I don't care!" Modesty broke in, snatching the vial from Jacob's fingers. "I'm not afraid of her anymore!"

The little girl didn't notice, but Jacob saw Credence flinch. Children didn't lose their fears – they interchanged them in lieu of a more dreadful monster.

What is she scared of? The question sprang to Jacob's tongue, and he swallowed it down. Credence began to pace.

"Come on, Chastity," Modesty urged, brushing her hand over the curled form on the bed. "Bill's friend gave it to me. He says it'll make you better."

"Who was it?" Credence suddenly asked in a heated whisper. He glanced uneasily at Modesty, then riveted on Jacob. "Who killed Bill?"

"A wizard." Jacob leaned forward, his back still wrangling like a sack of laundry beat against the wall. "Not the one in the courtyard – not the one in the blue coat. He'd never hurt anyone."

"Who was it?" Credence demanded.

Jacob pressed a broken nail in place. "Newt called him 'Grindelwald.' He looked sorta like Dracula, dark and powerful."

Credence didn't exhale for three long beats. "Describe him."

"Like a politician," Jacob said thickly. "Guy in a suit, talks like he could make an invalid walk again, and just when you think he's someone who could make the world a better place he turns out to be the crookedest villain in New York." He flicked off the broken nail, grounding himself in the flash of pain. "I thought he was the good guy."

"Credence?" Modesty broached timidly. A tangled, curly head rested beside her. The wheezing was gone. "Wasn't that… didn't that wizard tell you….?"

Jerking, Credence looked at his shoes. He twitched again, and Jacob almost balked at the intensity in fuming dark eyes. "He killed Bill?"

Numbly Jacob nodded. "Yeah."

Abruptly the young man turned on his heel, striding for the door.

"Credence!" Modesty shrieked. "Where are you going?"

"Modesty, stay here!" Credence snapped. The door crackled and Modesty skittered back. Credence's jaw quivered. "I have to find him. I can't – I can't…."

"He's got Newt," Jacob said, lurching to his feet. The floorboards swayed an instant, but his balance was returning. Thank heavens for miracle antidotes. "He took my friend. If you know anything about him – anything at all – just point for me and I swear I won't be any more trouble!"

Credence looked like he was swallowing lye. Gulping, he slowly slid on his hat and turned the door handle. "Follow me."

In a flash of youth and terror he slipped around the corner. Jacob heaved a deep breath, galvanizing his aching back and forcing his wobbling legs to carry him on, just like in the army days. He could barely see the brim of Credence's hat as they passed between walls of broken shale. The boy moved effortlessly, gliding past drunkards and flinty-eyed loiterers. Though his head was bowed low he marched like a soldier. This ducking, wavering youngster was the one who held the gun.

Jacob wasn't sure why that scared him half to death.

He pushed the thought back, pressing his weight from one scorching leg to the next, huffing as the route wound uphill, until he looked back and saw the town spread out in every direction. Credence halted.

"There," he said, his voice quiet and tentative as he pointed.

There was an old building on the crest of the hill. It was fire-scorched, the tinted windows powdered with charcoal residue, the steeple crushed.

"That's where they burned the witches," Credence mumbled. "No one's been inside it for years."

His hand quaked as he spread his fingers. In his palm rested a triangular pendant.

"He said I could find him there."