The Power of Mercy by Fiona Zedde

Author:Fiona Zedde
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ylva-Publishing
Published: 2017-06-14T04:00:00+00:00

The next day, Mai was a wreck. With every bite of food she took, she swore she tasted Xóchitl on her tongue. Every time she took deep a breath, the familiar scent of vanilla and oranges ghosted through her senses. At one point, she even thought she saw Xóchitl near her condo. But she knew those were all illusions, just as she knew nothing would come of whatever it was they were playing at.

She was still angry at the woman for the way she had treated her in the bar a few nights before. But the need to reject her wasn’t there anymore. Instead, she wanted to taste her again, to feel what it would be like to make love to her in a bed. But that wasn’t an option for them. Despite their mutual attraction, she didn’t shit where she ate.

A workplace romance would be a disaster.

So Mai talked herself out of having anything to do with Xóchitl, other than the occasional hello in the hallway.

Less than a week after the parking lot mistake, Mai approached the end of her last class of the day with a bone-deep sigh of relief. She had a lead to follow on the Absolution case and already felt a thrum of excitement at the pursuit, even though she wouldn’t be able to start until the next afternoon.

She was getting closer to Absolution; she could feel it. Even though with that growing proximity, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to capture or congratulate them.

“I don’t think it’s instructive to lump the slavery practiced on the African continent with the forms it took in the United States, the Caribbean, and South America,” one of her students was saying.

“Why not? It’s all slavery! You can’t pick and choose which one you support and which one you condemn.”

The rush of antagonism in the class brought Mai back to the discussion that was rapidly in danger of becoming a fistfight rather than an intellectual debate.

Mai flicked her gaze to the clock at the back of the room. Fifteen minutes until the end of class. “I think that’s enough lively conversation,” she said, tapping a pen against her knee and giving a firm look to the two students leaning toward each other in blatant hostility. “This is not a history class, everyone. But feel free to put your paper on the novel into a historical context, remembering that we are discussing the literature and not indulging in our not-so-latent racist or xenophobic tendencies. Okay?” She raised a pointed eyebrow, and the some of the students had the good sense to look embarrassed.

The classroom door creaked open, but Mai didn’t bother to look who it was. Probably a student from the next class who didn’t realize how early they were. She looked at the clock again. “We have another ten minutes, so if someone else wants to present the topic of their paper to us, let’s have it.”

But most of the students were looking over Mai’s shoulder. Beatrice, in particular, looked like she wanted to strangle whoever it was she was looking at.

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