Little Saint Bride [Death and the Maiden, #1]

Chapter Thirty Five: Seeing Things

Three taps on the great oak door, and the bolt hole opens at speed. Something Mercer sees peers back at us, because I hear him murmuring low into the door. Then, in a hasty swoop, the latches click and the world seems to go into chaos.

I'm grabbed by the scruff of my neck, and by Mercer, no less. Before I can huff, I'm yanked unceremoniously inside the great cathedral and into bright, unforgiving light. Upset howls from behind indicate that Cerberus has been left outside, and it's that, more than anything, that makes me want to kick these people.

Blinking, I find myself in an empty space of admittedly stunning architecture. Golden archways, high domed ceilings painted with constellations and a decorative altar strike me as religious. But who do the dead pray to?

With growing nausea, my enhanced eyesight flickers at clues around the room. The marble floors depict pink whorls of blossom, spreading to a remarkable tree so large it crosses the room to the altar. Pink blossoms on the left for spring become green leaves of summer at its tips, before blooming into orange and dying on the opposite side of the room. My ears ringing with a gnawing sense of trepidation, I step along the tree's trunk, footsteps echoing along the floor and throughout the ornamented room. In my mind, my senses catalogue my surroundings: rows of pews, side rooms leading off, countless passageways, and a balcony running above my head with yet more shelves.
But my eyes are focuses on one thing only.

The altar's centrepiece.

A carving of lifelike elegance, the two figures arise at the centre of the tree. They are caught in an odd embrace; one man, one woman. She's in his arms, but her body reaches out to the sky with all her might, and her fingers stretch as far as she can manage. Clamped in the man's arms, she can't leave. I shudder; her expression of horror and longing make my eyes dart to the man to see what his take on this is.
He has his mind on other matters; namely, clutching at his other half with a force that dents her skin. His own expression is of utmost concentration.
It's the most bizarre piece of art I've ever seen, and for the life of me-- whatever that's worth now-- I can't see how anyone could worship it. In fact, there's a prowling sense of dislike towards it, a gut reaction that fills my belly.

But there's something captivating about the statue, and as I look longer at the man's face I realise that the marble depiction is of the same man that's been on my mind for the last hour or so. Hadrian's face. The longer I let the thought take hold, the more I realise how alike this statue resembles him.

I go colder still. The woman's face is marred by her hair, flowing in a wind and covering the contours of her face. From her height and build, she's not far off my own size.

A rustling behind makes me jump. Mercer bears down on me, nerves frayed.

'Nerissa, I've been calling you for the past few minutes,' he hisses. 'What are you doing? Everyone's watching!'

I blink at him, distracted from the process of deciding if that is indeed me in the statue. 'What? Who?'

'What do you mean, who...oh,' Mercer's eyes grow wide and he takes a deep breath. 'Don't panic, but we're kind of surrounded.'

'What?'

'Just a couple of Shades. They want to meet you...'

I exhale through my nose. 'Mercer. I can't. See. Them.'

'I realise that now...' The blond boy looks mortified. 'I'll go explain to them that you're not ignoring them...'

I'm half tempted to turn and give a wave at exactly the wrong moment to show up Mercer, but the chilling idea that I'm being watched gives me a better incentive: learn, and fast.