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.

There are shades in this room. Lesson one...See.

Minutes tick by. I take it in turns to rove my eyes around the room, glaring and spacing out, twitching at the slightest movement.

Mercer can bloody see! My distracted brain threatens. I try not to chuckle; my father, despite his weaknesses, had pinned my character down easily: I have always hated, and will always hate, being second best.

But then that thought takes a darker turn. When Nate was alive, being second to my twin had never bothered me.

Could I blame being a selfish bitch on Nate's death? Probably not. But it was hell worth a try.

'Nerissa? Oh, thank goodness, I thought you were zoning out again!' Mercer's chirpiness is irritating. I scowl at him, pushing away my dark thoughts along with a strand of brown, curling hair. Mercer's stare is equally chilly, to my surprise. Arching an eyebrow, he says, 'I've bought you some time. When you can see them, come and find us.'

A muscle in my jaw spasms. From his tone, Mercer is looking down on me. How a short trip further into being dead had changed things! Haughtily, I frown. My companion turns away, and he looks to something else in the room, leaving me alone.

His retreating figure is lonely against the candlelight of the worhsip hall. An odd taste of bitterness gives me a gentle nudge that Mercer's snub has stung. But with any nasty stings, once the initial hurt has gone, what's left is something far more advantageous: anger.

My initial reaction is to scream insults at him. Swear until his ears rot. But in the back of my mind, my conscience knows when to watch and wait for the more effective time to strike.

And that would be when I can see these goddamn shades! How hard can it be?

--

How hard can it be, I think mullishly. As hard as trying to see something that you can't see, without any knowledge of whether it's actually there to see?

Goddamn that Mercer. Hell! I'd been sat on the chairs by the altar for what seemed like hours. I'd seen no hint of my so-called bodyguard, and I'd seen absolutely no shade, no flicker of shadow-- nothing.

I'd been stuck with a bloody ugly statue and an eerie silence. To break the monotony, I groan aloud. 'Damn it, if only he'd told me what to do!'

'That's the problem with being a cocky shit isn't it?' a female voice echoed. 'You could have stayed, gotten help. Longer, but smarter. You could have asked Mercer. But no. Here we are, playing tough girl army again.'

Spinning to kneel and look over the pews, I jump. A familiar blonde haired girl with great green eyes blinks at me, arms folded, legs crossed. She looks like she's been sat here for hours, and yet I didn't hear her move. She cocks her head, her ringlets bouncing in her high ponytail.

'You,' I say. Damn. What was her name again?

'Me,' she agrees, raising her eyebrows. The two of us sit there, mute and still, waiting for the other to talk. After an agitated few more seconds, I give in-- sort of.

'I don't remember your name,' I snap.

'Sybella.'

'Ah, yes,' I roll my eyes. 'Bella for short. The bedroom sneaker.'

I'm referring to the time, not so long ago, that I'd found Bella in my room, sitting there as if it was a common occurrence. Maybe it was, for her. But not for me. Nobody had ever gone into my room without my expressed permission, but even then, I have always been very particular about my space.

Sybella smiles slowly. 'Bedroom sneaker...I like it. Bedroom sneaker and cocky shit, we make a good pair.'

'Now that you mention it, I could expand your nickname to Church sneaker, too. That's the second time you've nearly given me a seizure.'

'If you Saw, perhaps you would have Seen me,' Sybella says sagely. I want to push her over, because I know she's right.

'Do you know how to do it?' I counter. 'If so, I'm desperate, not cocky. Desperate to get out of here.'

Her smile grows wider. 'I never thought you'd ask. Seeing is a simple trick, you know.'

I spin to face her, shaking my head in confusion. 'I thought you were a seer? Not a necromancer...'

'I am a seer,' Sybella agrees, 'But we Seers See too, surprisingly.'

Suppressing another eye roll is difficult, but I manage it. Why is everything so complicated? Freezing hell! I hope I don't have to understand it to do it. I don't complain, however. I fix my nicest smile-- an uncomfortable leer-- and turn to face Sybella fully.

'Bella, I want to ask you straight out: will you teach me? Please?'

'And I really never thought you'd ask,' Sybella says. Triumph glistens in her eyes. 'I'd start by wearing that famed mask.'

My hands fly automatically to the silver metal face mask that is currently on the side and back of my head, tucked for safekeeping. What on earth did it have to do with being able to see those shades or not...?

Sybella gives me a look that says, And I thought that you were smart.

'Do I just have to put the mask on? Because that's anticlimatic...'

Sybella shakes her head as my hands lift towards the metal mask. Its edges are cool beneath my fingers-- as cold, Jefferson would say, as death. It moves as fluidly, running down the contours of my face as my fingers slide it down, covering my features. The chill of the mask reaches my cheeks, and I suppress a shiver; how could an object be that cold?

But I'm rather more excited that by wearing this, I'm going to suddenly see. I'm out of luck; I don't see anything but an unruly strand of hair dangling over my right eye hole. Tapping the mask impatiently, I say, 'Damn it, it doesn't work!'

Sybella sighs. 'Of course it doesn't just work, but it looks more intimidating. Your face is too...resting-bitch, if you ask me.'

'I just want to know what to do next.'

The girl takes a step towards me, cocking her head once more. I hear her make a puzzled hmmm-ing noise, as if I were an afternoon cake she was debating over. Then, decidedly, she nods and says, 'Yes, you're too closed off. Everyone has an inner core energy, and yet when I look at you, I see it bundled all up in your belly. Never reaches out to anyone.'

I gape at her, then realise-- she can't see my expression of incredulity. So, for good measure, I say, 'You want me to expand my what?'

The girl grins. 'Just try it. Honest, you'll See if you can expand that bubble you wrap yourself in.'

Sounds dangerous, I want to say. I refrain from negative thoughts, however, and shrug, turning away from Sybella so that her irritating face can't distract me. Trying to not just appear constipated in concentration, I flit my gaze around the high domed ceilings decorated with paintings. A tiger among sheep leaps from above, leaving a trail of fire. Fish within clouds swim under a blanket of stars.

The Goddess of Spring meets with The Lord of the  Underworld, and sparks the coming of spring anew.

Can Mercer really See because he's more open than I am? I have never opened myself to embrace the world around me. Why should I?

I closed myself off when I watched Nate die, and I saw Hadrian come for him.

Sometime between his soul being reaped by Hadrian and Nate's soul reaching rest, my brother's soul was taken. By who? And why?

If I want to find who killed him, and who took his soul for theirs, I have to do this.

Warmth flares in the pits of my stomach; a determination that I'd felt hundreds of times before, but now feels electric. Without questioning, I control that sensation, allowing it to expand so that I'm sharing that electricity with everything around me. I imagine it like growing buds, from small to beautiful.

And from the closest radius outwards, I begin to See.

DUN DUN dddurrrrrn. What will Nerissa's new Sight be like, and what will Hadrian's reaction be? Will she make it home? Will Mercer get back to his girlfriend?

FIND OUT NEXT TIME, maybe possibly

If I have enough words

lots of love

Larissa