Chapter Thirteen: Unlucky for Some

I don't see Hadrian for the rest of the afternoon, and spend it with Mercer trudging through dusty leather-bound books until my eyesight blurs. Mercer seems interested in life at court in the Underworld, and tries to lure me into his research on different relations with other royal houses. Already pissed from curling up on a cold, wooden floor, I snap like a stinging wasp as the boy offers to read me a passage of his huge book. No, I don't want to hear which girls have been sent to court in the hopes that the Death Lord will marry one of them. No, I don't want to know about the War of the Three Courts over two hundred years ago.

I want to find out about Hadrian's damn power.

After hearing the sorry tale of his lost lover (Can he be such a romantic? I wonder privately.  Unlikely. The book must be exaggerating), combined with the curse that would tie me to him, it seems less likely that I could seduce the God of the Underworld into a sleepy one-night-stand, and more likely that I would be going down that waterfall, answers still on hiatus. The library, therefore, is the only solution to my next idea: is there a way to take his power, like Hecate supposedly did?

And, moreover, who is Hecate? Does she live in Hadrian's kingdom? Or does she have her own?

I suppose I could ask Mercer, I think glumly. I might leave it until I have no other choice...

If I could find out that he had one weakness, one way of control, then I could investigate my brother's return by myself.

'Are you listening?' I hear Mercer's voice ask, and for the first time the note of annoyance shines through.

'Yes,' I reply absently, 'People think Hadrian as typically evil, but he just maintains balance of souls. When there's an imbalance, there's something going wrong...'

Mercer, satisfied, carries on droning the text to me. I make the relevant impressed facial expressions, all the while rifling through my fifteenth book, Death's Secret. I flick to the middle, not bothering to check chapters.

The words are even, handwritten, and filling around three hundred pages.

"People say he's the God of Death, so that makes him cold. But at that moment, I knew that this man was far from ice. I knew I was only entertainment for him, that we didn't have any emotional connection. When I went to his chambers, I was not looking for intellectual thought, but primal satisfaction. I was not disappointed. His skin was like blazing fire, warming my thighs and breasts. As he ran his hands along my middle, his thumbs were deftly massaging the tender parts of my skin, making me gasp and moan. Then, making sure he took things slowly, he descended, kissing each part of me until his tongue was caressing my---"

I slam the book shut, realising several things at once. Firstly, my heart is hammering so maniacally that I'm certain Mercer will notice in the quiet of the library. Secondly, I had just picked up some kind of erotica, and was reading it next to my only friend. Thirdly, I had been enjoying it.

Picturing Hadrian's eyes boring into mine--

No! I toss the book back towards the shelves, cheeks pink. Mercer looks up, and I pray he doesn't notice that I'm perspiring; thankfully he glances at the book, gives me a questioning tilt of his head, and I croak: 'No good.'

I pull out another book, my head still reeling from what I'd read, and the images coursing through my overactive imagination. Who wrote that, and was it about Hadrian?

I frown. Of course he has lovers, Nerissa. He told you so himself. It's only physical.

That torturous voice in the back of my mind can't stop from retorting. If it's nothing, why are you crushing that book between your fist?

Huffing, I pile up a few of the most promising books, collecting them into a small pile of five and folding them into my arms. My mind isn't focused enough to read right now, but maybe after a nap to take my mind off certain things might allow me to return to our studies. I give Mercer some half-baked excuse, and he doesn't even raise his eyes to see me off.

Not even Mercer cares that I'm leaving him. I trudge from the domed, draughty room with my irritation with the whole situation mounting. Three spirals of staircases and a grumpy Nerissa later, I throw open the door and respectfully place the books down on the dressing table, shoving aside the powder trays. Kicking off my slippers for shoes, I unfurl onto my bed, taking in the sent of fresh flowers on the linen.

My body is just beginning to twitch into a dreamlike state when I hear a snort coming from my room.

For the second time that day, I've been crept upon in my own bedroom, and I'm determined to bolt the door from now on. Groaning, I sit up, brushing my dark hair from my eyes and growling, 'Hadrian! What are you doing-- oh!'

Hadrian isn't sat on the armchair in the corner, a girl is.

The first thing I notice about her is that she has a large metal bar sticking from each of her cheeks. I blanch, wondering if it's some kind of healing voodoo, but then I notice more metal. Loops within her ears and sparkling rocks, in her nostrils and eyebrows.

I crawl forwards, forgetting politeness, because I've never seen a piercing before.

She sees my curiosity, and lowers the book down that she's reading. The girl has these huge green eyes like caterpillars, with their dainty feet forming her pupils. Her eyelids are coloured-- golden-- and her lashes thick and long. A mop of golden curls seems out of place here, but they lie atop her head, tied with a wonky bow. She laughs as she bites her lip, and I see her gaudy red lipstick staining her teeth, the only imperfect blotch upon this doll of the Underworld.

She's laughing a lot, I notice. My eyes narrow.

Is it my hair? I'm in a constant state of bedhead lately. If not, maybe it's a town-girl-country-girl thing. Maybe she's here to tell me that I can't fit in, and then we have a romantic rivalry that I'll win purely because I'm the protagonist.

Then I spot the book she lowered.

Death's Secret.

I blush furiously, and she bursts into open laughter, snickering and rolling around the chair.

'What's so funny?' I demand, 'I was only...researching!'

At that, she laughs even harder, clutching her sides. She snorts, like a pig, choking on her on giggles.

I remain in stony silence, my arms folded.

Eventually the girl wheezes, 'Breathe-- breathe-- oh hell, that book is ridiculous, have you seen the bit about the King's "staff"? I mean, I'm no writer, but even I know that's dreadful.'

My silence hides my ignorance. I chew the inside of my mouth, trying not to look too thoughtful. Was the book that ridiculous? It sounded realistic...

'Although, maybe you don't know. After all, you're a virgin.'

I whip my head towards her, hackles raised and ready to smother her before she spills my secret. The girl doesn't seem to be using it as leverage, though; she continues to read Death's Secret, letting her words fill the silence.

If she already knows, then if she's going to give me away, the whole court knows.

'What do you want?' I ask, guarded. 'Who are you?'

The girl tosses the book aside, crossing her arms and legs with a grin across her face. 'I'm Sybella, although you can call me Bella. Everyone else does. I know almost everything, about everyone, that's worth knowing...so no, before you ask, you can't trust me. But neither can you hide from me.'

Gods.

'And you expect me to believe you know anything about me because...?'

Rolling her eyes-- as if this is the response she usually gets-- Sybella slides from her seat and sashays towards me. I think she's going to read my palm or something, but she stops about a metre away from me and her eyes open wide. Gaping holes for pupils stretch, and the girl appears to stop breathing, her face whitening. As if she's about to have a seizure, her entire body goes rigid.

Then, as quickly as her demeanour changed, it reverses once more. Sybella cocks her head in a thoughtful manner, before a sly grin slashes her face.

She says one sentence, enough to convince me. 'Tyr's day, fifth of harvest fall.'

The day Nate died.

I reach out and grab her by her pretty dress, nearly ripping it from the seams. Sybella shrieks, but the noise is drowned out as I clamp a hand over her mouth. Her eyes widen; she realises that I'm not joking, that my eyes are burning with the need for answers, regardless of what I have to do. She quivers, afraid.

Good.

'How do you know that information? Tell me, and make no other sound. Agreed?'

Sybella nods vigorously. I release her mouth, still clutching the front of her blue gown in my fist. She heaves for air.

'I...I'm a seer! Gods, it's not even a secret! I See spirits! He told me! He's here--'

I go slack. 'Who's here?'

My hands have dropped Sybella's shirt, and she collapses to the ground, shaking. I tower over her, anger gone, but waiting intently for the answer.

'Your twin,' she whispers, 'I Called him. He Answered.'

My breath comes in strange, short gasps, as if the dam holding back my emotions had suddenly, finally broken. I collapse next to her, grabbing her wrists, begging her to tell me what he said.

But Sybella shakes her head, distressed. 'I can't talk to them...they can show me images. They're more like flashes...I only saw the calendar of that date, I don't know what it means...'

My nails must be biting her; she yells out, crawling backwards. I chase her, and I see myself reflected in her eyes as the desperate soul I am.

'Please,' I whisper, 'What does Nate send you? Has he...has he passed on?'

Sybella's fists clench. 'I only see spirits-- souls-- that are wandering. Your brother has not found rest yet.'

I begin to cry.

Sybella looks astounded as I gasp and cover my eyes. But I don't care. Five years-- five whole years-- and Nate has not been able to find peace.

Sniffling, I pluck the tears away from my cheeks, trying to stifle my upset. Sybella's eyes have turned glassy again, and I realise that she's looking into whatever image Nate is showing her. Rocking backwards and forwards, I see her hands twitching and making strange, unconscious movements. Her lips pop, her body sways.

'He's showing me-- a lot-- of images,' her voice intones. There's no inflexion to her voice; it's monotonous, and oddly deep in comparison to her voice before. As if she was asleep, or under a trance. 'A girl in a white dress is jumping from a cliff. A girl running through the alleyways. A girl climbing a rooftop--'

Sybella poured out memories that even I'd forgotten, brief glimpses of the previous five years which I'd assumed I'd spent alone. But I hadn't-- Nate had been with me, Nate had been watching, Nate was by my side.

'--a girl, crouching by a body-- a boy-- she's crying-- a shadow is coming for him--'

He was watching even then, I think.

I don't know if Sybella can hear, but I grab the girl's shoulders and gently shake her. 'Ask him about who brought him back! Who's behind his lost soul?'

It had to be Death, he'd collected his soul and then...then what? Used it? How?

Why?

Sybella jerks, craning her neck as if she's straining to get away from me. The veins in her forehead bulge, and her eyes begin to close. I don't care if I hurt her, I shake her harder, crying, 'No! Stay awake! TELL ME WHO! NATE! TELL ME WHO TO FIND!'

Sybella's body convulses, and I'm scared I've pushed her too far. But the girl shrieks, 'Three forms-- three faces-- black vines-- torches-- crossroads-- a woman! A woman!'

The girl faints, falling forwards into my arms. I'm shaking and she's rousing blearily, clutching my bare arms with a confused expression. She blinks up at me, taking in my attire, and then giggles. 'What are you wearing?'

Why did I bother to worry about this chick?

'Um...clothes,' I say, holding her at arm's length. The girl looked sleepy, rubbing her eyes like a child. Her golden ringlets were drooping, as if to match her lilting mood. Her dress-- a midnight blue tea dress, sticking out from numerous white underskirts. Her legs were pale, with knee-high white socks with ribbons on the sides. Her shoes were ballet slippers in black.

What am I wearing? I've been wearing it all day. I try to remember changing this morning, but all I can recall is Hadrian's thighs. Sure enough, when I look down, I'm wearing this dark, moody corset with tiny black shorts with bows on. It was the only thing I'd found in the wardrobe.

'You're wearing undergarments,' Sybella murmurs, and she seems intoxicated. Maybe I did break her.

'They're clothes, Sybella,' I sigh, guilt rising in my chest. I did push her to talk to Nate, without considering the consequences. I shoulder the girl, dragging her limp limbs to her feet, before shuffling to the bed.

'Up we go,' I say, and she staggers as if she's had a jug of mead. 'That's a girl. That's it, left foot, right foot-- no, not that way, that's the bedpost-- yes, there, aim right for the massive duvet there, Sybella.'

The girl turns to me, pulling a face with a pout. Her eyes are unfocused, but she still manages to tell me off. 'I said, call me Bella!'

I sigh. Sybella-- Bella-- turns back to the bed, looking contemplatively towards it. Then she falls face-first, landing with a phwump as she misses, and her knees hit the floor.

'Yes Bella,' I say, pulling her back upright. 'Let's try that again.

Bella flops onto the pillows, shutting her eyes and letting out an immediate snore.

Feeling like the mother I never had, I bend down and take off Sybella's shoes, placing them carefully at the foot of the bed. Then I  tuck a pillow underneath her golden hair, and cover her with a blanket.

Regardless of these last few minutes of madness, the girl looks like an angel. Her hands curl up towards her face, and her legs tuck into her chest, and a placid smile is on her face.

'Sleep tight,' I say, thoroughly confused. I take up Bella's place in my armchair, pulling out the stack of library books I'd taken. While the small girl sleeps, I start my research anew, reinvigorated on the strange clues Bella had spoken of.

Of several things I can account for, one being Nate's attacker. A woman, with "three faces" or "forms", and a number of other clues; black vines, crossroads and a torch.

Secondly, Nate's attacker being a woman, I can rule out Hadrian. He's not the cause of my brother's wayward, lost soul, nor is he behind the rise of the dead within my home town.

Which begs my third and fourth question: how much does he know? And if not him...who?

It was time to face my husband and ask him directly.

A/N: Quick update, and although there's no Hadrian (sad face), there's a new cool character! What do you think of her? What do you think of her reaction to Nerissa's erotica she was reading? :')

Again, please vote and comment!

Lots of love

Larissa