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

Chapter Thirty Five: Seeing Things

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.