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

Chapter 6: Cave Canem

A/N: 'Cave canem' translates as 'Beware of the Dog' in Latin. If you like audio, please click the button next to the first paragraph-- I think the music is very fitting for this scene.

Can there be anything worse than walking across a rickety wooden bridge, with your sight barred by mist, and not knowing what was on the other side?

Having to drag Mercer along with you, of course. The boy has latched onto my arm, and his nails are pinching into my bare skin. As it is, I'm cold, I'm scared, and now nail marks like lion's claws down my forearm only complete the scenario.

Frankly, it sucks.

The air along the bridge is stronger, denser somehow; the mist pinches my cheeks, and my breath fogs the air further. We step together at a slow pace, feeling each creak of the wood beneath us and sending our hearts pummelling our chests.

I'm waiting for the bridge to collapse, sending us flying into the Afterlife, or to be swallowed up by some dreadful monster. But the further we walk, the less likely it seems that we're going to be eaten, and the more confident we grow. In fact, Mercer has let go of my arm as we feel the curve of the bridge dip once more, signalling our arrival on the other shore.

I turn to smirk at Mercer, whom I can only see because he's standing so close behind me that my shadow is getting envious.

'That rogue was lying to us,' I say, putting my hands on my hips with sass. Hadrian probably ran away scared— had he even been across the bridge before? He had bluffed me well! I had been completely fooled!

'Why would he do that?' Mercer questions as we walk, and I shrug. I'm too busy congratulating myself on not listening to people who supposedly know better than I do.

Then Mercer's face drains as he stares over my shoulder. I halt on the balls of my feet, mid-step.

'What is it?' I say.

He opens his mouth, and makes a small choking sound.

'What is it?' I demand, realising that I really should just turn around, but I can't help but want a warning.

Mercer's reply is a stutter. 'Big. It's big. And...hairy.'

Big and hairy? I raise my eyebrows so high they fuse with my hairline. And then I turn around.

A moment passes. I stare at the great beast before me and for the first time, feel a swoon coming on.

'BIG AND HAIRY?' I squeak, 'DID YOU FORGET TO MENTION THAT IT HAS THREE HEADS?'

Mercer's far-from-apt description of the guardian of the bridge is, granted, on the large side and, admittedly, covered in fur. But what I might have said was 'fucking-great-big-three-headed-dog', or as the legends call him: Cerberus.

Cerberus stares down at us— with all six glowing red eyes, I might add— and growls. His growl is so fierce that it sends my eyes watering and flecks of dog spit coat my face. He towers over us; at least twice our height, plus instead of being a weedy puppy, his body is solid and muscular. Rather than a guardian, he looks more like a bulldog, ready to fight to the death over a bone. His paws are bigger than my face and are equipped with claws that can probably tear apart Mercer and me without much hassle.

My hand flops in a half-hearted manner towards the cutlass at my hip, but the small slab of metal feels ridiculous in comparison to Cerberus' many options of sharp, pointing teeth to devour us with.

'What's the plan?' Mercer says faintly.

I stare at him, wide-eyed. 'I have no idea.'

'I thought you had prepared for everything!'