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

Chapter Seven: Terrible Puns

The door heaves open with a sigh that can only be described as a dull morning put into a sound. Before us stands a wizened old man, nearly half my height from stooping, and with only a curling wisp of white hair left upon his head. He blinks curiously towards me— well, towards my thighs to be precise, as that's the direction his low posture leads to. I give a slight cough to catch his attention.

The man's eyes flicker up towards us as if he's only just now remembering that he could, in fact, raise his neck. Delight flows across his face in a toothy smile, and he thuds the curled golden cane he clutches with excitement. As he thumps it on the ground, his body wobbles, and I wish he'd stop before he keels over.

'Oh my, oh my! Is it our guests already? You're early! And alive!'

"Alive" is clearly a flexible term here in the Underworld. If by alive he means post-drowning, then Mercer and I are doing fantastically. We have nearly succumbed to a river that would have led us to our final resting place, found the decimated remains of a ferryman, started a fight with a mysterious stranger and then were nearly eaten by a three-headed dog. If this is what everyday life was like here, I begin to doubt whether I'd survive to see my first-year wedding anniversary.

I throw a quick look at Mercer, wondering whether he's doing his normal crying routine, or cowering at the sight of another human being. But judging from my companion's face, Mercer is outraged at the old man's pleasant surprise.

'Did you think we wouldn't make it?' He demands.

The old man either smiles or grimaces, the floppy wrinkles make it hard to say for sure. 'Of course, dear boy! Sacrifices rarely make it nowadays, so we simply didn't expect to see you get here so soon, if at all!'

I stare at him for so long that the silence causes the old man's joy to drop. A pulse throbs in Mercer's clenched jaw.

'So, the sacrifices aren't needed?' Mercer's voice is low.

Sensing danger, the old man shuffles back, giving a barking laugh. 'Yes, yes, you really are needed! Yes! We've been dying to meet you, actually. Harhar.'

The only noise is Cerberus snorting. My hands ache to throttle the man, even if he is thrice my age. Mercer appears to be an eager accomplice to boot.

'Well, come this way, come this way!' The old man makes a shaky gesture for us to step inside. Cerberus, too large for the door, has to squat in behind us so we fill the entrance hall of a large, dark cavern. Only a few torch brackets provide any light, sending dancing shadows across high domed ceilings.

I shiver. The castle is cold, and depressingly like a church. The silence is not the quiet of an empty house, but the muffled noise of stifled life.

'My name is Jefferson, and I'm the butler here,' the old man, Jefferson, introduces himself. 'I serve tea and Death, and tea to Death.'

He waits for us to laugh. Nobody does. Me on principle, and Mercer because I think death jokes are a little too soon for him.

'Well now, my Lady, shall I take you to your chamber?' Jefferson brushes over the dumb silence. 'We have housed every bride of Death here, but don't worry— there aren't any skeletons in your closet!'

Mercer and I share a doomed look as Jefferson takes off, his stick tapping furiously as he hobbles off into the darkness.

Is it too late to turn back and jump in that river? I wonder.

As we walk, the castle remains dimly lit, with cold stone floors that echo each of our footsteps. There's barely any decoration on the dark walls besides the occasional weapon on display, and then the odd torch bracket so that darkness doesn't swallow us entirely whole. The hallway leads to a grand staircase of black ebony, and we follow each flight, up and up, until we reach a small wooden door.