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

Chapter Thirty Seven: Speaking in Tongues [Full]

'What's wrong, Nessie?'

Nate comes and sits at my side, squatting to be beside me. I'm curled up at the edge of the green, charcoal nib in hand, seething.

'Miss Thorn told me off for not having a letter ready,' I grumble, staring back down at the half crumpled paper on my lap. 'She shouted at me for not doing my homework.'

'She cares about you,' Nate says diplomatically. For an eleven-year-old, he's wise beyond his years. My own petulant ego can't compete, so I do what most kids do: I stick my tongue out at my twin.

Suddenly, a teacher's voice ricochets. 'Nerissa! Are you ready to put your letter in yet?'

'Hurry!' Nate whispers, shooting the teachers a furtive glance. Around us, the class play on the green, cartwheeling and enjoying their minutes whilst the teachers dig the hole, ready to place a box of letters from our eleven year old selves in. 

It's a stupid idea. I say so to Nate, who gives me a bleak look.

'It's actually a smart idea,' he reasons. 'The act of writing a letter to your future makes you think about the future.'

Again, he's wise beyond me. I sigh dramatically, attracting the attention of a group of boys nearby. I'm more interested in catching their eyes than with writing my letter. But Nate is diligent, as always, and he taps the page, bringing my attention back to the present-- and the future.

'All it makes me think about is how much I hate writing soppy letters!' I groan. 'I don't care what my future holds. It's going to be boring.'

Nate smiles. 'You have a strange definition of boring.'

I raise my eyebrows. 'We have school, and then work, and then we work until we die. Voila, complete. Boring.'

'Death isn't boring.'

'How would you know? Oh, let me just copy yours!'

'No! You can't copy...'

'...hand it over! Where is it? Let me see!'

'I've already given it in,' Nate grins. 'You won't be able to read it until you're older.'

I groan again. Today, Nate is really being cryptic. He's usually the dreamer; whilst I live for the moment, he'll be too lost to notice it. Or he'll be noticing too much of it that he's no longer a person but a distant observer, always the watcher and the assessor. 

Little did I know how alike we would become. 

As I land hard on the grassy earth, I know where the portal has taken me to. One of my last, clear memories of my brother on our first day entering the higher academy, for the bigger kids. Back then, we'd dug an ugly hole into the middle of this unused patch of land not too far from the school. In the years since, the area had become much more sketchy-- first, becoming a graveyard, and now, a hive of drugs and prostitution. The park's real name-- something bland and vague-- had long been replaced with everyone's colloquial nickname, Gods' Green. Apparently, the semantics stem from a long line of hallucinogenics consumed there. 

Thankfully, when I land, the air is crisp, clear and with a distinct lull in the darkness. The sun is creeping in the furthest corners; dawn is coming, and with it, most of the humans of the night have fled. Regardless, I glance around to see if anyone has noticed my arrival. The world is silent, sleepy, and there's a low mist over the graves to add to the atmosphere. 

My fingers rake through the dewy dirt to shift my body. Rolling onto all fours, I push into a crouch. Mercer is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Hadrian. I'm surprised that an anxious knot forms in my stomach; I'm scared for them. But, now that I'm here, I don't have time to waste.