‘One of the few, hidden pagan temples in the city,’ Kyan said from ten paces behind her, as if talking to himself. ‘It’s glamoured so only those who need or appreciate it can see it.’
Intrigue nearly kept her rooted to the spot, but she didn’t want to look too suspicious going into such a hidden location in the middle of the day.
Nicole forced herself onwards, noting how certain streets had Old Masters’ paintings gracing their walls in exquisite street art. Some had depictions of creatures never found in the originals, images that were more specific and actually accurate. The paintings seemed to distinguish certain parts of the city, along with the glimmering circle logo of the Wake on shop windows that alerted other creatures to the supernatural produce. Outside, the buildings were warded and glamoured so all humans saw were run-down or poster-smothered windows, when inside they were thriving businesses, with groups of supernaturals milling and chatting outside.
Nicole kept her eyes away, even as her Empyrean instincts twisted and scanned. How she’d love to peacefully browse them with a coffee, after a few hours in the library working on her forgotten dissertation.
Finally, she broke through a leafy park and the museum rose into view. Nicole relished the cooler breeze, calming the anxious hum in her bones from the noise and the Muse’s cryptic words. She strode past trees and sculptures and onto the cobbled road lined with Victorian orb streetlamps that curved a sloping path up to the gallery and its neighbouring museum and library.
The austere, neoclassical buildings were lined up on a slight hill, all in the same dark sandstone. Hurrying up the steps, Nicole passed the Walker Art Gallery’s fluted columns and Carrara marble sculptures of Raphael and Michelangelo – time-worn and missing some of their features – and into the pale marble hall.
The immediate hush bathed her in relief. She hadn’t realised how much the city had affected her ability tothink. She didn’t want to go back to the townhouse yet. Not without something clearer to work with. Not withoutsomeidea of what she was supposed to do next or some way to work through the Muse’s clues.
A small, foolish part of her had hoped to walk into the apartments, come out with the next clue, or better yet, next goddess-blessed item, and head off again.
To think, she’d been upset about having to wait six months in Burghley House. Now, any moment could rip away the remaining safety Kyan was keeping alive.
Instead of heading straight ahead to the circular welcome desk, she took a right into the sculpture gallery. Even just a glance that way revealed Kyan’s dark shape in her periphery. Anticipation shimmered, hot and magic in her blood, while her pulse was soothed.
Her shoes clipped against the stone floor as she entered, finding it blessedly empty of visitors.
Nicole headed for the first, most obviously supernatural sculpture: ‘Psyche at the Well’. The mythological Greek figure’s small, rounded butterfly wings were drooping behind her. She had a tiny oenochoe jug and her rippling hair was tied in a marble bun, the smooth, pale expanse of her nude upper body glowing in the sunlight.
Nicole took in the hypnotic quiet, the creak of the wooden floor, and the cooler, temperature-controlled space that blew softly at the tendrils of hair that had stuck to her neck, and took a breath as her heartbeat slowed.
Then she dug out her notebook to jot down another thing the Muse had said before it escaped her.
She hadn’t expected Kyan to follow her inside, maybe just linger by the doors. But when he did, he didn’t speak, merely passed by, his powerful form shadowed as he headed to the far right-hand side of the room as if browsing. As if they didn’t know one another.
What was it her mother had first told her to do if an Empyreal discovered her?
Pretend.
Orrun.
She was desperate to speak to him, to ask him about the Muse, to sit and theorise together. Even just ask more about the glimpse of hislife she’d got when he’d mentioned the violin and his cousins back at the townhouse.
But for now, all she could get was stolen closeness.
Nicole glanced at the side of his face. So strong and handsome with a stoic, feral regality.
They moved around one another, behind a marble arm, the curve of a naked stomach, the arc of wings.
She scribbled some more, circled the key words the Muse had focused on.
Temptation.
Artist.
‘How was it?’ Kyan asked quietly.
Nicole jolted. He’d spoken too quietly for any nearby human to hear and still stood facing the other direction, examining a sculpture.
‘Everything she said was as mysterious as it was beautiful,’ Nicole replied as quietly as possible. ‘But … I don’t know what I’m looking for.’
Until they were back in the townhouse, Nicole wasn’t willing to mention the glass flower. For now, she just needed some perspective and to check any depictions of flowers here to know what she was working with.
A few humans strolled in, interrupting the intimate silence.
