I start slowly down the street, peering in the windows we pass. The houses are empty, but they don’t look abandoned. I see a parlor with tiny sandwiches sitting out on a silver platter, waiting for teatime. I see laundry hanging in alleys. I see a manor that’s been terrorized by its children, who have left toys scattered all over the floor of every room.
The people of Occhia all leave their manors at the same time every day to gather for worship. For some people, worship is about the religion, and for some people, it’s the place to see and be seen, but for everyone, it’s an event.
I glance up at the spires of the cathedral.
This is a city. A city that looks like Occhia, but doesn’t. A city that’s like Occhia, but isn’t.
I can think the words, but when I try to wrap my mind all the way around them, it rebels. The idea that I got lost in the catacombs and wandered into another city doesn’t make any sense. Because that would mean everything I know about Occhia is wrong. My city is supposed to be all alone in the middle of the veil. My city is supposed to be everything that’s ever existed.
“Emanuela.” Ale whispers it directly onto the back of my neck.
I startle away. “Must you? The point of you being twice my height is that you stay out of my breathing space.”
“Look.” He follows me. He grabs my head and delicately turns it to direct my gaze down the street.
At the intersection of several winding lanes, there’s a statue made of white marble. It has three tiers, stacked like a cake, and on top is a figure of a woman. Her arms are outstretched benevolently.
“What is it?” Ale says.
“A ghost,” I say, just to be insufferable.
He stiffens. “You don’t think… you don’t think it followed us—”
“It’s clearly a statue, Ale,” I say. “A statue of a saint, probably. That’s what we make statues of in Occhia, isn’t it?”
“But…” he says. “We’re not in Occhia.”
I hesitate.
“I know,” I say.
We approach the statue cautiously. Like everything else on this street, it’s polished and pretty and unfamiliar. The woman’s white skirts are expertly carved to billow around her, as if she’s in the middle of a twirl. She has a white rose behind one ear and long, curly hair. She looks so real. I feel like if I climbed up and touched her, I’d find her skin warm and soft.
But I’m not going to do that. I don’t want to get any closer.
At the end of the next street, we find another statue. It’s the exact same woman, on top of the exact same tiers.
“Who is she?” Ale whispers.
He’s asking like he thinks I’ve somehow come up with an answer. I keep walking, hoping that maybe I will. With one eye on the spires in the distance, Ale and I wind our way up staircases and across walkways and past more identical statues. It quickly becomes apparent that there’s a statue at every single intersection.
Whoever this woman is, she’s all over the city.
All too soon, we’re at the end of a street that faces the cathedral. Just like in Occhia, it’s never far away. Its looming towers are white and striking against the red veil. The enormous double doors are shut. I strain my ears for organ music, the familiar sound of worship, but I hear nothing.
“Where’s…” Ale says. “Where’s the—”
He cuts himself off with an uneasy look at me.
The watercrea’s tower. In Occhia, it’s right behind the cathedral, peeking over its shoulder, always visible. But here, I don’t see anything.
I start walking again. Faster.
“Wait—” Ale runs after me.
I reach the edge of the cathedral square. Off to one side are white, columned buildings that look very much like Occhia’s Parliament buildings. On the other side is a public garden, lusher and greener than any I’ve ever seen. There’s still no sign of anyone.
There’s something very unusual about this city, and I know what it is, but I’m afraid to name it, even inside my own head.
I lead Ale across the square. I try to look like I visit this cathedral every day. I try to look like I know exactly what I’m going to find inside.
I’m just past the halfway point when I feel it. Someone is watching me approach. I’m certain of it.
I stop. I survey the cathedral’s closed doors and intricate white face and narrow windows. There’s no sign of life.
I turn to Ale. “Did you feel…?”
“What?” he says, instantly on alert.
“Nothing,” I say, and keep going.
I’m not dead, I remind myself. As long as I’m not dead, I can handle anything.
I climb the steps to reach the cathedral doors. And finally, I can hear something beyond the thick walls. It’s the steady, muffled hum of voices. Of people.
I stare at the intricate wood paneling and will myself to just reach out and push my way inside. I think about the last time I was in a cathedral that looked almost, but not quite, like this one. I think about my papá’s arm in mine and Ale waiting at the altar and the woman in the red gown who took one look at me and knew about my omen.
I think about the thing I saw in the catacombs, and the moment when its eyes met mine.
I think about my nursemaid, stuck in a city with no water, braving the guards so that I could slip away. I think about my people panicking in the streets. I think about all those prisoners in the watercrea’s tower. No one else is going to help them.
I reach out and slowly, slowly push on the door.
Someone on the other side wrenches it open and ushers me inside, and all at once, Ale and I are propelled through the foyer and surrounded by people. The inner chamber is full of them. They’re milling around under the enormous arched ceilings, their chatter loud as
