“How many?” she asked.
“Two, please,” Gavin answered. He was standing at my elbow, perfectly composed. He winked at me and stepped forward to take our tickets.
“Enjoy your visit to St. Paul’s,” the volunteer said in a monotone voice that suggested we might not.
My heart was thumping wildly in my chest, and my body started to quiver involuntarily. To steady me, Gavin rested a strong hand on my shoulder, which kept me upright, but didn’t stop my thoughts from tumbling over one another like pebbles in a toddler’s pocket. Demons were real. Demons were here. I’d seen them with my own two eyes, or at least parts of them. And those parts were horrifying. Hulking and vicious, all scales and membranes and blood. While I had seen the beasts in the forest, they were running away from me, not trying to slice my guts open. And awful as he was, Anders didn’t have wings and claws . . . that I knew of, anyway.
And there were at least two of them. How many more? How strong were they? Not so strong that Gavin hadn’t been able to protect me, but what if he wasn’t around? I had barely made it inside, and now, I realized with a shiver, I was as stuck as Hunter.
CHAPTER 23
My body was still trying to ward off tiny tremors of shock as Gavin led me through the lobby and into the cathedral. We slipped into a short pew at the back that butted up against one of the church’s soaring carved columns and sat down. I leaned my cheek against the cool stone pillar and tried to calm myself down. Having a nervous breakdown wasn’t going to help rescue Hunter or get an antidote to Jo. I needed to get a grip as quickly as possible so we could get moving again.
I tried not to think about the demons outside, although their screaming still rang in my ears. I searched my brain for something safe, something calm. I glanced at Gavin. Everything about him looked peaceful. How was that even possible? He’d just battled a demon, maybe two, and he looked fine. He looked better than fine; he looked wonderful. His hair, his cheeks, his lips . . . his lips! The kiss in the cab. I could still feel it on my lips. Why had he done it?
Obviously, he had kissed me to protect me, to keep me from screaming, to buy us extra time. But wouldn’t his hand over my mouth have worked just as well? It might not be a polite way to silence someone, but I was also pretty sure making out with human girls was not part of his job description. He had chosen to kiss me. I had to say something before I burst.
“So, what was that all about back there . . . in the cab?” I asked.
“You mean the demons?” He was staring straight ahead, eyes fixed on the front of the church. “Not to worry, I took care of them.”
“No, I mean the kiss.”
He whipped his head around to face me, his eyes flashing, as if he couldn’t believe I’d actually said the words out loud. A parade of emotions marched across his face: surprise, confusion, adoration, guilt. I clung desperately to the fleeting look of adoration, but as quickly as it came, it was gone. “Nothing. That was nothing,” he said.
I wasn’t giving up. “No, it was something.”
“Please respect the sanctity of St. Paul’s Cathedral by not speaking loudly,” a man with a formal-sounding English accent said. I looked around, but didn’t see anyone. “The use of photographic or video recording devices of any kind is strictly forbidden.” Gavin pointed at a small speaker embedded in the wall as the recorded message began to replay in French.
Then he shot me a new look, a look I remembered seeing during our encounter in the post office: it was commanding and cold. “Not here,” he whispered between clenched teeth. “Not now.” He stood up and walked down the main aisle.
It was my turn for a flood of confusion, sadness, self-pity, and heartbreak. Now that he finally had given in, did he regret it? Was I a terrible kisser? Did I repulse him? If so, he was a great actor, because he’d kissed me more than was necessary. It wasn’t a simple peck. It was a deep, probing, passionate kiss. Maybe he was scared to admit to himself what had happened, what might happen next . . .
I followed Gavin, but was determined not to look at him. I looked up instead, and I was instantly overwhelmed. Although I’d watched a grainy recording of Princess Diana’s 1982 wedding, it didn’t do justice to St. Paul’s Cathedral in person. The enormity of the open space felt like being inside a carved-out mountain so intricately decorated, it was hard to take in; every surface burst with engravings, paintings, and mosaics. Soaring marble arches decorated with cherubs nestled in sculpted leaves flanked the long aisle to the altar. Tiered golden chandeliers hung in the center of each archway, while thirty-foot black-iron candelabras rose protectively from the floor near each supporting column. While everything above the floor was gilded and magnificent, creamy white and shining gold, the floor itself, a stark black-and-white checkerboard pattern, threw me. It underscored the uncomfortable feeling that I was a pawn in a cosmic, deadly game of chess, which I supposed I was.
As gigantic as the cathedral was, it was equally as quiet. Even though visitors streamed in and out, they were all silent. Perhaps they took the audio instructions to heart, or perhaps, like me, the tremendousness of their surroundings left them dumbstruck.
The cathedral was cross-shaped, and we were at the bottom. We started up the longest aisle, the nave, scanning the seats for Hunter. At the intersection of the cross where the left and right transepts began, the ceiling opened up even more as we found ourselves standing under the cavernous Great Dome. Hunter was nowhere to be found.
“Let’s go check out the quire,” Gavin whispered, his lips brushing my ear. I shivered even though I wasn’t cold. Is he warming up to me again?
He took my hand and guided me around the pulpit and into the choir area behind it. On either side, the quire was lined with tiered wooden benches that faced each other. It reminded me more of an elaborate jury box than a place where young boys would sing. Gavin did a quick check to make sure Hunter wasn’t lounging on any of the cozy pews.
“Any idea where she might be?” he asked. I thought I saw something in his eyes, like he wanted to tell me something but couldn’t.
“Her phone died before she could say,” I replied. “I had no idea this place was so big.”
We visited the High Altar and the American Memorial Chapel in the Apse, and then circled the outer aisles of the church, peeking into dozens of small chapels and prayer rooms. I was especially interested in the Chapel of St. Michael, the archangel, and St. George, the Christian soldier who slayed a dragon, considering who I was with and what had happened on our way in. There was no sign of Hunter. As we looped back around the cathedral, having walked over a mile in the process, worry gnawed at me.