The hospitals of Minoa are based solely on the amount you can pay. For the people in this hospital, I know from scanning the surrounding buildings-- dilapidated, piled with broken glass and weeds-- and from the state of the building itself, that things for the patients inside will not be good.

I almost want to go back to Hadrian. Ask to go home. Seeing that cliff, bringing these powers back...aren't they enough pressure for one evening?

But I know there's worse to come. Awaiting me inside those doors. There's an odd scent in the air, and I can't tell if it's from my newfound senses or whether it's so strong anybody could notice. It's the smell of sweat, vomit and death.

My stomach lurches, but in a wholly different way. I'd never wanted to be a doctor, never wanted to see people struggling for life and be the one responsible. I try to picture Nathaniel, what he would say: and I know already that he wouldn't even hesitate, he'd stride straight in and try to be of help.

So I shuffle forwards, towards the open doors. Figures are stepping outside; I see a few lighting cigarettes, puffing out whorls of smoke as though they're ridding themselves of a dark and terrible miasma. Their eyes are haunted, and those in uniforms look dishevelled.

I round the corner, and stop.

Inside, a packed room echoes of the throes of the dying.

There's a long, narrow room, lit with lamps running clinically along the wall. Usually, patients lie in ordered beds every few metres, but not now. The twenty or so beds are already full, with patients loaded onto spare mattresses, blankets, even cots in the middle of the room. I see, in the corner, that one family has amassed on the bed; a mother, ill, and her two young children around her, succumbing to the same disease, whilst their father sits, unharmed and disbelieving.

But patients have begun to line the floors, covered in only a coat or a blanket as they lie on the cold stone floors and shiver, and overheat, and shiver some more. Some twitch and scream out, limbs flailing, adding their cries to the din around. Others are so still I swear they're not breathing.

I step inside, and I go unnoticed, exactly as Hadrian had said I would. However, I do not pass ethereally through the walls like a ghost; whilst not being seen, I still obey some laws of science. My hand runs along the cold, concrete wall, the firmness offering support as the smell of rotting gets stronger.

Over in the middle of the room, one of the beds has been surrounded by a flurry of uniforms. Dark navy blue tunics seem to lead, pointing and directing the lighter coloured tunics of green and red. But amid the colours, a single child is crying, howling out to the figure on the bed.

The figure that a couple of red tunic workers are covering with a symbolic white cloth.

My breath hitches.

The child screams. 'Mama! Mama!'

Nobody seems to have time for the child; masks are drawn more carefully around the workers as they prepare to empty the bed for another patient, rolling the body into the sheet and summoning a stretcher. The navy blue tunics shake their heads, at a loss, before moving onto the next bed, the next casualty.

Hadrian appears at my side. When I look at him, my body feels numb.

'I've never seen a hospital so full,' I whisper, 'This is appalling. What's happened?'

Hadrian nods towards a nearby figure, coated in sweat yet with teeth clattering loudly. As we watch, the figure rolls onto their front and lets out a hacking cough. When they pull away to rest their head once more, I see the sheets are red with coppery rose blood.

A red-uniformed woman crosses the room to comfort the figure, handing them tissue. The red are nurses, I realise: I see them all, darting around the room, helping each patient, caring for them, whilst the navy must be doctors, deciding which medicines to give. 

'The fever?' I say, my mouth open. The one that was brought up over the dinner table, the one that has caused a surge in deaths. I'd never seen it this bad, seen this many casualties. Never had I seen the horror of symptoms that seemed to torture the body before it died.

But Hadrian nods. 'It's spreading fast. And they don't know how.'

I'm speechless. All of these people, struck by a fever that doesn't normally outlast the month.

'What are we here for?' I ask, unable to see what this proves.

'I want you to see their souls,' he replies, waving a hand around him. 'You have seen the ones in my city, those that are already dead. Human souls and necromancer souls have something more to offer.'

I give him a quizzical look but he doesn't elaborate. I turn back to the crowd of beds and empty my mind.

I take it all in, even as my heart wrenches and pushes against it: the odour of decay and too many people in one small, windowless space; the noise of wracking coughs and moans of pain; the metallic taste in the air of blood and sweat. I still my revulsion and allow that world to envelop me, as though I am merely a bystander in the centre of a busy street.

But, whilst I do clear my mind and focus, I don't see anything that speaks to me as "soul". I say so to Hadrian.

'It's different,' he agrees, cocking his head. 'Human souls are attached, curled around their bodies and are a part of their physical being. It's like you see into that mesh work, that spell that makes them from flesh and bone and animates them.'

I shake my head in wonder. It sounds beautiful, but I have no idea how it's supposed to help me.

'And necromancers?' I ask.

Hadrian chuckles. 'We're even harder. Our soul is buried underneath layers of stubbornness from refusing to properly die.'

I blink, uncertain if he's joking. But then I see his grin, and know that whilst it's not true, there's an element that's not exactly a lie.

'So we're harder to spot?'

He shrugs. 'If you can see my soul, say, then you'll have no problem seeing a human's. Seeing a soul is to see everything about a person; their loves and losses, their dreams and their nightmares and their day to day selves. But seeing mine...we technically lost ours, but clawed it back. Our souls are further within our make-up, and disguised among our magic. Souls make you vulnerable; which makes recently dead humans the easiest bodies to control.'

I think I follow, to a point. It's when Hadrian starts talking about disguises and magic that I find it difficult to comprehend, and he stops as he sees I'm looking blank.

Sheepish, he clasps my shoulder in comfort. 'You can do it. It's harder that they're strangers, because if you were to try on me it would be a lot like having a map...'

I'm only half listening to him as the child by the now-empty bed starts up crying again. Her mother's body has just been carried out, and she stands by the bed with a lost wail of sadness, her dark braids bouncing as she shakes her head. All of the workers don't appear to have the time for her, passing a pitiful glance every now and then before hurrying to the next patient. I'm almost about to try to help when a green uniformed man steps out to take the girl into his arms.

I freeze. The man is my father.

How? I want to ask. But it's definitely him. I'd grown up looking at those crinkled eyes, the short, stout chin. He's greyer and more bald than I'd last seen him, but I know his relaxed saunter, his warm smile. His manners to charm a strict schoolteacher -- when he's sober. He wears the green uniform of a volunteer, I notice. There are only a few other volunteers are around, helping patients to the yard to pass water or bringing cooling cloths to the more important ranked uniforms. It's understandable; with such a deadly disease, who would want to volunteer to be among them?

What is my father doing here with suffering people that he can't gamble upon? I'm willing to bet that he's struck some deal, but even my brain shouts in alarm at that. My father is a gambler, but he'd never risk his own life. If he's here under coercion, would he have bothered to help that young girl? 

I can't believe it. My father carries the girl right past us, and I see that he's clean shaven. There's no alcohol on his skin, no smell to his clothes that tells me he's stopped bothering to wash them. 

'Dad,' I whisper, and for a moment, I swear his eyes flicker in my direction as he passes. But then the moment is gone, and his glance was at another distressed patient. 

Hadrian looks startled. 'Your father?'

I nod, disbelieving. 'I can't believe...' I shake my head. 'He's an alcoholic and a gambler. What is he doing here...?'

Hadrian puts his hands on his hips. 'I'd say he's helping those in need.'

I give a tremulous laugh, ready to deny it. Even though I'd been surprised: he'd come to watch, the day I died. I hadn't thought him capable of that.

Had my death actually brought about a change? The bittersweet irony. I turn and follow him out of the doors, to where he's addressing a man smoking whilst carrying the girl.

'I'm sorry to have to tell you this...'

I watch from the shadows, approaching the trio. The man he's speaking to lets out a shuddering heave, as if he's been waiting for this moment. He pushes a flop of greying hair from his eyebrows, hand shaking, and glances at the girl.

'...but her mother has passed away. She named you as the father?'

The man blinks down at the girl in my own father's arms, as if seeing the ghost of his lover had risen.

'She never said...' his voice cracks, and he swallows. Takes a moment, expression hardening. 'Is...is my daughter sick, too?'

My father looks lovingly at the small child, running a hand across her forehead. 'Not that we've seen, and the incubation period means we should have seen a sign by now.'

The man lets out a breath, and then another, and then he's sobbing, my father placing his child in his arms and father and daughter cry together. 

My father steps back, a tiny, wan smile. 'Don't forget she could still catch it from someone else. Take her away from this hospital, and keep her safe.'

'I will,' the man replies, 'Thank you. Thank you.'

---

Hadrian lets go of my waist as we appear back inside his chambers, in the same position we'd left hours ago.

I let out a frustrated noise as he sets about lighting lamps. After seeing my father, any hope of my progress at the hospital had halted. For the hours I watched, we saw five more patients die.

My father tried to help each one. And when he couldn't help, he comforted the families.

My head can't comprehend it. He's too changed. He's not supposed to be good. 

And it's the display of affection I'd always longed for from him. 

I jolt as I feel hands upon my shoulders. Hadrian runs a thumb along the muscles around my shoulders and neck, and immediately I feel my body relax...and turn to goo. He continues kneading against my flesh until all I'm focused on is the airy feeling of his skin, his touch, upon mine. 

'Thank you,' I whisper. It's barely a sound against the noise of the waterfall. 

I can feel his breath on my neck as he replies, 'Any time.'

And maybe it's the closeness, the proximity to each other, but I turn and stare up at him. Pleading. Earnest.

'You said earlier that I could try to look at your soul,' I say, and he goes very still, his hands still on my shoulders. 

'I did,' he agrees, slowly.

'You said if I could see a necromancer's soul, the rest would be easy.'

'...Yes.'

'So...can I try? What do I do?' I keep pushing, keep hoping. 

I watch as he swallows, his eyes roaming my face. He's thinking, but I can't tell what. He looks nervous: perhaps having your soul seen is very invasive. I can only wait and hope. 

Then, after what seems like eternity, he nods. 

Apprehension still lines his face. 

He takes my hands in his, and steps forward. Whatever fear he'd had has gone, replaced with a strange intimacy that's setting my nerves alight.

'I'll guide you,' he says, his face angled towards mine. I blink up at him, at his closeness, and concentrate on not stepping away. Not blushing. 'This isn't going to be easy.'

I give him a confused look. 'Is it painful? You look scared.'

'I am scared,' he admits, and his smile is that of someone steeling himself for rejection. My heart clenches at the sight. What does he think will happen?

'Why?' I whisper, and I take a tentative step forwards. 

Trust me, I want to say.

'Because...seeing one another's souls, to a necromancer, is one of the most intimate acts of all,' Hadrian replies, 'It crosses a boundary which neither of us can return. We will see things we cannot unsee. And most of all...'

I see him look upwards, as if saying a silent prayer, before his eyes sweep mine again. Another swallow. Then determination.

'Our bodies, like our souls, will want to be as one.'

---------

A/N:  are you ready for some soul-ful action? Har har har....... 

What do you think of her father, helping the sick? And how will their bodies "wanting to become one" go??

Let me know your thoughts ;)

Also, I still need 60 more readers on Inkitt for Little Saint Bride to be considered as publishable. Please help if you can! Even reading a few chapters online on Inkitt will be a great help.

I'll post the link in the comments if anyone is interested.

lots of love

Larissa

xxxxx