Page 41 of Us in Ruins

“Nothing here can hurt us,” Van replied, his voice calm.

She shuddered again. “Don’t you think that statue looks too much like—”

“It’s not. Margot, we’re perfectly safe.”

And then, the soldier’s head lifted. Stone scraped as he unsheathed his sword.

14

“Is this one of the trials?” Margot asked, her mouth wicked dry.

“No, definitely not.” Van blanched next to her. “I swear to you, that isn’t even one of the guardians.”

Something told Margot this was the statue’s first time sentient, and she hoped it would be his last. The legionary tested his legs with hesitant steps, each anvil heavy. Every movement the legionary made carved fissures into the tiled floor. A few quick flicks of his wrist and he mastered his parry.

Margot gulped. If her Girl Scouts stint taught her anything, it was not to make any sudden movements in the vicinity of a predator. “But you do know how to stop him, don’t you?”

“Not yet.” Van stood preternaturally still. Except for his eyes. Margot knew he must have been appraising their options—exit routes and risk factors, the probability of imminent death and dismemberment. She wished she could see what he saw, think how he thought.

All she saw was a room brimming with breakable relics and irreplaceable artifacts. All she could think about was how much trouble she’d be in if she wrecked this museum and the tang of panic that clogged her throat.

“Van—”

“I’m thinking.”

Unfortunately, the soldier wasn’t the only statue that decided to gain sentience. The headless torso tumbled from its pedestal, and the lone head blinked, a scowl carving into his marble features.

“Think faster,” Margot said as the soldier marched forward. The tip of his blade tested the space between them, ready to strike.

The torso rolled itself to Van’s feet, and he kicked it between its stone ribs. “I’m trying.”

The left-handed woman waved her only hand, motioning for them to run.

Margot didn’t need to be told twice. She launched herself through the doorway. The soldier’s head whipped in her direction. She could feel its unnatural stare boring into her back. Van raced after her, and the legionary wasn’t far behind, steps they could feel as much as hear.

“Why is he alive?” Margot asked as the exhibits bled together. Friezes and clay amphorae, gold-framed paintings and patterned textiles. The museum wrapped around them, a maze of shelves housing fragments of history, each carefully preserved. “And why is he so mad at us?”

Van spared a look over his shoulder. “When you came into the temple, you woke me out of my statue. Maybe I wasn’t the only one.”

“So, this is my fault?” Margot barked.

“All I’m saying is I didn’t make it a habit of getting chased by statues that wanted to kill me before I met you.” Van skidded around the next corner, where the exhibits narrowed, glass cases on either side shrinking closer.

Naked incandescent bulbs hung from the ceiling. One of them dared to flicker. Like it was trying to skyrocket Margot’s pulse on purpose. She lost track of the turns they took—left, right, right again, left three times. So many zigs and zags, her head spun.

The statue tracked them like a hungry Tyrannosaurus rex. Booming steps rattled right through Margot, shaking every bone. Her head was still craned over her shoulder when she rammed into Van’s back. Every frustratingly muscly inch of it.

“Why aren’t we moving?” she asked.

“Dead end.”

Her heart threatened to stop altogether. “Please tell me you’ve suddenly developed a sense of humor. A terrible, unfunny sense of humor.”

She peered around his shoulder. Not joking. A little yellow sign hung in the center of a grated metal door. Margot was willing to bet it said something like Employees Only or No Margots Allowed.

A white woman with salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a frizzy braid down her spine closed the rattling gate behind her, the sound jarring in the silence. One arm was burdened with the weight of what looked like months of research—lopsided papers and journals all stacked on top of a tome as thick as Margot’s forearm—and she used the other to lock the gate with an iron key.

“Excuse me!” Margot called.