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Something alive.

A low, powerful thud vibrates through the stone.

Then another.

A heartbeat.

My own heart practically stops.

“No. No, no, no.”

I stumble backward, nearly falling off the platform.

The statue’s chest expands.

Dust trickles from the fractures running across his torso.

A deep crack splits the marble beneath his collarbone.

I grab the edge of the platform.

“What the actual fuck?”

His fingers move.

The broken ones.

The ones I’ve spent days examining.

They curl slowly against his thigh.

And then his head turns.

Toward me.

I scream.

Not a cute little gasp.

A full-blown, horror-movie scream that probably wakes every ghost in New Orleans.

The statue’s eyes open.

Silver-violet.

Bright.

Alive.

And fixed directly on me.

For several seconds, neither of us moves.

Then his beautiful marble mouth curves into a slow, devastating smile.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to finish touching me.”

I stare.