Alma Katsu - The Descent

“I’ve been outrunning death for centuries now. For a time, I didn’t believe that there would be anyone to answer to. I’ve had my doubts that there was anything waiting on the other side of the veil, but Jonathan’s taken care of this, hasn’t he? He tells us that there’s something, someone, waiting for us on the other side. I should’ve gone there—to the underworld, the domain of this queen—centuries ago. Surely if the queen came looking for Jonathan and found me, she would take me with her. But I wasn’t prepared to be held accountable for my sins.”

I lifted an eyebrow. Even a man as unrepentant as Adair could be afraid of judgment and punishment. Except he had proof now, didn’t he, once he’d spoken to Jonathan. Something waited for us on the other side, and he was afraid of it. “That’s why you sent Jonathan back—not because you didn’t want me to see him again.”

“He said this queen would come looking for him, and I knew —I felt in my heart—that I could not let this happen. We cannot meet.” He seemed embarrassed by his admission. I wanted to assure him that everyone is afraid of dying and of the unknown, but I knew he didn’t want to be comforted by me. It would make him appear weak, and he hated weakness in anyone. He absolutely wouldn’t be able to tolerate it in himself.

Adair looked at me, ashamed. “Is this what you wanted to hear from me? A confession? To learn that I have fears, too?”

I still held his hands, and now gave them a squeeze. “I don’t want you to hide your feelings from me, Adair. It’s in these moments that I feel closest to you, I think,” I admitted. He colored again, this time in surprise. “Anyway, that’s why I’ve come to you. I’d heard that Jonathan was being held prisoner by this queen of the underworld and I want to see if I can help him.”

He shook his head. “Leave it be, Lanore. You don’t owe Jonathan anything. Let him take care of himself.”

“It’s not a matter of owing him anything, Adair. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him, trapped in purgatory. I was willing to put all that had happened aside and accept that I’d done the best I could, that Jonathan was gone from my life. But then these nightmares started, and they were all so vivid and so—obviously directed me. At first I thought it was a guilty conscience, just as you said . . .”

“What else could they be?” he asked, still skeptical.

“I think it’s a message. He’s being held prisoner in the underworld—and someone wants me to know it. Maybe it’s Jonathan, maybe it’s someone else, but I think somebody wants me to act.”

“And what makes you think it is Jonathan?” Adair asked.

“Well, we have a bond between us—more so than the presence,” I added, referring to the almost telepathic signal that existed between the person who had bestowed immortality and the recipients of this gift. We companions had always called it “the presence,” an ever-present electronic vibration in our heads that tethered us to Adair. There had been one between me and Jonathan, but it had been broken the day I’d released him from his human form. The bond I was referring to now was the bond that had existed between Jonathan and me from childhood, a special love that had survived infidelities and blistering honesty, a bond that seemed indestructible.

“It would be unwise to assume that Jonathan is behind these dreams,” Adair warned.

“It doesn’t matter where the dreams are coming from. They’re terrible, and getting worse. I can’t ignore them any longer. I want to go to the underworld, Adair. I’m going to get this queen to release him.”

He stared at me as though I had lost my mind. “And what do you think this would accomplish? Your loyalty to Jonathan is admirable, but . . .”

“Don’t try to talk me out of it, Adair. I know it’s foolish, but I feel in my heart that it’s what I need to do.”

“And how do you plan to do this? How do you propose to find this woman?”

The moment of truth had arrived. “That’s why I’ve come to you. I want you to send me to the underworld.”

He drew away from me as though I’d turned into a serpent before his very eyes. “You say this lightly, as though it is an easy thing! And how do you propose I do this? There’s only one way that I know of, and that would be to release you—to kill you.”

“No, that’s not what I’m asking for,” I said, rushing to reassure him. “I wouldn’t ask you to release me, not after having gone through that hellish ordeal myself. I know better now.” I killed Jonathan and carried that guilt with me every day since; I knew I would never be entirely happy again.

“I think there’s another way to accomplish this.” Adair listened skeptically as I explained how I thought he could assist me. “When I heard that my house in Paris had mysteriously burned to the ground, with no trace of arson, no sign of any accident, I knew it had to be you. Somehow you’d been able to do this even though you were nowhere near the city. I didn’t see how this could be possible, so I thought and thought about it until I saw that the only explanation was that you must’ve been able to will your consciousness outside your body. That somehow you were able to reach across an ocean and start this fire in the real world, the physical world. I think that’s the answer. Do you think you can do that for me, or teach me to do it? To send my consciousness to the underworld?”

He looked at me, still stricken. “I wish you wouldn’t ask me to do this, Lanore. There are so many uncertainties, I don’t know where to begin. . . .” He broke away from me and rose from the bed, and went to the window, rubbing his chin distractedly. “I might be able to send you there—it is not a given, not by any stretch—but more worrisome still is, how would you come back? What if I couldn’t bring you back? You could be lost to the other side forever.”

I don’t think I’d ever seen Adair so distraught, not even when he released me from the palazzo at Garda. He paced in front of the window. “The only answer would be for me to go with you to the underworld—but I cannot do that. I have explained to you already.”

“I understand, Adair. I’m not asking you to come with me,” I said gently.

“How can you ask me to do this, Lanore?” he asked, his voice taut with anger and distress. “I might be the instrument of your destruction.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t want to make you suffer.”

“And what if Jonathan did not wish to come back? Have you thought about what you’ll do then? Will you stay with him forever in the afterlife?”

“I’m not looking to stay with Jonathan, Adair.” I lowered my gaze so he wouldn’t see the love in my eyes. “I want to come back here.”

He continued, carried away by his worry. “We’ve no idea what would be waiting on the other side. It could be the very end of you, but it’s obvious that you won’t let me talk you out of it. Why should I be surprised that you’re willing to risk everything for Jonathan?” His voice was heavy; I’d hurt him deeply. “If you’ve nothing left in this life to live for . . . nothing at all . . .” I could have said something to him then, perhaps I should have, but if I told him that I had feelings for him—dare I say that I loved him—he would never let me go. He’d never risk losing me. So I held my tongue.

He turned away from me. “I can see you’ve made up your mind and so . . . I can only tell you that I’ll think about it. That’s the best I can promise you at the moment.”

“Adair—” I started toward him.

He held up a hand to make me keep my distance. “No. I need to be alone to think. Don’t come after me, Lanore. I’ll let you know when I’ve made a decision.” He turned around and swiftly exited the room, closing the door behind him.

Gape-mouthed, I watched Adair leave and resolved to let him go. He was obviously upset but wouldn’t want me to see him this way, and I didn’t wish to push him any further. I wished it hadn’t gone so badly and had to stop myself from rushing after him to try again, as I’d undoubtedly only make things worse. There was no easy way to ask a man who loved you to help you reunite with a rival, but there was nothing to be done for it. No one else has Adair’s powers. A more rational person wouldn’t have approached Adair at all, no doubt, and would’ve given up Jonathan for lost, but when it came to Jonathan my thinking was skewed.

He had been my first love, after all. Growing up in the wilderness of the Maine territory in 1800, it was inevitable that a boy of Jonathan’s qualities would become the prince of St. Andrew, our little town. For one thing, he was the eldest son of the man whose timber business kept the town afloat, and many families with eligible daughters would’ve been interested in him for that reason alone. But in addition to being heir to a fortune, Jonathan had been blessed with formidable beauty. Indeed, even though none of us girls had ever been outside of our isolated town, we knew instinctively that Jonathan was uncommonly handsome. It wasn’t until I was banished to Boston and had seen thousands of men that I understood how exceptional he really was.

While I didn’t love Jonathan only for his looks, I won’t lie and say that they didn’t matter at all. You cannot imagine the force of Jonathan’s appearance. Adair had been so jealous of him that he nicknamed him “the Sun God.” He was like a master work of art or sculpture: one never tired of looking at him. I was always finding new depths to his beauty, too; I’d see him in a new way when a trick of light played over his hair, or as he stretched across a divan while reading a book. I wish I’d been an artist and able to capture all those moments on paper. It was a shame now that he was gone, there were so few records of him.