Ironically, Jonathan had hated when people stared at him. He learned to bear it with grace as he got older, but as a child, it used to upset him terribly. He would make a fuss, demand that people stop looking at him, and run away if they didn’t. When he got a little older, it brought out a mean streak in him, and he would sometimes treat his smitten admirers poorly—until, with adolescence, he understood what it was they really wanted from him. And what these girls wanted was his attention, to have this beautiful man treat them as though he was theirs, and theirs alone. They wanted to feel his mouth on theirs and his hands on their breasts, and they wanted to hold the firm measure of his masculinity in their quaking hands. They wanted to wrap their legs around his waist and feel him empty himself into them. They wanted him to make them squirm with pleasure before sighing with contentment. Oh yes: Jonathan came to understand their desire better than they did themselves, those girls who trailed in his wake like moths love-drunk on the flame.

Some people despised Jonathan for seducing women who ached to be seduced, angry because he did so on his terms, and to this I say: What of it? The women were happy—oh, there might have been a few tears when a girl realized that she would not be able to change his mind, and for God’s sake, no one knew that better than I. But he never tricked any girl to get her into his bed. He was always up front with his intentions. His partners knew not to expect fidelity from him: How could they when there was an endless stream of women who begged and schemed for his attention? I learned the hard way that the clamoring and come-ons would never stop and that fighting human nature was futile. You might as well try to hold back the tide.

But of all those doe-eyed maidens and bored wives in St. Andrew, in the end I was the only one to be seriously hurt because I was the only one foolish enough to try to make him stay with me. Then Adair came into my life. His potion seemed tailor-made for my conundrum: it promised not only to bind Jonathan to me, but that we would be together forever. Leave it to Jonathan, slippery as an eel, to wriggle out of ties as ironclad as these. He left me after only ten years, left me to figure out how to survive in a world that was not kind to a woman on her own.

That had been my comeuppance for trying to trap him: a few unhappy years together and an eternity in which to miss him, and the presence in my head to remind me that he was alive but choosing that we live apart. It was a hellish punishment, though some might argue I deserved it for what I’d done to him. And for those who despised Jonathan for being a cad who seemed to flit through his life unscathed, they can take comfort from knowing the elixir kept him from outgrowing his beauty, as he would’ve in the natural course of things. If I hadn’t given him the elixir, Jonathan would’ve gotten jowly and wrinkled, and would’ve found peace in his later years. As it was, he was trapped with all the attention he didn’t want, with no way to make it stop.

Did either of us deserve our punishment? I’d turned this question over in my mind for nearly two hundred years, and the longer I lived, the more I’d begun to believe that I was not being punished, that this curse was not a judgment. If there was a God, it seemed ludicrous that he would single me out for such an extravagant punishment when there were people who’d done far worse. It used to be that when I met someone who was greedy or predatory, I’d wonder if someone like Adair might be keeping him in secret torment. I wondered if there were more people with my exact dilemma than I thought. Maybe the bad were cursed to suffer until they paid for their sins. For a while, I wished I could peel back the veneer of other peoples’ lives to see if they, too, had a devil riding on their back. Until one day, I decided to stop thinking about it. To stop looking for evidence. It was driving me mad.

After Adair brought Jonathan back from the underworld, I could ignore it no longer. I tried to tease apart the few details I had to make sense of this unknown world. The fact that there was a queen seemed to indicate that there was an order to our existence, a grand plan. I began to wonder again if there was a reason for everything I’d been through—and if so, where I stood now. Did we carry our sins with us, like the chains of money boxes shackled to Jacob Marley’s ghost, and if so, had I done enough good to atone for any of my sins, or had I only added more to the invisible chain I dragged behind me? I could imagine, too, how Adair felt at news of this queen, how it must’ve frightened him. And why he didn’t want to send me into this shadowy netherworld, not wanting to draw the queen’s attention; for his sins had to stretch behind him in chains so long they circled the earth; even Atlas would barely be able to stand the weight.

* * *

Now I had to wait for Adair’s answer. After my earlier experience getting lost in the house’s labyrinth of stairways and floors, I was loath to go exploring on my own again. It was midafternoon when I trotted downstairs. First, I checked in the kitchen for Robin and Terry and later went back to Adair’s study and rapped on the closed door, but there were no signs of anyone. All was quiet and empty. Knives were left on the cutting board next to minced parsley, a book open and turned facedown, as though Terry and Robin had left in the middle of preparations.

Finally, I decided I might as well finish touring the island—if Adair’s attitude toward me darkened, I could be leaving it at any time. I borrowed a heavy shawl left hanging on a hook by the door and went outside, only to be immediately assaulted by a wind so fierce that it seemed to want to drive me back into the house. I wasn’t about to give up that easily, however, and head down, started off for a walk.

The terrain was uninviting, no matter which direction you went. I headed for the stand of pines, as it was the only windbreak on the island, picking my way over moss-covered rocks and holding my breath each time I almost slipped. On the other side of the trees was the long black beach. The slope made the approach bad for boats, as did the whirlpools and swells and rough currents that made such an approach impossible. Landing at the dock was the only way onto the island and made the island easily defensible. No wonder some earlier settlers had put a fortress on it.

I followed the beach until the shore became rocky, then cut inland to a worn, uneven trail that led over rocks stacked like giant children’s blocks. When the rocks became cliffs I retreated farther inland, parallel to the coast, until I was back where I started. At this point I was mildly tired and windblown and the weather was picking up, and with the house staring down on me like a strict governess, I gave up and went inside.

Chilled to the bone, I kept the shawl wrapped around my shoulders as I wandered down the hall, calling “Hello? Hello?” even though I knew by the silence that there was no one about. As I passed the dining room, I saw that the table had been set with one plate holding a sandwich of cold meat on bread and a small haystack of dressed greens. One very full goblet of red wine and a damask napkin completed the vignette. Being hungry, I sat down and ate, pausing now and then to listen for evidence of someone else in the house. There was none.

I left the crusts on the plate, pushed back from the table, and took the goblet upstairs with me to my room. The bed had been made and a fire started, but it could not have been burning for very long, as there was still a chill in the air. I was beginning to feel like Goldilocks in the bears’ house. The others had to be around; there was nowhere else to go on the island and nowhere to hide, except in this fun house of a dwelling. I had the feeling they were all around me—I just couldn’t see them. As darkness fell and the house settled into creaks and groans, I downed a sleeping pill—no, two—with the last of my wine and crawled into bed, and before long was asleep.

* * *

I decided the next morning to bring Adair’s books to him, even if he didn’t seem in a rush to get them back, perhaps because he no longer needed them, surrounded as he was by Crowley’s assistant’s collection. I slipped them out of my knapsack and went downstairs to leave them in his study.

I went to Adair’s study, knocking once before pushing back the old wooden door to find him sitting in a chair, staring into the fire. It was an incredible relief to see him, as I was half-afraid the room would be empty and I’d have another lonely day in front of me.

He looked up at me wanly. I hid my surprise and held the two books out to him. “Good morning. I’m returning these to you.”

“Ah. You can put them over there.” He nodded toward his desk.

Books held tight to my chest, I brushed past him. “I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t wait for you to send for me. I’m not trying to rush your decision, Adair, it’s just that I was so lonely yesterday. This island is a spooky place when there’s no one else around. Where did you go, anyway? I didn’t see a soul the rest of the day.”

“I was never far from you. I needed time and space to think.”

It was a relief to know I hadn’t imagined his absence or that the house, which I trusted less and less, hadn’t spirited him away to its deepest recesses. “If you don’t mind, may I join you for a while? I’ll sit in the corner; you won’t even know I’m here. It’s just that, with the nightmares and being locked in that room in the cellar . . . I’d rather not be left on my own.”

He continued to lean against his clasped hands as he studied the flames. “You can imagine how it’s been for me, then, these past few years.”