They'd been meeting in secret for two weeks, not every day, though most days. Emer couldn't always escape Forgall. He'd twice had some visitor whom he'd wanted her to meet; each time, it'd been an old druid, once a man, and once a woman. Why they'd come to Lugloctha Loga, she didn't know, but she assumed they came merely to dine with her foster father. Each had seemed to take an interest in her, asked her questions about her childhood and parentage, but Emer had no answers for either of them. In any case, she'd been ill-pleased to miss her meetings with Setanta.

She kept her home a secret from him during those two weeks, partially to maintain a sense of mystery, as he told her little about himself, as well, but also because she didn't want him to try to find the tower. Forgall would surely be displeased if Emer brought home a man. And ultimately, though she sensed Setanta's intentions were more than friendly, she wasn't entirely sure of his goals, and that contributed to her reticence.

True to his word, though, Setanta remained courteous. He spoke no more of lovers or wishing to see her swim. They instead rode together and explored a bit of the countryside, stopping to rest and sometimes eat when one of them had brought something along. They spoke of many things, although there seemed a tacit understanding that neither should ask who exactly the other was or where they came from. Though Emer knew merely from his stature, attire, and weaponry that he was a warrior, a man of violence, what she saw of him during the time they spent together was in contradiction to what she'd assumed a warrior would be like. Setanta wasn't effusive with emotion; in fact, his face was often an inscrutable mask, and his conversation was more laconic than she might have liked, but she quickly realized that beneath his seriousness were intelligence and kindness and patience. He was gentle with his horse as well as hers, and he always offered to help her and listened when she declined. There was none of the arrogance that his affect seemed to suggest, and the more time they spent with one another, the more deeply she appreciated the fact.

While Setanta was absolutely well-behaved after she'd threatened to leave him the second time they'd met, Emer had seen that mischievous part of him. She'd been nervous about his flirtations at first and glad when he'd jettisoned them, but as she grew to know him, she began to desire that playfulness. Something told her, though, that she'd have to be the one to initiate the informality, as he was probably anxious not to upset her, again.

The two of them were beneath a cluster of trees near but not actually in the forest. The air had a chill to it, but the sun was out and shining. Emer was lying on the grass, wrapped in her cloak, staring through the branches above into the blue sky beyond. Setanta was perched on a large rock, one of many scattered about. Though Emer couldn't see him from her position, she knew the man had his eyes on her. She wasn't foolish; she understood the looks he gave her when he thought she was unaware. Having been raised alone with only that old serving woman to help her learn the ways of a lady, Emer wasn't quite certain how she was supposed to behave with the feelings she was beginning to recognize in herself. In fact, that serving woman had made a point to tell her of men only that they were troublesome and that Forgall would never marry her off--as was the "unfortunate fate of many a young lady"--for which Emer should be grateful.

But Emer had never felt properly grateful to Forgall for anything.

"I must leave, tomorrow," Setanta said suddenly, breaking her from her thoughts.

Startled, Emer rolled over onto her stomach and looked across the copse at him. "Will you . . . will you return?" Should she have asked that question? Did it reveal she cared too much?

He met her eyes; his feelings were difficult to read. "If I believe I have reason," he replied after a moment.

Emer didn't know at all how to respond to that. Something about his words upset her, though she couldn't quite say why. She couldn't tell him that she should be the reason. That would be far too assuming. But she also did not want to stop seeing him. Her body felt restless, suddenly, and she got to her feet and went to the tree nearest her, which happened to be farthest from Setanta. Standing near the twisting trunk, she placed her hand against it, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply. A quiet moment passed. Emer was too afraid to turn around and look at him.

But then his voice said her name behind her, closer than she expected, and she spun about to face him.

"You must know my thoughts."

The girl was relieved. He'd given her an opening to jest. Smiling a bit slyly, she shrugged. "I'm not sure I do. Perhaps you should start thinking aloud."

Setanta looked perplexed, uncomfortable even. "Lady, surely I've made myself clear--"

"Oh, but I'm thick-headed," Emer teased, swaying a little. "Clear waters to you are murky waters to me."

The man's breathing became audible as he grew frustrated. "Has our time spent been a game for you?"

"I don't like games. They're so dull." Emer turned around and pranced a little toward the nearby tree, oblivious to Setanta's rising agitation. She paused to free her shoe strap from an unearthed root, then stood back up and turned around, about to add something else cheeky, but Setanta was right there, having come up to her as silent as a ghost. Behind her was the tree, and before her was him.

"This is a cruel game you play, now," Setanta breathed, so close she felt the warmth of his words on her cheeks.

Emer's eyes widened. She had no idea what to do or where to look or even how she felt in that moment.

Setanta's emerald irises searched her face for understanding, and he must have seen something reassuring there because he lifted a hand and gently brushed her cheek, tucked her hair behind her ear. Emer's breath quickened. "Lady Emer," he nearly whispered, "if I cannot have you, I dare not return. You must tell me if my hope is in vain."

The girl tried to reply, opened her lips to speak, but she was losing herself in his touch. Instead of saying anything at all, she suddenly threw her arms around his neck, pulled him closer, and, marveling at his anxious joy, succumbed to his kiss.

Before Emery even opened her eyes, she knew she had been pulled from the heaven of a memory, and her misery returned in waves. When she did look around, though, Emery was thrown into confusion. It was impossible, but--she was in her old bedroom, the one in the house she'd shared with the people she'd thought were her parents and the girls she'd thought were her sisters. The room was certainly the same, with identical furniture and general decor, though there were none of her old mementos or personal items. Even the bed she was in was her old bed, with its feather duvet and cushy pillow. As strange as it all was, she immediately snuggled into the covers, taking a moment to luxuriate in the sort of comfort she hadn't felt in months. But that appreciation lasted for about thirty seconds before she bolted upright.

What in the world was she doing in her old bedroom?

"Oh, good, you've woken up."

Charlie was coming through the bedroom door with a tray in his hands. Emery's arms and legs tingled, as if she'd come inside from the frigid outdoors. What was this deception? Had all of that horribleness actually happened? She glanced at her wrist and saw that it was bandaged, and she quickly realized, too, that she no longer wore that white dress. Pulling away the covers, Emery saw that she was wearing an oversized T-shirt; her dagger was in its hilt at the end of the bed.

He put the tray down on the nightstand next to the bed. "I had to get you out of that dress. It had to be burned. Part of the ritual." He smiled as casually as if they were discussing a homework assignment. "I've made you some breakfast. French toast is your favorite, right?"

Emery was not going to give him the satisfaction of thinking he'd made her self-conscious. Ignoring his question, she got out of the bed and began opening drawers in the dresser. She saw clothes--they weren't her clothes, but they were clothes for a girl her size. She selected a pair of shorts and pulled them on, then picked up her dagger and strapped it around her waist again. Charlie watched her in silence as she pulled open the curtains at the window and looked out into the wintry day beyond. Snow was on the ground and dusting the tree branches and roofs of nearby houses, but it was surely her old neighborhood. Walking around Charlie as if he weren't even there, Emery left and went down the hall, looking into each room. Then she descended to the first floor and wandered the rooms there, looked out into the backyard where her mother's old she-shed sat under its white blanket, and even checked out the basement. The whole while Charlie followed her, saying nothing at all, letting her explore. But when she was done, Emery paused at last in the kitchen.

"What is this?" she said, at last acknowledging him.

He laughed. "You're welcome."

"Shut up. What--what is all this? Time travel? An illusion?"

"Neither. It's your old house."

"Yeah, I can see that, but why are we here?"

Charlie sighed, leaned against the nearest counter, and crossed his arms. "It's the least I could do, after throwing you to the wild animals. Now that it's over, though, I thought you should spend the next few weeks somewhere nice, since you did as I asked. You've got everything, here. Well, except freedom, that is. You can't leave. But otherwise, all the comforts of home, Emery."

"This isn't my home anymore. Why don't you take me where I really belong?"

He shook a finger, laughed quietly. "Oh Em, you can be very funny when you try." He cocked his head, his humorous expression taking on an eerie edge. "Why couldn't you and I make it, huh? We would've had such fun."

His sarcasm unnerved her, but she was too heartsick to argue more with him. Slumping onto a barstool, she asked, "Why did you give me that memory?"

Charlie chewed his lip, became serious again. "It was my way of apologizing. Is it so hard to believe that I can be nice, once in a while?"

"Yes, it is."

He smirked. "Was it a good one, at least?"

She didn't respond. She'd never talk about her memories with Charlie, and his question told her he probably didn't know what she remembered, which was a relief. Quietly, Emery pushed back her tangled hair. "So what now? I guess I was stupid to think you'd let me go after I did what you asked."

"We stay here until, as they said, you're ripe."

Emery shuddered at the memory, renewed fear blooming inside her. "Are--are they planning on eating me?"

Charlie's eyes widened, his mouth tightened, and the quiver in his breath told Emery her question excited him. But whatever had overcome him simmered, and he answered calmly, "Something like that."

The girl gasped. She hadn't expected him to be so straightforward. "Are you serious? What--what am I supposed to--and you expect me to stay here with you until then?"

"I didn't say they were going to eat you, exactly. There is nuance to the plan. There are rites. And frankly, they don't let me in on all the details, anyway."

Attempting to suppress her revulsion, Emery knew she should take advantage of his decent mood. "Who were they?"

Charlie sobered. "They are the Darkness."

Emery waited for more, but he offered nothing else in way of explanation. "Where were we?"

"Somewhere."

"I didn't see any signs. Was it Chicago? Or New York?"

"I hid the signs. Precautions, you know."

"Why do you work for them?"

"What?"

"I said why do you work for them? They seem pretty terrible. That one wanted to punish you for--well, he said you'd suffer excruciatingly if you lose me. It seems like they push you around. Why would you want to--"

Charlie had stepped toward her and taken her throat in his hand so quickly she'd not even seen him coming. His fingers stretched out like a cage around her neck, but he didn't tighten them. Instead, he looked down at her. "I advise you to remember your place."

Emery said nothing out of fear his fingers would begin constricting, and she wouldn't have had time to say anything, anyway, because at that moment, someone knocked on the front door.

Immediately releasing Emery, Charlie snapped his attention to the hall. Emery watched in disgust as his fingers began to shrink, their blackness morphing into his normal skin tone. "Do my sisters still live here?" she dared ask, rubbing her neck.

"Yes . . . but they aren't here, now. I made sure of it."

"What do you mean? Did you--"

"Shh! Don't speak."

The doorbell rang, and the knock came again, quite insistent.

Charlie turned back to Emery. "I should tell you," he hissed, right up in her face, "that if you try to leave, I will discipline you . . . severely." Then he was off toward the front door.

Of course she was up the minute he left the room, trying the back door. The handle wouldn't turn--she heard him opening the front door and calling out. Frantic, Emery picked up a marble paper-towel holder from the counter and slammed it into a glass pane of the French door, shattering it. She reached through the open rectangle, not even careful to avoid remaining shards, and tried the handle from the outside. That worked. The door swung inward, but before she could get out, Charlie's hands were on her from behind, yanking her back.

"I'm gone for ten seconds?" He shoved his forearm up under her chin, pulled a fork out of the nearest drawer with his free hand, and, though she grabbed at his arm, he hovered the prongs over her eye. "What did I tell you? You think you need two of these?"

"Charlie! Please--please, no! I'm sorry!"

Out of nowhere, some force came between the two of them, shoving Charlie violently onto the floor, where he gaped in shock. Emery was drawn away, toward the far end of the kitchen, as if someone were pushing her there. But Charlie wasn't down for long. He immediately got to his feet, reached out a hand, and moved it as if operating a whip. In that instant, a person flashed into view right before Emery's eyes, and when she saw who it was, she yelped in joy.

But Lir had no patience for histrionics. He whirled toward Charlie, kept Emery behind him. "Fear Doirich," he said calmly, though his panting gave him away.

Charlie was so enraged his entire body was tight and trembling. "Adam," he growled between gritted teeth. His eyes began to glow.

"I prefer Lir," the God returned irreverently.

"You can't take her."

"You have no power to stop me."

"No." Charlie cocked his head to one side, his curls shaking slightly, a devilish grin crossing the bottom of his face. "I don't. But she's been infected. If she gets too far from me, she'll die."