The Descent: Book Three of the Taker Trilogy

  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.

  SEVEN

  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.

  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 a
lmost 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.”

  “I don’t know how you could live here alone.”

  He glanced up at the shelves, at the rows and rows of books looking down on him. “It served me well at first, because I was trying to get away from the world. There was this trove of books to keep me busy in the beginning. So much to read. I was starting to get restless when the girls arrived. They’ve been a pleasant diversion, but they won’t be staying much longer.”

  “Won’t they?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” he replied cryptically. Then he gestured for me to take the chair next to him by the fire. “Come here, Lanore, and sit with me. I want to talk to you. I’ve made my decision.”

  I did as he indicated and watched him anxiously, unsure if I was more afraid of being turned down or being told that I would get what I’d asked for.

  He looked me over, as sad as I’d ever seen him. “I will do as you ask.”

  Relief broke over me and I simultaneously erupted in a cold sweat. “Oh, Adair, thank you—”

  He held up a hand, interrupting me. “With conditions,” he added quickly. “Conditions you must agree to, if I am to help you.” He turned his head coldly so I couldn’t look into his eyes. “First of all, you must promise to come back to me. No matter what you find there, even if Jonathan begs you to stay, you must promise that you will return. I will not deliver you to Jonathan only to lose you to him forever.”

  “I already told you that I will return,” I said. “But, I swear.”

  He didn’t seem especially pleased by my agreement, and continued solemnly. “Nor can you remain with the man you just lost, this Luke, if you should see him. I couldn’t bear it if you disappeared in the underworld, not knowing what happened to you.”

  “Of course,” I said, agreeing readily.

  Adair turned his full attention to me, those green-gold eyes churning with a mixture of emotions—anger, remorse, helplessness. “I want to tell you, Lanore, that I knew right away what my answer would be. After everything we have been through, you should know already that I would deny you nothing. Whatever you ask of me, I would do it for you.” His voice broke as he confessed that he was helpless, perhaps for the first time in his life. “But what I had to think about—what hurt me to the quick—was that you could ask this of me, knowing what it might cost me. It appears I was lucky with Jonathan—there have been no repercussions. But if she finds out about me, how I have cheated death . . . I can’t imagine I will be that lucky a second time.”

  He was right, of course. Why hadn’t I thought of that? No wonder he was hurt and upset with me. I had forgotten that he would be taking a risk, too. How could I be so inconsiderate? How could I take him for granted like this? And here I thought I’d changed from the selfish woman I was two hundred years ago.

  I felt as though I’d gotten the wind knocked out of me. “Adair, forgive me. Forget what I said—I can’t ask you to do this. That was thoughtless of me.”

  He looked at my stricken face and gave me a sad smile. “It is kind of you to offer to put your mission aside, Lanore, but I cannot accept. If we do not do this, the idea of Jonathan in the underworld will prey on you constantly. You’ll never be able to get it out of your mind. If you’re brave enough to go to the next world to save the man you love so dearly, I should be brave enough to send you.”

  And at that moment, I understood that Adair truly had changed. He had no reason to test fate and risk drawing the wrath of a powerful cosmic entity. He could’ve turned me down without an explanation. But he was willing to do whatever he needed to make me happy. The Adair of old would’ve thought it foolish and dangerous, and would not have considered my request, not for an instant. By acceding to my wishes, Adair had proven that he’d undergone a tremendous transformation and he had done it for me. What more could anyone ask of another person? I thought as I blinked back tears. I knew I could trust him completely, trust him to send my soul out into the unknown on a tether as fragile as a cobweb and he’d find a way to bring me back. I could trust him with my heart, too, if I ever was brave enough to give it to him. I rushed into his arms, briefly, pressing my face to his, and brushed his lips with a fleeting kiss. “Thank you, Adair. Thank you.”

  He closed his eyes, perhaps to hold on to that kiss an instant longer. “I’ll make the necessary preparations for your journey. Just remember your promise. Come back to me.”

  EIGHT

  Now I had nothing to do but wait for Adair to figure out how to do what I’d asked of him. I had
no doubt that he would find the right spell, whether it was hiding in one of the two books I’d returned to him—the one that was no more than a collection of loose sheets held between ancient wooden covers, or the meticulously hand-written, perfectly bound book of secrets with its peacock-blue cover—or somewhere in the house’s many volumes on the occult. Adair would need to go through hundreds of books, thousands upon thousands of pages in an assortment of languages, modern and archaic, while my only job was to let him get to work.

  The hours of waiting to hear from Adair were not empty; no, anxiety rushed in to keep me company. I was about to be sent to the next plane of existence, and it was impossible not to worry. It was, in some ways, like being an astronaut or intrepid adventurer, getting ready to venture into uncharted territory. Or, to look at it more grimly, it was not unlike dying, and dying was not a complete unknown to me, since I had died once already when Adair gave me the elixir of life that made me immortal. It struck me suddenly that all this time I’d been living an unexplainable paradox—being dead and yet not dead—and I was about to do it again, further complicating the complicated question of my existence.

  Dying had been painful; even two centuries later, I remembered it well. The terror of being trapped in a body that was shutting down, fighting for breath as my heart failed and could no longer pump blood to my brain and lungs. Struggling to free myself of the weight that settled, heavier and heavier, on my chest. Clawing at the blackness that closed over me like cold water and tried to push me into a frightening void. Would it be like that this time?