“Tilde and Dona, they suffered, too. We’d served Adair for ages and ages, and by that point we were used to having a master. It took a while for us to realize we were free, and to grow strong enough to go our separate ways.” He gave me a coquettish look. “So there is my story. Now it is your turn, Lanore. Are you going to tell me what happened to you, why you disappeared? Even Savva did not know how you happened to be free of Adair. He said you never told him that part of your story.”
Confessing to Alejandro was harder than I thought it would be. There was an edge to him, a slight bitterness. He knew I had something to do with Adair’s disappearance.
He fussed with his espresso and then continued, as though he didn’t expect me to have a response. “I have so many questions, you see, about what happened to you during that terrible time. You know what I find interesting? Since the day you left the household, I had not felt Adair’s presence. It stopped at the same time he disappeared, when—you said—he went to Philadelphia and you and Jonathan were going to join him. Do you remember?” He forced a smile. “I cannot say to lose Adair’s presence was a bad thing. It was like being normal again, not like being a schizophrenic with a voice in my head all the time. You know what I mean: the relief? Of course you do.” He paused and took a sip of espresso, letting me see slivers of his eyes over the rims of his glasses. “And then, a few weeks ago the presence came back. I had so completely forgotten what it felt like that I thought it was a migraine.” His right hand gestured to his temple. “That’s when I thought of you. I hadn’t had this feeling since the last time I had seen you. You feel it, too, yes?”
“Yes, I do.” Suddenly it occurred to me that Alejandro might know more than I thought. After all, I didn’t know why I could feel Adair’s presence again. I didn’t know what actually happened back in Boston. I was only guessing that it meant someone had freed Adair; if indeed someone had, I didn’t know who it was. Maybe searching out Alejandro wasn’t a good idea.
“So, do you not think it is an amazing coincidence that Adair is missing for two centuries, no one has heard from him, and then he is back, and suddenly you show up at my door.” It was not said as a question.
“No, it’s not a coincidence,” I admitted.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You did something to Adair, two hundred years ago. You stopped him. You didn’t kill him?”
I lowered my gaze. “We both know that’s not possible.”
He drew in a breath. “I searched for him, you know. I couldn’t believe he would leave us like that, me and Tilde and Dona.” Pain seeped into his voice, and liquid sparkled in Alej’s eyes, behind his glasses. “Adair was so taken with you and Jonathan. He made no secret of it. This happened every time he made a new companion. The new one becomes the apple of his eye. You bask in his attention, thinking it will never end. Then, one day, he brings home a new pet, and you feel it is just a little bit colder in his presence; he does not have time for you as he once did. But he had never deserted us completely for a new favorite, not in all the time we’d been together, so naturally I was devastated when there was no word from him—nothing. I hadn’t been without him in many lifetimes. I didn’t care if he had run off with the two of you. I was frightened. You can’t imagine how frightened I was.”
“Yes, I can,” I replied. During the years Jonathan and I had been apart, what kept me from complete despair was the knowledge that he was still out in the world. I’d carried that knowledge close to my heart, and it had been a comfort in my loneliest times. Since his death, that space had been empty and was still raw.
Alej didn’t care for my intrusion upon his recollections, and he studied my face ruthlessly, reading my sorrows as though they were tea leaves. “Oh, that’s right, you have lost Jonathan, haven’t you? So you know what that pain feels like.” His smirk was enigmatic, half triumph, half hurt. “All right, I will admit that you, too, have suffered, and my heart goes out to all who suffer,” he said. “But you are the reason Adair disappeared, and for that, I don’t know if I can completely forgive you. I am only being honest with you,” he added, unable to help himself. Savva was right about that: Alejandro couldn’t bear to be at odds with anyone.
“I’m sorry if I caused you pain,” I said. “If it helps, there were many times I was tempted to undo what I’d done. But we both know, Alej, the world is better off without Adair. He’s a dangerous, unpredictable man. Remember how cruel he was to us! I didn’t think anyone would miss him. I thought we all wanted to get away from him, and that he was keeping you and the others against your will, as he had with Uzra.”
“Well, of course, there were always moments when I didn’t want to do as he demanded, or when I wanted to be free of him, if only for a short spell. Life with him was tumultuous, you know that, but you are remembering only the bad times. Think of all the pleasant times we spent in each other’s company, the balls and parties. The evenings together at the table in the cook’s kitchen, like a family. He dressed you in the finest silks, gave you jewels to put in your hair, treated you better than anyone had. He had his good qualities, too, whether you choose to remember them or not. He saved each of us when he could’ve let us die. There were times when I feared him, yes, but I didn’t wish to see him hurt. I loved him in my own way.”
“That wasn’t love, Alejandro. What you felt was gratitude.”
“Different words for a feeling in my heart. I felt a type of love for him. We all did. Even you, Lanore. Remember, there was a time when you loved him.”
My face grew hot as I recalled my earlier epiphany; yes, I couldn’t deny that I loved him on a primal level. He was able to ignite my desire like a flame to tinder, with just as much potential for annihilation. But I questioned whether that was love; whatever it was, it was self-destructive, and I couldn’t put myself in its path again. “Maybe so. . . . But remember, I was young when that happened. No one had ever shown me that kind of attention. As you say, no one had given me as much as a tin clip for my hair, let alone jewels. I was swept up by it. I got confused and was carried away.”
He smirked as though he didn’t believe me. “And now Adair has returned and is looking for you because of what you did to him, and you ask for my help.”
“Yes, that’s so, I’m afraid. He’s going to want to take his revenge on me, Alejandro, and you know what that means.”
His soulful dark eyes swept over my face with real pity. Yes, he knew what that meant. “I am sorry for you, Lanore, but I don’t know how I could help you. I cannot stop him.”
I leaned across the table toward Alejandro, my hands reaching for him. “Savva said you might know of someone who can help me—someone who might know something about Adair’s powers. You’ve been around so much longer than me, from when this kind of magic was part of everyone’s life. Nowadays, people don’t believe that magic exists, but I have to think that there are still people who study it, and they’ve just gone underground. Savva says you know these people. You can put me in touch with them.”
He swirled the last of the coffee in the tiny cup, frowning at the dregs as though they displeased him. “And what would you ask of them? Do you want someone to tell you how to end Adair’s life? Because I wouldn’t have a part in that. . . .”
“No, I’m not looking for anything like that.” And then I said something that startled me, something that I didn’t even know I was thinking. “I want someone to change me, to make me mortal again.”
“And why would you do that?” he asked, but we both knew the answer: so I’d be able to die and be spared endless suffering at Adair’s hands. To escape the same horrific fate as Uzra, being punished for eternity. It seemed more like putting right the natural order of things, tipping the world back on its axis. And maybe, subconsciously, that was why I had left Luke: because I was looking for a way to end my life, and surely Luke would try to stop me from doing that.
My words seemed to have opened a door in Alejandro’s heart. He studied me for a long time, and I could feel his eyes on me
, reading my face for clues, trying to determine my sincerity. “I cannot give you an answer, just like that. I need to think about it,” he said at last. “Stay in the city for a few days. I’ll be in touch.”
NINETEEN
BOSTON
Adair drove straight through to Boston, stopping only to refuel the car. He thought he would use the time to question Jonathan, but the reanimated corpse had slipped back into sleep. With a touch of his flesh—just above tepid, with the unmistakable resilience of living tissue—Adair knew Jonathan hadn’t expired, but he couldn’t be roused. They arrived at Jude’s town house at dusk, Jonathan waking with the waning of the day, and Adair escorted him quickly to the entrance, banging on the door furiously.
“Coming, coming. . . .” Jude stood on the threshold, spectacles pushed on top of his head. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been—” The Dutchman stopped in mid-sentence as he looked at the man beside Adair. “You found him?” He looked incredulously at Adair, who nodded as he kicked the mud off of his shoes. “So this is Jonathan, the fabled prince of the snowy north. . . . You don’t know how long I’ve waited to meet you.” Jude extended his hand to his disheveled guest but seemed to think better of it as soon as he touched Jonathan’s reanimated skin. “But you don’t look at all as I’d imagined. . . .”
“That’s because until this evening, he has been dead for three months.” Adair brushed by, leading Jonathan by the elbow into the house. Jude looked up and down the street before closing the door, then followed Adair.
“Look, you should’ve called me before you showed up here. What if the housekeeper had answered the door? What would she think about your friend? And that car outside: is that the rental from Maine? You weren’t supposed to drive it all the way back, you were supposed to catch a plane. . . .”
Jude’s voice was like the drone of a mosquito, an unintelligible buzz drilling into Adair’s skull, disrupting his thoughts. It seemed plain that Jude had been ruined by two hundred years of freedom. What’s more, Adair realized that every one of his minions might be worthless to him now, as ungrateful and demanding as the Dutchman. As much as he needed Jude, Adair would have no choice but to get rid of him if he continued to act above his station. At least there was Pendleton. Thank God he’d taken Jude’s advice on that, Adair thought. Pendleton was coming along and, having just gone through the transformation, was still properly afraid of Adair and his powers. Perhaps he would be able to take Jude’s place before long.
He turned on the Dutchman. “You are not here to tell me what to do and how to behave. You are my servant, here to service my needs—without comment. You must show due respect.” Adair turned his back to Jude as he added, “And take care of the car. I don’t care how you take care of it, just see that it’s done.”
“I’m only trying to help you, so next time you’ll call less attention to—”
Adair lunged and grabbed Jude by the throat, then dashed his head against the fireplace’s stone mantel. He’d acted with animal instinct before he even realized what he was doing. The soft slate cracked under the blow, but not before splitting the skin open over Jude’s right temple and sending fat drops of crimson blood to the blond hardwood. Jude’s eyeglasses fell from the tangle of his hair to the floor in a clatter. Adair pinched Jude’s windpipe shut for a few long seconds before releasing him, and Jude fell against the wall, clutching his throat and gasping for air.
“I am sick of your condescension, Jude. Being free all these years has allowed you to grow insolent. When the day comes that I no longer need you, you should hope that I think of you with gratitude for your loyal service, and not with disdain for your insubordination.”
Pendleton stepped forward, troubled. “Adair, is this necessary—”
Adair cast a threatening look at him. “You and Jude may have been friends once, and you may feel a certain loyalty to him, but make no mistake: do not try to come between us, especially when it comes to matters of discipline. It is not your place and I won’t permit it.” With that, he bent down and seized Jude by his collar, pulling him close to look him dead in the eye. “Let this be the last time I have to warn you. Do not try to tell me what I can and cannot do. Your petty rules don’t apply to me”—the very thought made his skull buzz with a long-forgotten truth—“and you’d do well not to forget this.”
Jude said nothing but nursed his wounds like a beaten dog. The flow of blood from the cut on his head slowed, and then stopped. Adair turned to Jonathan, who until now had remained out of the fray, his eyes glassy and faraway. “You and I will talk soon. I want to know more about this queen of the underworld. In the meantime, finish knitting that muck into flesh and bones, for God’s sake. See if you can restore my perfect vessel.” Adair pointed at Jude. “Put him in a room upstairs, and make sure he can’t escape.”
Adair waited several hours before visiting Jonathan, secretly glad for the time away from him. Not that he would say his spell had failed—the fact that he’d managed to pluck the right spirit from the underworld and drop it into the right body made it a success, as far as he was concerned—but it hadn’t turned out as he’d hoped. He would be glad to give the spell a few hours: maybe all that ruined body needed was more time to heal, though he suspected that this wasn’t so. The magic that had been Jonathan’s beauty seemed lost forever. A shame, but change was the nature of the cosmos, he was coming to see; nothing was impervious to change, not even him.
Tired of worrying about Jonathan, Adair decided to look in on Pendleton. He knew he shouldn’t have left Pendleton so soon after the transformation: it was never a good idea to let them have too much time to think about what had happened. Too, Adair wanted to be brought up to date on the transfer of funds from his offshore accounts to his new trust in Switzerland, not to mention Pendleton’s progress in tracking down Lanore. He also wanted to gauge how perturbed Pendleton had been by the scene with Jude. It might do well to have a word with him and settle any qualms. Breaking in a new companion was like training an unfamiliar dog. If treated too harshly in the beginning, Pendleton might become completely fearful; too little attention and he might become too independent and chafe when given direction, then grow furtive, as sneaky and untrustworthy as the Dutchman.
But as Adair stood outside Pendleton’s room, he heard his latest minion talking on the telephone and, judging by the softness of his tone, he was speaking to a friend. The possibility was disturbing, as Adair had made it clear to Pendleton that he should not be in contact with anyone he had known.
He took the phone from Pendleton as soon as he stepped into the room. “Whom were you speaking with? You know you’re not to talk to anyone from your past. That life is over.”
“It wasn’t anyone who knew me, I swear. And I didn’t give my name—” Pendleton broke off his feverish apology. “Look, I know you say it can’t be done, but I’m asking you to reconsider and let me return to my old life. My professional reputation—it’s the culmination of a lifetime of work. I’m at the top of my game, a leader in the industry. I can’t just walk away from all of this. Give me another year to enjoy it; then I’ll go with you willingly,” Pendleton pleaded.
Adair had heard others make a similar request and knew only too well that it was impossible. He shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. Your health has been restored; you are no longer at death’s door. There would be questions if you were seen now, in your current condition—questions you would not be able to answer. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, Pendleton Kingsley is dead. Your family and colleagues have accepted it, given your illness. No one will come looking for you. We’ve given you a new identity. It’s time for you to start over.”
“I don’t want to be someone else. Don’t you get it? I’ll never be this successful again. Let me remain as Pendleton Kingsley. I’ll be more useful to you this way. My name carries a lot of weight.”
“Yes, but we would not be able to explain Pendleton Kingsley’s miraculous recovery. You must face the fact that you
are no longer the man you were and you can never be him again. I know that is hard to accept, and it will take a long time to put it all behind you, but there is no alternative. Besides, look at what you’ve been given. You now know the greatest secret of human existence, that there is much more to life than we had been taught to believe. I would think that someone with your intellectual curiosity would be eager to explore this new world and would happily leave his old one behind.”
Adair had said these words at some point to all his new companions, but for the first time the promise in them fell flat. He knew what he said was true—the best part of the transformation was at the beginning, when everything was new—but he also knew that the excitement would run dry soon enough. He was not unsympathetic to Pendleton’s situation: it was hard to let go of your past, hard to put your successes behind you. Hardest of all was to walk away from the people who had cared for you. He remembered feeling sadness and regret, though he knew there were damn few who had loved him. Adair’s mother had felt some tenderness for him, he was pretty sure, as had old Henrik. And Lanore.
Adair stood abruptly. He didn’t wish to crush Pendleton’s spirit if he didn’t have to, but he’d grown weary of this conversation and he knew he had a larger problem to deal with. “If you cannot accept what I have told you, the only alternative is for me to end your life, the very thing you sought to avoid by making this deal. Those are your only two choices.” More kindly, he continued, “Don’t forget that you still have the skills that earned you this reputation in the first place. Those can’t be taken away from you. And I need those skills, Pendleton.”
His encouragement fell on deaf ears. “You chose me because of what I can do for you, didn’t you? You’re never going to let me go.”
“Eventually, I will. When I no longer need you and you’ve proven you can take care of yourself. For now, however, I’d prefer you to stay.” Better to encourage him and to make his participation seem like an option; Adair couldn’t imagine fighting for one more person’s loyalty, not at the moment. “And what of your efforts to find Lanore? Have you had any luck?”