The Descent (12 page)

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

N
ow 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?

Perhaps death wouldn’t even be the worst of it, for I was traveling beyond death this time. What lay on the other side could be even worse. I thought of all the representations of the afterlife described in stories and poems. The nine rings of hell in Dante’s
Inferno
came to mind, and I supposed that if I were lucky, I would be consigned to the second ring, the repository for those who have given in to the sin of lust. It seemed pretty tame compared to the ninth ring, the place where those guilty of treachery were kept. For I’d been treacherous, hadn’t I? Most notably by imprisoning Adair behind a stone wall for two hundred years (for which he’d forgiven me, remarkably).

It didn’t matter that I tried to turn my mind to more benign depictions of the afterlife: my thoughts stubbornly returned to hell, as though it was predetermined that this was
the place where I would go. Maybe my dreams were a warning to me. The underworld would be a dark, cold place. The queen was surely there—the demon, too, and here I was, rushing toward what other people (those with common sense) would flee in terror. As frightened as I was, I knew I would go through with it. I was like a soldier collecting my thoughts in the moments before leaping into battle: there is no turning back, there is no getting out of it. I would never be able to live with myself if I gave up now, and, for me, never would last forever. I could just manage to keep from panicking by reminding myself that I had survived the unknown and the impossible the first time.

As I sat in the sunlight streaming through the window, eyes closed and absorbing heat like a cat on a sunny ledge, I half expected Adair to show up at my door with a certain request, one that I was surprised—and a little disappointed—that he hadn’t made already. I could understand why he hesitated to invite me into his bed, constrained as he was by the presence of two Englishwomen and by my recent widowhood. But we were about to be separated by a huge cosmic gulf, the future uncertain. Although I had great faith in Adair’s powers, I had to accept the possibility that we might never see each other again. Surely he would want us to be intimate at least once before he sent me into the unknown. When I considered that I might never have the chance to experience Adair’s love again, I was starting to feel this way strongly, too. I would regret it forever if I was unable to return to this life. Besides, for all I knew, it might even strengthen his link to my soul and enhance his ability to transport it back and forth from the underworld.

Desire awakened inside me like a thousand tremulous butterflies as I warmed to the idea of going to bed with Adair
again. As Terry had pointed out, he was a very good partner (as well he ought to be: he’d had a thousand years of practice and, in all that time, probably let few opportunities to practice pass him by). He didn’t lack for confidence, or the right equipment, and the cock between his legs was a magnificent thing with such heft that it had to be held with two hands. He had been a good teacher, too. Jonathan was my first lover and had been good in his way (though, as a seventeen-year-old, I’d hardly known the difference), but he could not compare with Adair for technique or sheer lustful enthusiasm. From Adair, I learned to enjoy sex and not to fear it. In many ways, it was Adair who ushered me into adulthood.

Since coming to the island, I’d felt there had been moments when he was waiting for me to relent, to take him by the hand and lead him to his bedroom. Or maybe to my room, where there wouldn’t be the scent of the other women infused in the bed linens or stray hairs of brown and gold on the pillows. We would go to my modest room and lock the door against surprise, and he would pull me on top of him on the narrow bed as he looked deeply into my eyes. In bed, he could have any of a hundred different moods, but he was always eager for more: more tactile sensation, more cresting pleasure. Thinking about him made the urge all the harder to resist. How easy it would be to give in. I suppose it meant my heart was healing after Luke’s death, that I would even consider it.

Adair had probably known all along that I’d wanted him. He would’ve only needed to kiss me and I wouldn’t have been able to resist him. Should I find him now and have one last pleasure with him before heading to the underworld? I was struggling to extinguish this spark of desire when there was
a knock at the door, jolting my eyes open. Adair stood in the doorway as though he’d been summoned by my thoughts. Only he didn’t look aroused. He didn’t even look happy. He was glum and fretful, full of misgivings. In one hand, he carried a mug.

“Is it time already?” I asked weakly. “You found the spell so soon?”

“I already had an idea where to look. It was only a matter of putting the ingredients together,” he said as he entered the room. He put the mug on the table next to the bed, then ran his hands over the mattress, smoothing the sheets. “You will lie here, on this bed, while your soul is in the underworld. Come, sit.” I did as I was instructed and perched on the edge of the bed.

Adair reached into his pocket and pulled out something that he pressed in my hand. “I’ve been thinking about your return, about how I will know to bring you out of suspension. We need some kind of signal. I want you to hold this. Carry it with you at all times, wherever you go. And when you are ready to come back, just let it go. I will see it fall from your hand, here, and I will know to bring you back.” He closed my fingers around the object, looking earnestly into my face. “Will you do that for me?”

“Of course,” I said. When I opened my hand, however, I couldn’t believe what I saw: it was the vial that he’d worn around his neck when I first met him, the vial that had contained the elixir of life. The one I’d stolen from him and used to make Jonathan immortal—to make him
my
immortal consort, with disastrous results.

“This is impossible,” I gasped as I held it up in the light so
I could get a good look at it. It was the same filigreed cylinder of silver and brass, its stopper and chain intact. “It can’t possibly be . . . Luke told me, on his deathbed, that he’d found it among my things. He said he’d crushed it under his heel and threw it out the window.”

“I found it on the beach here when I was out walking one day,” Adair said, not astonished in the least. As though he knew all his possessions would come back to him, given enough time. Like the books of secrets I’d returned to him. Like me.

I turned the vial around in a complete circle. It wasn’t crushed. It wasn’t damaged in the least. “I don’t understand . . .”

Adair closed my fingers around it again. “Understanding is not necessary for this spell to work. Faith is.” He handed me the cup. “Drink this.”

Like his previous elixirs, it smelled of grass and mud, things of the earth not meant to be ingested in such a raw form. I wrinkled my nose at it. “Another potion? Why must it always be a potion?”

“I suppose you’d rather have it be a dram of whiskey,” he observed.

“Or even a piece of cake,” I said, and sniffed.

He tapped the mug. “Drink up.”

If I had reservations, now was the time to bring them up. If I didn’t wish to go, I could’ve handed the cup back to Adair. I could’ve asked him to assuage my fear of pain or of being lost forever and wandering like a ghost between the planes of existence. I could’ve encouraged him to climb onto the bed with me and blank out all my misgivings.

But I did none of those things. The abyss was waiting for
me, yawning before me like a great black chasm, and I knew if I hesitated now, I might not go through with it. I took a deep breath and swallowed the potion as quickly as I could, so as not to taste it. Despite my efforts, I caught the tail end of it, and to my surprise it didn’t taste of weeds and dirt but of the finest vanilla cake frosted with buttercream. I wiped the last drop from my chin with the back of my hand as I handed the cup to him.