She dressed for bed quickly, grateful Thomas had been working in the library when she had come upstairs. At least she didn’t have to feel guilty about sleeping in her own chamber once again. It was not that she didn’t wish to be with him. She missed lying with him at night. But she could not travel the Plane while her body lay in Thomas’s bed. Could not free herself of worldly constraints knowing he was close enough to judge—or worse, stop—her.
Once in her nightdress, she climbed into the massive bed. The medallion was still in the drawer of her bedside table, though leaving it there would do no good. She would find it on her wrist in the morning, would know she had brought forth more of the Lost Souls who waited for Samael’s return.
It was not to be helped.
She could not stay awake forever, and though there was a time when she tried, a time when she suffered to keep closed the Gate, she had long since given up that fight.
She put out the lamp and turned over, her head sinking into the pillow, her soul already sighing with the promised release. Her body was asleep, her soul lifting into the air above it, less than five minutes later.
This time she did not head for the sea. Samael always felt closer there. It was far too tempting to give in to him as she hovered over the undulating water, the solidity of Birchwood and her bed a lifetime away.
She floated down the side of the enormous stone house. She saw Thomas, head bent to his papers, through the leaded panes of the library. He looked so serious, so weary. She felt pity for him. That he should not know the sweet relief of travel! That he should see it as evil and frightening when in fact it was a sweet release from the worldly cares that rode them like a plague.
But Thomas was a Brother, and though he certainly had the gift of travel, he viewed the Plane as a dangerous place, one that harbored the spirits with which he fought for his wife’s soul.
No. Abandoned by Ginny and Thomas, the Plane was to be Adelaide’s alone.
She continued across the lawn, leaving the more manicured grounds for the mown fields around the stables. In no time at all, she saw the lake glittering in the distance, the moonlight casting a million diamonds onto the water’s shimmering surface.
She willed herself to drift to the ground and was not surprised to feel the wet, spongy earth under her feet.
It had not always been so. When she had first started traveling, she couldn’t feel a thing. She saw the wind move the trees but did not feel it touch her skin, saw her feet meet the ground but did not feel it underfoot.
Little by little, things had changed.
She could not say when or how, but at some point, the Otherworlds had come to life. They had become more real to her than the physical world. The only place where she felt alive. Where she was not lost in the grip of a numbness that left her desperate only to feel something.
She was skirting the shore of the lake, the water soft and lapping at her bare feet, when she heard them coming. It started with a rumble, as it always did, the ground of the Otherworlds vibrating and shaking. Then she heard the hooves of their horses pounding the skies above, the beat of their wings sounding like a great bat preparing to descend above her.
She looked up, seeing their shadow cross the moonlit sky in the distance. Their approach was swift, the laws of the physical world irrelevant in this one. Soon they were crossing the cliffs overlooking the lake, the cliffs on which she had stood with Ginny in the physical world this very afternoon.
She did not raise a hand in greeting as they came to rest all around her. She knew they were there, and they knew she knew.
For a time, they simply observed her. Then, miraculously, one of them came forward. She recognized him as the leader of the pack. The one she often saw in front, raising a sword that glinted like fire.
His hair was flaxen. It was incongruous with his fearsome expression, and she didn’t know whether to smile or cower in his presence.
He stopped when he was a few feet away. Something seemed to move at his neck, and when she looked more closely, she saw that it was a mark very like the one on her wrist, the one that had appeared after her father’s death years before. She trained her eyes on it, surprised to see the serpent writhe and move on the surface of his skin. She was shocked when the man opened his mouth to speak.
“You will go to him.” The voice was guttural, sending a slither of fear mixed oddly with arousal through her veins.
She swallowed, steadying her voice. “I cannot. There are those who depend on me still in the material world.”
The soul’s ebony eyes bore into hers. “They are no matter. You belong with the master. He has instructions for you.”
She shook her head, taking a step backward. “I cannot help him. Not now.”
The being stepped toward her, stopping when he was only inches from her body. He was tall and imposing, arms and shoulders massive beneath his tattered white shirt. Had she met him in the physical world, she would have thought him a beautiful and alluring man. Here, his strange beauty only frightened her.
“You will,” he said. His voice was low, but the ground rumbled underneath her feet as he spoke. “You will come of your own volition, or he will come for you.”
She shook her head. “I cannot. I am not…I am not ready.”
She felt Samael then, felt his presence like an actor waiting for his cue in the wings of a surreal theater. Would he come for her now? Fear coursed through her body at the realization that he could. He could take her now, sever the astral cord binding her soul to her sleeping body. Send her to the Void forever, while her husband and daughters and sister buried her body in the family cemetery on the hill.
But she didn’t believe Samael would choose such a course. With her soul stranded in the Void, he would not be able to pass into the physical world. Would not be able to rule it. He needed Adelaide’s body alive and breathing, a living Gate through which he could pass, for once she was lost to him, he would have to wait for another. For Lia, though it seemed improbable that her clear-eyed daughter would grow to sympathize with the Beast.
Yet, hadn’t Adelaide herself once been innocent and good? And here she was, communing with the Souls who would bring an end to her world, an end to any kind of life for her children and husband.
“He will not wait forever,” the golden-haired Soul growled.
“I know.”
And then, as if at some silent cue, he stepped back, joining the other Souls, who now moved away, standing sentry on the periphery of an unmarked circle. Samael’s heartbeat grew louder and louder until it was not simply his heartbeat. It was hers, too.
The sea of Souls shuffled on the backs of their horses, parting as the Beast himself moved through their number.
He rode atop a snow-white steed, its mane as fine as silk even in the faint light of the moon. It was at least three hands taller than the largest horse kept in the Milthorpe stables, yet it nickered softly as it approached.
She was not afraid. Not as she should have been when face-to-face with Samael himself.
Yet he was not ugly or frightening or horrid. This was the secret that she had told no one since her first glimpses of him on the Plane.
Samael was not the Beast. Not outwardly.
To Adelaide he appeared as a man. His shoulders were broad, his large hands capable as they gripped the reins. His thighs strained the fabric of his riding breeches. But it was his eyes that captivated her. Black as night, they were not devoid of feeling, as she’d once expected. Instead, they seemed to see into her. To understand her private pain, her shame and guilt. There was acceptance in his gaze. And not simply acceptance, but adoration. As if it were enough that she was Adelaide, failed mother, disappointing wife, conflicted Gate.
When he spoke, his voice was strong and sure.
“You will not join me, Mistress?” The guttural intonation of the Soul who had spoken to her was there, under the surface, dangerous enough to thrill her without making her truly afraid.
She found herself stepping clo
ser to him, almost against her will, lured by the eerie caress in his voice. “I have…responsibilities, children.”
He narrowed his eyes. “If you wish to spare them your pain, you will open the Gate to me. There is much that must be in place to see it done. We must begin.”
“I cannot.” But even as she said it she began to think that she should. It was, after all, her calling. Her duty as Gate. Who could fault her for doing the tasks that were assigned her before time itself? And wouldn’t it be a relief to succumb to the ceaseless temptation?
But then she thought of Lia and Alice, of baby Henry and the husband who loved and cherished her.
She looked up at the man—No, not a man, the Beast, she reminded herself.
“I need more time,” she finally said.
Samael surveyed her with hooded eyes. He could take her now. Lift her onto his horse and disappear into the sky of the Otherworlds. In many ways, it would be a relief. She would not have a choice, and if she had learned nothing else in her lifetime, she had learned that having a choice was often a burden.
He made no move toward her. “I will not be patient for long. You must choose.”
Then he turned his horse, looking over his shoulder one last time before galloping away. The Souls convened behind him, first at a trot and soon at a run, all of them beating a path into the sky. She watched until they disappeared, a swarming black shadow, into the horizon.
They seemed to take with them what little life the Otherworlds held. The air was quiet and still, the world nearly dead. When she was sure they were gone, she lifted into the sky and flew home as fast as her powers of travel would allow, the pull of the astral cord comforting as it led her back to her body. She grasped at it like a drowning man to a life raft, pushing herself into her sleeping form with force.
As soon as her spirit clicked within the confines of her body, she sat up. She was trembling, shaking from head to toe. She removed the medallion quickly, throwing it into the darkest corner of the room, wanting only to be rid of it, however temporary the respite might be.
She had very nearly made a mistake, one from which there would be no recovery. She must be more careful, avoid the Plane and Samael at all costs. She could no longer trust herself not to aid him.
Forcing herself back on the pillow, she lay in the dark for a very long time, her breath coming hard and fast. She told herself it was fear, the kind of fear she needed, the kind that would keep her from getting too close to Samael again.
And all the while desire hummed under her skin.
Adelaide woke shivering the next morning, not from her travel on the Plane and her meeting with Samael, but with cold. She lay huddled under the coverlet until Margery came with wood to stoke the fire and hot water for the basin.
Only after the maid left, the fire crackling as it roared back to life, did Adelaide dare to rise out of bed.
The floors were cold underfoot despite the thick carpet. She made her way to the window, half expecting it to be another gray, dreary day. But when she pulled back the curtains the sun nearly blinded her. It shone brightly across the fields, the frost-tipped grass glittering under a clear, ice-blue sky.
Soon it would be too treacherous to go to town. She would take advantage of the fair weather now, though it was never truly easy to get away without Ginny, who insisted on accompanying her to even the most mundane of destinations. Always watching. Always worrying. As if her simple observation could keep at bay Adelaide’s desire for the Plane.
Seeing a dark trail of ribbon in the corner, she bent to investigate, realizing it was the medallion. She picked it up and placed it in the back in the night table. She tried not to think about how many Souls had entered through the Gate she had opened by wearing it, however unwittingly.
She washed and dressed quickly, hoping to reach Edmund before everyone was awake and about. But when she left her room, dressed in her favorite emerald day gown, the house was quiet and still. She crept down the stairs and grabbed her cloak before opening the front door and slipping outside.
Her breath materialized like smoke as she crossed the grounds, the harsh bite of the coming winter stinging her cheeks. The carriage house was some distance away, back behind the main house. Her boots stuck in the cold, thick mud along the way. For a fleeting moment she thought it was madness to sneak out of the house at such an early hour on an errand Thomas would surely see as unnecessary, but she needed the solace of someone with whom she could speak plainly. Someone who would not judge her or gaze upon her with worried eyes.
She continued, stepping into the refuge of the carriage house with relief, feeling as if she had escaped the snapping jaws of an unseen monster hiding in the frigid woods that surrounded Birchwood Manor.
Breathing deeply, she tried to compose herself before seeking out Edmund.
She found him at the back of the building, giving gentle instruction to one of the younger stable hands as he wiped wax off one of the older carriages.
“Excuse me, Edmund. May I have a moment of your time?”
He stood, turning with obvious surprise. “Mrs. Milthorpe? Why…What on earth are you doing out at such an early hour? And on a cold day like this one?”
“I…I need to run into town…to take provisions to Sarah Montrose.”
Edmund gazed at her in silence. It wouldn’t be the first time she had called on Sarah, though bringing the widowed young mother supplies only fueled the whisperings of the townsfolk: that crazy, rich Mrs. Milthorpe went to Sarah not to be charitable, but because of Sarah’s well-known abilities as a spiritualist.
Edmund likely suspected there was more than simple charity to Adelaide’s visits with Sarah, but so far, he had said nothing. Still, he was a loyal friend and servant to Adelaide’s husband. She had to assume that Edmund reported her visits to Thomas, though Thomas had never spoken of it to her.
“Wouldn’t you rather wait until the afternoon?” Edmund asked.
Adelaide shook her head. “I’m worried about Sarah and the baby. It’s been too long since I last called.”
She felt a twinge of guilt. It was not a lie. Not entirely. She’d grown fond of Sarah and her cherub-cheeked infant, Mary. There was little Adelaide could do to resolve her own situation. To make right Henry’s legs or the quiet resentment that seemed already to exist between her daughters. But she could take a bundle of wood and a bag of food to Sarah. Could see her face brighten, relief softening the tension in her still-beautiful young face.
And if Sarah could offer Adelaide solace through her gift, could see and feel the suffering to which Adelaide was daily subjected, well, what was the harm in such an alliance?
“All right.” Edmund nodded slowly. “I’ll get an extra blanket for the carriage.”
Edmund guided the horses toward town, the wheels of the carriage bumping against the nearly frozen ground.
Adelaide looked out the window, across the fields of long grass stretching toward the clear blue sky. Despite the sun, it reminded her of one of the seven Otherworlds. One which she avoided for its desolation, for the stark loneliness and, yes, even fear, that lay over her like a wet woolen blanket when she was there. She preferred the other places on the Plane, ones in which the sky was deep and welcoming, the sun warm on her face. She savored the soft wind that graced her skin in those worlds where everything was beautiful and mysterious and Samael himself seemed closest of all.
She turned away from the window as they came nearer to town, preferring to let her mind drift amid the dim light inside the carriage. Here there was no time, no urgency. She wished she could stay forever, jostled to and fro in the in-between place where she would not be forced to make the decisions that loomed on the horizon.
Finally, Edmund stopped the horses with a gentle “Whoa, boys.” A moment later, the door opened and light leaked into the shadowed interior of the carriage.
Edmund held out a hand with a tip of his head. Adelaide took it, stepping down and making her way across the walk with Edmund on her heel
s. She kept her head held high, her back straight, even as she saw the stares of the townspeople. Saw the women, women who fancied themselves well-bred but who were really simple-minded bigots and gossips, whispering to one another behind gloved hands.
The Milthorpes’ wealth made them a target for such behavior, but it was not simple jealousy that set them apart. It was their seclusion, the air of mystery, somehow threatening, that inevitably arose when one kept to oneself. It did not help matters that the Milthorpes didn’t attend church. That they did not participate in any of the fairs and festivals that so excited the townspeople. That she and Thomas were friendly with people like Sarah and the gentleman who brought Thomas rare books for his collection while they eschewed contact with the affluent families undoubtedly deemed more in keeping with their class.
She nodded good morning anyway, not wanting to give them any more reason to think her strange or unfriendly. A bell tinkled as Edmund stepped ahead of her and opened the door to the shop. Adelaide stepped into the warmth of the store.
“Good morning, Mrs. Milthorpe,” Charles Owning, the store’s proprietor, called to her from behind the counter.
She smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Owning.”
She had always liked the old shopkeeper, though she was never sure if he regarded her with genuine fondness or was simply looking out for his own business interests. The Milthorpes may have been regarded as strange, but they gave generously to every town cause and frequented the local shops for almost all of their necessities.
“What can I do for you this fine morning?” Mr. Owning asked.
Adelaide stepped up to the counter. “Let’s see…I’ll take a dozen eggs, and a bag each of sugar and flour.…”
“Shall I purchase one bundle of wood or two?” Edmund asked her.
“Two, please. Now that it’s getting colder, Sarah will need it for warmth as well as cooking.”
Edmund left to procure the wood as Mr. Owning wrapped the eggs. He turned to the big barrels on the floor, scooping flour and sugar into muslin sacks sitting atop the scales on the counter. When they reached five pounds each, he tied them with string.