I softly step to the next trunk, then the next. My breath is shallow in my mouth.
Nearly to the edge of the forest, I hear a scream. Not Bridget. Not Elle. A man’s. I can’t tell if it’s Thomas or Hugh or one of the other men, but quickly a chorus of chaos erupts within the trees. Screams of terror, as far as I can tell. Elle’s doing? Douglas’s?
I sprint across the final rocks to the dock.
“Bridget, it’s me!”
A head pops up from the other side of the beached boat. She smiles, shaking her head to knock back the hair dripping rivers across her forehead.
“C’mon, I put the supplies in already. And don’t mind, uh, that.”
I look back. A man is slumped against a tree where she’s pointing. A broad red mark across half his face paints a picture as Bridget sets down an oar she’d been gripping.
“I don’t think I killed him,” she says.
That’s good enough for me.
I follow her lead. The men’s panic continues. I fear they may turn back to the boat, but nothing comes out of the trees. We push off the shore in the tiny dinghy that brought me here all those seasons ago.
The ocean blesses us with a strong current. Bridget rows, but the water provides most of our momentum. A wave jostles the boat, spraying us both and making me gasp from the cold. The prospect of capsizing seizes me for a moment, yet it ebbs away just as quickly.
There are far worse fates than drowning.
I blink, and we’re already far enough that the island looks as small as it truly is.
A spit of land, a copse of trees, and an old lighthouse.
I’ll turn to look at the city lights that have always tempted me across the water. I’ll tell Bridget of the lavender stall, the wonders of city life we should try before we move on. I’ll close my eyes and feel the salty wind against my cheeks. I’ll wonder out loud if the Pacific coast might need lighthouse keepers.
But for this moment, I look at the lighthouse. Perhaps it is a trick of the light. Surely, I can’t see so much detail from so far away.
The red light flashes across the island. In front of it, looking out at the harbor—at me—is a burning brightness in the shape of my sister.
That red light. My warning and my danger. My sister. My home I’ll never forget.
Bridget takes a break from rowing and holds my hand with hers, squeezing it.
I don’t know the future for Elle. I may never know.
Nor do I know my own fate or that of the marvel of a woman I’ve fallen for and followed out of the maw of hell. An uncertain world ahead may not look kindly on us.
But we’ll search for the gentler edges of its map.
34Elle
To Accept
My first task involves both the top and bottom of the lighthouse.
The spiral’s ebbing power—truly, the power of the soulswithinthe spiral—grants my muscles the strength to climb the stairs until I reach the lightroom. This was once the center of Pratterman’s power. Now it’s mine.
I light the lantern with barely a glance. I can feel the rotation of the lens like another arm. I never knew I could reach out this way. There are no rules anymore. No requirements.
There never were.
But within the rhapsody of power, my body is falling apart. I’m still only human. This is why Pratterman siphoned through me. My final sacrifice for the force to finish the wretched work. I reach a hand up to inspect it. Each finger is burnt at the end and withering. The pain is there, somewhere under the righteous fury that flows in my veins. What’ll happen when I disconnect?
I peer down on the forest. Men run in circles from an unseenpresence. My ghost. I smile, and something in me grows stronger. There’s only one boat at the dock.
