I wake, in a way, outside. I’ve not had a dark dream in so long Iforgot their heat. I’m standing a few feet away from the lighthouse. Its red light sweeps over me and onward toward the sea. The storm is at its height, but it doesn’t touch me. My vision is crisp and dyed crimson.
Great waves crash against the rocks but don’t reach me. I peer over the edge. The water’s surface reflects no moon. Only a deep expanse that churns, pulling the current into something beneath.
The presence pulses through the earth and into the soles of my feet, nearly hot enough to scald. The same heat that the tendrils wove into my blood. I wore thick wool socks in the lighthouse, too large and drooping at the toes. Here I’m barefoot. Instead of the wool coat, I have only a cotton shift. It feels wrong. Meant for the soft and delicate. My broad shoulders stretch the fabric, while the lace finishings of the long sleeves tickle my wrists. This is how he sees me. The rain should’ve seeped through the light material, but it remains crisp and dry. Small mercies.
“Eleanor.”
The months since our last meeting haven’t softened his voice. Behind me, in a deliberate choice to disorient me, is Mr. Pratterman. I lift my gaze from the sea-foam to the horizon line. Red below, red above. This is a world of wax and blood.
He doesn’t step forward onto the folded surface of the rock. Our dance has begun. My turn.
I turn away from the sea. He’s a darkness here, a void against the bright lighthouse behind him. Only his eyes, twin lights, are distinguishable.
“We have unfinished business,” he whispers into my ear despite our distance.
He waits for my approach. My groveling. But it’s never done me any good. Mr. Pratterman doesn’t need anything from me but my work, and he won’t pity a failure.
“We have nothing to discuss, sir.” I will my voice to be as strong as the island’s core, as the roots of the trees beside us, as the red light’s beam silhouetting the Devil at my door.
Wax spreads across the rock around him and grows into the same candles as in the room where we first met. Forever boiling.
His eyes misalign, signaling a tilt of his head. He doesn’t look like the man from little more than a year ago. He used the mask of a gentleman to lure me. Why keep pretending?
“I hadn’t considered you dim. Should I reconsider my evaluation? I’m usually such a good judge of character.” The twin flames spark into white flashes, then settle back to red.
I clutch my fists tight but loosen them just as fast. There’s nothing to hide here between us. What sin could I hide from the Devil himself?
There’s relief in being free of goodness. I must act as a protector around Liney. I keep a self-righteous distance to counter Douglas’s aura of guilt. But with Mr. Pratterman, I must admit to my corruption. He, above all others, understands me.
“Say it.” I take a step forward. The heat under my feet flashes painfully, unlike in any other dream. “How many more souls do you need?”
He tosses his head back and laughs. The sound is crows at dusk, grinding steel, the last gasp of air before the depths claim you. His long, thin nose cuts a line above his face. When he grins, his teeth are brilliant red. “This is no longer a transaction. This is your debt.”
A gust roars between us and snaps off a thin layer of the rock outcropping into the water. The darkness condenses into a thick haze. It surrounds us, hiding the lighthouse and clinging to my back. Mr. Pratterman’s candles illuminate the fog in flickering crimson.
“It’s unlike you to be irresponsible,” he continues in a quiet simmer that promises the rage he’s too proud to show. “You need a reminder of what’s at stake.”
A chill runs down my throat and into my fingertips. The heat of the dream dries my mouth as soon as I’ve opened it. “I’m willing, but you never gave me a number.”
It is the ambiguity of our contract that keeps me under his control.If I knew the exact quantity he needed to be repaid, I could work the rest out.
“So long as you tend the lighthouse. That was the deal, though you’ve been so neglectful that I fear you’ve incurred additional debt. A ship is close. Nearly fifty souls.” His grin glistens. “Perform the ritual before they reach the rocks, and your sister will be safe.”
Liney? She’s never met Mr. Pratterman, let alone become part of my deal.
“She has nothing to do with this,” I spit at him.
He scoffs. The ground’s heat pulses as he steps forward. The edges of his fine clothes are coated with a thin layer of ash and leave a trail behind him. “Your sister has everything to do with this,Miss Forsyth.”
“Elle,” I correct, an instinct now from my time with Douglas.
Something shifts in his face. A gear set in motion. “Exactly.”
He’s only a few feet from me. The candles illuminate his gaunt face. The same face I found boyish last year behind a door I never should’ve knocked on.
“You’ve denied that surname over a dozen times in as many months. Do you think Caroline would do the same?”
Any time Douglas spoke to me, attempting formality, I corrected him. I didn’t realize how close to home Mr. Pratterman has kept or how much he’s heard.
