“You’re blinded by your own hate.” His next words are hesitant. Like he’s approaching a growling mutt. “I want to help her. Even if that means going against you.”
Something bubbles up, lodging in my throat. A sharp flavor of protectiveness I haven’t felt since ballrooms and church pews ruled my life. When the last man felt attached to my little sister. When I didn’t listen to my gut. When a predator stalked in my shadow.
“What, exactly, do you feel for her?” I steep every word in venom.
Douglas frowns, then his eyebrows shoot up in horror. “I don’t—God, no!” I’ve never seen him so flustered. “She’s barely more than a child.”
“That hasn’t stopped others.” My venom turns to melting tears. Douglas has never shown himself to Liney, to my knowledge. There’s nothing in his actions that reflect Thomas. Is it foolishness to believe him?
Douglas takes half a step forward, then stops when I glare. I’m nolonger the girl falling apart while sitting on orange crates. Tears don’t mean I need his false comfort.
“My intentions for your sister are protective, but never romantic,” he says with the solemnity of prayer. “I’m inspired by your own feelings. I’ve seen the best of you in how you care for her.”
It could be a compliment. But I can’t forget our context. “Like when I murdered you?”
He flinches, so genteel. He dances around the reality of us. Pretending we can coexist. I wipe my face with one hand, my red-rimmed stare daring him to comment.
“Like when you brush her hair.” His voice is too soft as he tilts his head. “Calming her after a nightmare. Cooking for her and always giving her the larger portion. Teaching her French and laughing off her terrible accent. Singing with her as you wash the dishes. When you’re…you.”
Oh. Douglas doesn’t only see me when I’m about to harness the powers of hell. He sees me in the moments no one else should but Liney. I can’t marry the conflict of this kind-eyed man and the fury that still simmers in my gut.
I could forgive him. Liney is a willful girl on an island of devilry that would take advantage of the spark that makes her eyes alight, her feet dance, and her fingers twirl in unheard music.
It would be easy to forgive. But a pact with the Devil is also easy to make, hard to uphold.
I can’t be tempted by theeasything.
“There’s been…” He pauses, searching for the words. I should leave. I must check on Liney. Be anywhere but here. “Something good about occupying this lighthouse with you both. I never thought I’d have company. I didn’t think myself the personable type. But perhaps, with the dark deeds done, this place could be…”
Done? He thinks it’s over. Has he forgotten my new contract? If Iallow him this fantasy, I might fall into it too. He’s so lost in his vision of me, of us, he’s forgotten what I am.
“There’s a woman on the island.” Speaking it feels as though I were conjuring her. “Bridget. A survivor. I saw her. Last night in the water. In here. I must kill her, James.”
His name feels blasphemous on my tongue. I use it, like the knife, to tear us apart.
His disappointment coats him. Blood drips from his neck, wells at his collarbone, and trickles down a small exposed strip of his chest before seeping beneath his shirt.
“Here I thought that you might’ve become capable of remorse.”
He’s gone. Before I can retort, defend myself, explain that this isnothingcompared to all I’ve done. If he can accept everything so far, this is only one drop of seawater in an ocean of sin.
I suppose it’s the nature of ghosts to live in the past. The impossiblecould’ve been. He found comfort in believing us an odd little family instead of soul-shackled together.
I won’t join him.
* * *
I go downstairs. Eat my peaches. They don’t taste as sweet as I remember.
When Liney wakes up, much later in the day, she’s not well. Worse than last night. The cold has seeped in despite my efforts. Her breath rattles in her chest. Every word comes out a rough whisper. She asks me for tea and for information. She keeps trying to tell me about a girl on the island, but it doesn’t line up with last night. She speaks of months, not minutes. It’s enough to develop a theory. This imagined woman was a trick, last night and all the days before, shown to Liney. Now that’s a twist to my gut. I thought she was out of Pratterman’s reach. A prize perhaps, but not a pawn used against me.
I give Liney tea and tell her not to worry. He won’t have her. And I won’t be tricked again by the snake in our Eden.
If Liney develops pneumonia, I have no medicine to give her. Her skin nearly burns my own while she croaks out requests for more blankets. If there’s a small, bitter part of me that believes she deserves a little suffering for her trespass, it’s snuffed out watching her shiver with only her eyes peeking out of the covers.
I make soup for supper. The water simmers. I watch its swirls without focus. I can’t go searching for Bridget while Liney’s health is at risk, but I must come up with a plan. How can I know she’s still on the island? I wouldn’t if the roles were reversed. If she’s a demon, is that enough reason to stay?
Would it be better to offer her refuge here? Keep an eye on her? I fear that risk. Liney is prone to flights of fancy. I noticed how she looked at other girls in the church pews and local dances. I could’ve protected her. She could’ve kept the company of whomever she chose. That dream still lives in my heart, though it will never happen. I can hate the restraints I’ve put on her here, but that doesn’t stop them from being necessary.
