Emery startled awake to find herself still in the bath, the water gone cold. The torches flickered in their braces; the fire crinkled in the pit—Cullen wasn't there. No one was there. Why had she wakened? More importantly, when had she fallen asleep? She didn't even remember growing tired in the tub. What a dangerous thing to do.

She quickly rose and threw a clean tunic over her head (her trunk of clothing was there from when she'd moved in), only to catch blood on the sleeve of it. When Emery tried to figure out where the blood had come from, she realized her wrist was bleeding though its bandage. She'd have to rewrap it. Picking up her old tunic off the floor, she tore off a long strip. It wasn't the cleanest thing, but it was dry, so it'd have to do for now.

The shadows seemed to deepen as she prepared herself to unravel the wrapping. She'd purposely kept it bandaged all this time so she wouldn't have to be reminded of what had happened, and she'd assumed it'd healed, so the blood was worrisome. Emery wasn't sure she wanted to see what it looked like, and as she unwound the fabric, her pulse quickened, her hand shook. The unwinding was slow, almost too slow. For as much as she unwound, it seemed there was more to go, and the bleeding seemed only to be getting worse; the entire bandage was soaking through, and it was so quick--she'd be dripping on the floor, soon! How could she even be losing this much blood and not feel lightheaded?

A hand came around her from behind and took hold of her bloodied arm. Cullen! But, no--when she spun about, she found a forbidding figure with silvery-blond hair and piercing eyes . . . Bres.

"Let go of me!" Emery tried to pull free. In spite of the blood, she wasn't in any pain.

"We're almost there--almost."

"And then what? What happens when we get wherever we're supposed to get?"

Bres grinned maliciously. "Then we will dine on your sweetness." He pulled up her hand toward his his hungry red tongue.

Emery searched his face but found no hint of sarcasm. She wanted to get away from him. Was this a dream or not? She couldn't tell! Where was the temple? Her meadow? A dead meadow was better than this! There'd been some flowers, even if they weren't pretty, and she'd almost made it out of the temple to the lights and the white shimmer.

"Keep using it. I'm beginning to enjoy these encounters." Rather than actually put his mouth on her, Bres suddenly yanked the rest of the wrap from her arm, and Emery was horrified to see the entire thing from palm to elbow was a shredded, pulpy mess.

When Cullen entered, he found her screaming on the floor, clutching her arm. He immediately went to her, but she pushed him away, unblinking, some sort of trance come over her, and when she crumpled, he called Cathbad, who found her hot to the touch. Cullen picked her up and placed her in the bed, where Emery began to calm, but when Cathbad tried to administer what medicines he had, the girl opened her eyes and regained total awareness.

"I don't want anything you have--I'm fine," she insisted, embarrassed of being constantly sick before them.

Cullen and Cathbad were doubtful, but Emery would hear none of their pleas. When the men stepped out of the curtain no doubt to talk about her, the girl sat up and forced herself to take deep breaths before turning her arm to look at it. It was perfectly fine. In fact, there was only a very narrow line about an inch long where Bres's fingernail had dug into her. Looking at the new scar, Emery experienced a mix of revulsion and awe. She couldn't quite place the feelings she had concerning Bres. He was frightening, for sure, and she hated seeing him, but she was beginning to notice a subtle yet distinct craving when she woke from these visions--what exactly it was that she craved, she didn't know, but the sensation itself disturbed and shamed her.

After Cathbad left, Cullen came in and tried to talk to her about what had happened, but Emery was largely unwilling to explain it, saying only that she'd seen Bres again and he'd looked at her arm.

For a moment, the man sat on the edge of the bed next to Emery and watched her. She wished she could wipe the worry from his face, but she herself was worried. "Did you talk to Cat about New York?" she asked at length, desirous of shifting his attention.

He nodded. "We will leave tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? That soon?"

"I'd thought we could wait some, but seeing you now, again, like this--I fear our time is limited."

"Can Cat open the portal again?"

"Lir has offered to help him reach his dwelling in the forest, so that he may retrieve what he needs. They set out now."

Everything was moving so quickly. "And what about Dun-Dealgan? I thought you wanted to stay a while, for the people here. Isn't there a lot to do?"

"Yes, there is much. I did wish to stay--not least to live as husband and wife for a time--but these mounting ill events are caused by the rise of this Darkness, and you are its host. Curing you will cure us all. I have sent Keltar to speak of these matters with the King, so that he knows why I cannot come to him now, and I have placed Cearnach as chieftain, here, in my stead. Tomorrow, you and the druid and I will travel to your other world." He lifted a hand and pulled gently at her damp hair. "We will find them, Emery."

"And if we don't? Does it mean that whatever they do to me will give them power? What has Lir said?"

Cullen looked away, then back to her. "He has said as much. The Gods are restless."

"Then why don't they do something?"

"Who can understand the ways of the Gods?"

Emery recalled the night they'd run from Luglochta Loga. "It's all my fault," she said in a small voice. "I remember, how I told you we should confront them, defy them. And we've been punished ever since."

"I regret nothing, since I have met you, save for my inability to keep you safe. If there is fault, it is my own."

Their eyes met, and Emery saw all the sincerity of the world in his. She took his hand, trying to smile. "Look at us, stubborn in everything. Let's just say it's both of our faults."

Cullen didn't return her smile, though his eyes gleamed. Taking a short breath, he shook slightly, looked about. "Do you find comfort, here? Will you be content?"

"When all this is over and we come back, as long as you're here, I'll be happy."

"And . . . and this bed? Is it to your liking?" A roguishness entered his expression as he refocused on her.

Emery returned it. "It's more to my liking now that you're on it."

Cullen smiled, reached for the lacing at the neck of her tunic, but before he could say or do anything more, a cry came from beyond the roundhouse, someone calling his name. With an earnest look of regret, he forced himself to rise and leave the curtained sanctuary, and after a brief moment during which Emery heard speaking but couldn't distinguish actual words, he returned to tell her several young men had run off into the pastures in pursuit of some fae creature, and he was needed to help retrieve them.

"My Lady, try to sleep," he told her after procuring his sword and several other items. And then he was gone, and Emery was left to sigh over her own misfortune.

But she didn't want to sleep, that was for sure. In fact, she waited only about ten minutes after he'd gone to climb out of the bed and go back to the tub of water where she'd undressed, and rifle through the pile until she found the necklace with the blackthorn twig. She held the talisman in her hand and, a little breathlessly, knowing she was doing something everyone else would think she was crazy for doing (and not even knowing how to do it), she thought of Charlie, of wanting to talk to him. She was careful not to demand it, not wanting to see Bres again any time soon, but nothing really happened. Lir had told her she controlled Charlie, but he hadn't told her how--probably on purpose. Were there magic words involved? Did she have to do some sort of ritual?

"Oh come on," Emery found herself saying to the twig. "Just get out here, Charlie. I want to talk to you."

And that did it, easy enough. There he was, as himself, leaning against the edge of the tub, and Emery had to stop herself from pushing him into it out of shock.

He didn't look particularly happy, either. He was dressed as she'd last seen him, with his rather dapper checked tartan, and his golden curls shone under the torchlight. But his face was absolutely blank of expression, and she didn't quite know what to say first. Emery was actually kind of afraid of him for a moment, but then she remembered that she had the power to put him back in the blackthorn, as well; hopefully it was as easy as just telling him to go back.

"Hey, Charlie . . ."

He crossed his arms, stared at her. "What is it you want?"

What did she want? She'd forgotten. Or maybe she hadn't really had a reason at all . . . "The memory, the other night--was that you?"

"It was."

"But . . . why? After we put you in this--"

"And after you put me through all that grotesquery at the causeway? Next time, please remove men. If I could've vomited, I would have."

Emery was confused, then suddenly recalled, blushing. She'd left the necklace on when she and Cullen . . . but hadn't she done it on purpose? She was glad it had upset Charlie. "Then why did you give me the memory?"

He stood up straight, took a step or two toward her, narrowed his eyes. "I did it because I care about you."

She scoffed. "Yeah, right. That's what all this has been? You caring about me?"

"You're an investment. I can't let anything happen to you."

"Right, that's more what I thought. Those giants will kill you if you mess up."

Charlie took one or two steps closer; he could've reached out and touched her, now, but Emery had a hard time backing away. Probably a solid minute passed during which he just looked at her, maybe trying to think of what to say or what to do, or maybe trying to restrain his anger--she couldn't tell. It was as if he wore a mask. "What do you want from me? Why call me, when you know he'd be mad?"

Emery was put off by his question. Cullen would be upset if he knew, and she didn't want to upset him. "I don't know, exactly--"

"You care about me, too. That's why."

"I--I don't care about you. Not in any sort of way--"

"Then put me back. Go on, do it."

She was confused. "Do you want me to? I thought you'd want to be out."

"I do, but you're playing games. You know I can't hurt you, as much as I'd like to, and I don't want to be at your beck and call for whatever stupid reasons you have."

Emery's head spun a little. How had he made this about himself? But he was sort of right . . . she hadn't particularly had a reason for bringing him out. "Maybe I just want to hurt you, now," she found herself replying. "Maybe it's my turn."

"And what do you think you can possibly do to me?"

She thought. "I can make you want to vomit again."

Charlie's eyes twitched, his nostrils flared a little.

"And again . . . and again . . . and again . . ."

"Stop. There's something wrong with you."

"Yes, and it's your fault."

He stepped right up into her face, but she held her ground. "What do you want from me, Emery?"

The girl felt something deep within begin to turn. She felt, suddenly, as if every vein in her body was flooded with heat. "I want to see you bleed."

Charlie's breath was cold against her as he took her head between his hands, said, "I . . . don't . . . bleed."

"Then tell me how I can make you," she answered, grabbing his wrists.

He shoved her away. "Only humans bleed."

"Bres bled. It's his stupid blood that's in me."

Charlie walked away, paced a little. "I'm not sure I'd call the black in his veins blood, exactly."

"Well, what is it, then?"

"Darkness, obviously."

"But wouldn't that be in you, too?"

"I am not them. I am aos sí."

"But you're The Dark Man, aren't you?"

"We share some . . . qualities. But don't mistake me for one of them."

Emery took a seat near the fire, not really sure what she wanted to do. Charlie walked about the roundhouse a little, and she watched him do so. He seemed particularly interested in the cauldron and Lugh's Spear stuck tip-down inside. "Where did this come from?"

The girl flicked her gaze to the spear. "I got it as a gift from your kind, the aos sí, after I got lost in the forest. Remember? When you lured me out there? Cullen said you were a fetch."

"Yes, that wasn't quite me. Carman sent it in hopes of bringing you into the forest, but he followed." Charlie didn't look at her as he spoke, instead eyeing the spear warily before coming to sit with her by the fire. "So, another memory, then? Is that it? And then put me back in that twig until Bres comes for you?"

Emery's mind was eased; she hadn't been sure if Charlie had heard their plans to go to New York, but apparently, he hadn't. "Can you see and hear everything when you're in there?"

He sucked his teeth. "If you're wearing me." He shot her a piercing look, eyes slightly gleaming, and grinned. "I like being next to your heart; I can hearit pumping." Emery frowned. "I tell you what," he went on, "you do something for me, and I'll give you your entire wedding night--the whole thing, start to finish."

"I thought you didn't know what they were when you gave them to me."

"Maybe I lied."

There was noise at one of the windows, suddenly, startling Emery from the conversation. She looked briefly at Charlie, who shrugged, and then she got up and went to peek out, seeing a large black bird hopping on the sill. At first, she thought it was Cathbad's raven, but then she saw that its beak was yellow, not black, and recognized it as a crow. The thing blinked its beady eyes at her, but she just shooed it away, and it took off, flapping into the dark night with a squawk of annoyance.

Shaking her head, Emery returned to Charlie. "What do I have to do for Tara?"

Charlie stared into the flames of the fire. "You have to wait, first, until I feel like giving it to you. And immediately after I do," his eyes turned up to her, reflecting the flames demonically, "you have to eat that."

Emery fingered the talisman at her neck. "This? This twig? With you in it? Are you serious?" He gave no indication that he wasn't. "Charlie, that's . . . really creepy. Why?"

"You'll have to wait and see." He enjoyed that she was disturbed by the prospect. "You owe me, anyway. Remember? I showed you what happened in the King's hall?"

Emery considered for a long moment, but ultimately, she wanted that memory. She wanted Tara. She'd wanted it since she'd placed her hands on Lia Fáil that night long ago. And maybe she wouldn't eat that thing anyway. She could say yes now and change her mind after she got the memory. "Fine," she said at last. "I promise."

Charlie practically exuded pleasure. "Good. Now put me back, and Emery--"

"What?"

"If you break your promise, you'll regret it."

It was like he'd read her mind, and Emery, entirely uncomfortable, said, "Go back, Charlie," and watched him spiral into smoke and disappear.