The way the sunlight fell on the river made it glitter as if it'd been sprinkled with crushed diamonds. Grasses grew up tall and pale along the banks, beginning to fade in the early autumn weather. But this morning was uncharacteristically warm, and Emer had been overdressed, so it had felt amazing to shed her layers down to her tunic and slip into the cool, murmuring waters. The river wasn't particularly wide; in fact, it was more of a stream if one considered width, but it did fall rather deep in the middle, and perhaps that was why it was called a river. That's what Forgall had always called it, in any case, ordering her to "keep out of the river! Its waters are unclean." But Emer didn't find them unclean at all; they were clear as crystal, dappled with alternating shade and light as the sun moved between the leaves of the trees overhead, which thickened the farther she swam into the forest.

She wasn't allowed in the river any more than she was allowed out of the tower, but Forgall had no ability to stop her. Though he played at authority, he always overlooked her infractions, more out of something like apprehension, she sensed, than any sort of affection or laziness. Why Forgall would fear her, she didn't know, but for as long as she had been with him--almost six years--he'd treated her more like a fragile artifact not to be upset than like another human (let alone a daughter). Emery couldn't recall much before she'd arrived at Luglochta Loga. There was a time when she'd been with other children, in a temple of some sort, in the woods. There had been much play in nature, and she'd made some friends, but then something had happened one night, when she'd been given strange things to eat and drink, and there'd been fire and screams and strange men and women . . . but her recollection of that night was fuzzy, and the next thing she'd known, she'd been with Forgall.

It hadn't been a bad life. She'd had all the luxuries possible for a noble lady, which Forgall had told her she was, never disclosing anything of her parentage or deigning to discuss her life before he'd taken her in. Emer had a servant woman and fine dresses and jewelry, and she'd had riding lessons and good food; she'd never had to work or do anything strenuous. But oh, how boring it had all been! There were no others her age in Luglochta Loga, only old servants and the few villagers who worked around the tower. Beyond the walls were farmsteads, often encircled by their own little rings or trench moats, and once Emer learned to ride well enough, she'd taken to exploring the countryside around her home.

But the river had always been her favorite. It was peaceful and exciting at the same time, the calm clear of its waters and the intrigue of wading through it into the forest, as far as she dared, knowing not what capricious creatures lived there. And it was how she met him, that afternoon, after she'd tied her horse to a tree and climbed down the bank into the water.

How long the man stood watching her, Emer didn't know. She just suddenly became aware that someone was there, and when she twisted around in the water, she saw him, on the other side, his intense, emerald green eyes the first thing she noticed about him. "Is it proper, to sneak up on a lady when she's hardly decent?" she scolded, though she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to scold.

The man somewhat smiled, placing his hand against the nearest trunk. "Is it a lady, then, I see?"

Emer, in the deeper part of the water, floated on her back so she could scrutinize him. "And what else would I be?"

"I haven't known many ladies to swim naked in rivers."

"Well," she replied, "then you must not know any interesting ladies. And truth be told, I'm not naked." Saying the words caused her to blush, and she realized that he was rather handsome, compared to all the older, boring men she knew. Her modesty kicked in. "Would you turn around? I'd like to step out."

For a brief second, she was afraid he wouldn't listen to her, but thankfully, he did as she asked, and Emer, keeping an eye on him, was able to swim to the bank and pull herself out. Moving behind her horse, she stripped out of her dripping tunic and threw her simple dress over her body, then clinched a bright red shawl around her shoulders with a brooch. She watched the man the whole while, not only to assure herself that he wasn't looking but also to try to figure out who he was. He was youthful, possibly not too much older than she was, but he looked strong, and he carried a sword--he was no farmboy. His attire wasn't particularly decorated, though, like that of the few chieftains she'd seen visit Forgall. He wore breeches and a tunic and a cloak, all in shades of brown, which weren't indicative of any high rank. But, she thought upon reflection, his powerful black horse that drank from the river even as she looked at it was stunning--it was no normal animal. That along with his stature and weapon told her this man was no stranger to fighting, nor was he likely one to lose.

These thoughts made her nervous, but when she felt dressed enough, she told him she was done, and he turned back to her.

They stood on opposite sides of the river, and Emer couldn't help but feel drawn to him, the strong lines of his jaw and nose, his high forehead, the auburn hair pulled away from his face. And his eyes--she'd never seen color like that on another human. It occurred to her that she might be looking at some sort of spirit or a member of the fae folk, one of the many that were said to lure people away.

"Lady," the stranger said at last, "we seem to need a bridge."

Emer warmed at the thought of him wanting to approach her. She took a moment to wring out her long hair, which was heavy with water. "I'm not sure we do."

"How often does the Lady swim here?"

"As often as it occurs to me."

The man looked to his horse, something almost mischievous in his expression. While he made ready to mount, he added, "Then I shall return at the same time, tomorrow, if it should occur to you to swim." Then he was up on his horse and riding off, looking for all the world like some God out of one of the myths her old serving woman told her.

Emery was grateful for the memory, but she was angry at how it had come to her. She didn't want to feel indebted to Charlie. She hated him with a burning passion, and no matter what he did to try to persuade her, she wasn't going to do what he asked. At least . . . as long as it was possible to refuse. She couldn't bring herself to think about what she'd do if Charlie brought in torture. He said he wouldn't hurt her, but she was sure The Dark Man might, and by now she understood that they were one and the same.

Where he'd taken her, she couldn't tell, exactly, only that it wasn't where she wanted to be, time or place. Charlie had her in something like a storm shelter. It was underground, surely--there were no windows, and the only means of escape appeared to be a door that opened from above by sliding sideways. That door was heavy metal, and he kept it shut and locked whenever he wasn't with her. But the place was set up like a bunker, a living space, as it had a small working bathroom and shower, a bed that folded down, and a lot of non-perishable food and drink stacked on the shelves that lined every wall. There was also a small television, but it played only a few channels, all of them boring. One thing most of all was clear: she wasn't in the ancient world, anymore. She was back home.

Or, at the home she'd once thought was hers.

Which it wasn't.

Oh, she'd wanted to return to it. When Cullen had first taken her back to his--her--world, all she'd wanted was to get back here, to the modern era, where all she had to worry about were exams and making Varsity. But that person, the one she'd thought she was, held no importance for her, anymore. She wanted to go back, to be with him. Why had Charlie taken her away the moment she'd reconciled with Cullen? She'd been so happy . . . of course it'd been too good to be true. And she knew, now, that even if she did somehow get out of this bunker, she'd have no idea how to get back to Cullen. All she could hope was that Cathbad could find her, the way he'd found her when Forgall and Carman had first cursed her, but even that had taken a few months, and she'd been out in the open, not squirreled away underground.

"I can do more of the same, if you want," Charlie said, and Emery turned away from him in disgust.

"I don't want anything from you. I didn't ask for that memory."

He sat next to her on the bed, though she was lying on her side, facing the wall, now. Charlie reached out a hand and touched her hair, and Emery flinched at his touch, but it didn't deter him. She knew at this point not to anger him, but that didn't mean she had to pretend she liked him. "Emery, do you think I like surfacing your memories of Cuchulain?" He practically spat the name. "But I'll do it, because I care about you. That can be the first of many, if you'll only cooperate with me."

Emery shuddered as he caressed her cheek. What had she ever liked about Charlie? His boyish attractiveness? He still was attractive, when he was this version of himself, but he was cruel, and he was terrifying, and she knew what he truly was. There was no going backward from that image, now.

"No. Don't do it again. I don't want any more memories."

Charlie laughed mockingly. "You can't lie to me. He's all you want. Do you think I don't know that? Every memory will be like being with him . . . just do as I ask . . ."

She didn't answer. This was going to go nowhere. If she told him "no," he'd grow angry and do something spiteful or frightening. But she couldn't tell him what he wanted to hear, either--never. So she chose, as she usually did, to remain silent. Charlie had tried many things to get her to do as he asked. First he'd tried to persuade her. Begged, cried, showed himself in pain, but she knew who he was, now, and that façade hadn't worked. So he'd brought her clothes and food and music; he'd given her games and proper television and novels--anything he thought she'd enjoyed back when they'd known each other in their fake high school world. When showering her with gifts hadn't worked either, though, he'd gone the other direction and deprived her of running water, of electricity, of food, even of sleep, but her stamina was strong, and she'd held out. The worst, though, was when Charlie had tried to seduce her. When he'd attempted to kiss her and touch her and offered to please her. Fortunately, though, she'd shown so much revulsion that he'd held off on trying any of that again, more from damaged pride, she thought, than any sort of humanity.

At that point, after weeks of pushing and failing, he'd never gone so far as to hurt her. Not really. And that had given Emery hope. Whatever his goals were, hurting her didn't seem to be a viable way to go about achieving them.

But this new trick--giving her back her memories--that was going to be a difficult one to say no to. Emery was weakening, as much as she didn't want to show him that, and remembering her past with Cullen would surely be satisfying, not just because she'd regain the lost memories she'd been so desperate to recall but also because, if they were like the one he'd just given her, they'd feel so real--as if she were truly with Cullen.

No, she had to remind herself. No matter what, she'd wake from the memory, and then she'd regret having given in.

"You promised, Em," Charlie went on, a sharp edge to his words. "You said you'd help me."

Angry, Emery sat up and pushed back from him. "And I did, didn't I? I came with you when you asked. Wasn't that enough help?"

"We need more than that."

She pulled her knees against her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "Maybe if you tell me who we are--"

"I have told you," Charlie interrupted, nostrils flaring as his impatience rose. "I am only the gatekeeper. I cannot take you to them until you are willing."

"What do they want with me?"

"That's for them to say, not me."

"And why do I have to be willing? Are you too weak to drag me there? I've seen what you really are. You almost killed me in those woods outside Luglochta Loga. So I don't know why you need me to agree to anything."

Charlie smiled a charming smile, cocked his head a little and sent his curls trembling, and Emery was briefly captivated. Though she immediately regretted her feelings, he'd seen her interest. "It's hard to forget, isn't it? What you once felt for me?"

Rather than answer, she hung her head in embarrassment. How could she ever think of this boy when she had Cullen? Was she losing her mind?

"We don't force, Emery. We aren't like the others. Weren't they going to murder you, to keep us away? An innocent child? So I'll ask you for the hundredth time--to whom should you offer your loyalty? We don't want you dead. We have never wanted that. Nor will we ever hurt you without your consent. But you have to come to us willingly." He sighed, and his gaze frosted again. "So I can't force you to do anything, as much as I want to."

Then he stood, and Emery felt immediate relief. Maybe he'd leave, now, go wherever he went when he exited through that door.

"Oh," he added, turning back to her. "I almost forgot. I've brought you a gift."

In spite of herself, Emery felt her curiosity awaken. But she said, "I don't want any more of your bribes."

Charlie flattened his smile, shrugged his shoulders, and pulled a familiar item out from under his jacket. The garnet jewel in its black hilt caught the light, and Emery gasped.

"Hm. I suppose I'll take it back, then," he said, watching her, knowing he had her attention.

"Do I--do I have to do anything for it?"

Charlie held the dark-metal dagger vertical in one hand and stepped toward her, getting uncomfortably close. "Not what I've been asking for. But maybe . . . something else. You can give me a gift, in exchange."

Emery lowered her brow, didn't like the way he looked at her. "I don't know--"

"Yes you do." He suddenly grabbed hold of her right hand, and though she tried to pull away, his grip was far too strong. Charlie squeezed her fingers until one was extended, and then he brought it to the point of the dagger and pressed hard enough to draw blood from her fingertip. Emery's pained cry seemed only to invigorate him, and he withdrew the dagger, pulled her finger into his mouth, and sucked as if to draw out more blood.

Emery was horrified. "What the hell is wrong with you?" She yanked her arm back, and he let go this time, allowing her to fall onto the bed. Then he licked his lips and turned the dagger hilt-toward-her. Breathing heavily, Emery wondered if he were seriously offering her this weapon, but she took her chance and snatched it from him, immediately standing and stabbing him in the chest with it.

But Charlie was entirely unmoved. He stood there as if she hadn't even touched him and, slowly, pulled the weapon from his body, adding, "You must know I'm not stupid." No blood followed the blade as it left him, and Emery sat back in defeat. "I'll be back, Emery. I do hope you'll reconsider my proposal." He started toward the short stairway that led upward toward the door and, before opening it, looked over his shoulder with glowing white eyes. "And thank you for the gift; it was . . . delectable."

The moment he was gone, Emery turned over on the bed and, holding the dagger Cullen had given her close to her chest, began to cry.