When Emery had touched Charlie's hand, back in Dun-Dealgan, she'd been so immediately transported that she'd had no time to understand what was happening. But she'd had plenty of time over the past few weeks to think about what it all meant, and though Charlie had given her little information, she knew a few things. First, Charlie as she'd known him had never existed. He had always been Fear Doirich; he had disguised himself to get closer to her, no doubt to eventually get her to do what he wanted. Second, he'd not been whisked away by Carman in the woods that one night; or rather, he had been, but only because they were working together, the two of them—everything Emery had thought had happened had just been an act. Whether or not Forgall knew Carman was working with The Dark Man, Emery didn't know. That seemed unimportant, as both of them were dead, now. What else Emery figured was that Carman's sons—Dark, Death, and Evil—had been working for Charlie because their mother had told them to. They'd been doing it all along, even that night he himself had fought zombies with her in the cemetery the night of Death's arrival.

But what remained supremely unclear to Emery was what, exactly, Charlie wanted with her. He was a gatekeeper, he told her, but to what? Someone else wanted something from her, and she knew neither who they were nor what they wanted. All Charlie would tell her was that she had to agree to go to them before he could take her to them, but she'd been adamant about not consenting. She had no idea what they'd do to her, but if they were anything like Charlie, it couldn't be good.

Charlie kept trying to tell her he—no, they were on her side, that they hadn't been the ones who'd wanted to sacrifice her all that time ago, that they weren't going to hurt her. But he was The Dark Man, a member of the aos sí, and he couldn't be trusted. When was dark indicative of anything good? And hadn't he deceived her? Almost crushed her to death? Ripped open a baby deer in front of her? Ugh! The sheer memory of that night was disturbing enough to make her ill all over again. And he'd told her, back in that dream she'd had of him, not to bring Cullen into it--he hated Cullen. That alone was enough to tell her that whomever they were, if they worked with Charlie, they couldn't possibly have good intentions. All she wanted was Cullen, and if they had something against him, she had something against them.

But that didn't mean she wasn't conflicted.

She and Cathbad and Cullen--they'd screwed things up by saving her from the sacrifice all those years ago. If the Gods had wanted her dead and she hadn't died . . . were they trying to rectify that, now? In that case, they would be the bad guys. They'd want her dead. And if the Gods were in opposition to the they that Charlie worked for, then wouldn't that make the enemy of her enemy . . . her friend?

The best she'd concluded after days of lying around in that mania-inducing bunker was that the only people she could trust were Cullen, Cathbad, and Tess. She would take no other side than her own, and her own side was wherever those three were.

Huffing in frustration, Emery looked for the millionth time at the overhead door. Obviously, the first thing she'd done when Charlie had brought her there was try to open it, but she'd had no luck. It had no hinges but instead was some sort of pocket door that slid aside, and there was no interior doorknob. The only thing that marked the slab as a door at all was an indented handle, which Charlie seemed to pull when he wanted to open and close it. But the thing must've locked from the outside, or else he knew some trick to it, because no matter how much Emery pulled at that handle, the door wouldn't budge. She'd spent hours searching every other inch of that bunker, looking for secret doors or latches or a vent she could fit through, but she'd not come across anything to instill hope. It was brightly lit enough to reveal that there were no dark and secretive niches, no hidden doors or rooms.

Charlie returned sporadically, sometimes two or three times a day and other times going two or three days in between. He'd caught her trying to find a way out more than once and only laughed. She'd waited by the side of the door until it slid open, tried to fight him to get out, but he was always ready for her and far stronger; she couldn't outfight or outsmart him.

The whole situation felt so hopeless. She'd even resorted to eating some of the tasteless food out of boredom more than hunger. And she'd slept a lot, too. Showering worried her—she only did it right after Charlie left for fear he'd walk in on her. And beyond that and her thoughts, the only thing that occupied her was watching the digital clock radio, which reminded her that time was actually passing somewhere beyond her prison.

It was what she was doing—lying in the fold-down bed and watching the electric minutes tick by—when she was startled half to death by a crackling, disembodied voice that called her name.

Emery bolted upright and looked wildly about the small living space, then realized the voice, which was still calling for her, seemed to be coming from the clock radio. Had she started to go crazy? Whether she had or not, it called for her again, and this time, it sounded somewhat familiar, though it was difficult to be sure with all of its static fizzle. Could it hear her if she responded? There was only one way to find out. "Yes! It's Emery. I'm here!"

"Most excellent! I've found you!"

"Who are you?"

"It's Lir, my friend! Although you knew me as Adam."

Emery's eyes widened. How was this possible? Adam? Whose disappearance had been the start of all her troubles months ago?

"Are you there? Can you hear me?"

"Y-yes! Yes, I'm here! But how are you talking to me? Where are you?"

His sizzling voice faded in and out as he replied, so Emery crouched down, ear next to the speaker, and listened to him: "There's not much room for Gods where you are, where I once was. I can't reach you, there. But I found you, as the druid asked, and you must listen to me."

"Yes of course! What is it?"

The static was so bad when Lir replied that Emery was certain she'd heard him incorrectly. "Wait—what did you say?" It'd sounded as if he'd told her to--

"Do what Fear Doirich wants. Go with him and meet them, but consent to nothing they ask of you."

"But--why? I thought that--"

A wave of crackling drowned out anything that might've been said, so loud that Emery had to cover her ears against it. But then the burst dwindled back into mild static, and though his voice was beginning to fade, Lir added, "Trust me. I'm a God, after all. Time runs--I--go--see you--Fear Doirich--"

And then he was cut off altogether. Emery sat and stared at that clock radio for what must have been five minutes before stirring, her emotions turbulent. To hear Adam's voice after all this time . . . Adam, who'd disappeared into thin air and caused everyone to go searching for him and then entirely forget him days later. It'd taken some time for her to find out the real story: Adam was a God, and for some reason, he'd been cast into forgetfulness with her. Cullen and Cathbad had sent him home when they'd found him, but neither they nor she knew why Adam would've been mixed up in her curse to begin with. She'd thought at the time--and so had Cathbad, that she was the only one who didn't belong in that world, but then there was Adam, and Forgall and Carman, and Tess, and Charlie . . . and as far as she knew, only her false parents had had anything to do with her curse. Tess had potentially been sent back or forward in time to help her, and Charlie had obviously found her and tried to win her over, but Adam? Who knew? Maybe he'd just somehow gotten caught up in the whirlwind of it all. But, no . . . Emery didn't really think that. One thing she'd learned was that nothing had been random. And if Adam was a literal God, the fact that he'd been banished along with her was too suspicious to be meaningless.

In any case, she'd adored Adam. Even if neither of them had been the people they thought they were, they'd been close friends. Adam had been there when she'd first seen Cullen; he'd wanted to get rid of the guy for her. Did that mean something? she thought suddenly. Did Adam hate Cullen, too? Or was he mad at him for what he and she had done--defied their fate and all that? He was one of the Gods, after all, and the Gods were apparently vengeful . . .

Why was everyone so cryptic? Couldn't Charlie and Adam just come right out and say what they meant? But maybe she couldn't put them in the same category. Adam hadn't had much opportunity to explain himself. Maybe he would have that opportunity, soon.

Emery felt a hope she hadn't felt in days. If Adam had found her, surely he'd tell Cathbad! He'd mentioned that "the druid" had asked for him to find her, and she knew only one druid. And if Cathbad knew, then Cullen would as well!

What was more . . .

Emery smiled to herself. If she gave in to Charlie as Adam had said, couldn't she request another memory first? Why not benefit from her acquiescence? She couldn't see the harm in it.

Rising, Emery went into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror over the sink. She'd grown to appreciate her looks. It was amazing what going weeks without looking in a mirror had done to her self-image (not to mention realizing that a very handsome man did, actually, seem to find her attractive). Her dark brown eyes were less ordinary--if she looked close enough, didn't they have a bit of an amber hue? And her hair, which she'd once thought poofy and in the way . . . hadn't Cullen wanted his hands in it? Not that Charlie had brought her a proper brush. All she could really do was continue to style her hair up in a bun atop her head. But one of the good things that had come with returning to this world was the ease of taking care of herself.

Back in Dun-Dealgan, bathing had taken an hour of carrying and heating water before one could even get in the tub, and dressing required layering oneself like an onion. There had been an art to such things, and a sense of purpose. But Emery had sort of missed how easy it was to just throw on a T-shirt and some shorts and be good to go. It was what she wore, right then; Charlie had brought her a plethora of T-shirts and a few pairs of shorts, and she'd grudgingly accepted them. The dress she'd worn the night he'd taken her away had begun to get dirty, and the memories it brought had been painful, anyway. Still, going back to modern clothing came with its drawbacks. The longer she sat around in jeans, the further she felt from everything that had happened over the past few months . . . which made her realize that getting more memories out of this deal with Charlie was more than just a guilty pleasure; it was a necessity. She couldn't lose her connection with Cullen.

Oh, what was he doing, right then? Was he with Cathbad, somewhere in the woods performing some sort of ritual to try to find her? Was he pacing in his roundhouse, looking at the treasures they'd collected? Was he thinking of the night they'd spent together before Charlie had taken her? She was. She thought about it non-stop--the way he'd held her, and the passion he was finally able to acknowledge, the attention he'd paid to her and not just himself . . . every second of that night played on repeat in her thoughts; it was the only thing that kept her from totally losing heart. He wouldn't stop looking for her, would he? Not after everything that had happened between them.

And Cathbad would know, now. Adam would tell him.

The sound of the door sliding aside called Emery's attention from her thoughts. She continued to look at herself, though, not wanting Charlie to think she was interested in his arrival, but in the mirror, she saw him approach from behind. Her mirror-eyes met his mirror-eyes, and she saw him lean against the frame of the bathroom door and continue to stare while she looked back at herself. Charlie, too, wore casual modern clothing. He always had. The only time she'd ever seen him in something else was as The Dark Man, and she didn't care to see him that way again.

"Have you changed your mind?" he asked her, just as he'd asked her every time he came to see her.

Emery didn't answer at first. There was no need to rush into anything as if she were desperate. She didn't want Charlie to think he had the upper hand. Pretending to play with her hair, Emery eventually turned around and faced him, crossing her arms. "Let's say I did what you asked," she began, hating the gleam that flickered in his eyes. "What happens after that?"

He gave a small huff of aggravation but overall smiled. "I've told you I don't know. I can't say what they'll want, only that they won't hurt you unless you let them."

Emery shuddered at that. He kept saying they'd only hurt her if she let them . . . why would she ever do that? "How can I believe you? You said you wouldn't hurt me, but you almost killed me in the woods--"

"I am not them, and I was slightly carried away. You can't hold it against me."

"--and you also stabbed my finger just yesterday."

Annoyance played at his features. "I did not stab you. It was a pinprick, in exchange for the dagger."

"I didn't agree to that exchange. How did you get my dagger, anyway?"

"You had it on you when I brought you here. I simply confiscated it.

"You stole it."

He shrugged, then suddenly straightened and stepped too close to her. "Who cares? Have you changed your mind or not?"

Emery backed up, but there was nowhere to go except farther into the bathroom. Charlie almost had her up against the wall. Why was he getting so close? His unpredictability scared her. "I-I'll do what you say," she finally said, unable to stand him being inches from her face.

A thrill rippled through him, and he took a deep breath, but then Charlie calmed himself. "Good," he said, drawing slightly nearer, if it were possible. "I'm happy to hear it."

Emery had turned her head to the side to avoid having to look into his face. "But I want something before we go!" she cried.

Interested, Charlie backed up enough that she could look at him again.

"I want another memory, with Cullen. A long one."

An ugly smirk crossed his face. "Of course you do. After would be better."

"No. It has to be before. Otherwise I--I won't go."

Charlie grabbed her face so quickly she hadn't any time to avoid his hand. His fingers pressed into her chin, her cheeks. Emery tried to shove him away, but he pulled up his forearm and pressed her chest against the wall. He brought his mouth right up to hers, so close she was afraid at first he'd try to kiss her, but then he hissed, "Fine. Before. But if you cross me, I'll do such terrible things right in front of you that you'll want to tear out your eyes. The only thing I'm not allowed to hurt is you . . . do you hear me?"

"I--I won't--I p-promise!"

Glaring at her for a moment, weighing her answer, Charlie released her suddenly and turned back into the main room. "Lie down," he told her. "Twenty minutes, and then we leave."