“Yes?” She uncapped the bottle.

“I’m a writer,” he began. “I’ve followed your story. First, I want you to know how much I admire you.”

“Do you, Mr. Harding?”

“Yes. Yes, indeed.” Something wanted to crawl up from his belly to his throat. He forced it down again.

“Initially, I was merely interested in the story for a magazine piece, but as I learned more I realized the value of what you experienced, what you did. It speaks to so many people. I’m sure you know how many women are caught in the cycle of abuse,” he continued as she dabbed the balm on her fingers.

“You’re a beacon, Mrs. Todd, a symbol of victory and empowerment.”

“No, I’m not, Mr. Harding.”

“But you are.” He looked deep into her eyes. They were so blue. So calm. The cramps in his gut eased.

“I followed your trail across the country.”

“Really?” she replied, then her coated fingers slid over his burned cheek.

“I spoke with people you worked with, stepped in your footprints, so to speak. I know what you did, how hard you worked, how frightened you were. You never gave up.”

“And I never will,” she said clearly. “You should understand that. Prepare for that. I’ll never give up.”

“You belong to me. Why do you make me hurt you, Helen?”

It was Evan’s voice—that quiet, reasonable voice he used before he punished her. Terror wanted to burst free. But it was terror, she knew, that it wanted.

“You can’t hurt me any longer. I will never allow anyone I love to be harmed by you.”

His skin rippled under her fingers, as if something crawled there. But she continued to smooth on the balm. He shuddered once, gripped her wrist. “Run,” he whispered. “Get away before it’s too late.”

“This is my home.” She fought her fear. “I’ll protect it with all that I am. We’ll beat you.”

He shuddered again. “What did you say?”

“I said you should go rest now, Mr. Harding.” She capped the bottle as pity for him welled up inside her. “I hope you’ll feel better soon.”

“You let him go?” Ripley paced the station house, tugging at her hair in frustration. “Just patted him on the head and told him to take a nap?”

“Ripley.” Zack’s voice held a quiet warning, but she shook her head.

“For Christ’s sake, Zack, think! The man’s dangerous. She said herself she sensed something in him.”

“It’s not his fault,” Nell began, but Ripley whirled to face her.

“This isn’t about fault, it’s about reality. Even if he were just some reporter with delusions of grandeur, that would be bad enough. He came here looking for you, he followed your path all across the damn country, talking to people behind your back.”

“That’s his job.” Nell held up a hand before Ripley could snap at her again. A year before, she would have backed away from the confrontation. Times had changed. “I’m not going to blame him for doing his job, or for what’s happening to him now. He doesn’t know what’s happening, and he’s sick, he’s frightened. You didn’t see him, Ripley. I did.”

“No, I didn’t see him because you didn’t call me. You didn’t bring me in.”

“Is that the real problem? I didn’t ask you for advice, for help?” Nell tilted her head. “Tell me, would you have called me? Or Mia?”

Ripley opened her mouth, then shut it again in one hard, thin line. “We’re not talking about me.”

“Maybe we are. Maybe we’re talking about all of this. It’s a cycle, after all. What started it is inside us. What’s inside us will end it. He was hurt,” she said, appealing to Zack now. “Confused, afraid. He doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“Do you know?” Zack asked her.

“I’m not sure. There’s a power, and it’s dark. It’s using him. And I think . . .” It was hard to say it, hard to think it. “I’m afraid, it’s using Evan. Like a bridge, from wherever it is through Evan to this poor man. We need to help him.”

“We need to get him off the island,” Ripley interrupted. “We need to get his ass on the next ferry to the mainland, and it doesn’t take magic to do that.”

“He hasn’t done anything, Rip,” Zack reminded her. “He hasn’t broken any law, made any threats. We’ve got no right to order him off the island.”

She slapped her palms on his desk, leaned forward. “He’ll come after her. He’ll have to.”

“He won’t get near her. I won’t let it happen.”

She spun back to Nell. “He’ll destroy what you love. It’s his reason for being now.”

Nell shook her head. “I won’t let him.” She reached for Ripley’s hand. “We won’t let him.”

“I’ve felt what he is, and what he’s capable of. I’ve felt it in me.”

“I know.” Nell’s fingers linked with hers. “We need Mia.”

“You’re right,” Ripley agreed. “And I hate that.”

“You’re a fascinating woman, little sister.” Mia leaned on the kitchen counter and watched Nell slide pasta into boiling water. “A crisis is upon us, an event that has been brewing for three centuries. Ripley frets and curses. And you cook and serve.”

“We all do what we do best.” She glanced up as she gave the pasta a quick stir. “What do you do, Mia?”

“I wait.”

“No, it’s not as simple as that.”

“I prepare, then.” Mia lifted her wineglass, sipped. “For whatever comes.”

“Did you see this? What’s coming?”

“Not specifically. Only something strong, something blighted. Something that formed from blood and vengeance. It craves what birthed it,” she said. “And grows as it feeds. It uses weakness.”

“Then we won’t be weak.”

“It underestimates us,” Mia continued. “We should take care not to underestimate it. Evil doesn’t concern itself with rules, with what’s right and fair. And it’s clever. It can twist itself into the desirable.”