In the process of pouring wine, Pitte stopped, frowned at her. “Hang?”

“Hang out. You know, sit around in great clothes, drinking fine wine out of, what is that, Baccarat?”

“I believe it is.” Pitte finished pouring, offered the glass to Dana. “We often take an hour or so to relax together at the end of the day.”

“What about the rest of the time? Do you just putter around this place?”

“Ah. You wonder what we do to entertain ourselves.” Rowena sat, patted the cushion beside her. “I paint, as you know. Pitte spends time on our finances. He enjoys the game of money. We read. I’ve enjoyed your books, Jordan.”

“Thanks.”

“Pitte enjoys films,” Rowena added with a glance of affection toward her lover. “Particularly ones where a great many things blow up in impressive explosions.”

“So you go to the movies?” Dana prompted.

“Ordinarily no. We prefer settling in at home and watching at our leisure.”

“Multiplexes,” Pitte muttered. “They call them this. Like little boxes stacked end by end. It’s a pity the grand theaters have gone out of fashion.”

“That’s something you’d both be up on. The changes in fashion. There’d have been a lot of that in a couple of millennia.”

Rowena lifted a brow at Dana. “Yes, indeed.”

“I know this sounds like small talk,” Dana continued, “but I’m just trying to get a handle on things. It occurred to me that you know everything about me. You’ve had my whole lifetime to watch. Did you watch?”

“Of course. You were of considerable interest to us from the moment you were born. We didn’t intrude,” Rowena added, running the jeweled chain she wore around her neck through her fingers as she spoke. “Or interfere. I understand your interest in us now. We are more like you than you may think and less like you than you could possibly imagine. We can and do indulge in what you’d call human pleasures. Food, drink, warmth, vanity. Sex. We love . . .” She reached up for Pitte’s hand. “As genuinely as you. We weep and laugh. We enjoy much of what your world offers. We celebrate the generosity and resilience of the human spirit, and mourn its darker sides.”

“But while you’re here, you’re of neither one world nor the other. Isn’t that right?” There was something about the way they touched each other, Jordan thought. As if they would wither away without that small contact. “You can live as you choose to live, but within limitations. Within the boundaries of this dimension. Even so, you’re not of it. You might feel the heat, but you don’t burn. You might sleep at night, but when you wake in the morning, you haven’t aged. The hours haven’t changed you. Millions of hours can’t.”

“And do you see that kind of . . . immortality,” Pitte inquired, “as a gift?”

“No, I don’t.” Jordan’s glance shifted to Pitte’s face and held. “I see it as a curse. A punishment, certainly, when you’re locked out of your own world and spend those millions of hours here.”

Pitte’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes seemed to deepen, to heat. “Then you have excellent sight.”

“I see something else clearly enough. The penalty, if Dana fails to find the key, is a year of her life. A year of Malory’s and Zoe’s as well. From your standpoint that’s nothing. But it’s a different matter when you’re human and your life is already finite.”

“Ah.” Pitte draped an arm over the mantel. “So, have you come to renegotiate our contract?”

Before Dana could speak, tell Jordan to mind his own business, he shot her a look. “No, because Dana’s going to find the key, so it won’t be an issue.”

“You have confidence in your woman,” Rowena said.

“I’m not his woman,” Dana said quickly. “Has Kane watched us, too? From the beginning of our lives?”

“I can’t say,” Rowena answered, then waved an impatient hand at Dana’s dubious expression. “I can’t. There are, as Jordan said, certain boundaries we can’t cross. Something has changed—we know this because he was able to draw both Malory and Flynn into dreams and to cause Flynn harm. He wasn’t able, or perhaps didn’t choose, to do so before.”

“Tell them what he did to you.”

It wasn’t phrased as a request, and this time Dana’s anger was sparked. But before she could snap at Jordan, Rowena took her arm.

“Kane? What happened?”

She told them, and found that this time her voice remained steady throughout the telling. More distance, she thought, less fear.

At least there was less until she saw a flicker of fear cross Rowena’s face.

She didn’t care to think what it took to frighten a god.

“There wasn’t any real threat, right?” Her skin was prickling, icy little ants rushing down her back. “I mean, I couldn’t have drowned when I jumped into the sea, because the sea didn’t actually exist.”

“But it did,” Pitte corrected. There was a grim chill to his face. A soldier’s face, Dana thought, as he watched the battle from a rise and waited for the time to draw his sword.

And she was the one down in the field, she realized, waging bloody war.

“It was conjured first by your fantasy, then by your fear. That doesn’t make it less than real.”

“That just doesn’t make sense,” she insisted. “When he had Malory in that fantasy, when she was painting, we could see her. We all saw her, just standing there in that attic.”

“Her body, perhaps part of her consciousness—she has a strong mind—remained. The rest . . .” Rowena drew a breath. “The rest of what she was had traveled to the other side. And if harm had come to her. To her body,” Rowena explained, holding out one hand. “To what you can call her essence.” Then the other. “On either side, the harm would be to all of her.”

“If she cut her hand in one existence,” Jordan said, “it would bleed in the other.”

“He could prevent it.” Obviously troubled, Rowena rose to pour more wine. “If, for instance, I wished to give you a gift, a harmless fantasy, I might send you into dreams, and watch over you to keep you from harm. But what Kane does is not harmless. He does it to tempt, and to terrorize.”