“Rose,” I said.

She was unbuttoning my shirt. She stopped and ran her fingers across my cheek.

“What is it?”

“It’s dawn.”

“You go right ahead. I understand.”

“Please . . . You’ll be gentle?”

“Of course.” And she bent over me and kissed me as tenderly as ever anyone could.

My consciousness faded, and soon I was in the cold land of dreamless, timeless inactivity. The life­less place of the undead.

I awakened slowly to the ache, the ever-­present ache in my legs. I felt vague unpleasantry—something was not right. In fact, it seemed that something hurt, or my body didn’t fit me right any­more, but the scalding ache in my legs overshadowed most other sensations. I was warm, there seemed to be pounds of blankets atop me, and I wasn’t alone. Rosemary’s tiny form was curled up, naked, at my back.

The moment I began to turn toward her, I made the second discovery—my bonds.

Shock silenced me for a long moment while I examined the leather thongs that bound my forearms together at the elbows and wrists. They were wide, of professional quality with polished silver studs and shackles. There were others that joined my legs to­gether at the knees and ankles; the straps that held my knees were cinched tight to the straps that held my elbows, all of which fastened to a cord that connected with the bedframe. I was trussed up tightly, my knees held almost to my chest. Helpless.

My mind was always sluggish as I first awakened, and it took me a long while to puzzle out that I was being held against my will. But maybe Rosemary had just fallen asleep before she could end her game. Surely she wouldn’t . . .

“Rosemary. Rosemary, wake up.” I struggled to my back, knees in the air, tenting the covers.

An old, old face turned toward me. Devoid of makeup, Rosemary’s wrinkled, puffy face merely acted as grotesque framework for those glittering brown eyes, those sharp pinpoints that captured each nuance of winter-­evening light and bore deeply into me. “Hello,” she said. “Sleep well?”

“I’m tied up.”

“Oh, yes.” Bony fingers caressed the leather straps, feeling the edges where they pressed into my skin. “Oh, yes,” she repeated, breathlessly. My skin crawled. She yawned and stretched, then slid her scrawny body out of bed and walked naked through a door that I hadn’t noticed the night before. I heard the sounds of running water and suddenly my bladder was full. The toilet flushed and she came out again, walking toward me, sagging breasts loosely moving.

“Please untie me.”

“Oh, I can’t do that yet.”

“Rosemary!” I was astonished and beginning to be afraid.