When Mia only laughed, Nell tipped back her head and tried to take in all the house at once—the dour stone, the fanciful gables, the romance of the widow’s walk.

“It’s wonderful. It suits you.”

“It certainly does.”

“But so far from everything, everyone. You’re not lonely here?”

“I enjoy my own company. Are you afraid of heights?”

“No,” Nell answered. “No, I’m not.”

“Have a look at the headland. It’s spectacular.”

Nell walked with her, between the house and the tower, out to the rugged jag of cliffs that jutted over the ocean. Even here there were flowers, tough little blooms that fought their way through cracks or blossomed along the scruffy tufts of wild grass.

Below, the waves thrashed and fumed, hurling themselves against the base of the cliffs, rearing back to slap again. Beyond, the water turned a deep, deep blue and stretched forever.

“When I was a girl I would sit here, and wonder at all this. Sometimes I still do.”

Nell turned her head, studied Mia’s profile. “Did you grow up here?”

“Yes. In this house. It’s always been mine. My parents were for the sea, and now they sail it. They’re currently in the South Pacific, I think. We were always more a couple and a child than a family. They never quite adjusted to me, nor I to them, for that matter. Though we got along well enough.”

With a little shrug, she turned away. “The light’s been here nearly three hundred years, sending out its beam to guide ships and seamen. Still, there’ve been wrecks, and it’s said—as one would expect it to be said of such places—that on some nights, when the wind is right, one can hear the desperate calls of the drowned.”

“Not a comforting bedtime story.”

“No. The sea isn’t always kind.”

Still she was drawn to it, compelled to stand and watch its whims, its charm and its violence. Fire, drawn to Water.

“The house came before,” she added. “It was the first house built on the island.”

“Conjured by magic in the moonlight,” Nell added. “I read the book.”

“Well, magic or mortar, it stands. The gardens are my joy, and I’ve indulged myself there.” She gestured.

Nell looked back toward the house, blinked. The rear was a fantasy of blooms, shapes, arbors, paths. The juxtaposition between raw cliffs and lush fairyland almost made her dizzy.

“My God, Mia! It’s amazing, spectacular. Like a painting. Do you do all the work yourself?”

“Mmm. Now and then I’ll dragoon a strong back, but for the most part I can handle it. It relaxes me,” she said as they walked toward the first tangle of hedges. “And gratifies me.”