“Poor baby. All because I showed you who you are.”

“You showed me who I could be, Jacob, who I might be,” Harper said. “You showed me who you are.”

He laughed again. And stretched, spreading his arms like Christ. The candle in his hand lifted a dim, yellow dome of light over the church’s round: the gaping sculpted heads; the effigies in their tormented postures on the floor.

Stretched like that, he resumed pacing gracefully around her, looking her up and down, his tongue in his cheek.

“Who I am,” he repeated slowly. “But really, darling—you always knew who I was.”

“No,” she tried to say, but the word caught in her throat.

“You did,” he said. “You knew. And yet I seem to recall I was your lover.”

Harper forced herself to stand still as he circled. The glow of the candle passed and faded from before her. He was behind her now, out of sight. It made the skin prickle on the back of her neck. She had to fight to keep her exterior steady and stern as her insides churned, molten.

“I—was—your—lover,” he insisted.

“If that’s what you call love,” she shot back.

He stopped at last, beside her. Just beside her. She felt his breath on her cheek. Hot, wet, rank. A panther’s breath. He went on in the same easy, ironical tone.

“You’re right,” he said. “Let’s not mince words. I was your master. Wasn’t I?”

Harper’s lips worked as she tried to swallow her distaste.

“I mastered you, Harper,” he continued softly. “I mastered you, and then you begged me to master you again. I remember the sound of your voice as you begged me.”

The words burst from her. “I was young.”

“Not that young.”

“And half insane.”

“Only half.”

“It was a long time ago, Jacob.”

“Not that long, really. You remember it too. I can see you do. You remember it in your flesh. Don’t you?”

She barely turned her head towards him. Barely lifted one corner of her mouth. She was afraid she would start to quake. “I remember. Yes.”

“And that’s why you can’t stay away from me. Even if it’s only to feel my hands on your throat.”

“You know why I’ve come after you,” she said.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah. I forgot. The children. The dear, dead little children. Tell yourself that’s the reason.”

“That is the reason.”

“For this obsession? For this compulsion to irritate me?”

“To destroy you, Jacob, actually. Yes.”

He let out a breath, threw up a hand. She flinched away from it. But it was only a gesture of mild frustration, the gesture of a teacher with a dense student. “You know, dear, I really did teach you to be more honest with yourself than that. I showed you how to plumb the ugly depths, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”