A pause. Jonathan knew that tone in her voice. The one that rose from the deep with its teeth bared. Hæra couldn’t help it. Jonathan had seen what had been concealed…seen it before Hæra had. Sister Madeleine’s hair, her throat and ears, the shape of her body.

He said, “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but stop thinking it. And you can’t sound like that when she’s here. It marks you straightaway. Put your human voice on and hope she doesn’t recognize you before you’re ready, although…”

The world seemed to turn in the ensuing silence.

“Are you going to tell her what you are?” Jonathan asked.

I don’t know what that is.

Hæra had never thought those words before. She hoped never to again; how strange and disturbing that they’d come to her now, of all times! She shook them off with a snorting sound that—she had to admit—didn’t sound very human either.

“Just follow my lead,” she said. Without waiting for his reply, she continued on to her room, where he’d told her to collect herself. As if bits of her were scattered all over the place. She imagined a seabed pitted with pearls, shell fragments, bleached bones. Would she gather them more efficiently with sharp horse’s teeth or soft human hands?

At the moment, she had only the latter. Hæra closed her bedroom door and looked around the space, spare and familiar: a twin-sized bed, a bureau, and a closet. There was little decoration, save for a photo of her and Jonathan from the day he’d purchased the farm. He held up the deed for the camera, smiling broadly. Hæra stood at his side, her own smile smaller, but her satisfaction real.

That was all, and it was still more than she required, since she didn’t need the bed. The one window looked out over the farm, where sheep grazed in the distance.

She strode to her bureau, opened the top drawer, and fished around in the clothing there until she found what she sought at the bottom.

With a shaking breath, she withdrew Sister Madeleine’s rosary.

When Hæra had first brought the treasure chest to Jonathan, she’d explained to him that the rosary was the one thing he must not sell. She hadn’t wanted to give it to him, but on land, the wooden beads wouldn’t rot like they would in the sea. He’d kept it for her in the cottage, and she’d looked at it during many of her visits as a reminder of her mission. Once she’d moved in with Jonathan full time, she had taken the rosary for her own again.

Properly speaking, it belonged to Sister Madeleine. If need be…if Hæra had to prove who she was…she could return it to her.