She got up. She walked into the bathroom. She turned on the taps and ran her bath.
When she returned to the bedroom, a few minutes later, Agathi was no longer there. But she had left something behind.
The crystal pendant was there, on the dressing table, glinting in the sunlight.
Lana picked it up. She looked at it. She didn’t believe in magic; but she didn’t know what to believe in anymore. She dangled the pendant over her palm.
She stared at it, her lips moving—as she murmured a silent question.
Almost at once, the crystal began to twitch, jolt, dance in the air.
A tiny circular movement—that grew and grew, above her outstretched palm—wider, and higher … a circle, spinning in the air.
* * *
Outside the house, on the ground, a solitary leaf moved.
The leaf was lifted up into the air by an unseen force—spinning it in a circle. The circle grew bigger and wider, higher and higher … as the winds appeared …
And the fury began.
15
The fury was an apt name, I thought, given Kate’s mood.
She had been spoiling for a fight all through dinner at Yialos. Now that we were back at the house, she seemed intent on finding one.
I thought it best to keep out of her way. So I remained outside, by the French windows, smoking the joint. From that safe vantage point, I watched the drama unfold in the living room.
Kate was pouring herself another large whiskey. Jason went over to her. He stood there awkwardly and spoke in a low voice.
“You’ve had enough to drink.”
“This one is for you.” Kate thrust the tumblerful of whiskey at him. “Take it.”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t want it.”
“Why not? Go on, drink it.”
“No.”
“I think,” Lana said firmly, “we should all go to bed.” She stared at Kate for a moment; a warning look, if ever I saw one. And for a second, it looked like Kate might back down.
But no. Kate accepted the challenge. She tore off her red shawl, twirling it in the air like a red flag in a bullfight—and threw it onto the back of the couch.
Then she brought the glass of whiskey to her lips and drank it all in one go.
Lana was poker-faced but I could tell she was furious. “Jason, can we go upstairs? I’m feeling tired.”
Kate reached out and grabbed hold of Jason’s arm. “No, Jason. Stay right there.”
“Kate—”
“I mean it,” Kate said. “Don’t go. You’ll regret it, if you go.”
“I’ll take that risk.”
He removed Kate’s hand from his arm—a bad move, I thought. I knew it would enrage her. I was right.
“Fuck you.”
Jason looked startled. He wasn’t expecting that level of anger. My heart went out to him, almost.
I understood now. Kate’s anger had betrayed her: this whole charade was for Jason’s benefit, not mine or Lana’s. It was Jason Kate was mad at.
Lana understood this, too. She had the unnerving instinct of a great actor. She knew this was her cue.
As always, she underplayed her delivery: “Jason. Make a decision, please.”
“What?”
“You must choose.” Lana nodded at Kate, not taking her eyes off Jason. “Me or her.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know damn well what I’m talking about.”
There was a slight pause. Jason’s face was a sight to behold—like witnessing a car crash in slow motion. Caught between these two women, this was about to end badly for him. Unless he managed somehow to prevent it.
What Jason did next would be most revealing. Barbara West once told me an old writing trick—where you give currency to a specific person, or object, by including them in a choice between two alternatives. What you are prepared to give up for something tells us everything about how much you value it.
Jason had a clear choice here—between Kate and Lana. We were about to discover—if we were in any doubt—whom he valued the most.
Barbara would have loved this, I thought. Just the kind of situation she’d steal and put into a book.
Thinking of Barbara made me smile—which was unfortunate, as I realized Jason was staring at me, a look of fury on his face. “What the fuck? You think this is funny, you evil prick?”
“Me?” I laughed. “I think I’m the least of your problems, mate.”
At this, Jason lost his temper. He leaped toward me, lunging at me, grabbing me by the throat. He pinned me to the wall, raised his first—like he was going to punch me in the face.
“Stop it! Stop it.” Kate was pummeling his back. “Leave him alone! Jason—”
Eventually, Jason let me go. I caught my breath and adjusted my collar with all the dignity I could muster.
“Feel better now?”
Jason didn’t reply. He glared at me. Then, remembering his priorities, he turned around—to appeal to Lana.
“Lana. Listen—”
But Lana wasn’t there. She had gone.
16
Nikos was in his cottage, sitting in the armchair by the fireplace. He was drinking ouzo and listening to the wind outside.
He liked listening to the wind, in all its different moods. Tonight, it was in a rage. Other nights, it groaned like an old man in pain; or wailed like a small child lost in the storm. Sometimes, Nikos could convince himself it was a girl outside, lost in the gale, crying. He’d step out and look into the night, into the dark—just to be sure. But it was always the wind, playing tricks.
He poured himself another ouzo. He was a little drunk; his mind as cloudy as the ouzo in his glass. He leaned back in his chair and thought about Lana. He imagined what it would be like if she lived here, on Aura, with him. This was a favorite fantasy of his.
He felt sure Lana would be happy here. She always came alive on the island—it was like a light shone from inside her the moment she got off the boat. And if she were here, Lana could rescue him from his solitude. She would be like rain falling on parched earth; a cool drink of water, to quench his dry salty lips.
Nikos shut his eyes, drifting into an erotic daydream. He imagined waking up at dawn, in bed with Lana—she was facing him, her golden hair spread over the pillow … how soft it was, how sweet she smelled, like orange blossom. He’d take her smooth body into his arms, nuzzle her neck, kiss her skin. He’d press his lips against her mouth.…
Nikos was half-aroused, half-drunk, half-asleep—and thought he was dreaming when he opened his eyes … and there she was.
Lana.
Nikos blinked. He sat up, suddenly wide-awake.
Lana was standing there, in the doorway. She was there, in reality, not his imagination. She looked beautiful, dressed all in white. She looked like a goddess. But a sad goddess. A frightened one.
“Nikos,” Lana said in a whisper. “I need your help.”
17
Jason, Kate, and I were left alone in the living room. I waited to see who would speak first. It was Kate, sounding chastened.
“Jason. Can we talk?” Her voice had an emptiness. Her anger had gone, burned out—nothing left but ashes. “Jason?”
Jason glanced at Kate—and looked right through her. A chilling look, I thought. As if she didn’t exist. He turned and walked out of the room.
Kate suddenly looked like a little girl, about to burst into tears. I felt sorry for her, despite myself.
“Do you want a drink?”
Kate gave a brief shake of the head. “No.”
“I’m making you one anyway.”
I went to the drinks cabinet and made us a couple of drinks. I made small talk about the weather, to give Kate a chance to pull herself together. But I could tell she wasn’t listening.
I held out the glass in front of her for a good twenty seconds before she saw it.
“Thanks.” Kate took the drink, absently placing it on the table in front of her. She reached for her cigarettes.
I rubbed my neck. It was sore from where Jason had grabbed it. I frowned. “You know, Kate, you really should have come to me. I could have put you straight. I could have warned you.”
“Warned me? About what?”
“He will not leave Lana for you. Don’t delude yourself.”
“I’m not deluding myself.” Kate tapped the unlit cigarette violently against the table. She planted it in her mouth and lit it.
“I think you are.”