When she walked into the library two days later, he was sitting at one of the tables, talking to his dæmon quietly. She walked as close as she could, half hoping to surprise him, half to eavesdrop on their conversation.
"She's mortal, Fëanor," the snow-leopard dæmon was saying. "We'll lose her in fifty, sixty, seventy years no matter what we do. It's easier to leave now, before we get too attached. Just get on with the plan, do what you have to do, and that's that."
Marisa blinked. She had always known that there was something mysterious about Lord Asriel, but this… this was something completely different. She didn't know what to make of it at all.
In later years, after it had all happened, she would wonder why she hadn't just turned then and walked away, but right then it was the last thing which crossed her mind.
"Asriel," she said by way of greeting, when she was standing so close, they were practically touching.
"Walk with me?" he asked, getting to his feet.
She nodded. "We must not be seen, though." The golden monkey slipped down from her shoulder to the ground; his dæmon got to her feet with a swish of her long grey tail and took one cautious step towards him.
"Where are we going?" asked Marisa, following him out of the library.
"My apartment. It's not far. We can be in private there."
Marisa hesitated. Even with the newfound trust between them, it was still a huge step for a married woman to go alone into the house of a man who was not her husband. And that wasn't taking into account what she'd just learnt: he was some kind of… immortal? But her curiosity got the better of her: in an apartment there would be many opportunities to discover more. So she said nothing until they had passed through the little park to a row of small blocks of flats.
"I'm not often in London," he told her conversationally, "so there is no need for a grander house."
"How long will you stay this time?" she asked. It was half an act, half genuine, but there was nothing casual about it, no matter what it must have seemed like.
"I haven't decided yet. A few months, I expect. We'll see."
By this time, they had reached the block which contained his apartment. He keyed in the door code and ushered Marisa into the sparse hallway and up the stairs.
He climbed quickly, and she kept pace with him, but in the way his dæmon bounded ahead and stopped to wait for him she could sense an impatience. She soon began to breathe heavily, her face turning an inelegant red from the exertion.
"Nearly there," he said. "One more flight… here we are." He pulled a smooth silver key from his pocket and slotted it into the lock. With a deft twist of his hand, the door swung open.
"Come in," said Asriel. "Do sit down. I'm afraid it's not that impressive, but it serves well enough." Asriel? No, it was Fëanor. Whoever he even was. An immortal. Who knew how many years he had spent roaming this world long before she'd been born? The situation was utterly surreal. She didn't quite know what to do, so she pretended that she had overheard nothing and carried on as she otherwise would have done, and sat down with him at the little table, her dæmon curling up beneath the table, close to his but not touching.
"You'll have some wine?" he asked. "I have a bottle or two of Tokay."
"Please," replied Marisa, letting a genuine smile cross her lips at the thought of the sweet golden wine. She watched his every move as he produced the bottle and glasses, as if he was a wild animal who could attack at any moment.
He handed one of the glasses to her. She gripped its stem between two fingers and raised the glass. "Here's to us," she said. She did feel that "us" existed: there was something between them, certainly. But it still sounded just a little presumptuous. That wasn't a problem.
He clinked his glass against hers and then took a sip. She did the same.
Silence fell. Neither of them took their eyes off the other, though both pretended that they were not staring.
Marisa felt a slight brush of her dæmon's fur. It was the snow leopard's tail. Once again, the checklist of what to do was running through her head: gasp a little, catch his eye, smile. She allowed her hand to flop onto the table between them, an offer to touch it.
He accepted the offer. His hand was as cold as ice, but it didn't grip hers, just lying on top of it. She looked at him in that magical way she knew she had, expressing pure happiness and devotion.
Then, after only a few seconds of contact, he removed his hand. A coldness seemed to pass through his entire body until she was almost afraid of the icy aura he created. He let his gaze drift past her, away into the distance, and took another sip of his wine.
She tried not to show her surprise: normally, once a man was under her spell, there was no escaping from her. But, as she had just found out, this was no ordinary man, and no ordinary situation.
She felt almost as if he were playing with her; toying with her like a cat with a mouse between its paws, waiting to see what she could do. Was this all just a game to him, or was there a core of something genuine somewhere deep within his unfathomable mind?
She didn't know, and she had no way of knowing. But she'd come too far to back out now, and she knew she would win. She would get her answers, and she would get his heart. It was only a matter of time.