It took Marisa weeks to work up the courage to send him a message. She'd wanted, more than anything, to send one the very next day. She knew she could be in his arms the very next night if she wanted to. But for the first time in her life, she was afraid.

It was only meant to be a game. Another challenge, another conquest, just like all of the others. And everything had been going just as she would have liked, until that one moment when he'd held her in his arms and she'd realised what she'd done.

She'd wanted power over him, but she'd inadvertently given him power over her: the one thing she'd sworn never to do.

Not to mention that he was only a possibly-thousands-of-years-old immortal with who knew what powers.

Lying in Edward's bed that night, trying to pretend there was nothing wrong, she resolved that she was going to find out who – and what – Asriel was. This time, she wasn't going back until she'd worked out exactly what she'd got herself into.

The very next day, she went to the library, grabbed a sheet of paper, and began to make a plan. She had only two clues: the use of the word mortal to describe herself, and the name Fëanor.

Marisa had never come across any kind of immortal being. She knew of witches and some other creatures and people that could live longer than ordinary humans, but nothing truly immortal. She resolved to research that later, and in the meantime investigated the names.

She spent hours searching through the language books in the library, looking for any connection, any word fe, fea, anor, nor, fean in any language… nothing. "Fea" was Spanish for "ugly", but that was no use at all.

So she turned to the mythology section, and began looking for any rumours of immortal beings or anything like that. Even with information ruthlessly censored by the Church, there had to be something… actually, the Church would know about this sort of thing, if anyone would. But could she manage to ask without attracting attention? She thought she could, but…

"Mrs Coulter!"

It was him. Asriel.

The only way to describe what happened next was that she panicked. She was terrified that he'd find out what she was doing and do who-knew-what to prevent his secret getting out, and she wasn't ready to go back to him yet. She refused to go back until she'd worked out exactly what she wanted to do and how she would go about it. This time, she was going to have a plan.

Unfortunately, that plan was not yet in place, and so she couldn't speak to him. That didn't excuse what she did next. Nothing excused it. "I'm sorry," she said in her iciest tone, giving him a haughty stare, "have we met?"

Whatever happened next, Marisa at least would have the satisfaction for the rest of her life of knowing that she had thoroughly disconcerted Lord Asriel. She wondered briefly what he would do: would he call her out on it, or would he try and introduce himself, or…

"No, I believe not." It was a remarkable recovery from that one frozen second; she had to give him credit (however grudging) for that. It also stung horribly, even though it was what she had wanted.

"I'm afraid I must have mistaken you for someone else." And he turned and left without another word.

In that moment, staring at his back, Marisa decided what she would do. She would go back, of course: she couldn't stay away, and why should she? But not just yet, oh no. She would make him long for her as she was longing for him, drawing out the painful separation. If she was going to fall in love with him, she was going to make sure that he loved her back.

And no-one would be able to resist her, not even the mighty Fëanor, or whatever his name really was.

She smiled, for the first time in days.

Things only got better, after that: it was that very afternoon that Edward announced that he'd been sent on a diplomatic mission to the King of Norway. He didn't want her to come with him: it was too cold, and she wouldn't like it. She could sit at home and keep the house until he returned.

Marisa could barely stop herself laughing. How naïve he was, believing she was the perfect, obedient wife. How perfect would it be to have a glorious month of freedom, and do whatever she wanted without his ever knowing a thing.

She somehow got herself through the week until he left and kept up her role flawlessly. She bid him a fond farewell and kissed him before he boarded the zeppelin to take him to Norway.

He was forgotten the moment it left the ground. She hurried back to their London home and began to write a letter.

To Lord Asriel,

My beloved husband, as I'm sure you probably know, has just left for Norway on a diplomatic mission, to be gone for a month. Of course, I will miss him greatly, and I am sorry not to be permitted to go with him, but I have thought that this would be an excellent opportunity to further our acquaintance.

I am most interested to hear more about the fascinating discoveries you made on your last trip to the North, and what you plan to investigate in your next expedition. Will it suit you to meet in the Botanic Gardens, tomorrow afternoon at two-thirty?

Many thanks,

Marisa Coulter.

It was a formal letter, and it kept up her mask: even though she knew he'd see right through it, she still felt obliged on principle not to let it drop. When she had checked it, she walked around to his apartment and slipped it into his letterbox. She felt an urge to ring the bell, but turned and left.