"How appropriate that he would find the perfect answer," Christine thought as she and Meg undressed for bed. Before his madness, he had always guided her well. She liked the symbolism of it, that all of their troubles could be bridged by all that he had taught her before and this final gift—the idea that would send her home. She would have to get used to the light again, those months of darkness and months of sun. She tried to think in Swedish. It was difficult after so many years, but she knew that it would come back to her. Her memories of Stockholm were dim, but they were all happy ones, of music, furs, and a great mass of candles making a golden puddle of light in the darkness.
Once she had fixed on a place, everything else fell together. Tomorrow she would make her travel arrangements. Friday she and Meg would have their shopping day. With any luck, on Saturday she would go. It left very little time to talk to Erik, but she found, as she laid in the dark, that for the moment, she was satisfied. In any case, to sit and listen to his voice was dangerous. He was too compelling. Just over the course of the day, she had felt her old breathlessness returning, and she kept wanting to stand close to him, to touch him, to stare into those mutable eyes.
She was not a religious person, but Christine prayed that night for God to protect her Angel, to help him find peace. Any such blessings did not extend to her, for it was not peace that she dreamed of, nor beginnings, nor even music. When she woke in the morning, her heart ached to realize that she had dreamt all night of the taste of Erik's mouth.