Belladonna

he wanted to share the joy. "Come with me?"
    The bridge that led to the Island in the Mist was on one of the little islands that dotted Sanctuary's small lake. It was separate from the other little islands and not easily accessible, but flat stepping stones rose above the lake's surface as he and Yoshani approached the shore, giving them a slippery path.
    Michael trembled as he crossed over to the Island in the Mist. Not to the walled garden this time, but to the part of the island that would have been his home with Glorianna. The part that would have nurtured their life together.
    The music rang in the air, calling him.
    He ran, knowing exactly where to look, with Yoshani right behind him.
    Had it been there all these months, waiting for him to find it? He hadn't heard a single note of this when lie was in the walled garden. Hadn't suspected it was here.
    He skidded to a stop in front of a bed near the house. His heart's hope plant looked brittle. Dead. But there was one little patch of new, green leaves. And one tiny bud struggling to bloom.
    Beside his little plant was a glory of Light. A heart's hope bigger than any he'd seen and covered with buds.
    "Michael?" Yoshani asked, looking at him, then at the bed, then back again.
    He pointed to the heart's hope. "Her Light."
    Yoshani frowned. "Nadia, Lynnea, and Caitlin have all been here to tend the gardens and do the mundane work. Lee was here to make the bridge. Even Sebastian has been here. They said nothing."
    "They don't know," he said softly, as stories and memories and all the things Glorianna had told him about the connection of Dark and Light spun through his mind.
    My heart's hope lies with Belladonna. Her darkness is my fate.
    The key had been inside him all the time. Had he realized the answer too late, or would he be able to open that locked door?
    "Forgive my doubt, Michael, but how do you know?"
    He gave Yoshani a brilliant smile. "I can hear the music of her heart."

Chapter Thirty-three
    T he sand in the box Glorianna had referred to as a playground didn't change. Hadn't changed in the handful of days since this idea had taken root. He hadn't been rewarded with a pebble or a weed or even a tiny patch of bog. Nothing. He had hoped that music could be a bridge between landscapes, could touch what, otherwise, couldn't be reached. But there had been no indication, not the slightest, that his music was reaching the woman he played for.
    Discouraged, he tucked the whistle in his pocket, then let his hands fall into his lap.
    "I don't know, wild child," he said. "Maybe I left it too late, didn't figure things out fast enough." It had occurred to him, while he was doing the washing up after dinner last night, that time was a factor. Every day Glorianna Belladonna remained a heart divided was another day she would change a little more, become someone different from the woman he'd known — and the song he remembered would no longer be the song that matched the whole of her heart. Months had already gone by since she'd taken the Eater and Its landscapes out of the world. Who was she now? Did she remember anything about her family, about him?
    He'd played the music that was Glorianna Belladonna. And he'd played the music that was Michael, the Magician, hoping the memory of being with him would stir something in the currents of the world.
    The only thing it had stirred up was his longing for her.
    As he sat there, staring at the unchanging sand in the box, his mind drifted, and an image from a story floated up to the surface of memory.
    A door with a hundred locks. A key that came from the heart.
    His breath caught. He sat up straight, his blood pounding in his veins.
    "One lock this time," he whispered. "And only one key that will open it." Then he felt a stab of sorrow so fierce that he bent over, pressing his forehead to his knees to try to ease the pain of it.
    Only one would open that lock. And he wasn't the right key.

    *
"Well, look who's here."
    It wasn't the warmest welcome, Michael thought as he stepped into Philo's courtyard, but at least Teaser wasn't hurling threats at him — or stones.
    "Michael!" Lynnea hurried over. "It's been so long since we've seen you. Where have you been? Have you eaten? You haven't eaten, have you? Sit down right there, and I'll bring you something. Teaser, you keep him company."
    "You don't have to be fussing over me," Michael protested. "I just... Is Sebastian around?"
    "You're nothing but skin and bones," Lynnea said.
    A