"Only what?" I ask.

"I'm just not sure if that's love or not." Elizabeth shrugs. "I don't know what it's supposed to feel like. And I don't want you to be upset that I'm confused…"

I want her to say she loves me but, even wishing that, I'm not positive I know much more about true love than she. I know our people can love. When Mother died, I watched my father suffer. He wailed and roared and lashed out at everything around him-so much so that I hid from him for days. I wonder if I could care that deeply about anyone. Would Elizabeth's death drive me to such total despair? I'm only sure of our connection to each other, the invisible bond between us so strong that it's almost palpable. For now, that's more than enough for me. "I'm not upset. I know what we have," I say.

"Good." She squeezes my hands in hers. "I'd hate it if you didn't understand."

Later she takes my hand, guides it to the warmth between her legs. "Do you think maybe, you could make love to me tonight, like we were humans, madly in love?"

I grin at her. "I think I can do that."

Elizabeth surprises me with her willingness to forgo any further hunting. She no longer complains when I defrost steaks for us. The closer we get to Miami, the more compliant she becomes. She agrees to don clothing, promises to stay close to me, not to change or fly off until I tell her it's safe.

"This is your country," she says. "Until I get used to it, I'll trust that you know best."

She delights me by finally starting to tell me about her life, growing up in Morgan Hole. "Mum made it as good as she could," she says. "Pa mostly ignored Chloe and me. He paid most of his attention to Derek and then to Philip, after he was born. Derek thought he was too old to have much to do with any of us. It was Mum who took us swimming, horseback riding, flew with us as soon as we could take to the air. She taught us everything-how to make Dragon's Tear wine, how to mix potions. She showed us how to read and write, had us help her in the garden, took us hunting with her. Most especially, as soon as we could understand, Mum taught us to avoid angering Pa.

"We were all afraid of him. Even when we were little he'd occasionally strike us hard enough to draw blood. Most of the time though, he'd take whoever displeased him, lock them in one of the cells under the house and leave them there for a day or two without food or water."

I shake my head, say, "That must have been terrible."

"No," Elizabeth says. "It wasn't so bad. We could always mindspeak to each other. When any of us were punished, the others would sneak down with food and drink. We'd giggle and make a picnic of it. And I wasn't in trouble very often anyway-not after Chloe got older."

"Chloe?" I ask, thinking of her cute younger sister, the smile the little teenager always had on her face, wondering how much of a discipline problem she could be.

"She likes human things too much," Elizabeth says. "Chloe's always reading or painting. She prefers to stay in her human form, goes out of her way to talk to the servants. Pa hates it all, but no matter how much he punishes her, she keeps on doing what she wants."

"Why do you think she likes human things so much?" I ask.

"You're a funny one to ask that question," Elizabeth says. "Why do you?"

"You know I was raised with it," I say. But when Elizabeth continues to look at me, as if she's waiting for more of an explanation, I shrug and continue. "After my mother died, Father told me her family had been accidentally killed in a cannon barrage, in France, during World War One, when she was a baby. An orphanage took her in and raised her. She didn't even know what she was until she came to term. Father found her then and took her for his bride.

"He said, of his three wives, she was his favorite. Father loved how different she was. He tolerated her passion for human art and literature, but argued when she insisted I learn human ways too, that I go to school with them. He worried she would make me too gentle. She said, knowing human things and human behavior would make me more powerful. In the end, Father acquiesced. But I suspect his agreement had more to do with his love for Mother than his respect for her arguments. I think it's a mark of his devotion that, after she died, he continued to send me to school."

"That makes sense." Elizabeth nods. "For Chloe, it was one of the servants. Mum was sick for a few months after she gave birth to my sister. She allowed this one servant, Lila, to take care of Chloe. The two of them grew very close. Even though Mum frowns at it, Chloe still makes sure to spend some time with Lila every day."

"Well I don't think it's hurt her," I say.

"Of course you don't." Elizabeth smiles in a way that slightly parts her lips, as she usually does before sex or when she wants me to do something. "I just hope," she says coming closer, putting her arms around my neck, "you don't wonder whether you got the wrong sister."

Our last night at sea, Elizabeth insists on staying above deck. I sit with her on the flybridge, watching with her for signs of land. The evening ocean has calmed so much that its waters are as flat as any lake and the Grand Banks glides along with only a gentle tip and roll to its movements-the hiss of the water, as it's displaced beneath us, commingled with the purr of our twin diesels. The mild rocking of the boat, the quiet lullaby of the passing waters finally overtake me and I fall into a deep sleep.

Elizabeth stays up, wakes me when she sees lights on the horizon. "The whole sky is glowing over there," she says.

She hugs me when I nod and say, "We're almost home."

The sun begins to break into the sky shortly before we reach the Fowey Rock lighthouse. I turn off the autopilot and take the helm as we approach it, the dark lines of its skeletal structure looking in the early light like a child's construction toy rising from the sea. Elizabeth stares at it, turns toward the lights of Miami-their glow bleaching out from the coming dawn-then gazes back at the dark, light-streaked clouds floating in a sky that first turns gold, then blue on the horizon as the sun rises. "It's all so beautiful," she says.

Her eyes widen as we enter Biscayne Bay and cruise by the first of the stilt homes that line the Biscayne channel, Miami's skyline still too far in front of us to be fully visible. But Key Biscayne, just a few miles to our right, sits close enough to dazzle Elizabeth with its upscale homes and towering, white-concrete condominiums. "Is that Miami?" she asks.

I shake my head, point to the dozens of high-rise buildings slowly rising into sight, far across the water.

"Oh," she says.

A pang of homesickness hits me when I glance to the south and see the green treetops of Soldier Key and the dark smudges on the water beyond it that I know will soon grow to show both Wayward Key and Blood Key. "See the islands?" I ask Elizabeth.

"Is that yours… ours?" She points to Soldier Key.

I shake my head. "Look farther south, the second one past it. That's your new home."

She stares, squints her eyes, then shrugs. "I can't tell," she says. "It's too far."

I examine the sandbars barely showing on either side of the channel, realize the tide has a while to go before it reaches its lowest point, leaving us plenty of time to reach the island. I grin and say, "You'll see it soon enough."