Infinityglass (15 page)

I ran my thumb over the smooth skin on top of her hand. “I’m afraid of losing control. The very last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt someone, even a stranger.”

“I understand control. I never feel like I have it, except when I dance.”

“I wish I could see you.” I pressed my lips together right after I said it. “I mean …”

“The Samoan boy blushes. You want to see me dance?”

I searched her face. “I do.”

She nodded slowly. “Then follow me.”

From the landing where we sat, I followed her up to the second-story lobby. A tapestry hung on one wall above a huge wooden cabinet. Ornate golden carvings on the door displayed a roaring lion with a flowing mane. The more I looked at it, the more it seemed to be a warrior wearing a mask. Two sets of double doors were across from it.

“Locked.” Hallie looked around before stepping in front of the
lock. I heard a
swish
and then a little
click
as she pulled one of the doors open.

“What did you do?”

“You don’t want to know.” She tucked her hand in her pocket. “Come on.”

She let the door close behind us, and we stood in silence as I took it all in.

A ballroom. A row of windows dressed in golden velvet draperies was divided by a small, simple staircase with four steps. The late afternoon sunlight blurred the edges of a windowed doorway that led to a wide gallery overlooking Orleans Street.

Hallie couldn’t take her eyes away from the chandelier hanging in the center of the room.

“Are you going to stare, or dance?” I asked.

“Only if I dance with you.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.” I felt a little hectic.

“If you want to see me dance, I’m going to do it in your arms.”

“Too shy to dance by yourself?” I said. “Afraid, maybe?”

“No. Why?” She raised one eyebrow. “Are you going to double-dog dare me?”

“If I have to.”

“Dance is personal.” Hallie always had excellent posture, but when she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, the dancer in her took over. Breathtakingly beautiful. “It’s the only time I get to be free. I don’t perform very often, and a cage or a stage in a dance club doesn’t count.”

“You … wear clothes when you do that?”

“You’re really dropping judgment on me right now?” She knew I was teasing. I could tell by her smile.

“No. I’m doing everything in my power not to picture it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You should,” I said. “I could pass out. That would be embarrassing.”

“You’re a terrible tease.”

“I know. I’m not sure how to approach this.” I’d have been more comfortable trying to figure out how to hack into the pope’s e-mail.

“You can start by shutting up and putting your arms around me. Take my hand in yours. Put the other one on the small of my back.”

“According to online surveys, the small of a woman’s back is one of the places she most wants to be touched.”

“You touch me there all the time. Do you read a lot of surveys about where women like to be touched?”

“Um.”

“Where are some of the other places?” She met my eyes dead on. “If you think I’m going to let this go, you’re so, so wrong.”

“Clavicle.”

“And?”

“Crooks of elbows. Backs of knees. Nape of neck.”

“You’re leaving out some really obvi—”

“Hallie?”

She grinned and batted her lashes. “Yes.”

“Maybe we should just dance.” My palm met hers while my other hand settled on her waist.

There was a subtle, slight hitch in her breathing.

“Your breath just caught.” I said it without thinking.

“Maybe it did. So what?” She angled her chin up at me.

“Nothing. It’s just … it’s only fair. You make mine catch all the time.”

Chapter 12
Hallie

I
’d never swooned in my life.

But if Dune kept talking sweet to me, I was going to need a fainting couch and smelling salts pronto.

His touch was gentle, and he smelled like the ocean. Not fishy ocean, but expensive, man-made, bottled interpretation of the ocean. I couldn’t believe how nervous I was in his arms, or how overwhelmed I was by my emotions when he pulled me closer.

Then the world melted around us.

Rivulets of the past flooded over the present, and the song playing in my mind bloomed from a few simple notes to a full orchestra. What I thought would be a waltz became a quadrille. Dune’s face faded. A masquerade mask replaced it, and the rip world replaced my own.

The eyes behind the satin assess me from head to toe. A cool

expression turns warm as what he sees passes muster. When the time comes to switch partners, he pulls me from formation
.

“Cecile?”

I nod
.

“You look beautiful. The dress pleases you?”

I nod again and offer a tentative smile
.

“I’m going to arrange a meeting with your mother. Does this please you, too?”

“Monsieur Brionne.” My
maman
interrupts us. She wears a yellow dress of a much brighter shade than my own. Both complementary of our dark hair and skin. My skin and …

… not my skin. I looked down at my fingernails, not recognizing the oval shapes and bitten nails. I didn’t bite my nails.

“May I call upon Cecile tomorrow?” Monsieur Brionne asks my
maman.
He keeps his hand at my waist, and I know that he doesn’t want to let me go. Something about the way his fingers grip my waist is worrisome; as is the look in his eyes that tells me he hopes I’ll be alone tomorrow when he calls
.

“That will be agreeable.”
Maman
dips her head into a slight bow
.

The music begins, slow and disarming, and we step back into the throng of dancers, everyone here is part of the system of plaçage, arranged left-handed marriages of prosperous white men and women of color
.

The soft glow of an electric chandelier replaces candlelight, and

the smell of calla lilies perfumes the air as bodies whirl around me
.

Monsieur Brionne stops, and I spin out of his arms. The room fades, tilts, and the light changes, going from soft focus to sharp relief
.

“A joining of two fine families.” I jump when a man with a shiny, bald head claps me on the shoulder. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

I didn’t recognize my own voice.

My dress was no longer yellow, but stark white, and my hair fell in blond ringlets below my shoulders. A huge diamond graced my left ring finger, with a gold band below it.

“I’m so happy.”

The words came out of my mouth and not my mouth. The kiss I received landed softly on my cheek and not my cheek.

“No happier than I.”

I knew this man would be gentle, unlike Monsieur Brionne. He looked at me with the same kindness Dune did.

Dune.

“David.” I hold his hand as my new husband guides me across the crowded room. He takes two champagne glasses from a tray, and gives one to me
.

“To my bride,” he says. “To Melina.”

“To Melina,” the crowd says in chorus
.

Before I could catch my breath, the scene changed again.

Six women in prayer. A rosary in my hand. My hair in a tight bun. Feelings of peace, concern, benevolence. And sensible shoes
.

The yellow fever is spreading; bodies lie in piles on the streets outside. We can’t take on any more orphans, but the infection makes new ones every day. Every hour
.

Is it punishment? Justice? Crying, hungry children speak of neither
.

The sound of a bouncing ball echoes down the hallway. Playtime and prayer time blend into an ache in my chest
.

The ache spread out through my limbs, and my head began to spin. Three sets of sight competed, fighting for purchase.

Maman
and I, leaving the ballroom as Monsieur Brionne watches
.

My husband and I, laughing as we dance in the middle of the floor
.

My gnarled hands and the pain in my knees, speaking of good use and great age as I kneel to pray
.

“Hallie.”

Who is Hallie?

“Please, Hallie. Wake up.”

I squeezed my eyes closed, breathed deeply into my center, and pushed.

Cecile Dupart
.

Melina Landrieu
.

Sister Mary Christina
.

Their worlds disappeared, but their memories remained. Time sealed itself shut behind them, and the ballroom fell silent.

I’d experienced more life than I could ever live on my own in the Bourbon Orleans ballroom, in the span of a few seconds. Something in me sensed the wrongness of the situation, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want it. I could go on a thousand jobs for Chronos, but I’d never dance in a pre–Civil War ballroom. I could fall in love a hundred times, but I’d never be the debutante who married an aspiring politician in the calm that came before the Vietnam War. I could live for eighty more years, but I’d never, ever be a nun.

Ever.

“Hallie?”

My eyes flew open. It took me a few seconds to focus on the chandelier above me, and a few more to find Dune’s gray green eyes.

“Dune?” I was on the floor. “What happened?”

“I don’t think we should talk about this here.” His face was drawn, his eyes guarded.

“Why?” I struggled to sit.

“Not here, Hallie.”

He scooped me up in his arms like I weighed nothing. I rested my head on his chest, barely noticing my surroundings as he took me to the room.

The unfamiliar memories that now belonged to me repeated
on playback in my brain. I had real power. Not false bravery or blustering confidence. I could still feel it in my veins, pulsing under my skin.

“Are you okay?” Dune sat beside me so softly that the couch barely moved, a feat for someone his size. He brushed my hair back from my face.

How had we gotten to the room so quickly?

“I don’t know.” I tried to sit up and he helped me, his arm around my waist. “Was … was it like last time?”

“It was different.” Caution kept his voice guarded. “Powerful.”

“It felt like freedom. Ultimate, supernatural freedom. I lived other people’s lives through their eyes, and I felt all their emotions. But you didn’t feel that, did you? What did you see?”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at me like he was afraid of me.

“Dune?”

“You changed.”

Dune

“You were three different people. At first, you just froze. Your face was expressionless.” Her irises had reflected the light pouring in through the windows, and she’d stopped blinking. I’d stepped back from her, and that’s when her feet left the ground. “Then
the rip sucked you in. It was all around me, but I wasn’t part of it.”

Like I was the ghost, and the rip world was the reality.

“What else?” she prompted.

“Your facial features rearranged. When it happened outside Lafitte’s, it was one face. Today, it was three. A young girl with brown eyes. A blonde with a slightly crooked nose. An older woman with dark skin. You were three people in quick succession, and then, somehow, you were all three at once.”

She nodded and let out a shaky breath. “Sounds about right.”

“You pushed them back. The images from the room flowed into the hole in time, and the rips went in, too. And you were back.”

She was shaking so hard her teeth chattered.

“Hallie, look at me. You’re either cold or in shock. Let’s get you into something more comfortable.”

When she didn’t take advantage of the tease I’d set up, my stomach dropped. I grabbed her bag, unzipped it, and handed it over. She fished out a change of clothes, along with her brush and a makeup bag.

“Do you need help with anything?”

“No. Just … don’t move.” She disappeared into the bathroom. I heard running water and an electric toothbrush. A few moments later, she opened the door, wearing yoga pants and a tank top. Her face was clean, and she’d tied her hair in a knot on top of her head.

She picked up her sweater and slid her arms in. She sounded like she’d been screaming for hours. “You’re a good baby-sitter.”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I was the Infinityglass, Dune.” She curled up on the couch, pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands. “I made the rips go away. I sent them back. That has to be good, right?”

“I don’t know.” She’d floated and I’d watched the power pulsing through her. Nothing about it felt good. “It was a manifestation of the Infinityglass power. It overtook you, Hallie.”

“Then I’ll just figure out how to control it. Next time, I’ll know what to expect.” She dropped her head into her hands. “You’re looking at me like I scared you.”

“I’m scared for you. I know that letting me take care of you right now would be harder than taking care of yourself.” I touched her knee. “But …”

She looked up.

“Let me?” I asked.

I got my answer when she crawled into my arms.