Wandering Soul (4 page)

She gestured to the partly open door with the cat. Leonardo twisted in her grasp, then slipped to the floor. Dante watched it dart inside the room, his curiosity roused at the thought of seeing where Elsa slept.

The light that spilled forth from the hall revealed a canopy bed set against the far wall, covered with pale golden fabrics. A row of windows with gauzelike curtains stood behind it. Stacks of books occupied every surface, even creeping along the floor around the bed.

“I like to read too,” Elsa said.

The way she shrugged her shoulder brought Dante's attention back to her sleeveless dress. He looked away quickly to quell any fantasies the sight might provoke, but his gaze landed upon her bed. The golden sheets would accent her skin perfectly.

He turned around, hoping that would be more effective. It seemed since this flame had been lit, it was difficult to control.

“You're just next door.” She took a few steps farther down the hall before stopping in front of another intricately carved door.

This was an even better distraction. She opened the door, then reached into the room to turn on a light. She stepped aside so he could enter first. Dante wondered what sort of new wonders awaited him.

He was glad his back was to her, so she could not see the shock that was no doubt on his face as he peered inside.

A dark four-poster bed took up most of the far wall, which was covered by heavy curtains. He could only surmise there were windows behind them, though they were completely concealed by the thick red fabric. The bed was similarly smothered in red and gold.

Dante had used those colors in his room in the basement of Heinrich's theatre, taking worn curtains from the stage to make his bedding and add some semblance of warmth to the cold stone walls. The place had still felt like a dungeon, though it was better than trying to live in the rooms above with the others.

He pulled himself from his morose thoughts and surveyed the rest of the room. There was a settee to his right, along with a heavy wooden desk. Intricate scrollwork adorned its sides, as well as the chair before it. An armoire in a matching style dominated the left wall, dwarfing the open door that led to a dark room beyond.

He stepped over the threshold, feeling like a ghost. If anything, the furnishings were more old-fashioned than those to which he was accustomed. He turned to see a dormant fireplace set in a wall of bookshelves, completely filled with volumes of a similar design to the one in his hand.

Dante swallowed hard and spun in a slow circle. His skin prickled from the familiar nuances of the place. If he did not know better, he would have thought that all of what had come before was a dream, and he had simply found his way to some aristocrat's home.

The thought made him shiver. He did not want to be reminded of where he had come from. He wanted a fresh start. Dante could well imagine waking in that bed, the night pressing on his confused mind and planting doubts of his sanity.

Time travel? A beautiful woman whose touch stoked desire deeper than any he had ever imagined? It was difficult enough for him to believe while fully awake.

He would simply need to avoid sleep…

“What do you think?” Elsa asked, a vulnerable cast to her smile.

“It is not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

Dante searched his mind for something that would not make him seem ungrateful. He truly appreciated everything she had done, despite the eerie ambiance of the room. He noticed a small carved ship sitting atop the desk near the settee, and said the first thing that came to mind.

“Hammocks.”

“Hammocks?”

“They are quite efficient, really. I had thought perhaps their use would have expanded over time.” He smiled at her, hoping she would realize he was making light of his circumstance.

Elsa gave him a puzzled grin, but she laughed, the sound like music. “We can see about installing some. But I wanted it to feel like home for you, at least at first. To help you adjust.”

“I appreciate you going to such efforts.”

“This is the best part.” She took the book from him and placed it in the single empty spot on the bookshelf. Her gaze roved over the orderly rows. When she found what she was looking for, she pulled out another volume. “Here's a good place to start.”

She handed him the book, the broadest smile yet gracing her lips. He reluctantly looked at the cover of the book, wanting to stare at that smile until he could call it to mind at will in perfect detail.

On the solid green cover of the book, gold letters were etched on a dark brown square.

“This is a book about plumbing.” Dante read the title again. He could hardly think she believed he would be more interested in this than her smile.

“That is book one of a history of plumbing all the way up to the present. I commissioned this encyclopedia set for you.” She gestured at the wall once more, then stared at the books with reverence. “By the time you've read all of these, you should understand more than most people about modern technology, including me.”

“You commissioned them?”

She turned back to him with that radiant smile. “I knew you'd have questions that I wouldn't be able to answer. And plumbing is a good place to start, since you'll probably be wanting a shower soon.”

He looked down at his shirt, stained with his sweat and soot from the fire. He had not realized how dreadful his appearance was until that moment.

“Of course. I apologize.”

“For what?” Elsa's smile dimmed and she shook her head, as if she could not see anything wrong with him.

Dante's heart began pounding. That was what truly mesmerized him about this woman, even more than what she could do, what she had done for him. From the very beginning, she had looked upon Dante in the same manner that she might any other man. Elsa barely even seemed to notice his mask.

“Is something wrong, Dante?”

“No.” He smiled at her and shook his head. “Nothing is wrong at all.”

Chapter Four

After showing Dante around his bathroom, Elsa indulged in a shower of her own. Spanish mosaics in vibrant reds, blues and yellows brightened the walls of the room. Beneath a wide window in an alcove, a huge bathtub beckoned, but she could feel the exhaustion of her journey catching up with her.

She still lingered for a while, sitting on the edge of the tub and enjoying the fresh scent of roses from her soaps as she dried her hair. She knew her obsession with decadent bathrooms was strange, but hiding in them so often as a child had left its mark on her.

She shook her head, refusing to let bad memories intrude on this space. She had much better things to think about. Like Dante.

He was in her time, in her home. He was right next door.

Elsa couldn't believe her plan had worked. The play was the perfect boost to bring Dante back with her. She had traveled through time using art before, but never as it was being made, using the very moment the powerful emotions that charged the piece were being experienced. She had never felt anything like it.

Everything was coming together just as she'd hoped. Well, except that she couldn't seem to keep her hands off of him. And it was only getting worse.

While she showered, she kept thinking of Dante doing the same. She shivered again at the thought of his pale skin slick with soap, imagining his hands roving over his body, following rivulets of hot water.

“What is wrong with me?” she muttered, drying her hair more vigorously as she stood and walked to her bedroom.

It made sense that she'd be fantasizing about the naked man in the shower next door, since her baths were the most sensual thing she'd experienced in the past three years. Aside from writing her novels.

The mental list of things she needed to tell Dante grew. She was writing a novel about him. For him, really. Before she told him that, she needed to work up the courage to explain the stories that had stemmed from his life, even though they bore little resemblance to it.

Elsa threw on the first pajamas her fingers encountered in the drawer of her armoire—a matching tank top and pants in a soft shade of pink—then ruffled her hair once more with the towel. The room was starting to spin a little, and Elsa knew she didn't have long before she would have to pay the price of ferrying Dante to her time. She still folded the towel before hanging it up to dry on the rack in her bathroom.

When she brought back Leonardo, she had passed out for a few hours. She hadn't meant to bring the cat with her, but when he could somehow see her and had followed her into a busy street, she'd grabbed him out of the way of a horse to keep him from being trampled. She hadn't been thinking at the moment, just reacting. And then they were both back in her time, sitting in front of the painting she had used to travel.

That painting only held one moment with enough emotional resonance for Elsa to connect with. Dante's ring, on the other hand, held dozens of moments she'd been able to view. And that was after the many times she had visited his mother, which was yet another awkward thing Elsa had to tell him.

If she hadn't stumbled onto the first of his mother's paintings, Elsa wouldn't have discovered Dante. She wouldn't have been able to save him from the fire or bring him to her time. And she was certain she was meant to bring him forward.

Like Leonardo, Dante had seen her while she was traveling. It was the day his father, Heinrich, had died. Her heart had nearly broken at how distraught Dante was, and she had longed to be able to do something to help. When his gaze locked on hers, she knew she could.

Passing out for a while was nothing. Elsa would have done anything to save him. She just needed to get him settled before it happened. She leaned against the bathroom door until the dizziness subsided, then went to his room.

Winston was there when she arrived, setting up tea and some cookies at the small table near the fireplace. Leonardo had followed him in and was curled on the settee, flicking his tail back and forth.

“Thanks for the tea, Winston.” She wrapped one arm around him and hugged him tight.

“You're quite welcome.” He leaned into her a bit. “What's this? You're cold as ice.”

Elsa ran her hands up and down her arms. Now that he mentioned it, she was a bit cold. Pushing the thought away, she said, “My hair is wet.”

“That'll cool you off. A spot of tea will fix you right up, as soon as that friend of yours is ready to join you.”

“He's a good man, Winston. Give him a chance.”

Winston made a harrumphing noise and started pouring the tea.

Elsa realized she hadn't shown Dante his wardrobe. Most of the clothes inside the armoire were in the style of his time, again, to help him gradually adjust. But she'd bought him some comfortable pajama pants, not knowing what he usually slept in.

Her imagination started up again, and she pushed away the thought of Dante naked between his sheets. She needed to rein this in. She also needed to leave before he came out of the bathroom.

The dizziness returned with a vengeance, the walls spinning around her like she was at the center of a carousel. Elsa gripped the door to the armoire until the room stopped moving.

Only a little longer, and Dante would be safely in bed. Then she could collapse in hers. She could make it.

She grabbed a pair of pajama bottoms from the armoire's drawer and tossed them on the bed where he would see them. She could wait in the hall until he was dressed, and then…

Then the world tilted and the floor rushed up at her. She heard Winston yelling her name as if he was far away.

This was not part of the plan. Dante needed her. There were still things she had to tell him. Elsa felt as if she was swimming against a strong current. She slipped further away from Winston's voice, sinking into darkness.

Chapter Five

Dante had never been so clean in his life. His shower was nothing less than luxurious. Elsa had left typeset notes on thin rectangular tiles placed throughout the bathroom explaining the purpose and use of the various items in amusing detail.

The tiles themselves were even more intriguing than their content. They looked like small pieces of paper that had been encased in a smooth, transparent material that left them impervious to water. He would certainly ask her about them as soon as he had a chance.

His mask rested on the back of the sink. Dante picked it up and turned it over in his hands, not wanting to put it on quite yet. He wasn't sure why. The lighting in the room was bright, much brighter than he was used to. He set down his mask and placed his hands on either side of the cool surface of the sink.

Morbid curiosity. That was all this was. He should not indulge it. And yet, he knew he would.

Dante ran his hand over the fogged surface of the mirror and looked at himself.

If anything, the lighting made the scars look worse. He could see each bright red welt rising from the surface of his skin in greater detail, the shadows highlighting his disfigurement like some sadistic bas-relief. His mother had never told him what happened, though she bore similar marks on her hands.

Why had Elsa brought him here? What had she seen in him that could possibly overpower this?

He would wake up soon, and find this all to have been a dream. Or perhaps his mind had finally snapped from the persecution and oppressive loneliness he suffered. He wasn't sure which was the better alternative. At least if he was mad, he could stay in this wonderful delusion.

“Help! Help!”

He jumped at the sound of Winston's frantic voice. Dante ran to the door and flung it open to find the old man huddled on the floor over Elsa's prone form. There was a pair of pants at the foot of the bed, barely more than leggings, but Dante pulled them on as he approached.

“What happened?”

“I don't know! One minute we were talking, then I heard her sort of sigh and then thump to the floor. I was afraid to move her. I can't see how bad it is.”

“Calm yourself,” Dante said.

“Calm nothing! How is she? Is she hurt?”

Dante turned his attention to Elsa. She was pale, her lips bloodless and her brow furrowed. Her breathing was quick and labored. He gently touched her shoulder. Her skin was much cooler than it had been earlier in the evening. He could not rouse her.

Dante's heart seemed to wish to crawl out of his body, but his throat would not accommodate it.

“It's bad, isn't it?” Winston said.

“I do not know. Could it be a fainting spell?”

“Fainting spell?” Winston sputtered. “I'll give you a fainting spell. She's cold as ice. Come on. Let's get her to the bed.”

Winston rose, leaving Dante to carry Elsa. He slid his arms beneath her and lifted her from the floor, his heart still in his throat. Winston hobbled to the bed, then turned down the covers.

As Dante set Elsa upon the bed, Winston said, “I'm calling Garrett.”

“Garrett?”

“He's a doctor. Lives right next door. You get in there and keep her warm.” Winston started for the door at a pace that was possibly too quick to be safe.

“I beg your pardon?” Dante said.

“You heard me. Get in there and pull the covers up and keep her warm till I can get us help.”

Dante looked down at Elsa's still form, his mouth suddenly dry. “I am uncertain if—”

Winston turned sharply at the door. “Listen, you! Elsa trusts you enough to have you live with her, so I'll trust you too. Now get in there before I knock your teeth in!”

Dante nodded foolishly, too flustered to recall Winston's blindness for a moment. “Of course.”

“And if I find out you tried something with her while I'm gone, I'll really give you a walloping.” Winston disappeared through the doorway before Dante could say any more.

Elsa shuddered, a crease appearing at the center of her forehead. Could he really be contemplating following Winston's instruction? Perhaps the covers would be sufficient. Dante pulled them up to her chin, tucking them in around her shoulders. Her brow smoothed somewhat, and she sighed his name.

Dante froze, uncertain if he had heard correctly. It could have been his imagination, fueled by the extraordinary events of the evening. Regardless, it gave him the courage to lift the covers and slide into the bed behind her.

He slid one arm under her neck and the other over her waist, pulling her as close as he dared. Her body fit snugly against his.

She was terribly cold. Dante reached up to brush a few strands of hair away from her face. He was intent upon her to the point that he nearly cried out when some small thing leapt upon his back.

Elsa's cat crept over him as if he was no more than a pillow. It sniffed at her lips, then crawled under the covers and curled up against her chest, purring loudly. At least it could lend its warmth to her.

Winston entered the room, murmuring to himself. Dante craned his head over his shoulder and saw that Winston was carrying a great burden of blankets.

“Allow me to help you,” Dante said. He started to rise, but Winston stopped Dante with a look so piercing, he wondered for a moment if Winston's blindness was a charade.

“Don't you dare. You just keep her warm.”

Winston dropped the blankets on the foot of the bed, then started spreading them atop the pair. Dante adjusted them so they were covering Elsa, yet not burying her cat so deeply that it would be smothered. She seemed rather fond of it.

Winston paused for a moment, then threw the final blanket over them. “I hear Garrett's car. I'll be right back.”

As he left, Dante's stomach lurched. His mask was in the other room. Winston was blind. There was no harm in him being near Dante without his mask. But this Garrett fellow… Who knew how he'd react?

The man was a doctor, so hopefully Dante's face would not send him screaming from the room. The lighting was dim, and Dante's right side was toward the pillows. There was that, at least. But what would Dr. Garrett think of finding Dante in bed with Elsa, barely dressed as they were?

He was spared from his racing thoughts as Winston entered the room again, followed by a man so tall his head nearly brushed the top of the doorframe. He was blond, his skin richly bronzed by the sun, and he had the flawless features of a leading man. A perfect match for Elsa.

He was dressed in a thin gray shirt with sleeves that did not reach his elbows. His pants were similar to the ones Dante currently wore. Perhaps this was the fashion of the tropics.

“You must be Dante,” Garrett said, surprising Dante with a genial smile.

“And you must be Dr. Garrett.”

“Dr. Wolfstrom, actually, but I'd prefer you call me Garrett.”

Despite Dante's misgivings, he found himself liking the man. Garrett's smile came easily, and his tone lacked any hint of condescension. There was a lilt to his voice, an accent Dante did not recognize.

Dante started to move away from Elsa, but Garrett motioned for him to stay.

“Winston said she's cold, and body heat's all we have at the moment.” Garrett glanced at the empty fireplace, then crossed to the opposite side of the bed. “There's not much call for furnaces in Florida. If it's all the same, I'd rather you stay where you are.”

“Of course,” Dante said.

Garrett set his black doctor's bag down near the pillows and pulled out what looked like a stethoscope. Dante's theory was confirmed as Garrett clipped its listening tubes onto his ears, then crawled across the bed toward Elsa and placed the chestpiece above her heart.

Garrett listened for a moment before shifting the device to check a few other places. Finally, he opened each of her eyes, shining a tiny light into them.

Dante angled his head more toward the pillows. Garrett must be able to see Dante's face, but Garrett's gaze never strayed to his, and Garrett made no mention of it. He seemed barely aware of Dante's presence until handing Dante the smallest thermometer he had ever seen.

“Put this under her arm, if you would.” Garrett smiled, and said, “I like to do things old-school.”

Dante nodded as if that statement did not confuse him, then lifted Elsa's arm gingerly to place the thermometer. He fought the flush trying to creep up his neck as the scent of roses flooded his senses. Elsa melted against his body as if they were meant to fit together. He reminded himself to remain focused on assisting her and not think of how right it felt to have her in his arms.

“How is she?” Winston's worried voice cut through Dante's thoughts.

Garrett shook his head and said, “It looks to me like she's just passed out.”

“Passed out?” Winston said. “That's not like her.”

“This isn't the first time.” Garrett scratched Leonardo's head as the cat purred even louder. Garrett winked at Dante and said, “She slept right through our second date. I came over to pick her up for dinner and she passed out before we made it to the car. She was fine in a couple of hours, but it damn near broke my heart.”

Dante felt as if the floor had dropped out from under him. An invitation to dinner was unmistakably courting behavior. And Elsa had accepted.

Garrett and Elsa were involved. It made sense. He was a doctor, handsome and charismatic. Why Garrett had not trounced Dante for being in bed with Elsa was the mystery.

“I apologize.” Dante thought to rise, but he was trapped. If he sat up, Garrett would see his face fully before Dante had a chance to cover himself.

“Don't worry about it,” Garrett said. His smile broadened and he slapped Dante on the arm. “That ended years ago. This little guy stole her right out from under me.”

Garrett scratched Leonardo's head once more, then pulled the thermometer from beneath Elsa's arm. His brow furrowed slightly as he examined it, but then he shook his head and slid to the side of the bed. He placed his tools back in his bag, which he sat on the bedside table.

“Her temperature is a little low, but not dangerously so. We'll keep an eye on that. Winston, did you turn off the AC?”

“Yes sir,” Winston said, shuffling toward the fireplace.

“Ugh, don't call me ‘sir'. You know I can't stand that.”

Garrett walked over to Winston and put his hands on the older man's shoulders and squeezed, then patted him on the back. Dante's heart warmed toward them both. The whole group treated each other as family. It was a beautiful thing to behold.

“I keep forgetting.” Winston chuckled roughly.

“I'll keep reminding you. Now sit down before I wind up with two patients. I've got this.”

Dante risked lifting his head to watch as Garrett built up a raging fire. The doctor seemed as confident with menial tasks as with his examination of Elsa. Again, Dante found himself liking Garrett.

Winston sat at the small table before the fire, his face drawn with worry. “She never mentioned fainting spells. What could have brought it on?”

“Any number of things,” Garrett said, adjusting the blazing logs a final time before rising and putting the poker back in place. “Overexertion is at the top of my list of suspects.”

“She does like to do that,” Winston said. “She went to that play again tonight.”

Garrett laughed. “Of course she did, Winston. It's Saturday.”

“Is it?” Dante asked. He immediately regretted letting the question slip from his lips.

Garrett glanced at Dante without flinching. He felt his cheeks heat, but held Garrett's gaze. Dante had never felt more exposed in his life. Garrett looked at the scars on Dante's face briefly, then turned back to Winston. That was all.

“I'll stay at least through the night,” Garrett said. “But I'm sure she'll be fine after she gets some rest.”

“Thank goodness,” Winston said. He was still wringing his hands.

“Do you think you could make us some coffee?”

“Of course. It's the least I can do.” Winston stood, the ghost of a smile crossing his face, and headed out the door.

Garrett walked back to the bed and sat opposite Dante. “I didn't want to say this in front of Winston, but she actually warned me that something like this might happen again. How she knew is the mystery. The last time was just after Leonardo came to live with her.” He laughed, and said, “Maybe it's the excitement of new roommates.”

“I do not wish to be a burden to her.” Dante could scarcely think that Elsa's bringing him here was unrelated to her collapse.

“Come on,” Garrett said, the easy smile returning to his face as he leaned against the headboard. “If we weren't burdens for Elsa, what would she do with her time?”

Elsa shivered, and Dante pulled her closer without even thinking. He could not believe how soft she felt against him. He did not miss the shadow that crossed Garrett's face before the man looked away.

“What is she to you?” Dante asked. He hadn't meant to give voice to his thought.

“We're friends.”

“Friends.”

“Good friends.” Garrett shrugged, his smile becoming a bit strained. “We've known each other for years. We tried dating at first, but it didn't work out.”

“I cannot imagine why.” Dante tried to keep any bitterness from his tone. A handsome man like Garrett would surely find his company in high demand.

“I worked in the ER when we met. My hours were crazy back then. I'm mostly retired now, but I think that ship has sailed.”

The look Garrett gave Dante was one he'd never seen before. At least, not directed at him. Something akin to anger flashed across Garrett's gaze, followed quickly by resignation.

“I am sorry.” Dante understood little of what Garrett had said, but it seemed appropriate to apologize.

Garrett shrugged, his smile returning. He crossed his legs before him on the bed and folded his hands over his chest.