Wandering Soul

by Cassandra Chandler

  She opened the door and ushered Dante into a large foyer. Two rooms flanked them—a dining room and a library, from what he could see. A large staircase wrapped around the wall to their left, ending in a landing on the next floor.

  A long hallway straight ahead ended in a dark room, its black and white tile flooring only visible from the light of a beautiful crystal chandelier above. Dante could hear the sound of running water and dishes banging against the sides of a sink from the unlit room.

  “Winston,” Elsa hissed.

  Dante was uncertain who Winston might be, but from Elsa’s deportment, he assumed the man was in some sort of trouble.

  She shook her head and sighed, then turned to Dante. “I’ll take your cloak.”

  Before he could act, she reached up and unfastened the cloak. Her hands slid along his arms, following the descent of the fabric. Having more of his wits about him, and with the benefit of the bright lights above, the effect of her proximity was much more immediate.

  His heart quickened, his skin tingling where her hands had paused just above his wrists. He could well imagine those delicate hands removing more of his clothing in a similar fashion. Dante tried to think of something else, anything besides the sweet smell of roses that surrounded her.

  He cleared his throat, and said, “Thank you.”

  Elsa stared up at him, her eyes wide as if she was feeling something akin to wonder. His imagination must be running wild again, projecting his own emotions onto her.

  Her lips parted slightly, and he had a strange impulse to run his thumb along their satin surface. Her chest stilled as his gaze strayed to her décolletage. The black fabric of her dress accentuated the golden tint of her skin, which gleamed with a pearl-like cast. Dante was certain if he kissed her neck, she would taste of honey.

  She finally stepped back, folding the cloak over her arm. “I should hang this up.”

  A flush rose to his cheeks. At least she could only perceive half of it. He willed his body back under control, holding the book about automobiles before him to hide his state. Dante was relieved when she walked away, and used the opportunity to take a deep breath and calm himself.

  Where were these errant thoughts coming from? He had long since given up on having a physical relationship with a woman. But Elsa was awakening longings and desires he had no right to direct toward her.

  “Winston!”

  Elsa called out sharply enough that Dante started. There was a commanding edge to her tone that he had not heard before. She hung the cloak in a closet near the front door, then returned across the foyer, her heels clicking on the floor.

  A man stooped with age appeared in the darkened doorway. “I thought I heard you come in.”

  Elsa crossed her arms and let out a sigh. Winston shuffled toward them, one hand tracing the wood paneling along the stairs.

  “Now, don’t be starting with that.” A thick cockney accent slurred his words. “If I decide to wait up for you to be home safe, that’s my business.”

  “And if you’re so tired in the morning that you burn the toast, that’s mine.” There remained an edge to her tone, but she was smiling playfully now.

  “I can always make more toast, and the squirrels won’t fault me for the mistake.”

  She laughed and stepped forward, uncrossing her arms so she could hug the old man. If he was a servant, she was certainly not treating him as such. She kissed his cheek, bringing a rosy flush to Winston’s face.

  “I suppose you’ve forgiven me, then?” He patted her arms and laughed as well. “But what’s this? Smells like you stood too close to a campfire.” He started sniffing the air, then said, “Elsa, what on earth have you brought home with you?”

  “Not what, Winston. Who.”

  Winston stared blankly at the door, seeming to look right through Dante. Only then did Dante realize that Winston’s pale gray eyes had the unfocused stare of the blind.

  “I believe I am the one who requires forgiveness,” Dante said. “I am in a bit of disarray.”

  Winston stiffened when Dante spoke, his arm tightening around Elsa.

  “Winston, this is Dante. He’s the guest we’ve been preparing for.”

  “Oh. Well, then.” Winston scowled in Dante’s direction. “You’ve got an accent on you there. I can’t quite place it.”

  “Dante was born in London and raised abroad. And that is the end of the interrogation for tonight.” She kissed Winston’s cheek again, softening the scowl on his face.

  Apparently it was not merely with Dante that Elsa was affectionate. He struggled to suppress a strange surge of jealousy.

  She had rescued Dante in London, but how did she know of his other travels? He added that to the list of questions he must eventually ask.

  “We’ll just get cleaned up and then go to bed,” Elsa said. “I mean, he’ll be in his room, of course.”

  She corrected herself so quickly that she stumbled over the words. Her gaze darted toward Dante briefly, and her face turned bright red, the flush spreading down her neck and chest.

  Winston’s mouth twitched into a grin. It must be for Winston’s benefit that she had reacted that way. Winston could not see Dante, and might consider the worst—Elsa bringing a man home in the middle of the night.

  Winston patted her arm. “I’ll bring up a pot of chamomile tea after a bit.”

  “Only if it’s no trouble,” she said.

  “How’s this trouble? It’s my job.” Winston laughed and waved his hand behind him as he headed down the hall, leaving them alone once more.

  Elsa’s smile was more subdued when she turned back to Dante. It was just as riveting.

  “Come on. I’ll show you your room.”

  She led him to the stairs, the light gleaming off her bare shoulders where her hair fell aside. He was too distracted to notice the flash of black fur that darted in front of him until the very last minute.

  “Leo!” Elsa stopped abruptly.

  Dante was only able to avoid stepping on it by throwing off his own footing. The book went tumbling onto the stairs.

  Elsa ducked beneath his arm, catching enough of his weight that he did not fall. His shirt was still open more than was proper, and her palm landed directly upon his chest. The chill of her skin took his breath away.

  “You are so cold.”

  “Am I? I didn’t notice.”

  Dante grasped her hand, lifting it to his lips to breathe upon. After a moment, he pressed it back against his chest to warm it further. He watched her reaction carefully, looking for signs of revulsion. Instead, her eyes darkened like smoldering embers.

  Once more, his body responded to her closeness, only this time, he did not know if he had the strength to pull himself away.

  What would she do if he lowered his lips to hers? If he tilted his face to the right, she would not even have to gaze upon his mask.

  His mask.

  Picturing it felt like being doused in an icy stream. What was he thinking? She was beautiful, intelligent, kind and obviously well off. All of time was at her disposal. She could have her pick of lovers. Why would she ever choose him?

  Dante stepped away, releasing his hold on Elsa’s hand. A delicate crease appeared between her brows, but only for a moment.

  “There is a cat in your house,” Dante said.

  “Yes. That’s Leonardo.”

  She clicked her fingers at the sleek black cat licking its paw at the top of the stairs. It looked up as she said its name, sitting straight and gazing down upon them. Its eyelids lowered after a moment, and the little creature sighed as if they were beneath its notice.

  “Leonardo, mind your manners.” Elsa walked up the stairs and picked up the cat, then began scratching under its chin and along its neck. It purred loudly as she cuddled it to her chest. “You’ll have to forgive Leonardo. He likes to try to t
rip people. Winston treats it like some kind of game, but I worry.”

  Dante thought of suggesting she keep the cat outside, but something in the way she was holding it made him think better of that. He stooped to pick up the book he had dropped. As he rose, he inspected it for damage and was relieved to find none. He followed Elsa up the stairs, watching her carry Leonardo along with her as she led Dante down a hallway that continued from the landing.

  “I’ll be close in case you need anything.” She stopped at the first door on their right. It was carved of a deep walnut that matched the rest of the house. “My room is right here.”

  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 thinkin
g 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.