Wandering Soul (14 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Two of the best days of Elsa's life passed after Jazz's visit. In the sunlit hours, Dante painted while Elsa wrote in the studio. They spent their evenings relaxing with books or watching movies.

During meals shared with Winston, Dante would teach them about what he was studying. Elsa knew how to drive a car, but had never bothered to learn about engines. The way Dante explained everything was fascinating. If he decided not to be a painter, he'd make a wonderful teacher.

Winston was doing so much better. Watching him ask questions, thoughtfully nodding as he listened to Dante's answers, was quickly becoming one of Elsa's favorite things in the universe. Winston had even started downloading audio books on some of the subjects they discussed, his curiosity piqued by Dante's enthusiasm.

Garrett's visits were encouraging too. He had kept his promise and Elsa was beginning to feel more at ease about letting him call off his friend. Nothing bad had come of the private investigator poking around and she felt like she and Garrett were closer than before. Their friendship was stronger from the trust she finally felt able to give him.

The only cloud hanging over her was the thought of Jazz's dance. It crept ever closer until the dreaded day arrived, along with two large packages. Elsa carried them to her bedroom, hoping to inspect what Jazz had sent before Dante had a chance to see the outfits. He happened past her bedroom door just as she was setting the boxes on her bed.

“Have the costumes arrived?” He joined Elsa by the side of her bed.

“I think so.”

“Allow me to assist you.” Dante opened the first box, stiffening when he caught a glimpse of what was inside. He lifted a white half-mask from within, then sighed. “I begin to understand what you meant by my not knowing what I was getting myself into.”

“She didn't!” Elsa turned back to the box, picking up the top item of clothing. It was a long black jacket with dark burgundy accents in a satiny fabric. She dropped it back in the box, then turned toward the door. “That's it. I'm calling Jazz to tell her we aren't coming.”

Dante caught Elsa's arm and spun her in a circle till she was facing him again. Elsa stifled the urge to giggle. When she looked up into his eyes, there were playful crinkles at the edges as he smiled. He hadn't worn a mask since Jazz's visit.

“If Jazz would like me to attend as the Phantom of the Opera, I shall not disappoint her. Besides…” He held the mask up to his face. “It is a role I am well prepared to play.”

Elsa laughed and shook her head. “You're taking this all pretty well.”

“I have had quite a few opportunities to practice adapting of late. It has become second nature.” He put the mask back on top of his costume, then drew his fingertips slowly over the unopened box. “Also, I am quite eager to see what she has prepared for you.”

“That makes one of us.”

“Do you mind?”

“Go ahead.”

Elsa watched as Dante opened the other box. She couldn't suppress a gasp as he pulled out an eye mask covered with pale gold feathers in an intricate design. It was absolutely gorgeous. A bed of rich gold silk with chestnut accents lay beneath the mask.

“Rachel had to be involved,” Elsa said. “She's amazing with colors and fabrics.”

“Then I am beholden to her.”

He set aside the mask and gingerly lifted Elsa's dress from the box. He held it in his arms like he had carried her when he first arrived. His eyes darkened to a blue as rich and deep as an autumn sky at dusk.

In a quiet voice, he said, “I should very much like to see you in this.”

“I…” Elsa stammered. “Okay.”

Dante placed the dress on her bed, a soft smile on his lips. “In that case, I shall retire to my room to prepare for our evening.”

He replaced the lid on the box that held his costume, then tucked it under his arm. He lifted her hand once more and pressed a kiss onto her palm, his gaze locked with hers. There was a spark in his eyes, an intensity that flooded her body with warmth.

And then he was gone, closing the door to her room behind him as he left. Elsa sat on her bed, running her fingers over the smooth fabric of her dress, its coolness seeping into her skin. She lifted the mask and stared into its empty eyes.

Scenarios ran through her mind, each more terrible than the last. Dante was set on going. She knew she couldn't talk him out of it, so she would be at his side to help him.

It was going to be a long night.

Elsa spent more time getting ready for Jazz's dance than she'd spent preparing for every other date of her life combined. Not that this was a date. She was accompanying Dante to help him meet other people in a relatively safe setting. That was all.

Standing in front of her armoire's floor-length mirror, she had to admit her efforts were worthwhile. She'd opted to pull her hair back, leaving a few soft tendrils around her face. The bodice of her dress hugged her chest and waist perfectly, lifting and slimming in all the right places. The skirt flowed around her legs like a pool of sunlight.

Rachel was a genius.

Elsa heard a soft rap on the door. “Come in.”

Dante appeared in the mirror behind her. She was so stunned she couldn't turn around. She watched his reflection approach. He hadn't worn such an ornate and flattering outfit in any of the times she observed him.

The tails of the black jacket made him look even taller, the tailored pants showing off his long legs. Only the very edges of a white shirt showed beneath the vest under his jacket, everything offset with that rich burgundy satin. His hair was slicked back with something—all but a stray lock that had fallen over the mask he wore.

He strode up to her, resting his hands on her arms and stopping close enough that she could feel his warmth against her back. Even without the tightness of her dress, Elsa would've had trouble catching her breath just from the sight of him. He looked so serious, a strange energy about him that was new.

He leaned in even closer, his lips hovering just above her neck, and whispered, “Do I look the part?”

Elsa stammered until she saw his lips pull into a broad smile.

“Very funny.” She stepped away from him. Her stomach was doing flip-flops, and the skin along her neck was still tingling from the warmth of his breath. “Are you enjoying getting into character?”

“I am making the most of the evening. I must confess, it is an interesting exercise to pretend to be the legend that stemmed in part from my life.”

“‘Interesting' is one word for it. We can still back out if you want to.”

“I wouldn't dream of it. Besides, in all honesty, I fear what Jazz would do if we did not make an appearance at the very least.”

“That point I cannot argue.”

“And it will also be quite some time before I have had my fill of seeing you like this. You look…” His gaze trailed down her body, leaving a wake of sparks that burned through her. “‘Beautiful' is not a strong enough word.”

She tried to shake off the effect of that look—the urges that rose in her. She needed to stay focused. Who knew what the evening held?

Not sex. Definitely not sex.

Dante lifted Elsa's hand and threaded it through his elbow. “Shall we?”

She took a deep breath, feeling as if she was about to dive into murky water, then nodded.

“Let's go.”

Chapter Nineteen

Dante had thought his logic sound when they left the house, but once they were on their way to the gallery, he found himself plagued with doubts. Even the clear view of other cars in the fading sunlight could not distract him.

It had not escaped his notice that Elsa was in a similar state of mind. She was practically wringing her hands as she stared out the window and chewed on her lower lip. He longed to tell her that everything would be fine, but in honesty, he was uncertain.

Uncertain and uncomfortable.

The mask Jazz had provided was made from some sort of clay. It was quite heavier than he was accustomed and was not fitted to the contours of his face like the porcelain versions he had crafted. Already, he looked forward to returning to Elsa's home, where a mask would not be required.

The car stopped in front of a row of shops and buildings nestled so close, there was barely telling where one began and the next ended. Only the color of the bricks and the architectural accents on the upper stories differentiated them.

On the ground level, the walls were made of glass and metal, allowing passersby to see right into the storefronts.
Jazz Gallery
was emblazoned in red lettering above an open door. Dante could hear faint music from within the gallery.

When the driver opened the car door, Dante exited first, then reached down to help Elsa step onto the sidewalk. She was truly a vision.

The burnished gold of her dress made her hair shine like pale honey. Her eyes fairly glowed. For a moment, he simply stood on the sidewalk, mesmerized by her.

She lifted a hand to her face and touched her cheek, the gesture oddly reminiscent of how he checked the positioning of his mask. “Is everything okay? You're staring.”

“I am riveted. There is a difference.”

The blush that came to her face buoyed his confidence. Pulling her hand through his elbow again, he led her inside.

The press of bodies was oppressive, especially compared with their quiet existence at Elsa's manor. Dozens of people filled the rooms beyond the foyer, milling about and looking at the art upon the walls or gathering in clusters to converse.

Elsa clung to Dante, staring at everyone as if they were an angry mob merely awaiting a target. He knew she was not just worried for him. If people questioned him about his origins and his answers were anachronistic, her secret would be at risk.

The artwork was another danger. They were contemporary, but Dante's first painting had been enough to trigger her ability outside of her control.

He had not truly considered that before and chided himself for his oversight. His resolve to protect her grew. He slid his arm around her waist as he pulled her closer and walked deeper into the throng.

The central room held no art, but was dominated by an open area being used by several couples for a waltz. Everyone was dressed in costumes that spanned the history Dante knew and some he did not. He and Elsa were hardly the most outlandish couple. There was a pair dressed as Marcus Antonius and Cleopatra.

Dante paused as he realized he thought of himself and Elsa as a couple. He wondered if perhaps she felt the same, with the way she pressed herself ever closer into his embrace. It was becoming easier to believe that there was more to their relationship than friendship.

“You made it!” Jazz navigated the crowd to reach them, wrapped her arms around Elsa's shoulders and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Dante was rather surprised when Jazz greeted him in the same manner.

She was dressed as some sort of sailor, he thought, with a ruffled white shirt under a deep red jacket. A matching bandana was tied over her dark hair. Her leggings were tan, though most of her legs were covered in high black boots adorned with many buckles.

“I have so many people I want to introduce you to.”

Elsa sighed. “Isn't it enough that we're here?”

“It's great that you're here, but you hardly ever come out, so I have to show you off when I have the chance. Plus, I want Dante to meet everyone.”

A server passed with a tray of tall flute glasses filled with gold liquid and chopped berries. Jazz grabbed a pair and handed one to Dante. Rather than give the other to Elsa, Jazz took a sip herself. Dante offered his glass to Elsa, but she shook her head.

Jazz clicked her tongue at Dante. “See, if you two went out more, you'd know that Elsa doesn't drink.”

“It's okay,” Elsa said. “Go ahead.”

Dante would need to ask later if there was some reason for her abstinence. There was no time at the moment, as Jazz led them through the room. Elsa clutched Dante's hand and cast a nervous glance at him. He forced himself to smile, hoping to ease her nerves.

Jazz had not been exaggerating about the number of people she wanted them to meet. Faces, masked and otherwise, blurred together until at last a pair that were familiar neared them.

Rachel waved, though it was hardly necessary. Both she and Garrett were quite tall. Dante easily saw them through the crowd, even without the people stepping aside as they approached.

Rachel's gown was such a pale blue it was nearly white, with full skirts offset by a corset that seemed tied a bit too tight. Her hair was piled in curls atop her head in an overly intricate manner.

With the gloves she wore and the fan she carried, Dante was reminded a bit too much of his own time. He was glad at least that Elsa's dress was more understated. Dancing with Elsa would be much easier with the slenderness of her skirts. He would be able to hold her close.

Garrett trailed after Rachel, wearing a dark suit and crisp white shirt with a small black tie at his neck. He nodded curtly, but said nothing.

Rachel let out a delighted squeal when she reached them. “Oh my God! You guys look great!”

“Where's your new boyfriend?” There was an edge to Elsa's voice, the strain of the evening no doubt showing through.

“He couldn't make it, but Garrett was nice enough to be my date.”

“That's me,” Garrett said, his hands in his pockets. “Mr. Nice Guy.”

“Doctor Nice Guy.” Rachel patted Garrett's arm. “My mother would be so proud.”

“Elsa tells me that I have you to thank for the exquisite dress she is wearing tonight,” Dante said.

“You caught me.” Rachel was smiling, but it did not quite reach her eyes. In fact, there was a haunted look to them, as if something was upsetting her. She grabbed Dante's elbow and pulled him toward the dance floor. “We have to have a dance.”

Elsa stiffened, but then she released Dante's arm. “You should go.”

“Don't worry.” Garrett stepped forward, a polite smile etched on his face. “I'll keep Elsa company.”

Dante did not want to dance with Rachel. He wanted to dance with Elsa. But she had already backed away, Garrett following. There was nothing for Dante to do but allow Rachel to usher him onto the dance floor.

The waltz was simple enough that he could proceed through the motions without concentrating overmuch. This was good, because he was preoccupied with thoughts of Elsa. Being taller than most of the crowd himself, he could keep her in his sight as he and Rachel danced. Garrett and Elsa appeared to be having a heated discussion. Dante could only see Garrett's face, but he looked upset. Garrett shook his head and walked away, leaving Elsa alone.

The crowd parted as he left, and Dante caught a glimpse of her. Her gaze met Dante's briefly, and he was uncertain if the longing he detected was her own, or a projection of his feelings upon her. The crowd shifted and he lost sight of her again.

“It's really great that you're helping Elsa with her book,” Rachel said. “And you're so into the part. Have you been acting for long?”

With chagrin, Dante realized that Rachel had been speaking for quite some time, but he had not been paying attention. Only at the very end, when she asked her question, had he recognized that she was addressing him.

“I am not an actor.”

“Oh come on. You have this character down so perfectly. Are you a specialist that only plays the Phantom? I've heard of that before.”

She laughed, a high pitch to the sound that hinted strangely at hysteria. It was enough to call Dante's full attention to her. The lines of strain around her eyes had deepened.

“Is everything all right?”

“Of course it is.” Rachel gave another shrill laugh. “It's just that I have a wager going on about whether you're a method actor or not.”

“I do not know what you mean.”

“You know.” She looked pointedly at Dante's mask. “I bet you have makeup on under there. To fully embody the essence of the Phantom.”

“I assure you, that is not the case.” Dante bristled despite his concerns for her.

“Come on. I can see it around the edges of your mask.”

As much as Dante wanted to help Rachel with whatever challenge she faced, he was finding their conversation intolerable. He ceased the waltz and said, “If you would excuse me. I believe I will take my leave of you now.”

Rachel looked stricken for a moment, and then she lashed out, grabbing Dante's mask and tearing it from his face. Her grip was precarious, and it slipped from her fingers.

The brittle clay shattered as it hit the floor. Rachel was so intent upon him, she barely seemed to notice.

Gasps and whispers spread out from the two of them like ripples from a pebble dropped in still water. One by one, all of the people around them stopped and turned to stare at him. And first among them was Rachel.

“See! I told you,” she said.

Dante was too stunned to step back as she reached out and touched his face. A troubled look crossed her gaze, her fingers exploring the raised, rough flesh. The confusion was soon replaced with shock and then horror. Rachel snatched her hand back—yet another misguided soul who thought scars could be transferred by touch.

He waited for the rest. The repulsion. The screams. But they never came. All he could hear were whispers from the crowd around them.

“Oh my God, Dante,” Rachel said. “I'm so sorry. I didn't know.”

Tears welled in her eyes, quickly spilling down her cheeks. She dropped to the floor and gathered the pieces of his mask in her trembling hands. Dante cleared his throat, trying to find his voice. When he did, it was rough and tight.

“Leave it.”

“But your mask… I broke it.” A sob escaped her, her breath uneven and her tears continuing to flow.

He knelt beside her, ignoring the stares of the surrounding crowd, and placed his arm over her shoulder. “I can always get another. But you must not try to gather these pieces when you are so distressed. You might hurt yourself.”

Dante pulled out his handkerchief and gave it to her. Rather than using it for herself, she opened it on the floor and started placing the pieces of his mask within. He assisted, eager to end the scene the incident had created.

When the pieces had been collected, he tied the corners of the cloth together and placed the bundle in his pocket. He helped Rachel to her feet as he stood and was shocked when she leaned against his side and wrapped her arm around his waist.

She looked up at him, and Dante saw no hint of discomfort or repulsion in her gaze. Only regret.

Elsa and Jazz appeared among the crowd surrounding them. Garrett was standing nearby. Dante did not know how long Garrett had been there.

“Dante, are you all right?” Elsa looked at the scars on his face for what seemed the first time. Her jaw went slack, but then she snapped her mouth shut and turned to Rachel.

“I didn't mean to.” Rachel shrank away from the intensity of Elsa's stare.

“What did you do, Rachel?” Elsa's tone was cold and level, the calm before a gathering storm.

“It was an accident.” Dante wrapped his arm around Rachel's shoulders. “She did nothing wrong.”

Elsa blinked and jerked her head back as if she had been slapped. Her gaze lingered on Dante's hand resting upon Rachel's arm.

“It was my fault.” Rachel's breath came in gulps, her eyes filling with tears once more. “I thought he was just playing a part, you know? Helping you with your—”

Elsa did not allow Rachel to finish her sentence. “You pulled off his mask, didn't you?”

Rachel nodded. She squeezed Dante's waist tightly, and he pulled her closer.

The storm broke, but it was not a blizzard. Flames of rage sprang to life in Elsa's eyes. “Of all the inconsiderate, impulsive acts you've done, this has to be—”

“An accident.” Dante summoned his most commanding tone as he cut in. “Rachel had no idea of my disfigurement. You could hardly expect her not to be curious as to what lay beneath my mask.”

“But I can expect her to respect your personal boundaries,” Elsa said, that fire now directed at him. He did not shrink away from it.

“It is I who decide my own boundaries. And it is I who have the right to offer forgiveness, which I most certainly do.”

Elsa's eyes flashed with anger, but she held her tongue. Beside her, Jazz was smiling, as if this spectacle amused her. The thought irked Dante as much as anything else from the evening.

Was this the introduction that Jazz had planned for him? If so, he would most certainly have words for her. To start, he wanted to know if she was the one who had put Rachel up to this. He had seen enough manipulation in the theatre to know when someone had been goaded into action.

In the meantime, Dante found himself at the center of too much attention. A few people turned away when he met their gazes, lips curling in distaste, but most simply seemed curious. Many had already moved on from the matter, going about their own business.

There were whispers and stares, but no screams, no pointing. There was no fear.

Jazz raised her arms over her head and clapped loudly. “Okay, everybody. This isn't performance art. This is a dance. Get back to it and cut the gawking.”

She cast one final grin toward him, then whispered something in Elsa's ear. Elsa's eyes widened for a moment before she turned to glare daggers at Jazz as she walked away.