Wandering Soul (7 page)

“Like who?”

Rachel laughed, oblivious to the chaos she was spawning. “The Phantom of the Opera.”

Chapter Nine

“You are the second person to speak of this apparition. However, I am at a loss.” Dante had not questioned Garrett on the matter, hoping to avoid a topic that seemed quite uncomfortable for him.

“You've never heard of the Phantom of the Opera?” Rachel smiled and lifted one slender shoulder toward her head, inclining it as she gazed at him. “I get it. You're a method actor. Since you're supposed to be the Phantom, you wouldn't know about the character.”

“I am afraid I do not follow your meaning.”

“Sure.” Rachel nodded in an exaggerated manner. “Is Dante your real name or a stage name?”

“It is the name my mother gave me.”

The way the woman gawked at him and her coquettish gestures reminded Dante of the actresses in Heinrich's theatre. He would not serve himself up for her amusement.

“It's a great name.” Rachel turned to Elsa. “You should totally use that in your book.”

“You are a writer, then?” Dante angled his face so that only his mask was toward Elsa, hoping to hide his expression until he had gained better mastery over his emotions. Rachel was Elsa's friend, and Dante did not want Elsa to think him impolite.

“I was going to tell you,” she said.

Rachel interjected once more. “I can't wait to read that book! Especially with you going all out and hiring someone to play the part of the Phantom in your house!”

Playing a part. Was this why Elsa had chosen him to be her companion? Was she truly writing a book about him? His life did not seem interesting enough to warrant such attention. Dread mingled with curiosity within him.

“Perhaps you could assist me with my role.”

“Sure!” Rachel said.

He sat next to Elsa. “Tell me of this Phantom, as if I knew nothing at all.”

“Oh how fun!” Rachel clapped her hands together. “Well, the original story was written like over a hundred years ago, but a ton of other versions have come out since then. Basically, the Phantom is this mad genius who runs around in catacombs or something under an opera house in Paris. He only surfaces to create his music, but he mostly winds up killing people.”

“I beg your pardon?” Dante was uncertain if he had heard her correctly. Aside from his living in the basement of Heinrich's theatre, there was nothing in what she said that bore the slightest resemblance to Dante's life, for which he was extremely grateful.

“He's really good at inventions,” she said. “He makes all kinds of traps and stuff and uses them to kill anyone who gets in his way.”

Dante's heart sank as Rachel's story took on a familiar note. Giselle had seemed to delight in spinning tales about him. She painted him as a deformed monster that lurked in the basement of the theatre, coveting her and using the mechanisms he designed for the theatre's productions to ill effect.

“So,” Dante said. “He is a villain.”

“I guess he is in most of the stories, but people still sympathize with him. He's an outcast, and everybody wants to be accepted. See, his face was all messed up when he was born, and he was raised in a freak show.”

Dante felt his jaw drop. He quickly checked his mask to ensure it was in place. “They believe his disfigurement justified him in murder?”

“Well, not exactly,” Rachel said. “But anyway, don't worry. Elsa hates all the horror movie versions of the story. I'm sure in her book, you get to be the good guy.”

“Indeed.”

Dante glanced briefly toward Elsa. Her face was pale, her eyebrows pinched above her nose. Through parted lips, she pulled in breath after breath, as if drowning. When their eyes met, she leaned forward, clutching his arm.

“I'm sorry…”

Her words hit him like a blow. There was no denial. She was an author writing a book about him. Bringing him to her time was the same as commissioning the encyclopedia set. She had brought him forth for her research.

“Is there more?” he asked.

Elsa's eyes glittered as if she fought back tears. She pulled away from him and, angry as he was, he missed her touch.

Rachel continued, though she spoke a bit haltingly. Perhaps she finally sensed that something was wrong. “There's the love story, of course.”

Dante's gaze snapped to Rachel. “Love story?”

“Yeah, that's my favorite part. I've seen movies and plays and read books all based on the same story, and I still wonder whether the young protégé will choose the mentor or the childhood sweetheart.” Rachel leaned forward and patted his knee. “I always cheer for you.”

“Cheer for…”

Dante shook his head, appalled as he realized what Rachel meant. Mary had been of age when they met, but he was not the sort to take such a young bride. He had been careful to always play the role of mentor with her, though she was the only person in his life who did not seem profoundly disturbed by his appearance.

He looked to Elsa. “I was twice her age.”

“Giselle,” Elsa said, as if that explained it all.

Truthfully, it did. Giselle's exaggerations at work once more. The thought that Elsa was trying to tell yet another tale surrounding his life made his stomach churn.

“Does he ever break character?” Rachel asked.

Elsa let out a long sigh. “Rachel, I really do need to rest. Could we maybe visit some other time?”

“Sure, now that I know you're okay.” Rachel leaned over to give Elsa a quick hug, and said, “You guys are really taking this method acting seriously.”

Elsa stared pointedly at Dante. “I've been working on this book for a long time. I want to get it right.”

Rachel stood and slung her purse over her shoulder. With a broad grin, she said, “I bet you do. It's no wonder you're so tired with a hottie like this helping you with your ‘research'. I'm sure he's being very thorough.”

“Rachel!” Elsa gasped, her face reddening instantly.

Dante caught the insinuation and said, “I beg your pardon?” at the same time.

Rachel just laughed. “As much as I'm looking forward to reading the book, you should really let Elsa get some sleep.”

She hurried off around the side of the house, waving once over her shoulder. After a long silence, Dante heard what must be the engine of Rachel's car starting. It faded into the distance.

He stood and walked to the greenery at the edge of the patio. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he gently traced the white petals of a gardenia with his fingertips.

“I'm sorry,” Elsa said at last. “I didn't want you to find out that way.”

“Find out what, Elsa?” He could not bring himself to look at her. “That you have brought me to your time merely to assist your efforts to spin more tales around my life? Or that history remembers me as a monster?”

“Giselle's stories took on a life of their own. They merged with other tales, traveling from one person to the next over decades and turned into urban legends.
The Phantom of the Opera
is not your story. That's why I'm writing this book. To tell your story. I'm writing it for you. I'll destroy it right now if you tell me to.”

Dante did turn toward her then. He had to see the truth in her eyes. When he spoke, each word was clipped, demanding.

“Why am I here?”

Elsa swung her feet to the ground and stood before he could stop her. She seemed steady enough that he left the distance between them. He did not trust himself to keep seeking answers if he was distracted by her touch.

“Because I couldn't let you die.”

Dante could not help but think she must have had some other motive behind her actions. She had paid such a toll to bring him here. What would she expect of him in return?

She took several quick breaths, as if she was preparing to leap over some hurdle. When she spoke, the words rushed from her lips in a flood.

“I use my ability to go to other times and places to do research for the books I write. I was researching something else when I found you.”

“And decided to write this book of which Rachel spoke.”

“Yes.”

Elsa winced when the word left her lips, as if speaking it pained her. Despite his misgivings, Dante wanted to comfort her, but he would not allow himself to do so.

“If I hadn't made that choice, I would never have discovered that I could save you,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“I was researching the book and I saw Mary and Edgar after the fire.” Elsa's voice quieted, though the tension never left her slight frame. “When Edgar gave Mary the ring.”

Dante felt as though the ground shuddered beneath him. He had been confident that Mary would be all right. Knowing beyond doubt that she and Edgar had a chance to lead a happy life together removed a weight from Dante's heart he hadn't known he carried.

“Was she well?”

“Physically, she was fine. But she was so upset.” Elsa's gaze became unfocused, as if she was seeing something far away. “She kept saying that they didn't find your body. She refused to give up hope that you were still alive. And when I heard her say that, I knew. I knew I could save you. I had to.”

Elsa looked at him then, and the raw despair that flooded her features staggered him.

“I would have done anything to save you.”

She took a hesitant step toward him, but her legs gave way. He was not close enough to catch her before her knees struck the stone of the patio. She caught herself with her hands, but her arms trembled from holding her weight. Dante ran to her side, then knelt next to her. He drew her against his chest.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Elsa shook her head. “I'm just tired of being so…tired.” She took a deep breath and leaned against him.

Whatever else he believed, he knew that she had risked herself to bring him here. She was still paying the toll of that journey. He lifted her from the ground and carried her into the studio.

“I can walk.”

“I believe we have both seen that is not the case.”

The nearest chair was at the desk nestled against the wall of windows just inside the door. Dante set Elsa upon it as gently as he could. He knelt before her, turning over her hands to inspect her injuries. The soft skin of her palms had been roughly lacerated from the stonework of the patio.

“It's nothing.”

Dante brushed the grit and pebbles from her hands as delicately as he could. “I am sorry that you fell.”

“It wasn't your fault.”

“I am not so certain of that. You would not be in this state if you had not brought me here, whatever your reasons. And I am grateful to be here.”

“I knew this was going to upset you. That's part of why I was putting off telling you. I don't deal well with conflict.”

She had that unfocused look about her again, and Dante wondered what horrible specters of the past she was seeing. He could not leave her there to face them alone.

“I am not of the opinion that ignorance is bliss, but rather, it is dangerous. If I am to adapt to this new world, there are things I need to know. Not the least of which is how others will react to my presence, given the legends that may be associated with me. I would rather you preserve my safety than my feelings.”

Elsa nodded. “I'll do my best, but please try to understand, I'm not used to talking about any of this. It's hard for me to share.”

“You have been alone with this for a very long time.” When Elsa tried to look away, Dante dared to cup her cheek with his hand, his thumb gently stroking the softness of her skin. “I will keep this in mind, so long as you also remember that, no matter what else happens, you are no longer alone.”

Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away, smiling at Dante, though there were lines of strain at the corners of her lips.

“It'll be hard to forget, since you insist on carrying me everywhere.” She lifted her hand to cover his and pressed her cheek into his palm. She tightened her grip for a moment, then pulled his hand away.

He knew she was making light of the situation, and he let her. There were weights she carried deep within her soul. The more time he spent with her, the more obvious they became.

Though he could not bring himself to smile, he did lift her from her chair, preparing to carry her to a more comfortable spot for her to rest. For the first time, she did not melt against him, but instead reached for something on her desk.

“Wait.”

Dante lowered her back into her chair and watched as she picked up a strange box. It was shaped somewhat like a book, but had cords coming out of it, which she promptly removed.

“Is that a computer?”

Despite what had just passed between them and the uncertainty he still felt, a surge of excitement flowed through him. He had read of computers and was eager to witness one in use.

“Yes, it is.” She picked it up and held it to her chest, then leaned forward as if she intended to stand.

“Elsa, please,” Dante said, using a tone more stern than he had ever dared with another. Her eyes widened slightly, but she paused and allowed him to pick her up once more.

Her skin was warm, her body soft against him. Even now, he ached to pull her closer. How could it be that holding her in his arms felt so natural, so right? The scent of roses came to him from her hair. Dante felt a sudden urge to bury his face in it, perhaps trail his fingers down her neck before placing a kiss on the graceful slope of her shoulder.

His voice came out unexpectedly low, with a rough tenor, when he managed to speak. “Where am I to take you?”

Elsa's lips parted, her eyelids lowering briefly. For a moment, Dante wondered if her thoughts, her desire, had mirrored his own. But then, she cleared her throat, and said, “The entertainment room, please.”

When they arrived, he gently deposited her on the couch, though he was loathe to let her slip from his embrace.

“The movies you want are in that cabinet there.” She pointed to a shelf next to the large television.