Wandering Soul (9 page)

Chapter Eleven

Any hopes Dante had that Elsa's interest in him went beyond the academic drowned in the darkness of her eyes, the way she gasped for breath. She must be revolted at the thought of sleeping next to him.

“I apologize.” His voice was colder than he had expected. “I should have confessed this sooner.”

“You didn't do anything wrong.” She curled her legs up under her and leaned against the arm of the couch. Pulling away.

He was not surprised by her reaction so much as how disappointed he felt. The dream of Elsa desiring him had taken root within his mind despite his misgivings. He could not even offer to leave. Where would he go?

At the very least, he could ease her discomfort by completing this task as quickly as possible.

“Perhaps we should proceed.”

“I suppose so.”

She pointed at a shelf she had shown Dante earlier that was full of movies. The bottom half of the shelf was a cabinet with closed doors.

“There's a made-for-TV movie version on the far right inside the cabinet. I think that'll be the best one to start with.”

It did not take long for him to follow Elsa's instructions and begin the movie. She had told him to think of it as a theatre in a box. The metaphor was charming, though unnecessary. Dante had already read the texts on video recordings.

Seeing the technology at work was much more exciting. Elsa was inured to it, however. By his reckoning, she was asleep before the second act had even begun. Her head slowly listed to one side, until it was resting on the arm of the couch.

Dante waited until he was certain she was deeply asleep before pausing the movie and shifting her so that she was more comfortable. He gently lowered her arm to her side and covered her with the blanket that was neatly placed over the back of the couch.

It was difficult not to linger, watching her sleep. The rise and fall of her chest and the soft sounds of her breathing soothed him, even in his current state of uncertainty. Perhaps especially so. It reminded him of his first night in this time, when he had held her in his arms as she slept.

Everything had seemed much simpler then, and the absurdity of that nearly caused Dante to laugh aloud. He contained himself, ensuring he did not wake Elsa.

He smoothed down a few errant hairs on the side of her head and was about to return to his seat, but she sighed in her sleep, brushing her cheek against his hand. He let his thumb trail along her warm skin, then down the line of her jaw.

Her breath distinctly quickened, her lips parting, as if waiting to be kissed. Mesmerized, Dante leaned forward, wondering if her lips would feel as lush as they appeared. He felt her warm breath on his face before he marshaled himself.

He stood abruptly, taking a few steps away from her as he collected himself. What was he thinking? Taking advantage of a sleeping woman… Perhaps this legend was not as far from the truth as he would like.

Dante sat back down on the couch, putting as much distance between them as he could. He took a deep breath and pressed the button that would resume the movie.

So much had happened in such a short amount of time, so much progress made. And he himself had somehow become part of the legends of this world, however tangentially. He could scarcely believe it.

Whatever else she was, Giselle was a master storyteller. She had begun to spin her tales as soon as she joined Heinrich's theatre, leading Dante along and using him to invoke Klaus's jealousy and hasten their marriage.

Dante had often overheard Giselle telling admirers about the reclusive savant who dwelled beneath the theatre and built apparatuses for each production. She painted him as a tortured soul that Heinrich had brought into his home out of the kindness of his heart. She also called Dante a deformed monster who coveted her from the shadows.

A dozen people had seen Heinrich's fall, had watched as Dante clung to his father's arm, trying to pull Heinrich back onto the scaffolding. When Giselle first said that Dante pushed Heinrich to his death, the voices of protest were strong. Gradually, they diminished.

Her story had begun to take root even before the fire. Had it only been two short days ago? And yet, it was a century away.

The memory of Heinrich's death spawned a sharp pain in Dante's chest. Dante clutched one hand above his heart, the other covering his eyes, willing himself back under control.

It would not do for Elsa to awaken and find him so distraught. She might think that it was because of the movie, but no. The more he thought of it, the more the legend made sense. His reputation had died along with his father.

Dante did not need to torture himself with more of the tale. He stopped the movie, switching over to the television. The images were equally overwhelming at first, though in a much different manner. They distracted him from the morose train of his thoughts.

He watched for several minutes, listening to the new vernacular. Television would be an excellent tool for adaptation. Perhaps as important as the books she had commissioned for him.

The laptop sat before him, holding yet another book with knowledge that could assist him. Not a view into this time, but into how Elsa herself saw Dante—what she thought of him.

One moment, it would seem she could not be close enough to him. The next, she would pull away. Dante hoped her manuscript might provide some clarity on the matter.

He picked up the laptop, marveling at how light it was. The screen was mostly dark, a moving display of lights that looked like sentient fireworks flying across its surface in mesmerizing patterns. He watched it for some time before finally tracing his fingertip over the track pad's surface, as Elsa had before.

Immediately, the screen flickered to life, the fireworks replaced with a static view of a monochromatic background with a square in the center asking him for a password.

Elsa had not mentioned a password.

He had avidly read all of the books he could on computers and he understood the premise easily enough. He did not want to wake her to have her open the document for him. Not only was she still exhausted, but he preferred to read this in private.

All he had to do was use what he knew of her. Admittedly, that was not much. He first tried Leonardo's name, then Winston and Garrett, hunting out the letters and pressing each in turn. None of them worked. Dante thought for some time before typing in
phantom
, but it also did nothing.

Strangely, that reassured him. He glanced over at Elsa's still form, watching her take slow, even breaths. Fortified by that peaceful sight, he turned back to the computer. He had not exhausted the list of names he could try, but, on a whim, decided to enter his own next.

It worked.

Dante sat back, stunned by this revelation. Elsa had selected his name as her password. Not the Phantom's. Dante's name.

He felt as if a weight had been removed from his chest. She had said that he was more important to her than her book. Knowing this, it was easier for him to believe her. And he wanted to believe her.

But more than that, he wanted her to see the man that he was, not the legend he became.

He opened the document, eager to see what she had done with the myths surrounding his life. Skimming through the outline, he found extensive notes that she had marked as backstory. Rather than dealing with the legend, they primarily focused on his parents.

There was a lengthy section regarding his mother and her “bright and loving spirit”. Several examples of her kindness were briefly described, most of which Dante was unaware. Elsa wrote about Dante's mother with such warmth.

Her notes also spoke of Heinrich's relationship with Dante's mother in great detail. Dante had no idea his father had been so loving, but again, Elsa had documented several events where Heinrich had made a special and sometimes stunning effort to convey his feelings.

Elsa also set forth the beginning of Klaus's hatred for Dante, the jealousy Klaus had felt at the birth of his younger brother. There were references to what Elsa called “the event”, but those sections were strangely obscure.

When Dante reached the section regarding the fire in the theatre, he read the paragraph over at least a dozen times, refusing to believe. Finally, he set the computer away from him on the table and leaned back from the screen. He covered his eyes with his hands and rested his head on the back of the couch, trying not to think on what he had read.

It was some time later that he felt Elsa shift next to him, her hands on his arm.

“Dante, are you all right?”

He took a few slow breaths, not daring to uncover his eyes until he had composed himself somewhat.

“Is this true?”

“Which part?”

“The fire. That Klaus and Giselle set it on purpose.” Saying the words aloud sickened him. Everything Heinrich had worked for, gone. Everything he had wanted to give to his sons, nothing but ash.

“The theatre was bankrupt thanks to Klaus. There was an insurance policy, and Giselle wanted the money.”

“But they died.” The horror of discovering their bodies returned—the loss and futility. As did the memory of Elsa, pulling Dante from the inferno.

“Things didn't go according to their plan. Klaus was drunk, as usual.” Her voice was sharp with a bitterness Dante did not understand. The edge dulled, as she continued. “I'm sorry. I didn't expect you to read this alone.”

He finally removed his hands from his face so he could look at her. She was kneeling next to him, one hand on his shoulder and the other upon his arm. Her color had much improved and she seemed better able to support herself. Still, she chewed on her lower lip, strain pinching the skin around her eyes.

“How do you know all of this?”

“I was there. Klaus couldn't work the lock on Heinrich's safe. By the time he and Giselle loaded up the lockbox, the fire had spread. Klaus succumbed to the smoke and Giselle… Well, you saw what happened to her.”

“I had no idea they had sunk so low.”

“Not even when they accused you of killing Heinrich?”

“You know of that too?”

“Yes.”

How should he be surprised anymore? Dante shook his head. “I could understand their confusion. As you said, Klaus was often inebriated, and with Heinrich's death… It all happened so fast. To this day, I blame myself.”

Her hand tightened on Dante's arm and she rose on her knees, her face quite close to his. Her brow furrowed and her lips pulled down at the corners. When she spoke, her voice was like steel and her eyes flashed as hot as the fire from which she had pulled him.

“Heinrich's death was not your fault.” She paused, fretting her lower lip. When she spoke again, her voice had softened. “He was dead before he fell off the scaffold.”

“You were there that night as well.”

“You saw me.”

“I was not certain what I saw.”

“I am.” Her grip loosened on his arm. She sat back on her legs, leaning against the couch as if her outburst had drained her. “I think he had a heart attack. There was nothing you could have done to save him. You almost died trying to pull him back onto the scaffold, but he was already gone when he fell. I could see his face.”

She shivered, her eyes staring blankly over Dante's shoulder, as if she was viewing the memory instead of the room around them. Dante impulsively reached for her, cradling her face in his hands so that she looked at him instead.

“Think no more upon it, I beg you. It was a horrible moment, and one that is best left behind the both of us.”

In his mind, the memory was blurred. Too many emotions warred within him. Heinrich had only just told Dante that he was Dante's father moments before falling from the scaffold. Dante had learned more by reading Elsa's notes than Heinrich had been able to explain.

Knowing that Dante could not have saved his father was an added balm to his soul. He had so many reasons to be grateful to her, though he dared not express his thanks.

Elsa smiled gently at him and nodded. She let out a sigh, gripping his hands and pulling them from her face, though she did not let them go.

“It must have been strange for you to see me.”

“Not so very strange,” he said, returning her smile briefly. He was unsure whether to continue, but she was being so open with him. Dante wished to reciprocate. “You glowed with the same light as the night you pulled me from the fire. I thought you were an angel come to take Heinrich to Heaven.”

“I wondered why you came with me the night of the fire,” she said. “I was afraid when I came back for you that you wouldn't trust me. I guess you thought it was safe to trust an angel with your life.”

Dante let out a short laugh and shook his head. “In that moment, I thought my life was already forfeit. I did not trust you with my life. I trusted you with my soul.”

Chapter Twelve

The next day, the invisible weights bogging down Elsa's energy were gone. The emotional ones were heavier than ever. Making it through dinner with Garrett hadn't been the gauntlet she feared. It had actually been pleasant, and a much-needed boost after what Dante had confessed.

Putting his life in her hands was bad enough, but his soul?

What he said didn't change anything. The bottom line remained. He was depending on her, and she was going to come through for him. She would help him establish himself, hopefully they would become friends, and that would be enough for her.

She dressed as quickly as she could, then headed to Dante's room. He wasn't there or in the kitchen. Elsa went to check the entertainment room and noticed the doors to the studio were open.

When she reached the doorway, she saw Dante leaning over a canvas on the easel in the painting corner. The doors to the patio beyond were wide open, letting in a cool morning breeze.

“Good morning.” He smiled brightly when he saw her, then went to the sink to wash out his brush.

It took Elsa a few moments to recover from that smile, from seeing him in the morning light streaming through the windows, from…everything.

“Good morning,” she finally said. “Am I intruding?”

“Not at all. I believe I have finished the piece.”

“Finished? Have you been up all night?”

“I was unable to sleep.”

“You should have woken me.”

“I hardly think so. You need your rest, and I have much to catch up on. When I tired of reading, I came here. I hope that is all right.”

He set the brush aside and turned back to her. The sun struck his tousled hair, tiny highlights of lighter brown appearing that she had never noticed before. It was wavier than she'd seen it as well, and his jaw was shadowed from not shaving.

The confidence she'd felt that morning about just being friends vanished. She wanted to touch the rough stubble on his cheek, to curl up next to him as they read together. She wanted to wake up with him beside her every morning and go to sleep in his arms every night.

Elsa shoved down the urgent longing that pressed against her heart. “What did you paint?”

“You are welcome to look. Allow me to help you.”

Dante started toward her, but she knew that meant he was planning to carry her. The thought of him holding her was too painful to bear at the moment.

“I'm much better this morning.” She briskly walked toward the canvas. His smile faltered, but she tried not to think about that.

Curiosity helped her push aside her melancholy as she neared his work. She wondered what he had chosen as his first subject. The painting surprised her.

Flowers from the garden outside gracefully filled the canvas, captured in breathtaking colors. On one long, green leaf, an emerald lizard sat, staring out at her with inscrutable golden eyes. The brushstrokes were confident and bold, adding movement to an otherwise still scene.

Elsa felt a sense of awe and wonder wash over her like an ocean wave. It lifted her from her body, but set her back down a moment later. The odd sensation happened several times before she realized that his painting was activating her ability, but the only place it could take her was the present moment—the present spot.

She had never felt anything like it. It was beyond contentment, beyond peace. A feeling of home.

Warmth surrounded her. She was being supported by someone, enfolded in that emotion. It wrapped around her like an embrace. Like Dante's arms.

He was holding her up. Her knees had gone weak and she was leaning against his chest. His strong arms were wrapped tightly around her.

The left side of his face was closest to her as she looked up at him. His eyes were as blue as ocean water over white sands.

“Are you all right?”

“Of course.”

“You started to fall again.”

“Did I?” She felt her body again like waking from a dream. It had been a long time since her power triggered without her controlling it. “I think I need to sit down.”

Dante lifted her from the ground and, as lightly tethered as she was to her body, it felt like a dip on a roller coaster ride. She let out a giggle and was mortified. She definitely needed more sleep.

“Sorry.”

Dante's concern softened into a smile that quickly grew. “Whatever for?”

His smile didn't fade as he carried her outside onto the patio and set her on the lounge chair. He pulled another chair close, closer than he'd done the day before, and sat next to her, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

“Here we are again,” she said.

“I can think of nowhere else I would rather be.”

Elsa laughed, then realized she agreed. No matter what became of the two of them in the future, right now, the present moment, was absolutely perfect.

“Me too. Your painting is amazing.”

“Yes, literally stunning, it would seem.” His tone was teasing, but then grew serious. “Unless you are having some sort of relapse.”

“No, not at all. The painting just triggered my ability unexpectedly.”

“I do not understand.”

“Right. I haven't explained how it works yet.” She took a deep breath and dove right in before she could talk herself out of it. “The way I travel is through works of art. If a piece is especially filled with emotion, either by its creator when it was made or by events that happened around it, I can latch on to that energy and travel to those moments.”

“My painting caused you to travel through time?” Dante looked perplexed, his eyebrows furrowing.

“No. Well, yes. I'm not explaining this well. Your painting made my powers activate, but there was nowhere and no…
when
for it to take me.”

“And so it made you faint?”

“It made me start to travel, but since I was already at the destination, I didn't go anywhere.”

“I'm terribly sorry. I did not mean…”

“Don't worry. It was really pleasant, actually. I've never felt anything like that.” She laughed again and clasped his hand. “What do you call the piece?”

“I had not considered a name. But I would think
In the Sun
should do nicely. My little friend seemed to be enjoying herself immensely as I worked.”

“It's a beautiful painting.”

“I am glad you like it.”

He lifted Elsa's hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. The gesture had felt completely natural, but it took them both by surprise. Dante's eyes widened and he quickly lowered her hand again, shifting in his chair.

Elsa couldn't think of anything to say to cover the awkwardness of the moment. He cleared his throat and saved her from having to try.

“If you travel through art, how is it you discovered me? I spent my life in the circus and the theatre. There were no great works of art around me.”

Apparently, he wanted to act as if that precious kiss hadn't happened. She could do that. Elsa was becoming well-practiced at denial since Dante had arrived.

“It's more about the emotions that are experienced around the pieces than their greatness, both that go into creating them and that surround them.”

Dante was still holding her hand, and she lifted it slightly, keeping her grip on his fingers so he knew she wasn't trying to extricate herself. Sunlight glinted from his ring, highlighting the etchings of vines that coated its surface.

“My mother's ring?”

Elsa nodded. “Did you know that Heinrich made it for her?”

“I did not.” Dante looked at the ring as if he was seeing it for the first time.

“This ring has seen so many important moments in people's lives.” She ran her thumb over its surface reverently. “I've seen them all. Amazing moments. Painful moments.”

She tried not to, but she found herself staring at Dante's mask, remembering that horrible moment when he'd been burned. That was the worst moment she had ever witnessed. She wished she could scrub the memory from her brain.

If he saw her looking, he didn't mention it.

“Would you tell me?”

“Some things are better left in the past.”

“I thought I made my opinion on that matter clear.”

She shook her head. “But this is bad. Really bad.”

“It is knowledge I am strong enough to bear. Can you not have faith in me?”

A glimmer of something bright and possible fluttered in Elsa's chest. She realized that she actually could. The feeling flooded her body with warmth, with hope. She wanted to let it soak in soul-deep, but Dante was waiting.

This would be hard to say and harder yet for him to hear. She tried to get her thoughts in order, to figure out the best way to tell him.

“The first time Heinrich told your mother he loved her, he gave her this ring.”

“That does not seem so terrible.”

“That part wasn't. But they started off in a bad place, even though they loved each other deeply. Heinrich left his wife for your mother.”

Dante's smile vanished, his lips tightening. “It troubles me to think that she would have become involved with a married man.”

“You never met Heinrich's wife. She was horrible. Klaus was her son, and she was wealthy enough to have easily supported him. But when Heinrich left, she insisted he take Klaus.”

“She abandoned him,” Dante said. “That is why Klaus hated me.”

“There was more to it.” Elsa's stomach was in knots as she went on. “Your mother was Klaus's governess and much more of a mother to him than Heinrich's wife had ever been. In all my travels, I've never seen someone as kind as your mother. She was so cheerful, even in the face of terrible circumstances. She started over with nothing twice, sacrificing everything for the people she loved.”

Dante was silent for a few moments, then said, “You were observing my mother when you discovered me.”

“Both of your parents, actually. I found your mother first. She painted too. Not just sets and banners for the circus, but actual paintings.”

“Did any of her paintings survive?” He leaned a bit closer to Elsa.

She smiled, and shifted toward him as well. “There's one in the library. A landscape.”

He looked toward the studio doors, as if he was about to run to the library. Instead, he turned back to her.

“The emotions surrounding it must have been strong. I hope they were happy ones.”

“For the most part, they were. I didn't know it was possible for someone to love others the way she did.” Elsa's own pain rose up, pinching her throat shut. She had to push away the memories to go on. “I think she would like that you're painting. You definitely have a future in it, if that's what you want to do.”

“I would scarcely know how to begin.”

“I can help with that. Do you remember Garrett talking about Jazz last night at dinner?”

“Are you referring to the music or your friend?”

Dante grinned at her, and the logical thoughts progressing orderly through Elsa's mind scattered like startled birds at the sight of that playful smile.

Finally collecting herself, she said, “My friend.”

“With the art gallery.”

“I could arrange an introduction.”

“Perhaps when I have a few more pieces to show her.”

“Just let me know when you're ready. We can have her over for dinner or something.”

He smiled and said, “I must confess, I quite like having you to myself.”

Elsa ignored the way her heart danced at his words, the fluttering in her stomach that made her feel as though she could fly. She focused on everything he needed from her.

“You don't really have much choice of company at the moment.”

He leaned back a bit, looking perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that we have to be careful right now. You don't have any form of identification. We can't explain how you're here, where you came from or how you entered the country.”

“If it will help, I have been working to learn modern speech patterns and adjust my accent.”

“How?”

He cleared his throat and, in a passable American accent, said, “I watched a lot of TV last night before I hit the studio.”

Laughter burst from Elsa's chest. She couldn't stop it. Hearing him talk like that was so incongruous.

“Was it that bad?” he asked, reverting to his normal accent.

“No, it was actually really good. I'm just not used to hearing you talk that way.”

“Maybe you should get used to it.” He once more adopted the accent, making her laugh even harder.

When she had regained control again, she said, “Pretending to be American is one thing. Proving it is another. I haven't figured out how to manage that yet. And I can't ask anyone about it, because that would lead to questions that could cause problems for us.”

“Do not think on it any longer,” he said. “We will sort it out, eventually, and should not let it spoil the current moment.”

Elsa wished she could push it from her mind, but then Dante brought them back to the subject of the ring. Working out how to get him papers would have been a more comfortable topic.

“You said my mother sacrificed everything twice for those she loved. She never spoke of any hardships with me, though I was quite young when she passed. I had only thought of her as happy.”

“She took everything in stride. But she made some hard choices. She left her governess position to be with Heinrich, even though he had no real way of supporting them. Then she left Heinrich after you were born and set out on her own. It was an amazing act of courage.”

Dante sat back in his chair. His chest deflated, as if her words had knocked the wind out of him.

“I had always assumed that my father abandoned us. That it was because of…” He finished his sentence by turning his face away from her, for once hiding his mask from her view.