Lucian’s scent filled my room once more. “Are you ready?”
Nodding, I walked toward the head of my bed, feeling for the folded walking stick on my nightstand. “Let me get my cane first.”
“You don’t need it tonight. We’re only going to one place, and I will make sure you don’t get into any trouble.”
His big hand took mine, engulfing it in warmth. “I am the biggest fool in the world,” he muttered.
Why does he think he’s a fool?To me, he truly was an angel. No one, besides Sister Carrie, ever took the time to listen to me, and I’d never been taken on a field trip. In fact, I was hardly ever permitted to leave the grounds due to my disability.
Wind howled around me like an angry storm.
I stiffened, my heart racing in my chest.
“It’s okay.” Lucian squeezed my hand. “It’s called blinking, and it lets me fold space to travel from one point to another.”
As suddenly as it started, the shrieking cyclone stopped.
The smells of linseed oil filled my nose, along with floor wax and tangy disinfectant.
“Where are we?” It boggled my mind we were somewhere else so quickly without having to take a step. I didn’t need eyes to tell me I stood in a large building because my voice bounced against the walls and echoed, unlike the sound in my tiny room, which always seemed muffled.
“You tell me.” Still gripping my hand, he lifted it and placed it on something rough, then let go.
I moved my fingers over the texture, breathing in the new smells, feeling the flat object under my fingers, listening to the echoes of his deep, rich voice.
“Umm. Are we in a chapel?” The disinfectant scent reminded me of the church annex at the orphanage, yet once I mentioned my thought aloud, I knew it was wrong.
“No.” His flat tone held a note of disdain.
Then the clue is right here at my fingertips.I blocked out all my other senses and focused on what I touched. Ridges circled around the middle, then whorls moved inward.
“It’s a painting!” I couldn’t hide the excitement from my voice. “Are we at the museum?” I barely breathed. My fingertip stalled over the art as I waited for his answer.
“Yes. It’s closed so you can touch anything you’d like. You have thirty minutes to see the pictures with your mind, then I’m taking you back to the orphanage, understand? I’m not some glorified babysitter or some dark guardian angel.”
“Uh-huh.” I barely registered his words, already translating the colors under my fingers to what I remembered from a few years ago. “Thank you so much, Lucian.” A bouquet of indigo and Alizarin crimson flowers bloomed in my mind, and I quickly slid my hands along the wall and side stepped, eager to find the next picture.
“Twenty-six minutes,” Lucian said, his voice a couple of feet behind me, not fading, which told me he must have followed my course.
The cold metal of a frame met my touch, and I dragged my hand over the painting, unable to reach the top.
Air brushed past my face and Lucian’s smoky cinnamon scent drifted closer.
After a pop, the picture slid down, allowing my fingers to reach the top. I excitedly ran my fingertips up the textured surface. “This feels like cerulean blue”—I pointed to the middle of the canvas—“and this is cadmium red. Did you know red and blue make purple?”
The air stirred behind me, and I felt his presence pull away. He’d moved back, giving me room to explore the picture, but didn’t say a word, only grunted.
“I think this one is a mansion, with a setting sun in the background, or a big building, like a school. Is it, Lucian? Am I right?”
“It’s a church.” He nearly choked on the last word. I heard his wings snap out, causing the feathers to rub against one another in a soft, sighing song. “Twenty-one minutes,” he growled.
As if I could see a ticking clock in my head, I felt the moments slipping through my fingers as easily as the dried layers of paint. Without another word, I turned, trailing my hand against the wall, desperate to touch the next painting, already wondering what beauty awaited my fingertips.
Chapter 8
Lucian Elysium
Eight Years Ago
