“You’re not holding me tightly enough.” Her voice is stern. “You will slip and fall.”
But if I die now, does that mean I spend eternity with Katherine draped about me?
My head curls over her shoulder. It’s too risky to straighten. I bury my countenance in her mobcap and escaping dark tresses.
“Jahleel? Am I losing you? Are you slipping?”
“Why do you smell of strawberries? Not tar or ash or coal?”
“The change in temperature, it’s made you witless. Just lean on me, I have you.”
I want to hold on but this figment, sweet Katia, will go away. I’m too weak to survive the barbs of her hating me again. “I’m getting you all wet. Set me down. Get Steele. Thanks for the bath.”
“Water will dry. There’s only one you, and we all need you recovered. Now move with me. You have a demanding mistress.”
Ordered to submit, I seize her, gripping her tightly around the waist.
Her breath hitches. “Good Jasha.”
The passion in her voice meshing with the endearment awakens more dead flesh. Katherine the magician has a towel about my back. She’s got one arm holding me, the other drying me. “You mentioned lotion. I’m not going to die for at least another hour.”
“Well, that’s good.” Her voice croons in my ear like cooing doves. The way her eyes darken speaks to fantasies and memories, races my pulse. “Jasha, let me take you to bed.”
Maybe this is death.
Maybe I’ve repented and done enough good? Surely, I’ve earned lotion and the woman I loved and lost catering to me?
“Jahleel, you’re hesitating. How can you think when you’re shivering? The bed has fresh linen. Just like you wish. Let me help you there.”
Fool that I am, I allow her, because she always had me thoughtless, since the first moment we spoke. Shivering, stupid, and dependent, I yield and lean on her, trusting her with more of my weight.
“One step at a time,” she says. “We can do this.”
I can’t answer with chattering teeth. I listen to her hum Beethoven’s Contredanse No. 12, WoO 14, the tune played at the Winter Palace orchestra where we first danced.
“You’re doing fine, Jahleel. Not much further.”
The distance from the bathing tub to my bed seems miles long, but something about this moment—her song, her caress, the strawberry scented hair, the lavender on her hands—makes me wish the distance were infinity.
Then my leg bumps into the mattress. The journey, the moment, is over. “Let go,” I say with a pitiful voice. “Get Steele for me. And thank you.”
“No,” she says. “Not done. Not done with you at all.” She strips away the wet towel and lays me out on the bed. The space between us allows her eyes to drift.
My gaze goes to the ceiling. I’d like to think I’m a peacock, a proud one, but right now I’m nothing more than a sick, limp fool. “The lotion? Can handle this myself. Get—”
“Nonsense.” She hikes up her uniform and crawls atop me, then pulls sheets about me. “I’m here to serve. But this is not what I planned.”
“’Twas a plan? Terrible plan, but f-f-f-f-f-fresh linen. Rooose-m-m-mary. Love.” I clap my chattering teeth together before I say more stupid things, like missing the way she touches me.
“You have a chill.” Katherine works lotion down my arms. “You’re shivering. Let me warm you.”
She buries us in sheets and blankets, then rubs my arms, my legs, and everything in between.
Katherine stretches over me further, pinning me to the bed. Something that she’s heated in her hands covers my shoulder. “No catching a chill … won’t let that happen.”
Fingers glide over my skin. Tension I didn’t know I have relents.
“Is the lotion soothing?” She shifts. Her serious pout fades as she rubs my throat with a concoction with hints of coconut, maybe berries. “Still cold?”
