Page 28

Dr. Lazarus laughs softly. “I would love to say I let go of obsession entirely, but that would be a lie. Anyway, we should focus on you.”

He notices my empty glass and refills it. The wine sloshes over the lip and splashes onto the crisp white robe wrapped around my chest.

“I’m sorry—” He reaches forward instantly, blotting the darkening stain. His fingers brush the soft swell of my breasts and a shock tears through me like lightning. I gasp, and his hand jerks back. We stare at each other, wide-eyed, mouths parted. Why does my skin feel wired to his? No, I’m going to ignore that.

“It’s fine,” I say quickly, waving a hand. “I can wash it. Warm water and soap. Crisis averted.”

“Right.” He stands abruptly, smooths his pants, then extends a hand toward me. “I want to try something.”

I arch an eyebrow. “You’re not about to do something sneaky, are you?”

A slow grin unfurls across his face. “Something tells me you could take me.”

I hesitate, then slide my hand into his. He pulls me to my feet and closer to his chest. His expression shifts back to that focused, unreadable look he wore the night we met.

“You tried the piano this morning, but have you tried listening to music? Sometimes it triggers memories,” he says suggestively.

“There’s music here? I thought this place was stuck in the sixteenth century,” I tease.

He lets out a soft huff of laughter and releases me to cross the room to a shadowed alcove where something old and metallic gleams. He tinkers with it, and a soft melody unfurls into the air, then lyrics, honeyed and warbling, drift through the room. It’s the phonograph. Of course. I have definitely fallen into an anachronistic time pocket. Or a coma. Or Hell. Maybe both.

If this was Hell, I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

“I’m willing to embarrass myself if you’ll join me,” Kieran says, a twinkle in his eyes.

Hesitantly, I step toward him, into the radius of his stiff arms. We begin to move. A slow, hesitant, mismatched pair. Within the first few steps, I manage to step on his toes, trip over absolutely nothing, and fall straight into his chest.

“Maybe I don’t know how to dance?” I mutter. At this point, it’s a valid concern.

“Maybe you do,” he counters, eyes trained on mine. “We just haven’t unlocked it yet.”

Another song croons from the phonograph; low and familiar, and a memory tugs hard at the edges of my mind. A glamorous party. A blurred face before me that swirls like calm waters disturbed by a curious hand. I shove it away before it can swallow me.

Kieran leads our chaotic, invented version of a waltz, and within minutes I fall into rhythm, my stiffness loosening, my body remembering moves my mind has forgotten. Reality and memory flicker like candlelight behind my eyes, overlapping in uneven pulses. By the time the song ends, I’m warm.

I shrug off the robe, letting it slide to the floor with a soft hiss, revealing the silver nightgown beneath. “Another round?” I ask. This time, I extend my hand to him and he takes it, lips twitching at the corner of his mouth.

The next song is slower. His hands hover at my shoulders before gliding down my arms, fingers threading through mine. A warmth pulses between us, fragile and molten, and I lean into it. His body begins to warm. I tilt my head up to study his face. But he is unrecognizable. Gone are the ocean-blue eyes. In their place are black irises, unfathomably deep. The rest of his features are blurred and hazy. I blink hard until all I see are stars.

When I open my eyes again, the blurred man remains. All I can make out are the features of dark brown hair, berry-stained lips, and edges flickering like an uncanny figure of a nightmare.

“If there is one thing I must tell you, my angel from the sea, it is that you are far too exquisite for mortal eyes. Mine included,” he murmurs, rich as sin.

“Who are you?” I whisper, trying to move, but my body fights against the impulse, pushing me closer to him. He doesn’t answer. His hands slide to my waist, sure and commanding, lifting me with the music’s crescendo.

An eerie tune of tongues and deep operatic jumps in cadence croons from the phonograph. I rise with him, weightless and suspended, and when I glide down the length of him only to be claimed again by the gravity of his arms, a new world emerges. The momentum carries us, sweeping us past the heavy hush of the Great Room and into the marbled foyer and then across the threshold of the Grand Ballroom, a place I’ve never dared enter; its vastness echoing like a cathedral abandoned by time.

A smile climbs my face, and my gaze travels across him without my mind taking control. Our eyes clash like glass breaking under pressure and I notice his eyes have morphed into kind, copper ones.

“Who are you?” I ask again.

All around us, tall windows stand sentinel, framing the night sky. It is a black velvet brimming with glimmering secrets, ready to share its hidden truths.

Eyes are windows to the soul. Windows to the truth. He lifts me again. Twirls me. The spin is violent and ecstatic. Then, the air fractures. From the phonograph, the singing voice seems to scream louder and a memory slips free. A ‌thousand candles lined around a room. A man in a black tuxedo awaits me; behind him is nothing but the emptiness of shadows. His hand reaches for my waist, gripping possessively. He says something to me which I can’t make out before he caresses the small of my back and lowers me into a dizzying sweeping dip. His mouth finds mine and claims with ferocity, with teeth of an animal preying at night. The kiss is sweet, tasting of berries; it is then salty, tasting of metal.

The kiss feels like home, a belonging I no longer have access to. My knees weaken, buckling beneath me but his arms are strong, cradling me.

My chest blooms and breaks at once. The present and past collide, glitching and dissolving, and I find myself facing doors once again that slam shut.