A leap across time is easy...if you throw your heart first.
A woman with a secret…
Elsa Sinclair’s ability to bring stunning realism to her historical novels is a secret she must never reveal. She does her research first-hand—by traveling back in time.
When she stumbles across the man behind the legendary Phantom of the Opera, she is moved by his strength, his kindness…and the moments when his solitary existence seems unbearable. She can’t simply sit by and leave him to his fiery fate.
A man out of time…
Dante Lucerne is shocked to find himself pulled from certain death and carried to another time and continent. The new world is full of wonders, not the least of which is the woman who saved him.
A darkness threatens…
As Elsa helps Dante adjust to his new world, she makes a terrifying discovery—she is falling in love. And it is Dante who must find a way to help her let go of secrets that run deeper than her power. Into the very heart of what they could lose if he fails…
Warning: Contains a fiery heroine, a brilliant hero, and a love passionate enough to span a century.
Wandering Soul
Cassandra Chandler
Dedication
For those who don’t give up on love.
Chapter One
London, England—1881
Flames fell from the rafters as Dante and Edgar staggered toward the door, Mary’s limp form held between them. Dante blinked his watering eyes to clear them of smoke. Each breath burned its way into his lungs. A timber crashed to the ground close enough to singe the hairs on the back of his neck.
Only a few more steps and Mary would be safe.
When they stumbled onto the cobblestone street, Dante gasped in the chill, damp air. The evening breeze cooled the left side of his face. If he could have torn off the mask that covered the right side without horrifying Edgar, he would have. The scarred skin beneath was slick with perspiration.
They did not stop until they had carried Mary to the other side of the street, where she would be safe from the horses of the Fire Brigade. Edgar took her weight so Dante could remove his jacket. Dante laid it on the pavement to provide a comfortable place for Mary to rest, then helped Edgar sit with her.
“Mary? Mary!” Edgar cradled her head in his lap, growing more hysterical by the moment.
“She needs you to be calm,” Dante said, lightly touching Mary’s throat. Her pulse was fast, but strong. Her breathing was not labored.
Dante rose, pulling off his vest. He ran to a nearby rain barrel and submerged the dark fabric till it was soaked through. He wrung it out and brought it back to Edgar, then knelt at Mary’s side.
“Take it,” Dante said. “She will be fine. You both will.”
Edgar took the sodden vest and used it to dab Mary’s forehead. His face was pinched with concern. Dante did not have time for further reassurances.
He slid his mother’s wedding ring from his little finger. The metal was warm, gold gleaming in the light of the fire.
He passed the ring to Edgar and said, “Sell this to start your lives together. Consider it a dowry.”
Edgar grabbed Dante’s arm as he started to rise, but quickly pulled away. Dante did not miss how Edgar paled as he stared at Dante’s mask. Giselle’s lies had wormed their way even into Edgar’s mind.
“You cannot be considering going back in there,” Edgar said. “Leave it to the Fire Brigade.”
“Klaus and Giselle are still inside.”
“You would risk your life for them? They tormented you.”
“That does not mean they deserve this fate.” There was no time for Dante to explain. “I do not wish to die, but I could not live with myself if I did not try to save them.”
Edgar’s mouth pulled down in a grim line. “What do I tell Mary?”
Apparently, Edgar held little faith that Dante would survive. Dante looked down at Mary and dusted a lock of hair from her forehead. She looked so frail and young.
With a sudden certainty, he knew he would never see her again. Even if he survived, he would not return. Mary considered Dante family. She would want them all to stay together, though she and Edgar and even their children would be judged and shunned for their association with Dante, as his own mother had been. He would not allow that to happen.
“Tell her I want her to be happy.”
As Dante stood, Edgar handed back his vest.
“Take this. It might help.”
Dante gratefully accepted the wet garment. “Take care of each other. Love each other.”
Edgar nodded briefly, then lowered his gaze to Mary once more. Dante turned to face the theatre. The fire had spread since they escaped. Smoke rose thickly from the building, blacking out the stars. There was no time to waste.
Though the main door had not yet succumbed to the fire, it was worse than he had imagined inside. Rafters were falling throughout the building, distant crashes mingling with roaring flames that licked across the ceiling and poured down the walls.
He crouched low to keep his head beneath the smoke as he made his way to the office where Klaus and Giselle spent most of their time poring over ledgers for the failing theatre. Nearing the room, he saw Klaus lying on the floor. Dante leapt over a timber to reach his brother’s still form, praying he was not too late.
“Klaus…” Dante’s throat seized, the loss overwhelming him. Klaus stared at the ceiling with glassy eyes that reflected the inferno surrounding them.
Dante had only known they were brothers for a week, yet the pain of Klaus’s loss brought Dante to his knees. He would never know why his brother hated him so much. Or why their father had waited until the very moment of his death to tell Dante they were kin. He would never understand why Heinrich had abandoned him. He could only guess it was due to his disfigurement.
The last moments of their father’s life played through Dante’s mind once more. Heinrich’s revelation that he was Dante’s father. The pained expression that swept across his face as he clutched his chest and fell from the catwalk where they had been speaking. The memory was so vivid, he could almost feel Heinrich’s grip going lax as he tried to hold on.
His most cherished dream, being part of a family, had literally slipped through his fingers. It had driven him somewhat mad at the time. He had even thought he had seen an apparition floating near him, a glowing angel whose gaze held a sadness and longing that matched his own.
Dante gently closed Klaus’s eyes. He could indulge in self-pity later, if he survived. Giselle was still in the theatre. There was a chance to save his brother’s wife. Dante was not sure she would deign to let him touch her, even if it was to carry her from a burning building.
He found Giselle not far from Klaus, a timber resting on her back where it had struck her down. She seemed to sneer at Dante, her lips curled up from her teeth. The lockbox for the theatre’s proceeds was clutched against her chest, scuff marks on the floor showing where she had dragged it back toward herself after falling.
How could someone be so filled with greed, even in the face of death? Dante left Giselle and the lockbox where he found them.
He headed for the side door that led to the carriage house, hoping the fire had not yet consumed that part of the building. Above the crackling flames, he could hear men shouting and the cries of frightened horses. The Fire Brigade must have arrived.
He started back the way he had come, only to find a wall of fire. The ceiling groaned in agony, moments from collapsing. Flames surrounded him. At every turn, smoke and heat assaulted his senses.
He was going to die, and for nothin
g. He had not been able to save Klaus or Giselle. His home was being consumed around him. Everything was turning to ash. Tiny particles made their way through the now dry vest he held to his mouth.
Dante spun in circles, looking for a way out—any way out—but there was none.
If his mother had known he would die this way, perhaps she would have given him a different name. Adding to that dark irony, the only part of his person not roasting in the blaze was the scarred skin beneath the mask covering the right half of his face. It seemed the porcelain protected him from more than the shrieks of startled people. If he had breath to spare, he might have laughed.
Until one of the rafters came crashing toward him.
He curled into a ball, though he knew it was futile. Instinct overpowered reason. Clenching his eyes shut, he waited for the impact, the searing heat and pain it was sure to bring.
Instead, he felt someone’s arms wrap around him, their chest pressed against his back as if they were trying to shield him from his fate. The heat that had been baking him vanished. He opened his eyes to see the rafter resting on the floor, somehow occupying the same space as his feet. Flames whose heat he could not feel rose from the wood.
His body was glowing with a soft golden light. He had seen this light the day Heinrich died, emanating from the apparition. Dante’s benefactor gripped him more tightly, pressing her body against his.
He glanced over his shoulder to see the apparition’s face. He could not quite make out her features through the light she exuded, but he knew the deep chestnut of her eyes.
He had died then, and this was the angel sent to take his soul to the afterlife. He would gladly go with her. Perhaps he would see Heinrich again.
She placed her hand on his shoulder, and said, “Trust me.”
Dante did not think he could speak. Instead, he nodded. She helped him rise, then shifted to stand before him, keeping her arms around his chest the entire time. She squeezed him tightly enough that his sore lungs protested.
How could he still feel discomfort when he had moved beyond his body? But more pleasant sensations quickly followed.
She pressed her face against his chest, her cheek smooth upon his skin where his shirt had fallen open. Her hair was as golden as the light surrounding her, stray strands tickling Dante’s chin. She clung to him as if her life depended upon it.
The thought unsettled him somewhat, as did her next words.
“Hold on tight.”
Dante had no idea what to expect. He wrapped his arms around her, marveling at the slightness of her form. He had never dared to hold another person so closely. He felt her body tense, her grip on him tightening even more, and then a great force whipped him from his feet.
The building around them disappeared, replaced with a frozen void. The contrast from the recent heat of the theatre would have robbed him of breath, except he found that he could neither inhale nor exhale. Even the light of the angel vanished, though he still felt her arms around him. He clung to her desperately.
Light returned along with a sudden sensation of thousands of needles pricking him over his entire body. His knees folded beneath him, and he dropped to the floor.
“Dante? Dante, are you all right?”
He could not speak, his body trembling violently from the icy darkness she had pulled him through. Was this what death felt like?
“I’m so sorry,” the angel said. “I didn’t think it would be this bad.”
She cast a dark cloak over him and joined Dante on the floor, molding her body against his back. She was warm, and as she rubbed his arms and chest, some of the chill receded. The pins-and-needles sensation slowly left his skin, and his breath began to even.
“Stay with me.”
The warmth of the room seeped into him and his tremors subsided. He felt the strength return to his limbs, yet was reluctant to rise. With how tightly the angel held him, he wondered if she would even let him should he try. He was content to further collect himself, resting in her arms.
The afterlife was not what he had expected. It looked surprisingly like a private box in a theatre. Two chairs rested in the center of the room, facing a closed curtain of rich purple. Beyond, Dante heard voices and music paired in the unmistakable cadence of a performance.
His afterlife was to be in a theatre? He had hoped for something a bit more varied from his mortal existence.
“Please stay with me,” the angel said, still rubbing Dante’s arms and chest.
He gently clasped the angel’s wrist to halt her efforts to warm him. Though his teeth still chattered slightly, he managed, “I assure you, I have no plans to go elsewhere.”
She did not speak, but wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him close. Dante could not stop his smile. She was certainly affectionate, this angel of his.
Though he was loathe to leave her embrace, he did not want to spend eternity on the floor. He pushed himself up so he was sitting.
Questions began queueing up in his mind. About the afterlife, the angel, even the play beyond the curtain. He felt her rise to her knees, and turned to make the first of many inquiries, but his voice caught in his throat at his first true sight of her.
Her hair was a halo of gold floating around her face in soft waves. Her eyes were a rich shade of brown and so full of warmth that the last of Dante’s chill fled at once. Her lips were pink and full, slightly parted as she gazed at him. Though she no longer glowed, her flawless skin was lightly sun-kissed.
Dante could see a great deal of it. The dress she wore had no sleeves and nothing covered her chest down to the top of her bosom. The black fabric ended just above her knees and was pulled so tightly around her figure that it left little to the imagination.
Well, perhaps that was not entirely accurate. Shocking thoughts filled his mind from the way she leaned toward him, seemingly oblivious to the view that provided. She was kneeling right at his side, and for a moment, Dante wondered what would happen if he closed the small distance between them.
She would most likely scream. At the very least push him away. He snapped his gaze to hers, pushing the fevered thoughts from his mind.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“I scarcely know where to begin.”
“Are you hurt?”
While the prickling sensation that had greeted him upon his arrival had hardly been pleasant, Dante found himself feeling quite well. “I do not believe so. For the most part, I am confused.”
“That’s understandable,” she said. “I’ll explain everything as soon as I can. But right now, we have to go.”
Perhaps this was merely a way station and his journey had not yet ended. It made sense to take him to a familiar place, a theatre, while shepherding him to the next stage of his existence.
The angel rose and offered him her hand. He took it in his as he stood, though he had recovered enough to stand on his own. He could not resist the chance to touch her again.
“Where is it that we are going?”
She smiled softly. “Home.”
Chapter Two
Summer Park, Florida—2015
Closing night for the play had brought in a full house. The performers were pouring everything they had into their lines, the crew backstage following their prompts with laser focus. Elsa could still feel the pull of it, all those artists in the act of creation, the emotions of the audience heightening the energy in the theatre.
She had used that energy to bring Dante back with her to her time. She couldn’t believe it had worked, even with him standing right in front of her.
She kept a tight grip on his hand, his skin rough from crafting sets for the theatre. He’d been cold when he first arrived, but now she could feel the warmth of his body. Elsa leaned into it, staring up at him.
His eyes were a shade of hazel she’d never encountered before, the color seeming to
shift as she watched. She could only see one of his eyebrows, gracefully echoing the shape of his eyes. His face was a perfect balance of strong lines and elegant angles. There was a slight cleft in his chin, and his nose was straight, neatly bisected by the porcelain mask that covered the right side of his face.
One of the actors on stage shouted a line loudly enough to snap Elsa out of her reverie. The play would be over soon, and they needed to leave before the audience filled the hallways of the theatre.
Elsa had consulted on the modern adaptation of The Phantom of the Opera now being performed outside her private box. If anyone saw her walking out of the theatre with a man dressed as a more classic version of the character, they would have questions she didn’t want to answer.
She glanced at the door, and a flash of gold shining against the dark charcoal of the carpet caught her eye. She released Dante’s hand and stooped down to pick up her ring. Well, not really her ring.
“This is yours.” She placed the ring in Dante’s palm.
“My mother’s ring. How is it that you possess this?”
“It’s a very long story, and we really do need to leave.”
Elsa walked to the door and opened it a crack. She peered down the hallway in both directions. It was empty. When she turned back to him, he was sliding his mother’s ring onto his pinky finger.
From Dante’s perspective, he’d only been without the ring for a few minutes. Elsa had been wearing it for years.
Ironically, she, the time traveler, didn’t have time to think about that at the moment. She bent down again to pick up the velvet cloak pooled at his feet. Standing on her tiptoes, she threw it around his shoulders, then fastened it at his neck.
The cloak was much shorter on him, but it would cover his face well enough. It was the mask she needed to hide. He frowned as she lifted the hood into place, tilting his head away from her so his face was even more hidden.
“People will ask questions if they see your mask,” she said, resting her hands on his shoulders for a moment. They were firm and warm, even through the layers of fabric. She pulled her hands away before she did something stupid, like lean in and kiss him. “I hope you understand.”
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