Fallen, page 12
It had felt so good to have someone else be on her side, want to be on her side, even someone as hateful as Dane.
“Even you,” Dane said evenly, “can’t do everything by yourself. No one can.”
She curled up into a ball, in the corner made by her seat and the window. The car no longer smelled new; it smelled of vomit. Her vomit. Which was in her hair, along with a slick of blood, and on her shoes, and burning the back of her throat. She’d gone from thinking of herself as a trailblazer, a rebel, to recognizing the truth: that she was a coward and a phony who didn’t know how to have nothing. What if she never saw Daniel again? What if she never saw her aunt?
She loved Grace, but William had always been the one who’d really understood her. What if she couldn’t keep her promise to him, either? To come back for him? To give him a proper burial?
And why did it matter to her so much that she did? She knew, rationally, that his soul had fled. That his body—any body—was just a thing. But…deep inside, where rationality could never quite penetrate, that didn’t matter. She needed…she needed to make it up to him. Somehow.
To show him, even too late, how much he’d mattered.
She’d thought, somehow, that if anyone had wanted to help her it would’ve been Archer. Archer, who’d acted like her friend. And more. Like he’d maybe even loved her. But he’d left, on Dane’s order, without so much as a backward glance. Yes, she was sure, he’d been horrified to see her. But so had Dane been.
Who was Archer, really?
Who was Dane?
Who was she?
The car slowed to a stop.
Ani looked up, through the window, at an absolutely massive brownstone. It wasn’t one of the palace-like ones she’d seen on school tours, but it was close. It was armored, too. Only unlike her house, her former house, this place also had guards. They gave the appearance of being relaxed, but even from this distance Ani could tell that it was only an appearance. Their eyes darted everywhere. And they had rifles. Massive rifles, like none Ani had ever seen.
Dane touched her shoulder, and she jumped.
“We’re home.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Chastened
“Wait! I—I can’t get out of the car! I’m covered in blood and vomit!”
And she wasn’t, regardless of what she looked like, ready to face the realities implicit in this next step.
“I,” Dane said firmly, “do not care in the slightest.”
“But I do and….” Ani watched the guards watch the world around them, and felt defeated.
“Whatever fails to interest me must, therefore, fail to interest them. However, should anyone give you cause to feel uncomfortable, regardless of your state of being….” The silence said more than any words ever could. But he still spoke them. “I will deal with them. Personally.”
Ani glanced behind her. The man who’d been leering at her was gone. She wondered if he’d actually been able to see her, through the glass. “I can’t,” she said again. “I mean, I don’t….”
“Antoinette. To me, as always, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”
She looked down at herself.
He got out of the car, and came around to her side. She marveled at how he could just do that, step outside into a night like this. He’d called her strong, but she’d never have his confidence. Or his sense of ownership. Dane viewed the world as just as much his domain during the Purge as any other time. Which for him, she supposed, it was. She, on the other hand, had been reduced to a supplicant. One who now had to parade past these men as—what?
Some sort of rescue? Like a kitten? Or…a captive?
He opened her door, and offered her his hand.
She let him help her, not because she wanted him to but because even more than being seen covered in vomit she hated the idea of being seen falling flat on her face. Dane put his arm around her, to steady her, as he led her toward the front door. She didn’t resist that, either. Maybe, if she acted as invisible as possible, the guards wouldn’t notice her.
She climbed one step, and then another. The entrance to the brownstone was intimidating, with columns supporting a portico. The door itself seemed sized for giants, curved at the top and with carvings. A pair of evil looking lions glared back at her, from inside recessed panels. Above and below them were acanthus leaves. More money, came the unbidden thought, had gone into this artistry than into some houses.
The door swung open.
They stepped inside.
The man who’d opened the door bowed briefly to Dane and then disappeared.
Ani swallowed. She was in Dane’s house. She was actually in Dane’s house. She’d heard talk of it, the private residence he maintained apart from his family estate, but had never thought to actually see it. Had never wanted to. The first that struck her about it, though, wasn’t its opulence but its warmth. Just like she hadn’t realized, earlier, how thirsty she’d been, she hadn’t realized either that she’d grown chilled to the bone. The car’s heaters had helped a little, but this…this was magical. She sighed, feeling some base animal part of her relax.
“Welcome home,” Dane said.
She immediately bristled. “This isn’t my home.”
“It’s mine.”
“But you need to stop suggesting that it’s mine, too.”
Irritation hardened Dane’s features. She heard it in his voice, as well. “You can’t sleep on the street. Or is that what you’re proposing?”
“No, I just….” She didn’t want to feel too comfortable.
“I did offer to bring you to the hospital.”
Ani hung her head, chastened. She knew she was being ridiculous. While Dane, frighteningly, was being nothing but kind. He hadn’t said a single thing, since he’d found her, that could’ve been interpreted as unfortunate in any way. He’d been…thoughtful, solicitous, but at times almost businesslike.
Like a completely different person.
“Antoinette.” She felt a gentle touch on her shoulder. “You’ve had a hard night. Hard being a singular understatement. Let me give you a tour, and then see to your wounds.”
“I…alright.” She seemed to have run out of words, at the moment.
Which was strange, because she’d had enough earlier.
“Is your knee…?” He gestured.
“I can walk.”
“I can carry you.”
“I’m…I’m alright.”
“Then let’s try this again. Welcome home.”
“I…. Thank you.”
The second thing she noticed about the house itself, or at least the part of it she was standing in, was how the air smelled: like furniture polish, and cloves. Dane clearly decorated with antiques, but there was none of the mustiness she’d come to associate with old spaces. The carpet under her feet was a beautiful mix of reds and pinks, leading past a pair of doors that faced each other from opposite walls to one of the most beautiful staircases she’d ever seen.
She hadn’t allowed herself to be fully impressed by her surroundings when she’d first arrived but…. “This is amazing,” she breathed.
Dane seemed pleased with her response. “The house itself was designed by an architect famous in his own time for his, ah…I believe the phrase he used was grandly imposing visions. When I bought it, it needed a little work; I must admit that I was aided, quite a bit, by my uncle’s friend at the time. Her—hobby, for lack of a better term, was fixing up old houses.”
“Friend?”
“Robin, was her name. She picked out most of the furniture, too.” At Ani’s expression, “I hate to disappoint you, if you’ve been nurturing some secret hope that I know the first thing about design.”
“No, I…what happened to her?”
“Robin?” Dane seemed surprised at the question. “She grew bored with Jasper, eventually, and married some provincial governor. Why?”
“I don’t know, I thought…I thought your uncle must’ve left her.”
“Does it bother you, that another woman bought my couch?”
“No.” Of course not, you fool. But then, because he’d referred to her as another woman, “did you sleep with her?” The question was one of pure curiosity; she honestly didn’t care about the answer.
“No,” Dane said. “She wasn’t my type.”
“She had—has—wonderful taste.”
“I’m glad you think so.” Dane’s tone was dry.
Ani found herself studying the beautifully shaped corbels, which supported the mezzanine level overhead. The stairs led up to it; whoever was standing up there could look down into the foyer. The baluster, though, which appeared to be carved from mahogany, would make it difficult for them to be seen.
Everything, everywhere she looked, had a wealth of detail. No part of this space had been left untouched by a master’s hand. Her eyes, though, always drifted back to the staircase. She moved toward it. A pair of nymphs, not twins this time but each subtly different, perched atop the newel posts. They had the patina of old bronze. Each held aloft a frosted glass globe, which glowed warmly. Hesitantly, she reached out and trailed her fingertips lightly over an expertly sculpted and cast fold of fabric. It looked, and almost felt, real.
“They’re one of the best features of the house,” Dane said.
“I’ve never…I’ve never seen a staircase with lamps on it.”
“To the right, through that door, is the sitting room. And, through that, the library. To the left is the dining room. And, through that, of course, the kitchens. The orangerie as well. Although I must admit, I haven’t given a great deal of thought to growing any actual oranges. Mostly, I use it as a space for entertaining. But you’ll have enough time to inspect them all more thoroughly later; right now, we really do need to address more pressing concerns.”
“You promised me a tour.”
“We’re touring the upstairs.” Dane offered her his arm. “Also, Antoinette, this much of a tour has already…well. You’ve grown quite pale.”
She ignored his arm, and gripped the bannister instead.
Side by side, they passed underneath the chandelier as they moved toward the unknown.
The architect had done his best to make you forget that you were in the middle of the city and that space—at any price—was limited. Every choice felt deliberate, like he’d simply chosen to scale a palace down for mere mortals on a lark. “There are five guest bedrooms,” Dane said, “each with their own en suite. The floor above us is for children, purely and as far as I’m concerned eternally theoretical children, leaving the final floor for the servants. Of which,” he added, “I have two.”
“Earlier…?”
“That was Jefferson. There’s also Mrs. Buchannan, the housekeeper.”
“Why don’t you want children?”
“They might turn out like me.” His tone invited no further discussion.
The tour continued.
Dane gestured at a closed door. “That’s my office. There’s one downstairs as well, off the library, which I keep largely for appearances.” He didn’t offer to open the door, and she didn’t ask.
Each of the bedrooms seemed to have a different color scheme. Most of them were bearable, but eventually Ani found herself standing inside one the eye watering red of a cranberry. Everything from the damask on the walls to the rugs—and there were multiple rugs—to the bedding to the curtains was a different shade of the same. Even the furniture, as dark as it all was, provided scant relief. “This,” she said, “is hideous.”
“This,” Dane said, as he disappeared through another door, “is my room.”
Seconds later, she heard water begin to run.
He reappeared.
“What are you doing?”
“Drawing you a bath.”
Ani just stared.
“And now I’m ordering you food.”
Picking up a telephone on a side table, he spoke in low tones to someone on the other end.
Ani hugged herself, and chewed her lip, and wondered what to do.
Dane replaced the receiver.
He waited.
Ani forced herself to speak. “I…can’t.”
“Because…?”
Her answer surprised even her. “Because,” she whispered, “they might come back.” And she couldn’t not be ready. She couldn’t let her guard down, and be vulnerable, when she might look up and see those strange men with their grappling hooks and their boots and their explosives and their evil, leering grins. When one of them might touch her, again.
“You’re perfectly safe here.” Dane spoke, not to convince, but simply to state a fact.
And that was what helped her start to breathe again.
“Every time I think….”
“I know. I understand.”
She walked toward the washroom.
“Is it hideous?”
She glanced at her host. “Yes.”
Everything was marble. Everything. Thankfully not red marble, but a sort of pinkish-tan with gold shot through. This entire family, she thought, had a fetish for gold. In more ways than one. There was a toilet in its own recessed alcove, a double vanity with a mirror the size of a picture window, a shower—not a tub with a showerhead, like everyone else had, but a standalone shower—and a tub. Except…no. Not a tub. A small swimming pool that had been recessed into the floor.
“This style was quite popular, a thousand years ago.”
“You should’ve kept Robin out of your washroom. And,” Ani added, “bedroom.”
“Oh,” Dane countered, not without a trace of humor, “their design was mine.”
Ani felt herself color.
Dane, pretending he didn’t notice, gestured at the door on the far wall. “That’s the dressing room. Or, should I say, those are the dressing rooms. His and hers. But, of course, no hers has been installed and so I regard the space as purely my own. Which, I suppose, I would regardless.”
Ani supposed she should be grateful that no one was about to appear, demanding to know who she was.
Then again, Dane was hardly a celibate.
Maybe, she thought, his girlfriends would start showing up the next morning.
“Now,” he said, “into the tub.”
The tub was filling rapidly. Oh, to be able to afford such plumbing. And while there was easily another foot to go, there were at least two there already. Maybe even three. The water was probably warm, too. And there’d be room for her to stretch out, and relax. But…. “I can’t.”
“Antoinette, I—”
There was another issue. “You’re here.”
Dane absorbed this. “Yes,” he said.
“I can’t….”
“What you can’t, is be left alone.” Dane’s tone was matter of fact. “You might pass out.”
“I’m not ready to….”
“Antoinette.” His eyes held hers. “Nothing is going to happen, save bathing.”
“I….”
“And then, after that, dressing your wounds.”
“Yes but….” Her face was burning, now. “No one has ever seen me….”
Dane sighed. “I forget, sometimes, how the rest of the world is.”
Ani thought she might actually pass out, not from her wounds but from mortification.
“Alright, then. I’ll step into my repugnant boudoir, and return after you’ve had a chance to disrobe. Add enough soap to the bath, too, and once you’re submerged you’ll be nigh on invisible.”
And with that, he was gone.
Ani stared at the water. There was a bottle of soap, she saw. She picked it up, and read the label. Watson Bathing Company was the purveyor, apparently. One Hundred Roses Bubble Water. Ani had never heard of either Watson Bathing Company or anything called bubble water. She couldn’t imagine Dane, or any man, wanting to smell like roses but…of course. He’d bought this, or at least someone had bought this, for one of his women.
Was she seriously contemplating stepping into a tub that might’ve hosted an orgy?
Well, she consoled herself, someone around here probably used bleach.
Experimentally, she unscrewed the cap and upended the bottle.
Almost immediately, bubbles began to proliferate. She giggled. This was incredible! And the air, warm and damp already, became laden with the scent of roses. One of her favorite scents! Glancing behind her to verify that the door was, indeed, shut, she began to disrobe. And discovered, almost immediately, that she would’ve been a lot better off with help. Dried blood and God knew what else had plastered her clothes down and separating cotton from flesh felt like peeling off a thousand and one sticking plasters. She winced. Tears sprang to her eyes, this time from pain. She’d fallen off a bicycle once, as a child, scraping off a large patch of skin on her shoulder and removing the remains of her blouse felt like that.
And then, mercifully, she was free.
She took a step into the water, hissing at the heat. But it was a welcoming heat. A soothing heat.
She took another step, and then another.
She crouched down, and then sat. Her hair fanned out around her, along the surface of the water. Dane was right: with the bubbles, even she couldn’t see anything. She closed her eyes and, for the first time in forever, she just was. She let her arms rise, and her feet, until her fingertips and toes were among the bubbles. She let her head fall back, her nose pointing up at the ceiling.
Everything felt so surreal. No, surreal wasn’t even the right word. She finally understood how Alice had felt, when she’d fallen through the looking glass. Only Ani had grown up believing that looking glasses like those—and girls who fell through them—existed only in stories.
Her life, as she knew it, was over. And yet she was still here, still functioning. Things were still funny and things still hurt, and she still felt thirsty and hungry and all the things she’d always felt. She still felt bliss, a pure animal bliss, in safety and comfort. In this bath.
