“I have definitely lost all good sense,” he muttered as he pushed open the door.
The interior was dark, but he could see everything easily. The room was layered with dust, old sheets covered the furniture, and the wallpaper was peeling in small curls from the walls.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Savannah flung out her hands and turned in a circle. Jumping into Gregori’s arms, she hugged him tightly. “It’s so perfect!”
He couldn’t help himself; he kissed her inviting mouth. “Perfect for torching. Savannah, did you even look at this place before you bought it?”
She laughed and ruffled his thick mane of hair. “Don’t be such a pessimist. Can’t you see its potential?”
“It is a firetrap,” he groused, but he was studying the heavy draperies and the narrow staircase leading both upstairs and to some lower sanctuary.
“Come with me.” Savannah was already hastening toward the stairs. “Let me show you the big surprise, Gregori. This is why I bought it. It isn’t just a fantastic house with a great garden.”
“Garden?” he echoed. But he followed her. How could he not? She was radiating joy. He found himself just watching her, every movement she made, the way her head turned, the way her eyes danced. She was so beautiful. If she wanted a claustrophobic little house in the middle of the French Quarter, if that made her happy, he would not deny her.
The stairs, very narrow and steep, wound downward in a spiral to an unexpected basement that ran the length of the house. New Orleans was built on water-logged ground below sea level. Even the dead had to be entombed above ground. New Orleans made him edgy. There was no earth to burrow into in an emergency. No easy, natural escape. New Orleans presented problems he didn’t want at this time.
Gregori peered at the basement’s cement walls, its solid floor. He paced the length of the room, circled the perimeter, moved to the center, and closed his eyes. He inhaled deeply. There were shadows of others in this room, of those who had come before.
“Do you feel it?” Savannah asked softly. She placed a hand on his arm, her fingers curling halfway around his wrist.
He stared down at her small hand. He could feel that touch through his entire body. Yet her fingers couldn’t even circle the thickness of his wrist. He found himself aware that she did that often, wrap her fingers around his wrist, connecting them. And that little gesture seemed to melt his heart.
Gregori forced his attention back to the present. So Savannah felt the presence, too. One who had been here before them. Julian. Julian Savage had lived in this house. Why? What kind of security had he established here? For Julian must have steered Savannah toward this house when he had become aware of her desire to come to New Orleans.
Gregori slipped an arm around her shoulders. “What do you know about the former owner?”
“Just that he wasn’t here for long periods at a time. The real estate agent told me that the house had been in the man’s family for nearly two hundred years, that it’s actually one of the oldest homes in the Quarter.”
“But you never actually met him?” Gregori prompted.
“No,” Savannah replied.
“Julian Savage was the former owner, though it is hard to imagine him ever living here. He is a loner, as untamed as the wind.” He paced the room again. “If Julian gave up this sanctuary, one he had for nearly two centuries, it can mean only one thing. He is choosing the dawn.” He said the words dispassionately, without expression, but inside he felt that curious tearing he was becoming so familiar with. Emotion. Sorrow. So many of his kind gone forever. Julian was stronger than most, more knowledgeable. He hated losing Julian.
Savannah stroked his arm. “We don’t know that, Gregori. Maybe he just wanted to give us a wedding present. Don’t assume the worst.”
Gregori tried to shake off his melancholy, but he felt he would barely be able to breathe in this crowded, closed-in neighborhood. “Other people’s houses are right on top of this one,” he said. “I think they could take one step and be in our living room.”