"This is where I found your picture." Sitting down, he signed on, then went to the Internet and pulled up the Web page where he had seen her photo.
Brenna stared at her image, wondering how John Linder's painting had found its way to this time and place.
"Listen to this," Roshan said, reading the words beneath the image. "Woman in White, painted by renowned seventeenth-century artist John Linder. This painting is one of Linder's first works. There is speculation as to the model's identity. Some claim she was a local witch; others opine that she was Linder's first love, Brenna Flanagan, who disappeared under mysterious circumstances." He glanced over his shoulder at Brenna. "I guess he didn't jump to his death after all."
"You saved two lives that night," Brenna murmured. "Mine and his."
Roshan grunted softly. "So it would seem."
"I owe you my thanks for his life, as well as my own."
"Were you in love with him?"
"No."
He regarded her a moment, as if searching for the truth, then turned back to the matter at hand. "This is a printer," he said, indicating the gray object beside the computer.
He hit "print." Brenna jumped a little when the machine made a soft whirring sound and started printing the photograph.
"Here." He handed the picture to her.
She stared at her likeness, hardly able to comprehend such magic. "'Tis all so… unbelievable."
He nodded, wondering how he would have done had he been thrust into the present from the past. "There's a lot more for you to learn. For instance— "
She grinned sheepishly when her stomach growled loudly.
"I think I'd better take you out and get you something to eat. Why don't you go and see if your clothes are dry," he suggested. "I'll wait in here."
Her undergarments were dry; the hem of her skirt was still a little damp, but she put the dress on anyway. She had nothing else.
"Ready?" he called.
"Yes."
She was frowning when he entered the living room again.
"What's wrong?"
"My dress," she said, smoothing her hands over her skirt, "'tis badly wrinkled."
He grunted softly, but there was no help for it. Mentally, he added an iron to the list of things he had forgotten.
"Don't worry about it," he said. "We'll buy you something new." He held out his hand, waited patiently while she decided whether to trust him or not. He felt as if he had accomplished a major feat when she finally placed her hand in his. It was small and warm, vibrant with young life.
Roshan turned off the lights as they walked toward the entryway. He opened the front door for her, then took her hand again and led her around the side of the house to the garage. Morgana trailed at Brenna's heels, then bounded off, no doubt in search of prey.
Roshan squeezed Brenna's hand. "Wait here."
Going into the garage, he slid behind the wheel of the Ferrari, started the engine, and backed the car out of the garage.
Putting the car in park, he opened the door and got out, only to find that Brenna had retreated to the front porch. He laughed softly. "Come here."
She shook her head. "What is that thing?"
"It's an automobile. A car. You've seen them on television, remember?"
"They were not that big. Nor did they make such a dreadful noise."
Walking over to the porch, Roshan climbed the steps and took her hand once again. "Come on, there's nothing to be afraid of."
It was with great trepidation that she followed him down the stairs. He opened the car door for her, waited patiently while she peered inside, apprehension visible in every taut line of her body.
"Brenna, you're going to have to trust me here. I swear I won't hurt you, and I won't let anything else hurt you, either."
She glanced at him over her shoulder and he realized again how young she was, how vulnerable and innocent. He had saved her from a horrible death, and in so doing, had catapulted her into a world beyond anything she could have imagined, a world she had not been prepared for.
Apparently deciding to take him at his word, she slid into the passenger seat. He shut the door, rounded the front of the car, and slid behind the wheel.
"This is a seat belt." Reaching in front of her, he snapped it into place. He let the car idle for a few minutes, giving her a chance to get used to the noise.
Putting the car in gear, he drove down the long curved driveway and pulled up at the gate. "You all right?" he asked.
She nodded, her eyes wide, her hands clenched in her lap.
Roshan grinned as he disabled the wards on the gate and pulled onto the road. Though it had been years ago, he could remember his apprehension the first time he got behind the wheel, the sudden rush of power as the engine roared to life. Though he could will himself anywhere he wished to be, driving a fast car was an exhilarating experience that could be had no other way.
Brenna stared out the window as houses and buildings rushed by in a blur. Time and again, she looked over at Roshan, seeking reassurance, listening to the calming sound of his voice as he explained what he was doing, telling her the names for the various parts of the car— steering wheel, radio, dashboard, gearshift, gas pedal, brake pedal. He showed her how to turn on the radio and the inside of the car was suddenly filled with music, though it was music such as she had never heard before.
A short time later, she saw a building that looked big enough to hold her entire village and everyone in it.
"That's the mall," he told her as he pulled around the corner and into the parking lot.
They stopped moments later. He showed her how to unfasten her seat belt and open the door, then helped her out of the car.
Taking her by the hand, he led her across an expanse of black ground, though it was like no ground she had ever seen. They entered the building through a large door made of steel and glass.
Brenna glanced around. There were lights everywhere, and, to her amazement, trees. There was also a fountain. And noise! So much noise. Music that seemed to come from the walls, the sound of people talking and laughing, babies crying. The air was filled with a myriad of scents she could not identify.
"This is a place to shop," Roshan explained. "You can buy just about anything you want or need here."
She nodded, her gaze darting everywhere at once while Roshan read the names of the various stores aloud: Mrs. Field's Cookies; Robinson's-May; Mervyn's; the Disney Store; Sears; Bed, Bath and Beyond; Suncoast; Everything But Water; Waldenbooks.
She couldn't help staring at the people that rushed past them. Girls with pink curls, boys with hair rising from their heads in long spikes. And their clothing! It was scandalous. In her day, a woman was considered naked if she was caught wearing nothing but her shift, but these women! They wore clothing that revealed their arms and legs and, saints above, their stomachs!
She was staring at a boy wearing a shirt with no sleeves and breeches so low on his hips she wondered that they didn't fall off, when Roshan led her into one of the stores.
Again, she found herself staring, this time at shelves of shoes and boots in every style and color imaginable. He led her to a moving staircase. She balked when he tried to lead her onto it.
"Come on," he said. "There's nothing to be afraid of. This is an escalator. Quite safe. Step onto it when I do." He took a firm hold on her forearm. "Ready?"
She nodded uncertainly.
"Let's go."
She gasped as she put her foot on the bottom step, would have fallen if he hadn't been holding her arm. Before she could decide what to make of this new mode of transportation, they had reached another level, which was just as crowded and noisy as the last.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Roshan asked.
Moments later, he turned her over to a tall woman wearing a severe black dress. After giving the woman instructions to help Brenna pick out everything she needed, no matter the cost, he found a chair and sat down to wait.
Brenna felt a rush of embarrassment as the woman studied her appearance, taking in her wrinkled dress, her boots, her uncombed hair.
The next two hours were a little frightening at first. The woman took her from place to place, showing her all manner of clothes, asking which ones she liked. Brenna was embarrassed when the woman asked her her size and she didn't know the answer.
After a time, her arms laden with clothing, the woman took Brenna into a small room. Brenna was startled to see her reflection staring back at her. Somewhat timidly, she put her finger on the glass.
"It's all right, I assure you," the woman said. "No one is watching you from the other side."
"The other side?" Brenna took a step back, wondering if the mirror was a magical doorway to the hereafter.
"The other side of the mirror. I know some women feel uncomfortable ever since that story came out on the Web about dressing rooms with two-way mirrors, but I can assure you that you don't have to worry about that here."
Not wanting to show her ignorance, Brenna kept silent. A story on the web? What did spiders have to do with mirrors?
While Brenna was still pondering this new mystery, the woman began unfastening Brenna's dress. It was a new experience, having a woman assist her while she tried on intimate apparel. New but necessary, she thought as the woman helped her into something called a bra, then handed her something called panties. Brenna marveled not only at the bright blue color, but at their silky texture, as well.
"They are nice, aren't they?" the woman said, smiling.
"Yes, indeed, but… is this all there is to them?" Brenna held them up. "I mean, they do not cover very much."
She blushed when the woman laughed and assured her that the briefs, however brief, covered all that was necessary.
Brenna tried on slacks and blouses and nightgowns, dresses and skirts, slips both long and short, marveling at the variety of colors, the rich texture and needlework of each garment. Her own clothes seemed drab indeed when compared with such finery!
