Some people just didn't fit in well with their jobs; a terrible fact of life in a world that was full of unpredictable bumps.
You could ask him, when the Gallery first opened, the location of any time-period, of any style or artist, and get a precise, correct answer. Sometimes he was as still and darkly silent as the statues he guarded when he stood watch in the early hours of the morning, when it just opened. At night he preferred to prowl the halls, checking and re-checking windows, doors, all locks, counting the pictures...
It was hard to keep from going batty with boredom in such a shitty job. It wasn't at all what he'd wanted to do with his life, but his father's lingering death when he was young had drained the family's once massive finances and left him... well, left him with a tiny apartment that was thankfully fully paid for, and a night-shift job in an art gallery. As a result, he had no friends, as he knew no-one else with those hours who hadn't gone to university after the second level of schooling. A lonely, dull job that he was well aware he'd probably work until he was dead, or just got lucky.
/Gone and depressed yourself earlier than usual, Klaus,/ he mused to himself, as he lingered in a bare hall-way to finish off his first cigarette of the night. /Took only an hour and a half this time, to get so low... I don't even know why I bother living. I'm not going anywhere, and it's not like I'm not replaceable for the Gallery.../ But at least for that night, the place needed to be guarded...
/And that's my job./ The gun at his hip nearly sang to be cleaned and re-assembled, so he finished off the smoke and started through the halls again, pulling it idly from the holster to start on it as he walked.
He was half way through the cigarette when he caught a flicker of light in his peripheral vision - nothing more than a tiny glimmer, as if something or someone had just passed before the large, ornate mirror at the far end of the hallway.
His first instinct was to assume it was his own cigarette's glow; but it was on the wrong side, Klaus quickly noted, so he spun on silent feet to look at the mirror that had shown him that faint sweep of brightness. Had it been just a stray piece of dust that had caught in the light of one of the windows the wrong way? A trick of his own eyes, or an intruder?
That's when he heard the singing, far off in the direction of the mirror, really more of a low hum that was barely audible. The tune was something sad and sweet and the voice was that of a young man or boy. It echoed faintly along the corridors of the gallery and then faded away into the other wing of the building.
Grey-green eyes darted around for a moment as the guard took it that soft hum of slow song. He looked behind himself first, to make sure he wasn't being set up, and then headed off in the direction of the mirror and the other wing; he used the excuse to himself that it was probably a figment of his lonely imagination, and that he had to go to that wing eventually.
He'd gotten to the entryway for the other wing. At the present it was filled with post-Renaissance paintings, all of them mounted in large, lavish frames. As he crossed the threshold, it seemed for a moment that the humming had stopped, but then, once more, he heard a snatch of it, as if the singer was walking the corridor that paralleled his own.
It was infuriating, and made the short hairs beneath his mane of hair, on the very back of his neck, stand right on end! When he caught the singer, he was going to make them wish that they'd *never* broken into the gallery.
"You're better come out and show yourself -- I'll shoot if you don't."
The humming stopped short and Klaus was sure that he'd hear running footsteps any moment, the coward trying to get away, but in reality he heard... nothing. It was completely silent for several moments and then a lean, blond haired man appeared suddenly at the end of the hallway.
He was tall and slender, his hair long and twining into soft curls down past his shoulders. He couldn't have been more than 20 or so. Certainly no more than a year or so younger than the guard himself.
The clothes weren't what Klaus expected to see on an intruder. A loose linen tunic belted loosely at his waist, that slipped off of his left shoulder, tight pale blue-dyed pants, soft leather boots. /Fucking beautiful,/ he couldn't help but think as he positioned the sight so that it would take out that bared shoulder if he fired. "Step forwards, and I won't shoot."
The young man obeyed, tilting his head to the side as he did, and gazing at Klaus with curiosity. "I mean you no harm," he murmured, and his voice had an oddly resonant quality to it.
"You mean no harm? Then what the fuck are you doing tromping around a sealed art gallery singing to yourself for?!" Klaus snapped unsteadily, taking a step towards the infuriating enigma before him.
The man smiled sweetly. "I often walk the hallways," he said calmly, as if it were something Klaus should have known. "I like looking at the paintings. It makes me happy to see them, all so pretty."
"I'm calling the police, unless you're some curator that I never knew about," Klaus said definitively, gun held out as he swept out a hand to catch a hold of the blonde man.
His hand closed around thin air, though. It felt almost as if it hand gone straight through the other man's arm, but really he had just stepped aside quickly. "I've been here for years," the man explained. "Nobody's ever complained about me looking at the other paintings."
Grey-green eyes narrowed at that smooth side-step. What the hell was the man - a cat? "I've been guard here for over a year now and I've never seen you!"
"And I have never seen you," the blond said giving Klaus a beaming smile, "but I'm so glad I have now. It won't be so lonely now."
"Lonely…?" Klaus glanced around again, checking with his usual careful paranoia to see if he was on some sort of gag television-show. Something that stupid was the only thing he could hope, otherwise he was holding a conversation with a complete *madman*. "you're going to walk, ahead of me, to my office. I'm going to handcuff you, and then call the police. Understood?"
The smile faded instantly. "Why would you handcuff me?" he said, puzzled. "As I said I mean you no harm. I just like looking at the pictures."
He glanced around and spotted a Madonna and child. "Like this one," he said moving towards it. "Don't you think she looks sublimely peaceful?"
"It's the virgin Mary and Christ," Klaus shrugged as he glanced over at it. "I've seen more moving versions. But stop trying to bullshit you way out of being caught -- it won't make it any easier for you."
"Bullshit?" the man said, looking puzzled and hurt. "Why do you speak this way, when I've done nothing to harm you? I'm only enjoying the pictures..."
Such a beautiful face shouldn't look so aggrieved, Klaus thought fleetingly, before shoving that thought down. "I'm a guard -- guards keep out intruders. You're an intruder. given that, it's my job to get rid of you."
The blond man put his head to one side, a long, graceful finger coming up to tap his chin. "An intruder would be someone who came from outside and broke in... and that can't be me, because I didn't come from outside, so..." He straightened up again and beamed at Klaus, "you don't *have* to get rid of me! I'm really very nice, you know."
"Wait -- what the hell are you claiming about not coming in from the outside?!" Klaus demanded of him, eyes narrowing in suspicion at first... and then flaring once the realisation flickered at the edges of his mind.
"It's true," the man said, looking completely sincere. "I didn't come from outside. I came from in here, that is... I just *am* in here." He tried smiling at Klaus again. "Really, I'm not a burglar if that's what you think. I wouldn't steal anything. I mean, what would be the good? It's all here to look at, and I'm here as well. Why should I take anything?"
"I..." It was hard to argue that, even if it was missing the fact that humans were naturally corrupt. "Just what are you saying here? You certainly don't live here!"
That gave the man pause. His brows came together slightly and he murmured, "Well... *no*... that is... I'm just *here.* I don't leave this place to go to any other, if that's what you mean."
"You…" Klaus lowered his gun so that the muzzle pointed towards the smooth marble floor, and he raised his other hand to touch the beautiful pale face. "Don't move this time."
Blue eyes opening wide, the man remained where he was and Klaus's fingers went right through him.
"As you see," the man said. "I'm no harm at all to you..."
"Oh Christ!!" The guard swore softly, taking a staggered step backwards -- his fingers felt *hot* from where they wiped clean through that solid-looking visage, and came out on the other side, thin air and not a make on them. "You're not real!"
"I am!" the man said earnestly, looking suddenly distraught. "Or else... I *was*... I *know* I was... I just can't remember it well..." His voice trailed off and he looked down at the ground, suddenly deflated.
"You.... aren't a ghost, I'm just having a hallucination from too little sleep..." Yet Klaus took that step forwards again, and tried once more to touch the apparition, this time on the shoulder -- it was like a beautiful opaque hologram that talked to him!!
"I can't be a ghost," the man said in a practical tone, "because I can't remember dying... that is, I'm fairly sure I *didn't* die..." He frowned and looked back at Klaus. "Would you like to see where I'm from?" he said hesitantly.
"Yes." Klaus was startled to hear his own voice say that in reply -- no, he'd meant no, he'd meant that he must be loosing his mind, not agreeing with a *ghost* and yet there he was, nodding to go with his 'yes'.
"It's this way," said the blond, smiling and heading off down the corridor.
They walked for several minutes in silence until the man stopped at the foot of a large portrait. It was of a young man - a man who looked exactly like the one standing before Klaus.
At the base of the portrait was a small bronze plate that read, "Dorian, Earl of Gloria - 1799."
"You... your name is Dorian?" Klaus asked, lamely he realised, but only once the words had already passed his lips. "That... that looks like you!" /You're a fucking idiot, Klaus, who's been alone in an art gallery for too long.../
"Yes," Dorian murmured, looking up at the painting. "I think it *is* me... if I could only remember..." He looked back down at the small plate. "Do you know this man, Allan Ramsay? I think he painted it."
"It was painted two hundred years ago," Klaus told him in a waver of voice. "You're just... just the same in the... eh, flesh as you are in that picture... Amazing."
"Two hundred..." The blond man looked stricken. "Surely that's not possible! It couldn't have been that long..." He stared back at the painter's name. "I must have known him, but how... what did he do to me...?"
"I don't know," the black-haired guard murmured, "because I've never met anyone from a painting before!"
Dorian tried to laugh. "I've never really thought about it until now - how strange it is... This is all I can remember right now, but sometimes..." He looked back up at the portrait. "Sometimes I seem to have glimpses... of being in another place."
"Can..." Klaus strained for a moment with himself, then stopped bothering, and made another attempt to touch Dorian's face. "Are you here all the time?"
"I don't remember going anywhere," he said, "it's more like... every once in awhile I feel like I've awakened for the first time in a long time, and that's when I find myself wandering the halls and looking at all the lovely paintings."
"Do you remember the last time you were... awake?" Klaus asked in utter curiosity, once his hand had passed through skin again.
The apparition frowned, rather prettily. "It's hard to tell one time from another, but... well I don't remember ever meeting you. Have I?"
"No." The astonishment didn't fade, still -- god help him, he was talking to an *actual* ghost. "So... so you either haven't caught my attention, or you haven't' been awake in a year..."
"A year," said the man, looking utterly distressed. "Yet... what's a year when two hundred have passed..." He looked back up to his portrait, as though it might tell him what had happened to him. "I remember... I remember... a man... and a very bright room..." Then he shook his head. "It's just too misty."
"How..." Klaus trailed off, working his jaw in his stunned shock. "Will you remember this the next time you... wake up?"
"I... I don't know," said the blond man. He looked back over at Klaus and held up a hand, as if he might want to touch him, but the fingers were already fading slowly, along with the rest of his body. "I hope I'll wake again soon," he said, his voice sounding oddly distant. "Will you be here if I do?"
Klaus moved his hand to touch those fingers, but they swept through again -- nothing. "Yes. Y-yes, I'll be here... Dorian."
A soft smile crept across the apparition's face and the next moment, he vanished entirely, leaving Klaus alone with the portrait and a cold shiver racing frantically up and down his spine. He'd just been talking with a ghost. He'd just *seen* a ghost disappear!!
And he'd promised to look out and around for the ghost for the next time he woke up. /I'm loosing my fucking mind,/ Klaus thought disjointedly, as he put careful finger-tips against the paint of that picture and felt a warmth coming from it, as though it were a living person he had touched.
He startled again, unable to helped himself, and looked up at the picture of Dorian. Dorian of Gloria, painted in such a far away time, had talked to him, he'd heard him sing, swept a hand through that beautiful face that felt *warm* in the picture. "A ghost... I'll find out how you got there. I have to, now that I've seen you here..."
~~~~~
The Fine Arts library at the nearby university was warm and had a drowsy feeling to it as Klaus entered it the next day. There was a heavy fog outside and it pressed close against the leaded paned windows, adding to the cloistered feeling.
Behind the desk, a middle-aged man in a tweed suit was tapping in an irritated way on the computer keyboard in front of him. "Yes," he said distractedly, as Klaus approached, "may I help you?"
"I'm looking for information on a painting that is currently housed at a gallery I work for," Klaus said in the most polite way he could. "The artist is Allan Ramsay, and the only thing on it is 'Dorian of Gloria, 1799'."
"Oh - that's in the museum downtown, isn't it?" the man said, finally finishing up. "A young man, with long, blond hair and his tunic falling off of his shoulder?"
"That's it," Klaus nodded, leaning against the desk. "I'm trying to find out anything I can about the artist."
"Well, if you can wait for a bit you'll be in luck," the librarian said. "The newest member of our staff just happens to be a specialist in the Scottish portraitists. She's in conference with a graduate student at the moment, but she should be done soon."
Soon was good for Klaus, and he nodded. "Should I just wait... Somewhere for her?"
"If you like I can point you to a few books we have on the Scottish School - in fact I believe we have an entire volume on Ramsay, including some of his sketches. You may find it interesting."
"Where is it?" Klaus asked, standing up straight again, looking at the man behind the desk. "I'd appreciate the help."
"Straight up the stairs here and then all the way at the back, near the stained glass windows. I'll tell Abby you're up there."
"Thank you -- I'll find a seat up there and make sure I'm easy to find," Klaus said with a nod of his head, as he started up the stairs, taking them two at a time just out of his own internal sense of urgency. He had to learn more about Ramsay, and as soon as he could. Then he could help Dorian more, or at least in some way.
The section that the librarian had pointed out to him was a snug alcove at the back of the second floor, full of hazy coloured light from the detailed windows the lined the back of the old building. He was able to find three books, on of Eighteenth Century portraitists, another of Scottish artists, and one volume on Ramsay, filled mostly with reproductions of his portraits.
Klaus took all three books, and headed back for the little ring of seats and sofas nearby. He perched on the far side of one of the sofas, put the books down beside him, and started looking through the portrait reproduction book. Towards the front, there was nothing special at all -- just pictures of old Scotsmen that'd been prettied up and smoothed over.
Three quarters of the way through the book, he came upon the portrait of Dorian. A small paragraph on the opposite page read,
"Portrait of Dorian Red Gloria, Fifth Earl of Gloria, 1799. Oil on canvas. The Earl of Gloria was a favourite subject of Ramsay's during his late middle period. He was well-acquainted with Ramsay through the Court, to which both men were frequent and welcome visitors."
Following that were several pages of sketches of a man who had to be Dorian. Some were nude sketches, some, obviously, were preliminary sketches for the portrait, and some were details - one graceful hand, a tumble of hair over a shoulder, a sculpted torso, and a pair of expressive eyes with a blond ringlet falling between them.
A young earl-hood, probably foundering without deep roots that were necessary in those times. /Acquainted... polite way to say things..../ Surely to draw so many, beautifully detailed pictures of another man, one had to be more than just acquainted! /Gorgeous,/ Klaus couldn't help but think as he let his fingertips linger of the ink-printed line of Dorian's' hip.
He leafed through the books for twenty minutes or so and then heard a voice behind him.
"Excuse me - were you the gentleman asking about Allan Ramsay?" He turned to find a young woman, still in her twenties, with shoulder length brown hair and a cheerful smile. She held out a hand to him. "I'm Abby Horton, the local 18th Century obsessive."
"A pleasure to meet you," Klaus murmured, setting the book aside and startling to his feet, hand extended. He shook hers in a firm grasp, as if she were just another man who'd offered the handshake. "Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach -- I work at the museum. This isn't for work, it's just a personal quirk of curiosity about the painting of Dorian we have in our Gallery, and the artist who drew and painted it."
"*Ohhh*..." she said, "Dorian... well he *is* an intriguing character isn't he? Please - sit down," she said gesturing to the table he'd been sitting at and taking a seat herself. "What is it exactly you'd like to know about them?"
"Anything I can?" Klaus asked with a bit of a smile as he sat down again. "These books are nice to look at, but they're thin on information."
"Well, Ramsay and the Earl were... rather close," she said tentatively, uncertain as to what Klaus wanted to hear. "Ramsay was married, but he kept rooms in Kensington..."
"He kept the earl on as a lover...?" Klaus asked in curiosity, more at her tentativeness than the words. "In Kensington?"
"Well... yes," she admitted. His wife lived in her ancestral home in Shropshire and Ramsay divided his time between that house and his rooms in London. He convinced her it was necessary because he did a lot of painting for the court and the aristocracy. He wasn't with the Earl when he engaged the rooms. That came afterward. I believe he knew Dorian for nearly a year before the Earl moved in with him."
"Still..." Still, it had happened. "So, had he moved in because of monetary problems, or just... to move in?"
"Oh no, nothing like that," she said, shaking her head. "He was well off. He had the title and his mother made sure he always had money from the estate, but he didn't live at the family home, really. He lived and breathed court life."
"Why...?" the night-guard asked with a raised eyebrow.
She smiled and glanced down at the book open in front of Klaus. "Look at him," she murmured. "He was gorgeous, and probably knew it. I believe he had many, many lovers and was very much in demand as a guest at dances and parties. He was the sort who thrived on attention. He would probably have been bored silly back home in Sussex."
"Probably -- but what happened to him...? There's no... real idea of how he died, is there?"
"Well... no, there isn't, but many people suspected Ramsay, you know."
"Of... of killing him?" /IF he's just a ghost.../ Then he was a ghost, trapped in a painting, unaware that he'd died.
She nodded. "They, uh... had a rather *stormy* relationship you see. It started off very well, or at least it reads that way from letters we have about the two of them, but Ramsay... well, I don't know what it was about him, but the rumours started to circulate about him mistreating Dorian. There were bruises noticed, and other things. In fact, after about a year the Earl tried to leave him, it got so bad."
"And he killed him then?" Klaus was jumping the gun, he knew, but it was towards the obvious conclusion.
"Well, we don't know. There was never any body found. Some people figured that Dorian finally managed to get away. The first time it didn't work. Ramsay actually tracked him down at a friend's place in Cheapside and - well - made things very unpleasant until Dorian agreed to come back."
"What a bastard," Klaus sighed, shaking his head. "So what happened with Ramsay after Dorian disappeared?"
"He went on painting for awhile," she told him. "Seemed to be his usual self, though friends remarked on his edginess. He gradually withdrew from court life, though, and eventually moved back to his wife's home. Let's see, that would have been about a year after the painting was made."
"And where was the painting kept them? Hanging in some hallway or art gallery?"
"Oh no!" she said, shaking her head firmly. "That painting was the only one he never exhibited. In fact, no one knew it existed until after he died. He'd kept it in his rooms, you see - brought if from London when he moved back in with his wife. He began spending more and more time locked away in there, by himself. Stopped painting altogether eventually. He was practically a recluse when he died. The family found the painting propped up on a chair in the rooms when they finally broke in to see if he was all right."
"So he was obsessed with Dorian?" Klaus asked in a murmur, looking to the sketches again. "Easy enough to do, I suppose."
"Oh, yes - I think obsessed sums it up rather mildly. In the opinion of many, the Earl's disappearance was the death of Ramsay. He seems to have wasted away after the man left - or was killed. No one knows."
"But if he loved Dorian so much, and missed him that badly as to go mad, why kill him?" Just to keep Dorian from running away, or...?
"I'm guessing that the Earl was thinking of trying to leave again, perhaps with the help of friends. Ramsay might have been desperate enough to think that if he couldn't have him, no one else would either. Or, Dorian could have actually gotten away and been afraid to come back." She shrugged eloquently.
"Well, thank you for your help," Klaus uttered with a polite smile. "It's been very informative and cleared up a few of my questions."
"Sorry I couldn't tell you more" she said, standing up, "but no one ever heard from the Earl again after that. His mother finally passed the title on to his younger brother after several years." She looked at him for a moment, head to one side. "Would if be rude of me to ask why you're interested in all of this?"
"The picture... caught my eye a few weeks ago, and I work in the museum at nights. There's not much to do but look at the pictures and wonder who the person within them was," he shrugged as he rose smoothly to his feet.
"Well you certainly picked an interesting one to ponder," she said with a smile. Then they shook hands and she left.
Klaus mulled over the books he had with him for a few more minutes, then checked out the book of sketches and reprints. It was at least something to look at.
~~~~~~
For another week, he lingered near Dorian's painting, every day starting a fraction earlier. So it was, as he headed towards the cafe for coffee before his shift, odd for him to bump into a friend from school that he seldom talked to.
"Klaus? Is it really you?" A tall blond man was sitting at one of the nearby tables, a cup of steaming coffee before him.
"Zack?" Klaus startled a little veered towards his long-time friend. "It's me, Zack -- 's been a while!"
"Yeah," Zack agreed, "I was beginning to think the rumours about you being a vampire were true. You're still at the museum, I'm guessing?"
"Can't you tell by my hours?" Klaus shrugged as he sat down in front of him. "How's life been for you, Zack?"
"Oh, well - life is good," the tall blond said. "I'm getting my projects at school done on time, actually have some money, and... well the dates are pretty good, too. I'm meeting Gerrie later this evening." He gave Klaus a wink.
Klaus nodded, though it was just because it was the only response he could muster to his friend's words. "Sounds like you're,,, doing well, then."
"What about you?" Zack asked, offering Klaus one of his oatmeal cookies. "You got someone special? Hmm?"
Zack shook his head. "You've got to quit that job, Klaus. You can't possibly have any kind of life doing that sort of work."
"You've no idea how dragging it is," Klaus murmured, shaking his head. "But it's let me pay off Father's bills, so I can't complain about it much."
"I can't imagine walking around in the dark for a living. It'd give me the creeps." Zack gave a shiver to make his point.
Klaus just shrugged, letting his lips thin out a little -- there were reasons he knew, why he didn't actively seek out his friends in university. "Someone has to do it -- someone does the same thing at the apartment building you live in."
"Yeah, but not me," Zack joked. "I'd start seeing things my first night on the job, I know it." He finished off his coffee and sat back, stretching. "So you ever seen anything weird on the job? Besides the occasional art thief, of course?"
"There is a ghost," he confined in Zack after a moment's thought. "Not the chain-shaking sheet wearing sort at all. It's rather interesting."
Zack stopped in mid-stretch and stared at him. "Oh, right," he said after a moment, grinning. "Is it ghoul without a head? Or a beautiful woman who's transparent?"
"A beautiful-looking young man, actually, who's quite opaque -- I thought he was an intruder when I first say him, but my hand went right through his face." No nervousness or any other sign of concocting a tale.
Zack waited for them, for the laughter that would come, but it didn't.
"Right. Okay, you got me," he said laughing again, a bit more forced this time. "At least he keeps you company, right?"
"I rather wish he would; but he hasn't shown up again since that one night. He was very coherent, though -- together we figured out that it'd been about a year since the last time he walked around the gallery, just before I started working there," Klaus went on. "You see, he's the subject of a portrait in the east wing."
That seemed to be enough for Zack. "Klaus!" he said, staring at the dark haired man. "You can stop now, okay? It was a stupid question, I know. You don't have to put yourself out making something up."
Grey-green eyes, as steady and sensible as they'd been when they'd gone to school together, when he'd attended his father's funeral, when he'd seen the family manor auctioned off for their debt, looked deeply at Zack's blue ones. "I almost wish I were making it up."
"Buddy?" Zack leaned over to look into Klaus's face. "You're not serious are you? Say you're not serious. 'cause you're scaring me here."
"I'm very serious, Zack -- I keep going by his painting at night in the hopes that he's *back*. But I know he's real -- I mean, well, he's a ghost, but I know that I'm not just hallucinating it." IT was hard to be assuring about such a thing, Klaus was fast learning.
The blond man sat for a moment, just looking at his old friend, then reached out a hand and put it gently onto Klaus's shoulder. "Klaus? If you think this is real, then *I* think you've been working nights for too long. Next you'll be telling me you believe in vampires, or zombies. Come on, man - you *are* just joking, right?"
"Zack, I'm *not* joking! No, I don't believe in shit like Zombies and vampires, because I've never seen one before my eyes -- and I swear I've seen Dorian! I talked to him!"
"Dorian?" Zack said, in a tone that belied his serious face. "The ghost is named Dorian? How delightfully gothic. And he's a painting, you say?"
"Ja -- I've done research on it and found out everything I could about him and the painter, since he couldn't remember anything," Klaus went on seriously in the face of Zack's scepticism.
Zack dropped his head to his hand. "Klaus... look, whatever little fantasy you have about your work... I don't want to hear it, okay? Maybe it keeps you occupied, but it just weirds me out, all right?"
"Well, you have the convenience of being 'weirded out'," Klaus snorted.
He gave Klaus a guilty look and then said, "Look, I have to go. I'm meeting Gerrie at the movies tonight." There was a pause and then he said, "Give me a call sometime, okay?" His look was half sympathy, half pity and he patted Klaus's shoulder again as he turned to go.
"Yeah," Klaus uttered tensely -- he knew it wouldn't do him any good to call Zack. Busy, busy, busy, this girl, that girl... "Have fun with... Gerrie. Come by the Museum some time, hmn? I work until nine and it opens at seven."
"Right. I'll do that sometime. See you!" He waved and then headed out the door, leaving Klaus alone with his coffee.
Which was fine by Klaus -- his coffee, at least, didn't think he'd lost his mind. It helped his steady himself, too, for another night of wandering the halls and desperately, patiently hoping. When he was finished, he paid for it, and then started the short walk to the museum.
~~~~~
It seemed to Klaus that it was going to be another fruitless night. Despite his strongest wishes, Dorian would probably go unseen for a year and he would be left falling into a greater state of desperation to see the ghost again, just to make sure that he wasn't loosing his mind. And if he was...
/Doesn't matter. I'm fucking miserable anyway, so what does it matter if I'm miserable and crazy? It just suits my luck,/ Klaus thought to himself, as he turned into the eastern wing.
"I don't remember going anywhere," he said, "it's more like... every once in awhile I feel like I've awakened for the first time in a long time, and that's when I find myself wandering the halls and looking at all the lovely paintings."
"Do you remember the last time you were... awake?" Klaus asked in utter curiosity, once his hand had passed through skin again.
The apparition frowned, rather prettily. "It's hard to tell one time from another, but... well I don't remember ever meeting you. Have I?"
"No." The astonishment didn't fade, still -- god help him, he was talking to an *actual* ghost. "So... so you either haven't caught my attention, or you haven't' been awake in a year..."
Dorian stood at the end of the hallway, shimmering in the dim light.
"You are... Klaus, yes?" the resonant voice said. "How long have I been away this time?"
"Two weeks," the guard said in an automatic reaction before his mind could actually register that it was Dorian asking him the question. "Two weeks, and I did all the research I could on you and your painting, Dorian."
"Research? On me?" Dorian said, walking towards him. "How could you... I don't understand."
"Research...? I went to the Art library of the University nearby." Klaus neared the ghost who was walking towards him, wanting to touch, to make sure it wasn't a horrible hallucination on his own behalf. Perhaps he was going as mad as the artist who'd painted Dorian. "You and the man who painted the picture were lovers, and... and he didn't treat you very well towards the end. Then you disappeared."
Dorian stopped in the middle of the hall.
"Lovers...?" his voice came faintly. "Lovers... Then why do I feel so frightened when I think of that room... and that man?"
"What can you remember, Dorian?" Klaus pressed softly. "I want to try to help you -- You seem... stuck to the painting. If you can get... unstuck, somehow, there's a better place for you elsewhere, than these halls..."
"What do you mean?" Dorian said in mild alarm. "What do you mean, 'a better place'?"
"Well, I think you're a ghost," Klaus murmured softly, gentle in tone as he neared the apparition again.
The blond head began shaking firmly. "No. No, I'm not dead. I didn't die. I would have known if I'd died, wouldn't I? And I don't have any memory of dying. So don't say that I'm dead. It's very upsetting to be told one is dead when one knows one isn't!
"I'm sorry," Klaus murmured, sincerely apologetic just because of the distress on the blonde's face. "But if you're not dead... then just what are you?"
"I'm a person, just like you..." Dorian said, and then his face fell. He looked down at the floor and murmured, "I *know* I am... If I could only remember..."
"What would jar your memory? What *can* you remember?" And then it struck Klaus that he might just be pushing too hard -- Dorian seemed to have no need to rush. "Or... what at least will take the frown off your face?"
The blond looked up and for a moment he just *looked* at Klaus, a searching look that seemed to see straight through to his soul. "Being with you," he said at last. "If you'll tolerate the company..." and then he smiled softly.
"I... tolerate company well when I don't think they're trying to walk off with something," Klaus murmured. "Why don't we... walk down into one of the other halls? You like looking at the pictures, don't you?" At least he had one more clue to go on than he'd had before -- but the fact that Dorian didn't think he was dead wasn't something to be looked into in art museums and libraries. Now he'd have to see what the odder parts of the city could do for him.
"I do," Dorian said, smiling. "Especially the Renaissance and Baroque painters, although the later ones are nice as well..." They walked up to one, a pre-Raphaelite of a young woman floating in a stream, as though she might be drowning herself. "For some reason I always feel sorry for the subjects, though - I mean the people who had to sit for all of these. Must be very tiring, that."
"Well... your... portrait, you have to stand for that, didn't you?" Klaus asked in curiosity.
Dorian looked over at him in surprise and said, "What? Oh, well..." He looked thoughtful and then murmured, "Yes... long hours... never getting to move... and it was always so *cold.*" His eyes were far away and he looked as though he might be lost in a memory, but then he shuddered and looked back at Klaus, smiling. "That must be what it is. I had to do it, so I sympathize..."
"Doesn't sound like you enjoyed it -- what do you like to do, other than look at the paintings?" Klaus asked, moving a hand without thinking to rest it on Dorian's shoulder -- only to have it slip through again.
"Do?" the blond asked, as if it were a trick question. "I... don't really *do* anything. I seem to just *be* here. It's usually very dark and quiet when I awake and it's odd - it always feels like I'm awakening for the first time, as if I only ever was conscious from *that* moment. I don't know what happens when I'm not awake. It's as if the world didn't exist. Then, when I'm here, I seem to just *breathe in* being awake again and it all starts anew."
He peered over at Klaus anxiously. "That doesn't make any sense, does it?"
"It almost does," the black-haired man told him, "But... how did you remember me?"
That gave the blond man pause. "I... I don't know. I don't believe I've ever done something like that before." He tilted his head to the side, as if trying to reason out a puzzle. "You *did* make quite an impression on me..."
"Maybe because it was different than empty halls," Klaus mused, glancing absently at the pictures on the walls, before he looked back to Dorian -- who was far more interesting to look at. "I'm glad you remember me -- if you can at all, try again."
"But I seen other people!" Dorian insisted. "Several of them. They just never saw me..."
That took Klaus aback, and he had to stop walking. "Then... then why can *I* see you?"
Dorian had walked a few paces before stopping to look back at Klaus. "I don't really know, but I can't begin to describe how happy I was when I first saw you and you seemed to be looking *at* me and not *through* me. It's never happened before that I can remember."
"I saw you in the mirror first," Klaus murmured, "And heard you singing. You sing very well, too -- you've got a pretty voice." And he saw a ghost... or, whatever Dorian was, without even trying.
A faint blush appeared on Dorian's pale cheeks. "My mother taught me to sing," he said, and then looked surprised at his own words. "Funny... I just remembered that..."
"That's good, then!" Klaus smiled at him, trying to encourage the ethereal creature who stood beside him. "Just... keep remembering things. If you can at all."
Dorian looked away, down the hallway in front of them. "What did say my lover's name was?" he asked softly.
"Allan Ramsay," Klaus repeated, the name of the artist who'd painted the picture. "It's also known that he didn't treat you well."
A frown crossed the lovely face and Dorian turned his face further away from the dark haired guard. "What do you mean, 'it's also known'?"
"Documented in history books," Klaus murmured quietly, wishing he hadn't said anything at all. "I'm sorry -- forgive me for saying it, Dorian."
The apparition's hand went to it's cheek, the blue eyes fixed and staring for a moment. "He didn't want anyone to know what he was really like..." he said, his voice strange and hollow-sounding.
"What was that, Dorian? What... what do you mean?" Klaus moved in front of him, to look at those fixed eyes, the tense expression on the creature that he couldn't' touch. "What he was really like...?" /He did something to you, I knew it.../
"I told him," Dorian continued in that odd voice. "I told him that I wanted to leave... but he wouldn't let me. He told me he'd always find me, and then that *man* started coming..."
"What man?" The one the woman at the library had told him about. "Black hair, tall, beard?"
"'Looks like the devil, Allan' - that's what Musgrave told him, and he was right. He frightened me. I tried to hide or pretend I was asleep when he came to the rooms."
"Do you remember what they talked about...? Or why he came?" The blonde's bottom lip was trembling as memories came back to him steadily, and Klaus wanted to... He felt his breath hitch in his chest. He wanted to kiss it to still it.
Dorian looked frustrated, as if the memory were just out of his reach and he couldn't grasp it. "I don't remember most of what happened after he started coming," he said seriously. "Just that he always came at night - late at night - and Allan always burned some strange sort of powder before he came. It smelled strange, sort of sweet and clinging. Made me drowsy..."
"I'll see what I can find out knowing that, Dorian -- Maybe... God, I want to help you. You shouldn't be stuck the way you are. If you're not a ghost, then... then you should be alive and living..."
The blond man considered Klaus's words and then said, quietly, "Would my being alive and living... would that mean I would have to go back to Allan again? Because if it would... then I'd rather die." His eyes moved to the gun resting against Klaus's hip. "You have a firearm. What would happen if you shot me with it?"
"Nothing, Dorian -- I can't lay a hand on you without my fingers passing through you. A bullet... But it doesn't matter. I wouldn't shoot you. And Allan is long dead -- so if you would be alive again, it'd be *now* and not then."
"Do you *know* that, absolutely?" Dorian asked again. "Because going back there would be like being in Hell. It *was* like hell, whenever those two were together... the way they used to look at me gave me powerful fright, but I was always so tired..."
"I don't know absolutely, Dorian -- but I don't see why you'd end up back there, again, after having been in, well, present time for the past two hundred years," the Guard uttered, realising, in the back of his mind, that he was arguing with a supernatural apparition.
Dorian put a sudden hand to his head and murmured, "I think... I think I've gotten too far from the painting. I feel very strange... dizzy..."
"Then we'll turn around," Klaus said in a worried tone, instinctively putting a hand out to guide Dorian back, for all the good it did him.
"Yes..." Dorian murmured. "I've never been this far, you see... never thought to go..."
The walked back along the corridor and the blond man began to revive a bit. By the time the reached his portrait, he looked as he had when Klaus had first met him.
"You know," he said, "I've never really *looked* at the painting all that closely. Do you think I might remember more if I did?"
"It's worth a try," Klaus murmured, fascinated by the way that Dorian seemed to appear vibrant again, just from being close to his portrait once more. He certainly *was* tied to it... While the man beside him looked at it, Klaus took his first opportunity to do more than just stare at Dorian's face -- he was intent on the scenery now. Perhaps it was a garden that Dorian had posed in, a garden in some place...
"Dorian, why's there this... it looks like a streak of black."
Dorian peered closer at the long, black object that seemed to flare out from the side of the painting. "Hmm... I wonder... why is Mr. Welky's cape there..." As he said this his nose wrinkled up, a look of faint disgust forming on his face.
"Mr Welky? Who's that?" Klaus asked, studying the remarkable silver clasp that was nearly hidden by the frame.
"That man," Dorian said, shivering. "His cloak always smelled of decay. It was horrible."
"Decay...?" Klaus' frown fell deeper, and he looked over to Dorian intently. "Decay... what kind of decay?"
"Yes. Like a newly opened crypt," the blond said. "Things rotting, disgusting stuff. The rooms smelled of him for hours after he left."
/Rot, rot... why would a man smell like bodies, like... a crypt. Did he work in one, or... or did he put people there, or.../ No, he was thinking too staidly -- Dorian was a man stuck in a picture, apparently not dead! Something... "Maybe he put it in the picture."
"Dorian looked at him, bewildered. "But... you said that Allan painted it. Mr. Welky wasn't a painter."
"I mean... I mean what if he put you there, too?" Klaus went on. "And that part of his cape there is like an artist's signature."
"What do you mean, 'put me there, too'?" Dorian said, his eyes going wide. "You're saying... you're saying Mr. Whelky... did some sort of magic and put me into Allan's painting? That's impossible... isn't it?"
"If you had've asked me that before I started talking to... to whatever you are right now, Dorian, I would have said yes," Klaus said seriously, looking deeply into blue eyes. "You should be impossible, too."
A spasm of hurt crossed the blond man's face and he looked back up to the portrait. "I suppose you're right... If I were you and had met me, I'd think I was going mad... but I *am* real!" he said suddenly, fiercely. "If I could only remember what happened that night... when Mr. Whelky was there... "
"I know you're real, Dorian... or else, I really am going mad," Klaus shrugged. "But you think... this Mr Whelky had something to do with it? But you can't remember anything about that... last night." More pressing was trying to think of a way to *undo* it.
Dorian looked back at the painting, eyes narrowed, searching everything in it. "He'd been painting it for about a month... and we'd been arguing the whole time, about how much I wanted to leave him, and how much he wanted me to stay..." He reached a pale hand up and traced the outline of the cloak and then the words began to tumble from him. "Whelky showed up the night he was to finish it... took Allan's side against me... told me I should stay... I didn't want to listen to either of them, so I claimed a headache and went to bed..."
"And that was the last thing you remember?" Then they, both the artist and the foul intruder had had a hand in what had happened to Dorian. Now, to just figure out what it was!
"No," Dorian said vaguely. "That wasn't the last thing. They came into the room where I was sleeping... I remember waking - knowing they were there but too tired to do anything about it... I must have fallen back asleep, because... because I don't recall anymore..."
He was beginning to fade again, the edges of him becoming misty. Turning to Klaus, his eyes were beseeching. "Please be here when I come back," he said softly. "It helps so much when you're here..."
"I'll be here," Klaus promised. "I will... and Maybe I'll find a way to do something for you -- I'll try and if I can't... I'll be here whenever you show up again. Try to remember tonight."
~~~~~~
It was two days later that Klaus finally realised where to start his search for someone to help him.
Flipping through the phone-book, he found a 'new age' sort of store, and headed off for it. He still didn't have a car, so it was a long walk on foot, but... worth it, he told himself. If he could get Dorian out of that painting...
/If you *can*, what then, Klaus? Think he'll fall madly in love with you for being the white knight in shining armour? Creaky armour. You're *poor*. Poor and plodding, a night watchman in a museum. Well, at least if I can get him out of that painting I'll have done something useful with my fucking life.../ A depressing train of thought, but it was the only one available to him as he walked. It didn't matter that Dorian would probably act the same way to him that Zack did -- at least he was going to be able to help.
That was the central focus for him as he founded the corner and found himself face to face with the shop.
"The Book of Shadows" a small but elegant sign in the window read, and below that, "Supplies for Magick." In the windows were several small, leather bound books, a pretty display of dried herbs, and a silver censer, before which were spread a collection of incense sticks.
All in all, a very pretty layout; no dust in the place, Klaus noted as he opened the door and a tiny silver bell tinkled his entry.
The shop itself was filled primarily with books, but there were also bins of herbs, quaint, twig broomsticks hung on the walls, tall tubs filled with fragrant smoke sticks, and crystals.
The shop was dripping with crystals.
The hung from graceful displays of tree branches, draped over twig and branch like icicles. They lay in small glass cases, gleaming up from dark, satin beds, and the formed a perfect forest over the cash register, behind which stood a short, dark-haired man. He wore a blue and white striped oxford shirt and a button that read, "Ask me about handfasting!"
Klaus was really almost tempted to ask him about it.
Instead, he leaned casually against the counter -- very careful to not touch any of the crystals, because he knew he couldn't afford any of them. "Hello -- I was wondering if you could help me with something..."
The clerk didn't look up. He was counting the money in the drawer of the cash register, slowly and methodically pulling the bills so they were all straight and facing the same way. "One moment," he murmured, going through the rest of the stack before peering up at the tall man. "Oh!" he said, as if he'd never seen the like of Klaus before, "oh - what can I do for you?"
"I... need to find someone who can... undo something that was done," Klaus said vaguely, and he realised as he said it just how useless and stupid it had probably sounded -- but he didn't want to be specific!
The little man blinked at him. "What?" he said, looking perplexed. "I don't understand."
"I..." Klaus straightened a little -- leaning down to get even with the little man would have had him bent and kneeling, and half-trying was just annoying. "Someone bad put a... curse or something on a friend. I need someone to undo it."
Green eyes went wide as they looked through the crystals at Klaus. "Oooh - that sounds *terrible*!" the man said. "Do they have boils? We have an excellent soothing tea leaf gel for boils - $5.95."
"No, no, it's nothing medical -- it's... it's that he's stuck in a painting," Klaus said at last. "I need to find someone powerful to help me."
The clerk's brows drew down in anger. "I think you need to leave, sir. You may think you're being very funny but I've heard it *all* in here and you're nothing new. So run along and get your kicks by abusing someone else, or, better yet, get a life!"
Klaus looked surprised, and a bit stunned. "No, I'm not fucking kidding, dammit! I damn near think I've lost my mind, but he's *stuck* in it, and I've never even gotten near a shop like this in my life for any reason, let alone to ask for *help* or some sort! I *need* to find someone powerful to undo this!"
"Okay," the dark haired man said, his tone dripping with irony, "I'll play along. Now tell me just *how* he got into the painting."
Klaus leaned back a little, and folded his arms over his chest to glare at the impetuous little man behind the desk. "Someone *put* him there. I don't know how -- only that the guy wore a cloak, with a silver pin on it, and that he smelled like a graveyard."
"Oh, honestly," said the clerk, rolling his eyes. "Load it on, why don't you? I mean really, a *graveyard*?? How gullible do you think I am?" He folded his own arms, frowning grumpily at Klaus. "This is a *business*, not Fantasyland. IF you're joking about it, it's not working. If you're *not* joking, you need serious help. Now go, before I call the police!"
"You listen to me, you little crystal wearing heretic," Klaus snapped suddenly, leaning across the counter to grab a handful of James' shirt. "I need to find a... a wizard or something that will help me, and you will help me find one, or so help me, I'll make you regret being born..."
"Please unhand my employee and tell me what the trouble is," a low voice murmured from behind Klaus.
The clerk was released, and Klaus turned his attention from the black-haired man to the voice behind him. "Your... employee is being very unhelpful," Klaus uttered as he pivoted smoothly.
"He's a crank, Lawrence! Run him off!!!"
The man behind Klaus had hair as dark as his own, worn short and sleeked back. He had a long, almost-handsome face and smiled broadly at him. "Don't worry, James. I'll take care of it. What can I help you with, sir?"
"I need... to find someone powerful to..." He heard James sigh and looked over his shoulder just to snarl at the little man. "Someone to undo a spell put on a friend."
"A spell?" the man said, looking sympathetic. "Why don't you come back to my office and tell me about it."
He led Klaus to the back of the store and into a small room lined with bookcases. There was a desk, several large notebooks on the shelf above it, and two additional chairs. "Please," Lawrence said, have a seat and tell me - why do you think your friend has had a spell on him?"
"He... he's trapped in a painting," Klaus murmured. "I... I might as well start from the beginning -- and god help me, I'm not crazy. Just hear me out. I'm the night guardsman at the Museum's art gallery. A few weeks ago, I saw an intruder, heard him singing... and he looked real enough to me. Wearing period dress, a tunic and pants, and when I tried to grab his wrist, my hand went right through him. Since then... since then, whenever he appears, I talk to him. He's not a ghost -- he wasn't killed. He's just... been put in the painting."
The look on Lawrence's face betrayed the struggle within him, wondering whether the man was crazy or not. After a moment, he decided that, crazy or not, the man was amazingly good looking and he didn't really care if he was crazy - he just wanted him to stay.
"I see," he said, leaning forward a bit. "So... how did you decide that it was a spell, and that it wasn't a spirit you were seeing?"
"If he's a ghost, he has surprisingly good memory of our conversations -- and he looks completely solid," Klaus murmured after a moment of thought. The reality was that Dorian had said he wasn't a ghost and Klaus had simply taken him at face value.
"*Is* he solid?" Lawrence asked. "Have you ever touched him? Or seen him move any objects?"
"I've tried to touch him before -- my hand goes right through him -- but he's *warm*. And if he walks too far away from his painting, he fades around the edges."
The man across the desk looked at him searchingly, his gaze tinged with sheer appreciation. "Hmm," he murmured, "and is there anything... *odd* about this painting?"
"Yes -- it's Dorian standing in a garden, trees, everything like that -- but in one corner of the painting, there's part of a *cloak* painted in, and there's a silver-coloured clasp on it." Klaus paid the searching look little attention -- in fact, he was hoping it was over Dorian's story, and that the man would be helpful to him.
"Could you draw it?" Lawrence asked, suddenly. "The clasp, I mean? Could you show me what it looks like?"
"I... I'm really not an artist," Klaus sighed, "Though I can take you to the museum to show you it...?"
Lawrence's face lit up. "Splendid! I have some time free Sunday afternoon. Perhaps we could see the painting and then have coffee and talk about it?"
Well, if he was a busy man... /I'm the only person in the world with the free time I have,/ Klaus mused. "Six? at the front doors. Do you really think you can help me with this...?"
Lawrence considered. It was good cover for running his gaze over Klaus one final time. "I don't know, but I'm certainly willing to try." He held out his hand and smiled smoothly. "I'm Lawrence, by the way, and you are...?"
"Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach," Klaus said politely enough, as he grasped Lawrence's hand and shook it firmly. "I hope that you can help me."
He stood up from the desk. "I'll do my utmost, Klaus," the man murmured. "See you on Sunday, then."
"On Sunday," Klaus re-iterated, getting up from the chair he'd sat briefly in, and then he moved out of Lawrence's office ahead of him. God willing, he could get the blonde man free soon.
~~~
Sunday had been rainy, but at six it had slowed to a gentle mist that blanketed everything, with a sharp wind close on it's heels. Lawrence approached the museum entrance wrapped in a long, grey cloak and hood, looking every inch the wise wizard until he saw the dark haired guard. Breaking into a wide smile, he reached a smooth hand out and said, "So glad to see you again, Klaus."
Klaus nodded, and shook Lawrence's hand vaguely. "Ja, I'm glad you could come -- the curator was giving me odd looks. I shouldn't be here until midnight, so... do you want me to show you the picture?"
"Yes, yes of course," Lawrence smiled, gesturing for Klaus to lead the way and admiring his backside as he did.
"This is something that just happened recently, I gather?" he asked. "You've worked here for awhile but only just seen the apparition in the last few weeks?"
"That's right. I've worked here for over a year now, but only started to see Dorian around a few weeks ago," Klaus uttered, looking over his shoulder back at Lawrence as he walked through the large front doors.
"Did anything else out of the ordinary happen at that time?" Lawrence asked. "Did you notice anything missing or become aware of any hot or cold spots that weren't readily explainable?"
"No," Klaus answered. "Nothing was missing, and it didn't' feel odd in the hall at all -- I thought he was just an intruder, someone breaking and entering."
Lawrence looked thoughtful but said no more for the remainder of their walk.
Which was damn fine with Klaus -- he was torn between thinking that the man was absolutely useless and just wanted to come by for a chuckle, and hoping that he was deep in thought over how to solve the problem. But the guard didn't comment either way, as he stopped in front of the now very familiar portrait of Dorian. "This is him."
"Oh my," Lawrence breathed, staring up at the painting. "He *is* quite dramatic, isn't he... if you like that type, of course. A bit gaudy, if you ask me, what with all that blond hair." He looked closer. "Now... where was that cloak you were telling me about?"
"It's right here," Klaus said, gesturing right over the lower right-hand corner, the dark streak and the 'glint' of silver colour painted on. The clasp of the cloak, high on the shoulder and almost hidden by the frame, was Byzantine in style and the delicate, over-wrought styling.
"Hmm... most interesting," Lawrence said, moving closer to peer at the silver clasp. "Let me just make a sketch..." He drew out pencil and paper from the pockets of his cloak and in short order made a copy of the complex design engraved on the metal. "Very interesting," he said again and then asked, "Have you noticed anything else that is... *odd* about the painting?"
"It... it's warm to the touch, and..." Klaus leaned near again, looking at Dorian's face for a moment, then the scene behind him. Yes he had, but for a final confirmation... "And sometimes he's not smiling at all anymore. And the roses behind him? Two weeks ago they were buds, not blooms."
"*Very* interesting, Klaus," Lawrence murmured, "and did you notice the garden gate? It's an impossible figure - like something out of an M.C. Escher painting. The bars don't match up with the holes on the other side. There's no way it could be opened..."
Lawrence was frowning now, shivering occasionally. "Can we... can we go somewhere else for a bit? It feels very uncomfortable here... as if the air was... disturbed in someway. I'd like to tell you about the clasp."
"Yes..." Klaus frowned deeper, ghosting his fingers over the bars of the gate, only to snap them back as if stung. Cold!!! "Why don't we get that coffee now...? There's a shop just down the street. You can tell me about the clasp on the way there...?"
As they walked out into the misty evening, Lawrence handed over the drawing he'd made of the clasp. "You see," he said pointing at it, "it's an inverted pentacle, a symbol of dark wizardry and even Satanism for centuries. Then, inside of it, there is a square delineated - it's hard to make out, but it's there. Now, the square represents male energy, often sexual energy, just as the circle is often used to represent female energy. So this looks to me as if a sexually active male - which could also represent a young male - is trapped inside a dark magick spell, the pentacle."
"Dorian, trapped in the painting," Klaus murmured, studying the sketch Lawrence had made -- there it was, just like in the painting, but so much easier to see! "So... So this was done by a dark wizard. Why do things in the painting change, though...? And why is it *hot*?"
"I'm working on that," Lawrence said, still staring at the sketch. "You notice this fine line around the top half of the clasp? See it has an arrowhead on the left end of the line. That's a widdershin, a counter-clockwise turn, but also a symbol of dark magic in the old pagan times. Widdershins were thought to be very powerful symbols, turning things the wrong way around, making things behave the opposite to what they should. It might have been put there to confuse him - to make it harder for him to escape."
"Like that gate that looks like an Escher...?" Klaus pressed, feeling... well, glad, in a way, that he hadn't lost his mind. "When he can... get partly out of the painting he can't remember having been in it. He said it's like waking up fresh every time."
"He's being blocked from many angles," Lawrence murmured as they approached the coffee shop. "These are probably just a few of the symbols in the painting. If I had it down off the wall, I could probably find more, but it wouldn't make a difference in whether or not he can be rescued."
"And what will make a difference for him being rescued?" Klaus asked as he manoeuvred to a familiar table against the wall, and signalled down the 'waiter'. Two coffees, one black without sugar, and then he let Lawrence make his preference for his own cup. "I... I really don't have much money to offer you for your services."
"Oh, well," the other man demurred, "don't worry. I'm sure we can come to some kind of arrangement..." His voice trailed off and he looked at Klaus from under his lashes. "Black for me," he told the young man waiting for his order. /As dark as your lovely hair, dear Klaus.../
"I'll make payments or something," Klaus uttered, leaning one elbow on the table while he pulled a package of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to Lawrence. "I have to get him out, though."
Lawrence waved the offer away politely and then sat back, regarding Klaus. "Why is it so important to you?" he asked.
"I..." Klaus sighed, shook his head a little. "I don't know why it is. It just is -- it's something I have to do, and it's the right thing to do. "
The coffee arrived and Lawrence gave a simpering smile to the waiter before turning back to his companion. "I hate to say it, but if you ignored him, the apparition would probably fade over time. It may be your presence that's causing him to wake more, you know."
"He's not just an apparition, though -- he's a human being who's *imprisoned* in a painting," Klaus uttered incredulously. "I couldn't do that; I couldn't just leave him there. He deserves a chance to be alive again."
Blowing a little on his coffee to cool it, Lawrence regarded him. "But what kind of life would it be, Klaus?" he said quietly. "I mean, really - if the painting is correct he's a 18th century man. he would be hopelessly confused in our world."
"He could learn -- he's intelligent enough. I'm sure... there's something he could do. I'd let him stay with me at last until he got on his feet," Klaus murmured, taking a sip without bothering to cool it.
Lawrence's face lit up a bit at that. "Oh, so you wouldn't plan on... keeping him with you permanently, then?"
At *that* suggestion, Klaus laughed. "Plan on it? I don't plan on anything. A handsome, intelligent, 18th century nobleman could do far better, even in the here and now, than a pathetically poor titled German *museum* guard." Bitter self mockery, but Klaus certainly knew his own weak points well.
"Don't underestimate yourself, Klaus," the other man said, lowering his voice to an intimate level. "You just need a change of circumstances," he said, "*and*... I suspect you have more admirers than you know."
That got Lawrence a raised eyebrow for his trouble, and Klaus shaking his head doubtfully. "Change of circumstances...? No, I'd need a miracle."
"Well, I don't know you as well as I'd like to, perhaps," Lawrence said, "but I have no doubt that you suffer primarily from a lack of self-esteem, rather than a lack of skills or talent. You really do seem the most amazing man..."
Now both eyebrows crept up and disappeared under Klaus' bangs. "Thank you for saying so, I guess. I can't really see how you'd guess that, but... thanks."
"You're welcome," Lawrence said smoothly, gazing at Klaus from over his coffee cup. "I think your energy would be better spent in deciding what wonderful things you will do with your life, not chasing after some shadow of a man from another century.
"I'm going to go to Uni. once I've got the money to pay for it," Klaus murmured as he efficiently drained his cup. "Trying to get Dorian free isn't delaying me in that, really."
"But trying to help him 'get on his feet' would," the other man said knowingly.
Klaus shrugged languidly. "I'm four years behind the friends I went to school with -- a fifth year wouldn't matter much." And he wanted to help Dorian, wanted to be so close to something so pure and beautiful, even if it was just to be rebuked.
Lawrence played his hand.
He leaned forward across the table and said in a low voice, "Tell me something, Klaus. Are you in love with him?"
"I don't know. I'm certainly fascinated," Klaus sighed, looking down into the empty coffee cup. Love… Something Klaus had always regarded as a terribly impossible thing that couldn't be beneficial for anyone or anything. It would figure that he seemed to have fallen in love with a beautiful unknown that surely wanted nothing to do with him once he was free. Still… Klaus comforted himself that it was the right thing to do, and that he shouldn't expect anything more than a handshake and a smile.
"Remember, Klaus - we are unsure of what *exactly* has happened," Lawrence frowned, not liking Klaus's answer at all. "I'll do my best to rescue him, but there is a chance it may not work - and we still don't know what kind of young man he *is*, do we?" He leaned just the slightest bit closer. "Be careful - don't give your heart away to someone you're not sure is real..." /Give it to *me* instead.../
"I've talked to him, though," Klaus murmured, turning the cup idly. "He seems genuine and my gut instinct tells me he is."
Lawrence frowned again, deeper this time. "Fine, fine - just be careful, is all I'm saying. Just because he's good looking doesn't mean he's trustworthy."
"I rather doubt if he's anything other than a good man that he'd want a lick to do with a broke museum guard," Klaus smiled a bit bitterly, but genuine. "Na? Even a good man has no reason to bother with a stranger of that... status. It's not even a concern for me."
"Oh, come now, Klaus," the other man said, smiling again. "He's the perfect innocent, isn't he? Completely naive as to how the modern world works. For all he could know you might be a very rich man."
"I'm not." But if his father were still alive, he would be. He'd have monies, and lands to go with his useless title... Klaus' lips thinned and then he sighed. "It doesn't matter -- I hate playing at hypothetical."
"Well, then," Lawrence said, "let me work on this for a few days, and I'll see if I can't come up with a counter-spell." The he smiled slyly and murmured, "Care to come back to my place for a nightcap?"
"A nightcap before I go to work?" Klaus asked, raising one eyebrow. "It's the crack of dawn for me right now, Lawrence. It'd be like drinking a night-cap with breakfast."
"Such a shame," Lawrence said, regarding him. "Perhaps another time soon... Oh and one more thing - see if you can get the man to tell you anything more about the last moments he remembers. That could help immensely with the counter spell if I had some idea of what was said during the original."
"I'll do that -- do you want my telephone number for when you've gotten it figured out?" Klaus started to his feet, though it was just to fish around in his pockets for a sheet of paper or pen.
"Oh *yes,*" Lawrence said, smiling eagerly. "Your telephone number would be splendid - and let me give you mine."
It was the first time Klaus could ever remember exchanging numbers with someone.
~~~~~
He was extra attentive to 'Dorian's wing', as he was starting to think of it. The wing of the museum that he lingered in whenever possible, in the hopes that Dorian was awake, and that he could talk to the blond man once more.
As it turned out, several days passed before Dorian appeared again. Lawrence had called him three times, asking if he'd gotten any information and asking him over for cocktails each time. He was beginning to be rather insistent.
It was four days after Klaus's meeting with Lawrence when he heard the faint humming again, moving down the corridor to his left.
"Dorian?" Klaus didn't yell it -- but he called it out, softly, following after that tune that drifted through the air to him. "Dorian...?"
He turned the corner to find the blond man near the end of the hallway, his back turned to Klaus, his humming soft and poignant. At the sound of Klaus's voice he turned, long, pale hair swinging behind him, and regarded the night guard.
For one terrible moment he said nothing - just stared - and Klaus wondered if the man even remembered him, but then the pale face lit up with a smile.
"Klaus? You're *Klaus* aren't you? And I'm awake again - isn't that splendid?"
It was hard to hide the relief that spread over his own face like the rising of the tide. "It's wonderful," was his genuine answer as he looked at Dorian and smiled. "I... I have good news. I think I'll be able to get you out soon."
"Get me out?" Dorian repeated, looking stunned. "But... it's been so long and I've never been able to get out. How - How would you do it?"
"I went looking for a wizard, found one, and he's working on a counter spell," Klaus said, moving to stand closer to Dorian. "But he wanted me to ask you if you can remember anything from that last night -- to help him with the counter spell."
Dorian frowned, looking a bit nervous. "I don't remember much from that night... I used to think about it and it gave me a bad feeling. That's why I never think about it now..."
"Dorian..." Klaus wasn't chiding -- in fact, he was trying to sound coaxing. "Thinking about it this time will lead to something good -- why don't you..." /What should I ask him?/ he demanded of himself, before saying aloud, "why don't you tell me what was around you?"
"Around me... well, I was in the bed, and there was a small table near it, with a candle on it. There was a large wardrobe against the far wall and a dressing table near the window." Dorian looked up at him hopefully. "Is that what you mean?"
"It's closer," Klaus said, moving to lean against the wall in thought. "Do you remember when they came into the room?"
"Not very clearly," the blond man said. "I didn't like him being in there... but I was also afraid that when he left Allan... well that Allan would get amorous. So I just tried to pretend I was asleep. I think... I think I heard their voices and something being moved."
"What did it sound like...? Wood metal, paper?" It wasn't as hard as he'd thought it would be, to press Dorian for more information.
There was a long pause as Dorian searched what was obviously a dim memory. "Their voices... the sound of their clothing rustling..." He frowned and tilted his head to the side. "Something heavy - I think it might have been... a canvas... dragged along the floor."
"Do you think it was the canvas for your painting?"
"My painting? You mean the portrait?" Dorian thought about this and then said, "Well, it could have been. That would be odd, though, considering the painting was almost finished and already on display in another room of the house."
/True.../ Well, dammit, there had gone Klaus; only idea! "What do you think that canvas was, then, if not the painting?"
"I don't know," Dorian murmured unhappily. "I mean - why drag a canvas into the bedroom at all? What possible use could they have had for it..." He stopped for a moment, focus turned inward, and then said in a hushed voice, "Something hurt... something stung..."
"Stung...? Stung like being punched or stung like something falling on you, or...?" The unhappiness on Dorian's face was clear, but Klaus felt little remorse for a little unhappiness for the greater good. "I hate to pry like this, Dorian, but I want to try to get you free."
"Oh, I understand," the blond said, smiling weakly at him, "though it seems such an impossible task for you... It stung - like being... being cut, right here." He brought up a hand and brushed it against his throat.
"Was that the last thing you felt?" Klaus asked, swallowing -- oh god, maybe Dorian was dead after all!
"Something warm, trickling down my neck."
Dorian stared hard at Klaus, as if the answer to his plight lay in the guard's eyes. "There was a flash, just before... a flash of silver."
"A knife?" Silver -- not steel, but silver, and Klaus knew that there was a different look to each, and was probably more-so one in Dorian's time. "Just a cut, then., and not all of it?" he asked, trying to look at Dorian's throat for marks.
"No, not all," the blond man said in some alarm. "I remember thinking an insect must have been in the bed and I must have rolled on it."
"Then it must have only been a drop or two..." Curious, yet...
Yet...
"He must have used if in the spell," Klaus guessed in excitement. "That's it! It was part of the spell! And so was that canvas-y thing you heard!"
"What?" Dorian said, utterly confused. "What spell? I don't understand."
"Mr. Whelky was a dark wizard, according to Lawrence, a... good wizard I've met. He put a spell on you that keeps you mostly trapped inside the painting," Klaus informed Dorian almost proudly.
"A... A *spell?*" Dorian said incredulously. "But how does one do that? How was I put in? What's keeping me here?"
"Magic," Klaus shrugged vaguely. "I don't know any more about it than you do, Dorian. But the knife... that helps a lot, I think! Why don't we talk about something else now...? I don't' want to make you uneasy."
"Yes," Dorian frowned, looking miserable for a moment and then trying to brighten up. "So what do you do here at night?"
"Just walk the halls and look at the pictures," Klaus told him. "All night, every night -- Once in a while someone breaks in and I have to capture them and call the police- - they're thieves. That's what I thought you were, too, until my hand went through you."
"So, you're a policeman? Or do you work for the King?"
Klaus laughed quietly. "I work for the museum! I'm not a policeman -- I'm a rent-a-cop."
"Rentacop," Dorian repeated, as if it were all one word. "I'm afraid I've never heard of a rentacop. But you chase down thieves, and that's why you carry a firearm?" He gestured towards the gun at Klaus's hip. "And a very strange one it is, too."
"It's... newer than the kind you ever saw -- it has been two hundred and so years, Dorian," Klaus smiled, patting the gun at his hip lightly. "In your day, infection from the bullets killed -- now the bullets do it all on their own."
The blond man grimaced. "That sounds horrible. I never did like guns, although many of my friends liked to hunt. Everyone in the court either hunted in *some* way." Here he blushed and batted his lashes. "If you know what I mean..."
Klaus' own flush seemed more of a hot burn than the delicate and intriguing colour that lit the blonde's beautiful face. "I think... that I can guess what you mean. What... what was it like back then -- before Ramsay and Whelky?"
The apparition laughed, tossing back his curls in a gesture that would have looked affected on anyone else. "It was *fun,*" he said, smiling at Klaus. "Every day a delicious mystery - who would end up with whom?"
Tilting his head to the side, he looked closely at the night guard. "For you as well, I'd wager."
"For me?" Green-grey eyes looked stunned, and Klaus tried to pass that fission of shock off, leaning against the wall behind him for support. "I... never. Never me -- it was always someone else."
Dorian frowned. "Someone else? I'm afraid I don't understand you."
"It was always... someone else who was.... preferred," Klaus shrugged at last, expression a little tight. "My family was, still is noble. We just don't have... *I* just don't have money anymore, so the other familiar are quick to shun..."
"Shun?" Dorian asked. "I can't imagine anyone shunning a person like you. Even penniless boys are welcome if they... bring something else to society." He looked away, eyes moving along the paintings and murmured, "A good conversationalist, perhaps, or someone skilled at games or singing or..." Another blush spread over golden cheeks, a slight smile playing around Dorian's mouth. "Or beauty... oh, *certainly* he's be welcome if he had beauty..."
"Differences between our time here and yours." /Differences I wish weren't there. But even if I were in your time, I could never pander to the courts the way you surely could have, with your smile, your grace.../ "I was never good at playing to the other noble families. And now they don't wield power-- it's just old money."
"What do you mean, 'They don't wield power?'" Dorian asked, looking puzzled. "Who else is there to have power but the nobility and the royals?"
"We have elected officials," Klaus told him. "Like Parliament, Dorian, only the Parliament group is much more powerful, and everyone can vote if they're of age."
"Well even *I* know that Parliament has pre-eminence over the King," the blond man said. "That is, the *Commons* do. My father was a Peer - he wanted me to sit in the House when I got older but..."
The golden face clouded and he turned away from Klaus. "But I didn't get any older," he said quietly.
"You'll be able to get older now." Klaus' voice, a gentled whisper, reached to him, and Klaus caught himself trying to put a hand on Dorian's shoulder to comfort him somehow. But his fingers slipped right through again. "Soon, you will -- I promise it!"
Dorian turned to him again. "If... if you do this... if you somehow get me out, will I be old? Will I be an old man or will I be the age I was when... when this happened to me?"
"You... you *should* come out the age you are now." He hadn't thought about that at all, that horrible possibility -- but he was sure it just wouldn't turn out that way. "You've been held static for so long... and you haven't aged in your picture!"
"No," Dorian said, smiling quickly, nervously. "Of course not. I'm sure it will be fine."
He was quiet for several moments as they continued to walk and then he looked over at Klaus again. "I have great faith in you, Klaus," he said quietly. "If anyone could do this, it would be you."
"You don't even know me," the other man told the half-apparition suddenly. "And I don't know you -- but I want to do this for you, and I hope... I hope everything goes okay, that you come out your age, and that you're as good a person as I can't help but *feel* you are."
The blond looked a trifle nonplussed. "No, I suppose we don't know each other. I just thought... well, never mind. Which is your favourite painting?"
"You." There, he'd said it, and saying it brought no relief to him, no supposed lifting of weight from his shoulders. His voice still felt tight; his eyes still strained as if that doing so could bring Dorian into a corporal form.
"That's very kind of you to say," Dorian replied, "but surely a man of arms such as yourself would prefer a more lively picture. One of these battle scenes perhaps?" He gestured towards the wall where a collection of naval battles was depicted.
/Brushed right off, Klaus. Hurts the same every time, that's why you don't do it often.../ He swallowed watching the lean arm move towards those scenes. "I like looking... at those pictures there for their historical value -- I like looking at you because.... because you're beautiful."
The blond man turned, the dim light slicing through him as he gazed more thoughtfully at Klaus. "Do you really?" he said softly. "That is surprising. I wouldn't have thought a man such as yourself - someone so fierce and stoic - would allow himself to have feelings like that... certainly not about another man."
"Things are... different in this time. Maybe it's not... not any more acceptable, but it's more known. Less of a chance to be killed for it," Klaus murmured with a slight shrug. "You are -- you're intriguing, beautiful, you seem so.... so kind." The edges of his mouth flickered upwards for a long moment as he looked at Dorian. "But I'd understand if once you're free of the painting, you... want to go away."
"Go away...?" Dorian put his head to one side. "I didn't think about that," he said, looking back up at the paintings on the wall. "It always feels as if I've only ever been *here*... I remember so little about what things were like before, so of course I've never given a single thought to what could happen -"
He turned back to Klaus abruptly. "What will happen to me - if you're able to free me?"
"I..." Klaus swallowed. "I guess you could live with me until you've got a job." /We could make it a permanent arrangement. I just want to look at you -- that's all I want. After what happened to you before, I wouldn't think of asking for more, but to see you every day would make every day so much better.../ Best to not think that. "Or I can give you money and I could help you get your own place."
"A 'job'? And a 'place'? You must mean... that I would have to find a situation somewhere - as a servant? Or perhaps in the military? Oh, I shouldn't like that at all... I suppose it will have to be servitude for me." He looked perfectly miserable, contemplating a future he couldn't even comprehend.
"Not..." Now Klaus smiled again, slightly. "Not servitude, Dorian. Everyone works nowadays. Everyone, even the nobility works. If you can read and write you could be a secretary..." /If I can teach you about computers. If you'll let me... Stop getting your hopes up, Klaus!/ He was going to make himself miserable, soon, he was sure, if he kept up with thinking that way. "I can help you a lot in that respect."
"Of course I can read and write," Dorian said, slightly outraged. "I'm not a common street urchin." His eyes were still large and sad. "And it wouldn't be proper to trouble you," he added. "After all you've done... and yet -"
He reached out a hand that was, even then, beginning to fade. "There is the inconvenient fact that I happen to find you beautiful as well..." The hand was still raised as his form disappeared altogether.
Klaus found his own hand passing through empty air, no longer even able to see Dorian. /I have to get him out -- have to, and soon.../
So the next day he'd visit Lawrence. Dorian needed a chance to be alive!
~~~~~~~
"Lawrence...?" Klaus poked his head into the shop, noting James crouched down behind the counter after a moment of peering around over the glittering crystals. "Is Lawrence in?"
"Oh, it's *you,*" James huffed, scowling up at the taller man and rising hesitantly. "Come to make fun of us again?"
"Come to see if your boss is around, you little runt," the black-haired man drawled, looking down at James' short form.
"I am *not* a runt!" James shot back, the one green eye that showed through his bangs blazing. "*You* are oversized and abnormal! And what do you want with him, anyway?" He glared even more furiously and put his hands in small fists against his hips.
"I need his services," the other man said flatly, glaring *back* at the little man. "It's not your business."
"Hmph," James sniffed. "I will *ask* if he wants to see you," and then, as he headed for the back room, added sternly, "Stay!"
"What do you think I am, you little rat? Some Dog?" Klaus scowled, taking a step closer just for the hell of it.
"Back! Back!" the clerk cried, practically running into the back room. "Law~rence! The scary man is here again!!"
A moment later Lawrence came out into the shop, smiling smoothly at Klaus. "How nice of you to come by, dear man!" he simpered, holding out a hand. "Won't you come back - I have a pot of coffee on."
Klaus accepted Lawrence's hand, shook it lightly. "That sounds great -- I hope I'm not interrupting you..."
"Not at all, dear man, not at all," Lawrence said, waving a hand in the air. "Always a pleasure to see you - you know that."
James scowled at Klaus's back as the two proceeded towards the rear of the shop.
"So - what's been happening with you?" Lawrence said as they sat down in his office. He poured out two cups of coffee. "Given any thought to giving up that night watchman job? Hmm?"
He couldn't help but laugh. "Hmn, I'd starve to death if I quit my job! No, I'm here about Dorian..."
"Oh. Yes." Lawrence seemed to deflate just a bit at that. "Well, what have you learned? Did he... materialize, or whatever it is he does?"
"He did -- last night," Klaus murmured. "I have a few more clues from what he told me -- there was a knife used, to draw blood from him, but it wasn't to cut his throat."
"Hmm... interesting," Lawrence said, taking up a pen and scribbling something on a nearby pad. "Did he say where the blood was taken from? What part of his body?"
"Neck. The side of his neck. And he'd heard a sound like canvas on the floor before that. And there were candles." Everything Dorian had told him was drudged up to be fed back to the Wizard.
"Blood magic," the man murmured, "and it must have been very powerful, I suspect. It's used whenever there is a life at stake - most often for handfasting two lives, but also to bind another to the one using the spell. Wiccan philosophy forbids the use of another's blood - we must only use our own - but the Dark Wizards..."
He frowned and took down a large book from the shelf above his desk. It had a black cover with the words, 'Blood Magick and Rituals' in a glowing red on the spine.
"What else did you get?" he muttered, leafing through the pages.
"That he can't remember *anything* from being in the painting. But he remembers things from when he's outside of it. That... The picture itself of him was painted before it happened." Did that mean that Dorian wouldn't be able to be freed?
That got Lawrence's attention. "It was?" he asked, looking up from the book. "*Completely* finished?"
"Ye..." Something made Klaus think, and stop answering question for jut a moment. A fine line of stress fell into place between his eyebrows, and he shook his head. "Almost. IT wasn't fully."
Lawrence nodded, returning to his book. "I don't believe it would have worked otherwise," he said, sounding as if he regretted the fact. "If it *had* been finished, I would have had to conclude that your 'Dorian' was indeed a ghost instead of a man trapped by a spell."
He stopped and read a bit and then said, "Anything else?"
"Nothing. Is... what you have enough? Dorian and I got... away from the topic last time he materialized," the night-guard said carefully, looking eager despite his care.
"Away from the topic?" Lawrence said, raising his eyebrows smoothly over the edge of the book. "And just what *does* one talk about with a painting, hmm?"
"What life's like now as to what it was then. I taught him what a 'rent-a-cop' is," Klaus chuckled, mocking himself and not really caring that he was.
"You shouldn't think of yourself that way," Lawrence said in a slightly scolding tone. "But tell me - what do you suppose this 18th-century man will do if he's freed? Seems to me like the world would be very confusing to him. How would he fend for himself? From what I could tell from the portrait he looks a pampered thing - one of those court boys who only knew how to bat their lashes and bend over for their betters."
"So he was," Klaus shrugged. "So? He knows how to read. He's intelligent, he knows *art*... I'm sure he can get a job in some museum. The one where I work would want him, surely..."
"Oh yes, I'm sure they'll accept him without any identification or credentials," Lawrence laughed. "Better tell him what electricity is and not to tell anyone his real birthday. Really, Klaus, the obstacles are *enormous*! Besides..." He looked at Klaus out of the corner of his eye. "You aren't *in love* with him by any chance, are you?"
It was very clear from Lawrence's manner that he hoped the answer would be 'no.'
Grey-green eyes looked almost guilty as they dropped for just a moment to Lawrence's desk, and then he lifted them to look the other man square in the eyes. "I think I might be. But he does deserve a chance to live again..."
Lawrence tried to hide his look of displeasure and went back to reading his book. "You don't even know him," he murmured. Rather dangerous to fall in love with someone just based on looks, wouldn't you say? I mean - he hardly seems your type..."
"I know. Dammit, I *know*," Klaus sighed. "So it probably won't work out -- I don't care. I can't leave him *in* there, and I'm willing to help him however I can."
"Well, just don't get your hopes up. You can't have much in common with him and a man like that will probably just end up annoying the hell out of a hard-nosed type like you."
He tapped his finger on the page. "Yes... yes I think just might do it. Let me get out my moon phase chart and we'll see when we can begin..." He turned to a heavy wooden file cabinet and began rummaging through it.
"Thank you -- a lot. If there's anything I can do to repay you for your trouble, Lawrence..." /Just say it./ He was gaining at least a friend, and how could one price such a gift? /Alive. I hope I can help him -- that he'll let me help him!/
"Well I *do* charge, dear," Lawrence said, back still turned to Klaus. "Even handsome men get bills, you know. It's just that their bills are usually a bit less than those that go to women or ugly men. Ah! Here it is."
Pulling a double-paged sheet out of the drawer, Lawrence dropped it on his desk and began to run a finger along the small circles that ran in rows along the paper.
"The full moon is on the 20th this month. Are you busy then?"
"No -- For this, I can be un-busy at the drop of a hat!" /Money, then -- fine, I loose a pay check. I can eat rice, skip coffee. Stopping smoking would save me money, wouldn't it?/ the urge to do anything necessary was overwhelming, and it would have been against his instincts to have denied that urge. "How much do I owe you?"
Lawrence looked up at him, one finger still on the paper. "It's $75 for a basic spell - add in an extra $25 because this one requires more ingredients and I'll have to perform it every night until the new moon. One hundred bucks - a bargain really." He winked and went back to perusing the moon chart.
"I can manage that," Klaus said seriously, nodding to himself. Yes, he could -- without having to make really drastic cuts, and the price was so reachable that he was willing to be that Lawrence *had* given him a bargain on it. A lot of trouble for what really wasn't a lot of money. Not to most people.
"All right then - We'll begin on the twentieth and I will continue with the spell each night until the 29th - the first day of the new moon. On that night, if everything goes as planned, your 'Dorian' should be free."
"You are really a saint," Klaus told him, getting to his feet. "I'll meet you at the back gate on he 20th? Is that all right with you, Lawrence?"
"Of course," the man said, rising. "And I don't believe in saints." He gave Klaus a wicked smile and a wink. "See you then. Don't let James bite you on the way out."
"Don't ever waste your money in getting a watch-dog for your shop -- James does a well enough job of it all by himself!" Klaus snorted, giving a final nod to Lawrence before he slipped out of the office.
~~~~~
On the twentieth, Klaus met Lawrence, and was told to not interfere, because the leaving of the magic was weak when it began. So for nine days, he'd made himself scare once Lawrence was let in through the back door, Now, on the twenty-ninth, Klaus had the Wizard's hundred dollars, and would be allowed to see Dorian stepping free of the painting.
If it worked.
"I'm glad I work seven days a week," Klaus murmured. "Otherwise we couldn't have done this."
"Well, tonight's the night, isn't it?" Lawrence said, smiling at Klaus as he walked into the museum carrying a small leather case. "Tonight we see how good a wizard I really am."
As they walked to the corridor where Dorian's portrait hung, Lawrence cast a sidelong glance at the night guard. "Last chance, dear man," he said quietly. "The opportunity to back out. You give me the word and I'll keep my little black bag closed. You can still walk away, no obligations."
"There's no reason in the world why I'd back out," Klaus murmured, looking directly at the wizard. 'I just have... a feeling that I have to do this. Maybe to make up for something I did in the past -- who knows. But I have to do this. I even brought your payment, in cash."
"Hold onto it until I'm finished," sniffed Lawrence, "and don't blame me if you get more than you can handle."
They had reached the portrait and now, just as he had for each of the eight previous nights, he took out his supplies while Klaus disabled the corridor's smoke alarm. Kneeling, Lawrence brought out a tiny, folding table which he spread with a red cloth. A small white candle went on top of this, followed by a small pot of fragrant incense.
"Watch the portrait as I chant the spell, Klaus. At the end of the seventh repetition, we'll know if it was successful."
Taking out a small, green branch from the case, he waved it over the table three times. The flame of the candle flickered and the column of fragrant smoke broke apart as he murmured, ""With Rowan branch and magick verse, I turn around this wicked curse. As these words of mine are spoken. Let this evil spell be broken."
Verdant eyes kept themselves transfixed upon the portrait, afraid to blink. Opportunity of a lifetime. Klaus counted each chant carefully within his mind, the first time, the second, the third, the forth, the fifth, the six... The fragrant smoke tickles his nostrils, stinging just a little as he breathed it in, but he didn't move at all.
He had seen, at the sixth, large blue eyes within the painting blink.
As Lawrence began the seventh verse, eyes closed, deep in concentration, the portrait began to shimmer, as if the light in the painted garden were bending, changing. Behind the soft chant, Klaus thought he might have heard tiny inhalations of breath, what may have been a rustle of clothing.
Lawrence began the last line, a trickle of sweat tracing down his cheek, every ounce of attention focused inward, and the air around the portrait began to stir.
It seemed to ripple, first bulging inwards, the wall behind the painting seeming to sink away, then out, the picture itself warping towards them. A crack sounded in the air, making Klaus wince back in reaction.
It faded, though, into a blissful silence, filled with two sets of hard breathing. Lawrence from concentration, and a blonde man kneeling on the floor who was also catching his breath.
"Dorian?"
He was there, and amazingly solid in form, no longer a misty figure, but vivid and very definitely *real.*
Looking down at his body, he put a hand to his face and then to the carpet. When his fingers came in contact with the floor he jerked his hand back in surprise. Then, a slow look of wonder dawned on his face and he looked up towards Klaus.
"You did it," he whispered. "You really did it..."
A small scream interrupted his moment of reverie as Lawrence finally opened his eyes and saw the blond man on the floor before the portrait. It was obvious from the look on the wizard's face that he hadn't expected in the least for his spell to work.
"I knew... that you weren't just a ghost," Klaus half-stammered out, half exclaimed, moving nearer to Dorian to kneel beside him. One hand settled on the soft cloth of Dorian's shirt -- while every time before, it had passed through. "Let me help you up -- you're probably hungry and thirsty."
Dorian shook his head, rising slowly and a bit unsteadily to his feet.
"It's really you," he said, "and... this place..."
"It's him!!" Lawrence whispered, a hand going over his mouth. "He... he's *real*!!" The wizard was backing away from Dorian, obviously completely petrified.
"Of course he is," Klaus said, standing near Dorian, nearer than he had to be, readily supporting him with a hand on his back and another at his lean side. "You're not in the painting anymore, Dorian. You're... free now."
Lawrence was muttering continuously now. "It worked... it worked... oh, god, it worked..." He kept backing away down the hall until he reached the doorway that lead to the exit. Looking once over his shoulder and then back at the two men in front of the portrait, he gave a long, loud scream and ran for dear life.
Dorian stared after him. "Who was *he,* poor man? His nerves seemed to have got the better of him."
"He's the wizard I found," Klaus said. "I'll find him to pay him later." For the moment, though, he spared a glance to the picture -- a picture that now looked half-finished, and without the odder embellishments it had borne before. Hard to tell the man in the portrait was the man who Klaus was helping keep standing. "I'm so glad... that it worked."
"So I *am* real after all," the blond man said, "and so are you!" He put a hand out to touch Klaus's face and smiled brilliantly.
"You didn't think I was real?" Klaus asked, unable to help the smile that touched his lips at both the *idea* that Dorian had been as doubtful as he himself had been, and the touch to his face.
"I must admit," Dorian murmured, tracing his fingers happily over Klaus's jaw, "that there were times I thought I might have dreamt you up - as a protection against loneliness, but I should have known a man like you would be *very* real."
"Funny -- I thought for a bit that I'd conjured you up, too -- I... I have been so lonely, and now... I've at least been able to help you..." /Please, please stay. Don't break my heart and want to leave.... let me help you, I promise it will be nothing like what happened to you before!/ Now if he could only get thoughts to leave his lips as words. "For the moment, though... Do you want to stay with me until my shift is over, and then I... could show you where you can stay for as long as you want?"
For a moment the man's mouth trembled, blue eyes growing bright with emotion. The searching fingers played over Klaus's brows and then down to ghost along his lips. "I want... I want to stay with *you,*" he whispered, gazing intently at the dark haired man. "I had a choice, you know. When I heard the words, I knew I could move forward or I could stay back." Dorian's gaze became even more intense as he murmured, "You're the only reason I moved forward."
Klaus shivered, tongue darting out to wet too-dry lips and accidentally touching Dorian's fingers. "I was hoping that you'd tell me that. I was hoping it badly. I'll do everything I can for you, to fit you into this world, Dorian, whatever I can manage, I'll do or get for you..."
Dorian smiled again, that look of wonder creeping back into his expression. "What have I ever done," he said softly, "to deserve such words from a man of your calibre?"
"You've intrigued me completely, in ways no-one else ever has. Lawrence warned me that you might infuriate me -- I hope you do. I hope you drive me mad and that you'll let me love you completely..." Because he was beautiful and struck Klaus as so very kind. And he'd make it work!
Slowly, Dorian lifted his face and pressed a long, searing kiss to Klaus's lips. "I fell in love with you the first night I saw you, sir," he murmured with a mischievous little smile. "So strong, and beautiful... and *real.*" Pulling Klaus's head down, he kissed him again, slower still, and thoroughly.
Hard to deny that Dorian was *real*, too, as he felt and was stunned by the rough, firm press of mouth against his. Instinct jump-started his body again, got him moving in the face of shock. "Very real." All that he said before he kissed Dorian back, pulling him closer. Very real, and solid against Dorian, as solid as Dorian was against him.
The kiss went on for quite awhile, each man pulling the other towards him, movements slow and passionate. When they finally broke apart, Dorian looked up into grey-green eyes and murmured, "I've wanted to do that... very badly. I hope you don't think me too forward..."
"No… not forward at all," Klaus murmured in a softly hazed voice as he licked his bottom lip. Dorian tasted real, too, which wasn't a surprise. "Why don't' we… put Lawrence's things somewhere, and then we can walk the gallery until my shift is over?" /Walk closely./
"Things?" the blond said, unable to stop staring at the dark haired man. "Who's Lawrence? That strange man who ran away screaming? You have odd friends..."
"The wizard who helped me get you out -- he had a table set up over by your picture..." And Klaus had Dorian still wrapped up in his arms, and that was really what mattered most -- though a nagging voice in the back of his mind was telling him that he'd better make those things scarce, or face intense questioning by his boss.
Dorian looked puzzled. "Why did he run away screaming, then? That doesn't sound much like wizard behaviour to me. I always thought they were powerful and mysterious."
"Because he didn't think it'd work." Lightly, tentatively, Klaus initiated a kiss all on his own -- from Dorian's cheek, trailing slowly to soft pale pink lips. "But it worked -- and you're completely real."
The lips became warmer with Klaus's kiss, turning upwards in a soft smile. "Yes... real, and oh how *very* glad of that I am."
"Two-hundred years is a long time to go without being kisses," Klaus said, voice dragging free in a husk of air. He finally started to move, tugging Dorian gently away from that hall.
"Everything is so strange," the blond man said, looking around constantly, reaching out his hand to touch the walls and the benches. "To actually *feel* everything again... it's beyond words."
"You couldn't feel when you were... the way you were before?" Klaus asked, turning him loose a little -- except for the grasp he had on Dorian's hand, tight and protective.
Dorian shook his head. "I was completely numb," he said, "like a person living in woollen gauze. Even the light and the sound was different." He looked up as they walked, eyes on the long banks of incandescent lights that hung overhead. "What kind of lights *are* those, anyway? They burn very steadily for candle flames..."
"Electricity, Dorian." Ohh, he had a lot to explain to the other man, but Klaus didn't care -- he'd explain it all as necessary, and relish the task. "We don't' use candles anymore, except for decoration -- you've missed a lot, Dorian, and life's a bit different... but I really think you'll like this world of light and sound. And touch."
That brought on a another mischievous smile, as Dorian tore his eyes away from the strange lights to Klaus's face once more. "Oh, I think touch will be my very favourite part," he said softly.
"I'm more than happy to help you with... any touch you need." Klaus left his fingers squeeze Dorian's hand gently, and then he leaned in for another kiss. Teasing brush of lips against lips, and Klaus gave Dorian a gentle tug. "All the touch you want."
"Such a kind and generous man you are, sir," Dorian breathed as they broke apart gently. "I do hope your affections aren't fleeting..." One more kiss taken, and a golden hand traced the line of Klaus's jaw.
"I've never had a fleeting affection in my life, Dorian." everything he did was for the long haul, long-term. And Dorian would be no exception. "It feels right -- more than just a need to not be lonely, or your beauty."
"People I knew always thought I was fickle, but if I found something - or someone - I truly wanted, I tried my best to make it work." A faint wash of colour appeared on his cheeks and he turned his head to a portrait of a young woman with her lap dog. "I believe... I believe I truly loved Allan - in the beginning. I wanted him to be the last... but he changed."
"And hurt you." The story was still vivid in his mind. "You fought, and he wouldn't let you leave the apartments. He lost his mind completely, from what I was told..." He stopped where Dorian stopped, seeing pictures that caught Dorian's interest in a new light -- and wondering if it was sheer awe at how things were that made Dorian stop, or if it was something in the specific pictures. "I'm... I'm not a fancy artist, and I'm not well off."
Dorian turned from the painting, long curls swinging out from his face, and gave Klaus a searching look. "Why should any of that matter?" he said. "Look at you. You're exquisite. Someone should have made a statue of you by now." He lifted a hand and placed it on Klaus's chest. "Strong and serious... a very practical man, like a soldier. You make me want to do something, anything, to break through that reserve..." His head tilted to one side and he smiled. "Am I right?"
"I think you're already breaking my reserve," Klaus sighed out, swallowing down a knot as anticipation set in. "I'd rather be alive and with you than a statue, just as I prefer to have you here, standing beside me, than you up on a wall in a pretty frame. Real-life is better than being immortalized for a few hundred years."
Dorian smiled brilliantly. "I don't remember much about it, to tell the truth, but if the present is anything to judge by, I am eagerly anticipating the future..."
"I'll make it everything that I can -- worth your anticipation..." The gleam of the blonde's smile, such joy on the perfect expression, spread to Klaus. The wide smile on his lips was an unfamiliar expression for him, but it came easily in mimicry of Dorian's. "You'll enjoy life here." /With me./
Fingers ghosted over Klaus's cheek and Dorian looked up at him through long, golden lashes. "If *you* are here, my sweet sir, I know that I shall."
"Klaus -- just call me Klaus. You...but it's so good to hear you call me anything at all, Dorian." Those fingers were captured gently, clutched near and then Klaus kissed the tips. "But I'll be your sweet sir if you'd like."
A delicate flush pervaded the blond man's cheeks, his eyes riveted to the place where Klaus's lips grazed his fingers. "And I," he said in breathy voice, "will gladly be anything you want me to be..."
"Just be. I'm happy enough with that, Dorian. Just you *being* after so long of not being. Do what makes you happy, and I'll be happy. Do what pleases you best..." /And then I'll know you're happy./ And that was all Klaus wanted, for Dorian to be happy, and perhaps with him. Something that very likely seemed a part of Dorian being happy. "Whatever pleases you best and I'll be happy too."
"I am a very lucky man," Dorian mused as they continued down the hallway to the next wing of the museum. "I am being granted a chance to see the future..." He looked over at the guard and then slid his arm around Klaus's. "... and all the wondrous things and people it holds."
The smile on Klaus' face brightened more, and he sighed out, "I'm going to enjoy showing you life all over again. Everything you can't remember will be better this time."
And he was going to keep his promise.