he saw Grigori. "You're here."
"I was just asking Marisa where she wanted to go for dinner," Grigori remarked.
"I can't decide if I want Italian or French," Marisa said, grinning.
"I don't care what we have, as long as it's soon," Edward muttered. "I'm starving."
"I've always wanted to eat in a little outdoor cafe on the Boulevard St. Germain," Marisa decided.
"What year?"
"Are you serious?"
"Very."
"Eighteen seventy-five," Marisa said quickly. "January, eighteen seventy-five."
"Eighteen seventy-five?" Ramsey repeated. "Why?"
"That's the year the Paris Opera House was completed. I'd like to see what it looked like when it was new. Do you think we could go there after dinner?"
"We can even go to the ballet, if you like." She smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Paris! Home of Notre Dame and the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, and the Pantheon.
Grigori took her hand in his. "Let's go," he said, reaching out to take hold of Ramsey's hand, as well.
"You're kidding, right?" Edward's gaze darted from Marisa's face to Grigori's. "All this talk about going to Paris for dinner and the ballet - it's just a lot of idle chatter."
Grigori shook his head. "Ready?"
"You two go on," Edward muttered. "I'll wait for you here."
"I don't think that's a good idea," Grigori said, tightening his hold on Ramsey's hand. "Until we get back to your time, I think we'd better stay together."
"Yes, you're probably right." Ramsey glared up at Grigori. "That hurts, you know."
"What? Oh," he said, loosening his grip on the other man's hand. "Sorry."
Ramsey grunted, and then he looked over at Marisa and smiled. "You look beautiful," he remarked, his voice and expression softening as his gaze moved over her.
"Thank you."
Grigori felt a wave of jealousy sweep through him as Marisa returned Ramsey's smile. "Let's go," he said curtly.
Marisa closed her eyes as she felt herself caught up in Grigori's power. The world fell away, and she seemed to be spinning through an endless void where time as she knew it had ceased to exist, where there was nothing but darkness and the sensation of movement. She imagined herself going backward through a long, dark tunnel, and she seemed to hear voices from the past, her grandmother wishing her a Merry Christmas, her father telling her to drive carefully....
Awareness returned with an abruptness that left her feeling slightly dizzy. "That was incredible," she murmured.
"It's damned disconcerting," Ramsey said tersely.
"But incredibly quick," Grigori remarked.
They were standing outside a small sidewalk cafe. It was the height of the evening and the cafe was crowded. Marisa looked and listened in wonder, fascinated by the quaint cafe, the lilting sound of the French language, the tantalizing aromas wafting out of the cafe.
"There aren't any empty tables," she said, glancing around.
"There will be." Grigori fastened his gaze on two young men who were deep in conversation at a nearby table. Abruptly, they both stood up and left. Grigori made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "Your table awaits, mademoiselle."
"How'd you do that?" Marisa asked as Grigori held out her chair for her.
"I didn't do anything."
"Don't give me that. I want to know."
"I simply planted the idea in their minds that they were ready to leave."
"Handy," Ramsey muttered as he sat down at Marisa's right.
"Indeed." Grigori sat down across from Marisa. She looked radiant. Her green eyes were alight with excitement. Her cheeks were rosy, her lips slightly parted as she glanced around, taking it all in. It pleased him beyond measure to have put that look in her eyes.
A waiter appeared. He spoke rapid French. Marisa looked at Edward and grinned as Grigori conversed with the man. The waiter smiled, then hurried away.
"I took the liberty of ordering for you," Grigori said.
"Not snails, I hope," Edward said with a grimace.
"No. Boeuf bourguignon and a bottle of red wine."
"It's so pretty," Marisa said. "I can't believe we're really here." She glanced at Ramsey, who sat beside her, glowering. "Smile, Edward. Try to look like you're having fun."
Ramsey grunted softly. "Sorry. I guess I'm just not in a fun mood."
Marisa reached over and covered his hand with hers. "I'm sorry, Edward. Of course you aren't. Maybe we shouldn't have come here. I didn't think - " She gave his hand a squeeze. How could she have forgotten so quickly what he'd done only hours before? She looked over at Grigori. "Maybe we should just go home."
"What's done is done, Ramsey," Grigori said. "Put it behind you for tonight."
"Easy for you to say," Edward retorted, his voice taut with