Anathema (Causal Enchantment, #1)

by K.A. Tucker

2. The Gift

  My hands fidgeted in my lap as I surveyed the bright and airy cabin of Sofie’s friend’s private jet for the umpteenth time. We were about two–thirds of the way to New York and I was on my third glass of red wine. I had politely declined when the flight attendant first offered, admitting I was underage. But Sofie rolled her eyes dramatically and ordered the woman to disregard my silliness and keep my glass half full at all times.

  I had protested then. Now, feeling the alcohol–induced relaxation seeping through my body, I silently thanked them for ignoring me. Easing back into my chair, I pressed a button on the side of my armrest and watched with fascination as a footstool magically rose from the floor.

  “Finally … you’d think we were escorting you to an enema,” Sofie muttered, glancing up from her magazine.

  “Sorry.” I offered a sheepish smile. “I’m a little nervous of flying.” I was lying, of course. Flying didn’t bother me—that part was exciting. The fact that twenty–four hours ago this woman was a complete stranger and now I was flying to New York with her—without so much as an extra pair of underwear and for God knows how long—had me frazzled.

  Sofie, on the other hand, was totally relaxed, stretched out in one of the ivory leather lounge chairs across from me, her long, slender legs crossed at the ankles; she could easily be posing for the cover of a Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous magazine.

  “So this friend of yours who owns this plane … what does he do?” I asked.

  “Oh, Viggo has his hands in everyone’s pocket,” Sofie answered cryptically, setting down her magazine to root through her purse. “Here. “ She handed me a long, narrow wooden box. “As a thank you for coming. Also, I noticed on your application that your birthday is tomorrow, so … happy birthday.”

  I gaped at her, speechless.

  “It’s nothing extravagant,” she added.

  “I …” I stared down at the box. After a long moment, I opened it. A heart–shaped, black glass pendant the size of a quarter nestled inside. I lifted it gingerly, running a thumb over its smooth surface; it felt much like a highly polished stone. “You really didn’t need to—” I stopped to swallow the lump in my throat.

  “Here, let me put it on you,” she offered, moving to sit next to me and lifting the silver chain to affix it around my neck. The pendant settled against my chest. “Shoot,” she murmured.

  I glanced over my shoulder to see her frowning. “What?”

  “Oh, something’s wrong with the clasp,” she replied. I could feel her examining it. “It won’t open without breaking. Do me a favor and leave it on for now.”

  “Of course!” I answered, my hand cupping the smooth stone to admire it. I’d gladly wear it forever.

  Sofie shifted back to her chair, watching me with a curious expression. “It looks nice,” she finally offered with a strained smile that never reached her eyes.

  “Thank you. It’s beautiful,” I said, looking down at it. There was a precious quality to its simplicity. I wondered when she’d had the chance to get it, since we’d gone directly from Newt’s to the airport. I opened my mouth to ask, but Sofie had already turned her attention back to her magazine.

  I turned to gaze out the small window beside me. We were descending through the clouds. I expected to see a billion lights below soon, welcoming us to our destination, escorting me into a new and unknown chapter in my life. But for now, the flashing lights on the plane’s wings were alone in the sky, beacons serving as both protection and guidance.

  A hollow feeling blossomed in my chest as I realized that warning lights like those could have saved my mother’s life. It had been five years since the night she’d been run down by a car. An eternity for me. The police investigation had been short and inconclusive, suggesting that the driver hadn’t seen her. There were no tire marks to imply otherwise. Scared, drunk, oblivious—whatever the reason, the driver never stayed, leaving my mother’s shattered body on the pavement and me a broken–hearted orphan.

  I closed my eyes and imagined forcing that terrible hollowness into a bottle and corking it tightly. That’s how I had learned to deal with the loss of my mother. It usually worked. This time, though, the empty void expanded, pushing against my rib cage, constricting my lungs, becoming a stabbing ache in my heart. Deep breaths, Evangeline. I inhaled and exhaled slowly, waiting for the pain to dissipate. It didn’t. It only intensified with each new breath, as each beat of my heart came harder and faster. Blood rushed to my head, the sound in my ears overpowering the roar of the jet engines.

  What’s happening to me? My eyes darted wildly around the plane’s interior. The walls and floor wavered. I knew it had nothing to do with the pilot’s flying skills.

  And then my heart stopped beating altogether. Just like that. I couldn’t even manage a gasp. My right hand flew to my chest while my left groped through the air for help, for Sofie. It only lasted for a second or two, then my heart thumped once, twice. Three times. And then it was beating again.

  A cool hand rested against mine. “Feeling okay?” Sofie asked, leaning in to peer at my face, her brow furrowed with worry.

  “Yes. Just felt a little funny for a sec. Must be my nerves,” I assured her, adding with a nervous grin, “or the wine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded, smiling reassuringly.

  The copilot poked his head out from the cockpit to announce that we would be landing shortly. My body jerked in response as the seat reverted to a stiff, upright position. Exactly how it should be for a safe landing. Sofie’s gentle laughter filled the cabin.

  Everything else was forgotten.

  “We’re staying here,” Sofie announced as our sleek black town car turned into a driveway off Fifth Avenue. I looked out at a luxurious five–storey building illuminated theatrically by exterior lights shining upward, highlighting the grooves and ridges and other rich details of its architecture. The car idled quietly, waiting for a heavy iron garage door to glide open before pulling into the dimly lit tunnel beyond. It ended at a second garage door that didn’t open until the first was firmly shut.

  “I guess we’ll be safe here,” I murmured.

  Sofie offered only a small smile before turning her minty eyes forward, her jaw tense. She seemed nervous.

  The second door opened and the car pulled forward. My eyes widened in amazement. “Wow. This is …”

  We were in an enclosed courtyard filled with lush gardens bisected by winding walkways. Giant coach lanterns illuminated five storeys of balconies climbing the four walls—there had to be a hundred of them, each adorned with a wrought–iron windowbox overflowing with flowers in vibrant sunset hues.

  A throat cleared. I turned to find the car door wide open and a white–haired man in a three–piece suit patiently waiting, his hand outstretched.

  “Sorry!” I scurried across the seat to accept his hand. My feet landed on cobblestones as I slid out.

  “Good evening, Miss Evangeline,” the man said in a rich British accent as he executed a formal bow. “I am Leonardo, the butler. Please inform me if you require anything at all during your stay.”

  I nodded dumbly, awed as much by him as I was by my surroundings. It was warm in here—balmy, compared to the frigid temperature outside. I took a few steps forward and knelt to touch a velvety rose petal. “I didn’t think roses could bloom this late.”

  “They don’t, normally. Look up,” Sofie said. “See the dome?”

  I tipped my head back and squinted at the dark night sky above us, finally noticing the web of black lines holding the glass panes between them in an intricate pattern. The giant courtyard was an atrium.

  “Feel free to tour the gardens,” Leonardo offered, smiling encouragement.

  I hesitated only a second before returning the smile and taking off down one of the paths like a child investigating a secret garden. Until tonight, a place like this had only existed in fairytales filled with royal palaces and princesses. Now, as I strolled along the cobblestone path,
inhaling the heady scents of lavender and mint, it was real. And I was living in it.

  Something white in the center of the atrium caught my eye. Drawn to it, I stopped before a large statue—a sculpture of a woman in a flowing gown, arms reaching toward the sky, hands awkwardly clasped together as if offering up a gift to the heavens.

  “Spectacular, isn’t she? Truly one of a kind,” a male voice called in an unusual accent. I jumped, startled, as an attractive blonde man of about thirty in a pinstriped suit approached along the path. “The smoothest white marble imaginable. Go on, touch it!” he said in a commanding tone.

  I obliged almost mechanically, leaning forward to slide my fingertips along the statue’s toes. They were icy cold. “Very smooth,” I agreed, straightening. Blood instantly rushed to my head. The ground began to sway. I closed my eyes, vaguely aware of a strong hand grabbing my arm and moving me.

  When the dizziness disappeared, I found myself sitting at a bistro table near the statue. Sofie, Leonardo, and the blonde man stood around me, concerned expressions on their faces. What’s wrong with me lately? I felt my cheeks grow hot. “Must be the flight. Or the wine. I’m sorry.” I smiled sheepishly. When Sofie’s distressed expression didn’t fade, I added, “This atrium is spectacular,” hoping to redirect their attention.

  The blonde man’s sparkling cobalt–blue eyes roamed over the gardens, a proud smile stretching his lips. “Isn’t it, though? I hate the long, cold winters but I love this city too much to move to a warmer climate. This atrium is the perfect compromise.”

  “Yes, the gas company agrees whole–heartedly. The fool keeps them in business, heating this place,” a man muttered darkly behind me in a thick French accent. I turned to see a tall, broad–shouldered man with chestnut brown hair and black eyes marching toward us. He was dressed as sharply as the blonde.

  “You ridicule, yet you have no trouble taking full advantage,” the blonde retorted with a deep scowl, pointing toward the bistro table. When his attention fell back to me, his face lit up again. “Welcome to our home, Evangeline! I’m Sofie’s friend, Viggo. That grouch there is Mortimer.” Viggo draped his arm casually around my shoulder as if he were a long–time friend. My shoulders tensed in response, unaccustomed to the closeness. Luckily, if he noticed, he didn’t seem bothered.

  This entire place is theirs? Wide–eyed, I scanned the multitude of balconies again. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

  “Oh, Sofie warned us that you were a darling, with such manners,” Viggo said, smiling. “I hope it didn’t take too much convincing to get you here.”

  Mortimer chuckled deeply. “Sofie could convince a troll to abandon his bridge if she set her mind to it.”

  Viggo threw an unimpressed glare at Mortimer before turning back to me. “But you are far from a troll, my beautiful Evangeline.” He laughed, his eyes twinkling as he pulled me out of my chair and squeezed me in a fatherly side–hug.

  It was how I had always imagined my father would embrace me, if I had known him. My dad had never been in the picture, deciding fatherhood was too daunting the second he learned of his seventeen–year–old girlfriend’s pregnancy. Oddly enough, he had no concerns about scaling treacherous cliffs. It was a freak mountain climbing accident—not the cries of a little girl—that had killed him.

  My face flared with heat at Viggo’s brazen compliment. “Give her room to breathe, Viggo,” Sofie warned. “She’s been two seconds away from a mild coronary the entire trip here.”

  Viggo chuckled. “Come. Let’s show you to your room. You must be exhausted. This way.”

  I turned to follow him. And gasped.

  Four beasts stood in a row ten feet away from me, their unsettling, beady yellow eyes studying me with suspicion. I call them beasts because they were simply too large to be anything else. Their cropped, pointy ears were level with my shoulders—and at five foot nine, I was by no means considered short. Their muscular bodies, covered in glossy black fur, were easily triple my weight.

  One of them sauntered forward, its talon–like claws clicking against the cobblestones with each step. It halted in front of Mortimer for a sniff and a pat, its gaze never leaving mine.

  “Evangeline, meet Maximus, Sebastian, Charleston, and Remington. My fiercely loyal and protective guard dogs.” Mortimer gave the dog a playful shove before pulling its head affectionately into his chest.

  “What kind of dogs are they?” I asked warily, edging back to stand behind Viggo.

  “Oh, they’re … a unique strain. No others exist in the world.”

  “Because their mother was a horse?” I mumbled under my breath.

  Mortimer’s laughter reverberated throughout the atrium. It was deep and menacing and left me unsettled. “I agree, they are much larger than we had expected—and they consume the equivalent of a horse.”

  My hand flew to my mouth.

  “Don’t be worried about offending us, dear Evangeline,” Viggo said, patting my back, chuckling.

  “You don’t like my dogs?” Mortimer’s eyes narrowed.

  “Oh, no! I’m just … shocked by their size.” I stepped forward and reached up to stiffly pat the top of a head. I didn’t know whose. They all looked the same.

  Mortimer laughed again, obviously aware of my discomfort. “You will learn to appreciate their companionship, I promise,” he called over his shoulder as he walked down the path toward a set of double red doors embedded in one of the walls.

  I peered at the four pairs of eyes gazing back at me, unconvinced.

  I received the grand tour of their home, or parts of it, because a full tour would have lasted into the wee hours of the night. Viggo explained the extensive renovations while we wove through the countless rooms and marbled hallways, including the construction of an atrium where one had never existed.

  “We could have built an identical home from the ground up for one–eighth of the cost,” Mortimer complained. “But Viggo had to have this location and what Viggo wants, Viggo gets.”

  Viggo only winked in response.

  So they lived together. That meant they were more than platonic friends—although, listening to their interaction, I never in a million years would have guessed it.

  We ended the tour on the top floor. Viggo pushed open a set of double doors, and threw his arms wide. “Your suite, mademoiselle.”

  To the left of me was a king–sized four–poster bed, dressed in layers of feathery pillows and opulent bedding, all in a mixture of white and silvery gray. Circular glass tables on either side of the bed held crystal lamps and fresh bouquets of ivory calla lilies, and a crystal chandelier sparkled above it all. To my right, a white velvet chaise waited beside an oversized fireplace. A watercolor of a young girl picking wild flowers hung over the marble mantel. The softly–hued image stirred familiarity within me, though I couldn’t place it.

  “Leonardo stocked your room with clothing, toiletries, and the like,” Viggo said, placing a firm hand on my back to prod me toward a door in the opposite wall. With the turn of a knob and the flick of a switch, I found myself standing in a walk–in closet filled with a department store–worth of clothing and shoes. “Everything your little heart may require for your stay,” he added with a smile.

  My jaw dropped. All for me?

  “Yes, it’s for you. It should fit perfectly. All new and—” His eyes narrowed as something caught his attention. He walked over and reached into a basket to pull out a lacy pink thong. “Oh, you old devil, Leonardo.” He grinned.

  If there was a competition over whose face turned a harsher shade of red—Leonardo’s or mine—I couldn’t say who would win.

  Leonardo gruffly cleared his throat. “Martha was in charge of those … items,” he answered curtly. Spinning on his heels, he marched out of the room.

  “I should be more careful or I’ll give the old man a heart attack,” Viggo murmured, casually tossing the frilly thing back into the basket and walking out.

  I followed, still shocked by their
generosity. At least that solves my underwear issue …

  “It’s late. You likely need your rest,” Mortimer exclaimed after releasing an obviously phony yawn.

  “Please help yourself to anything in the kitchen, should you get hungry. Our staff made sure the fridge was fully stocked,” Viggo added, patting my back.

  They all turned to leave.

  I panicked. “Wait!” Three sets of piercing eyes turned to regard me curiously. “What if I get lost?”

  Viggo threw his head back and howled with laughter. “Oh, you are precious, aren’t you!” He pinched my cheek.

  “Maximus will guide you,” Mortimer answered, trying to keep his amusement from showing.

  I turned to find that the massive animal had crept in behind me. I eyed the beast skeptically.

  “Don’t worry, he knows this place well.” Viggo chuckled.

  Maximus stared at me with oddly perceptive eyes for a moment and then, letting out an unimpressed groan, he flopped down beside the fireplace.

  Sofie was the last to leave. She gave me a small, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. Those two can be … overwhelming.”

  I shook my head, giggling “They’re nice. And extremely generous.”

  Sofie bit her bottom lip, suddenly pensive. “I’m just down the hall if you need me.”

  “No worries. I have a tour guide, remember?”

  Sofie glanced over at the big beast, her eyes narrowing to slits. “Well, if you need anything, I’m there.”

  “You’re kidding, right? What more could I possibly need?” I waved to the luxurious suite. “I could die a happy girl here, tonight.”

  Sofie’s face contorted in horror for a second before she schooled it to her normally reserved expression. “Well, good night then.” With another icy gaze at the giant mass of canine muscle, she was gone, walking briskly down the hall.

  “Well, I guess it’s just you and me, Maximus. Max.”

  Max groaned and stood. He walked over to stand beside the bed and lifted one paw to the mattress, patting it several times as if instructing me to get in.

  I laughed, my fear of him melting away. He didn’t look so threatening after all. “Are you trying to tell me something?” I glanced at the bedside clock. A quarter to midnight, and I was wired. There was no way I’d get any sleep tonight. But I may as well get comfortable, I decided, heading to the closet to find some pajamas.

  Now that I didn’t have an audience, I could shamelessly investigate the plethora of clothes. My hands eagerly sorted through racks upon racks of stylish clothes, all with designer tags still attached—Fendi, Burberry, Versace, Vera Wang—names I recognized from fashion magazines but never imagined wearing. An entire wall housed shoes; I counted thirty pairs. Thirty! From runners to boots with three inch–high heels, and everything in between. On another wall hung dozens of wire baskets filled with socks, pajamas, and intimates—including the infamous thong.

  As I rifled through the pile of cozy flannel separates—my typical choice—my eye caught white lace trim. Curious, I pulled out a gray two–piece set. I rubbed the material between my fingers, reveling in the softness. “Why not?” I muttered, stripping down to try on the slinky outfit. I looked in a mirror. Half my chest was exposed, the tank top’s plunging neckline bordering on obscene. “What do you think, Max? Too sexy?”

  He pushed past me and, walking over to the basket of pajamas, stuck his muzzle into it. He resurfaced with a pair of fuzzy pink Tigger–printed flannels between his teeth.

  “Yes, Max, that is more me.” I chuckled wryly. “The old me. This,” I twirled, “is the new me. The adventurous, confident Evangeline.” My life was full of new beginnings. “I think I’ll stay in it. I’m not going out in public anyway,” I threw over my shoulder, leaving the closet.

  Max followed, groaning.

  Next I checked out the ensuite bathroom—an outrageously large, spa–like room constructed in white marble and crystal. The counter held dozens of creams and soaps and the equivalent of an entire drugstore cosmetics aisle, including some metal tools that in my opinion belonged in a serial killer’s torture kit.

  Max nosed through the door and sauntered over to nuzzle my neck affectionately. I giggled. His nuzzles turned to shoves as he herded me out into the bedroom and toward my bed, his sheer size easily overpowering me.

  I sighed, scratching his ear affectionately. “I’m not tired yet, Max.” My eyes wandered around my luxurious suite, taking in every detail from the bed frame to the doorknobs. “They sure do have a lot of money, don’t they …” I slid my fingertips along the sculpted mantel, likely worth enough to pay for my first year of college.

  My eyes lifted to the watercolor and that same twinge of familiarity stirred. The little girl was in a park, with a swing set and red and white striped monkey bars in the distant background. Leaning in, I read the signature in the bottom right corner. My eyes widened in shock. “Sofie painted this?” Could it be? Yes, I supposed it could. I knew absolutely nothing about her.

  A gigantic yawn escaped me. Maybe I will sleep tonight, after all. “Okay, Max. You win. Now I’m ready to sleep.”

  I crawled into the giant bed and burrowed under the luxuriously soft duvet, suddenly exhausted. Max hovered beside my bed, watching keenly. “Night, Max,” I said through a yawn, reaching out to pat his nose. My other hand clasped Sofie’s pendant, imagining heat radiating from it.

  I must have blinked a dozen times before my pupils adjusted to the dark. It was either late dusk or early dawn, I couldn’t tell which. Trees towered over me, soaring skyward to form a canopy so expansive that I could barely glimpse the moonlit sky beyond. I was surrounded by forest. Where am I?