Anathema (Causal Enchantment, #1)

by K.A. Tucker

7. Crazy?

  I staggered to the bathroom in a daze, my eyes barely cracked. Shrugging off the mysterious sweats without giving them another thought, I stepped into the shower stall. I intentionally turned the faucet to cold and let frigid water stream down my body until it was borderline torturous, hoping that would wake me up. It helped, marginally.

  Fumbling with the tap, I leaned my forehead against the tile, reveling in warmth, waiting to come alive.

  My shoulder began to sting. Peering down at a sizeable scrape on my shoulder, I cringed. Where did I get that? I wondered, wracking my brain.

  The cave.

  Caden.

  The attack.

  It hit me like a speeding train—a wave of recognition as everything from the night suddenly pulsed into my head at once, the flood of memories overwhelming.

  I pushed on the glass door and stumbled out of the shower, dropping to the cold tile floor before faintness could drive me down.

  But, that had been a dream.

  The attack.

  My hand trembled as it reached for my throat. I sensed the wounds as soon as my fingertips grazed the area. Working up the courage to stand and face the mirror, I immediately spotted two distinct round marks across my jugular.

  Bite marks.

  I stared at my reflection as if expecting it to talk back to me, to provide some rational explanation, something other than the obvious.

  That I had lost my mind.

  There has to be a reasonable explanation. My brain churned frantically, searching for a thread of logic to grasp. Maybe I changed before going to bed last night and I just don’t remember. I did bump my head on the bedpost, after all. I could have amnesia. That I had incorporated these old sweats into my dream was coincidence. Though I didn’t know where the clothes came from. Leonardo wouldn’t have bought these for me. One of the maids must have accidently left her laundry in my room.

  What about the scrape on my shoulder, how could I explain that? I must have banged my shoulder on something in the middle of the night. Maybe I was on my way to the bathroom. That could do it. And the bite marks on my neck? Max must have bit me. He has fangs. I knew that dog was odd. But why would he bite me? Why would anyone bite me?

  A vampire would bite me …

  A tornado of explanations whirled around inside my head, none of them plausible, all of them creating more questions than answers.

  A trick. Maybe this is a prank. A game. Vampires. Vampires and games. Sofie’s screams from the other day rang in my memory: “Do you think this is another one of your games?” she had said to Viggo.

  My eyes widened suddenly as I put two and two together. Could they be drugging me and dropping me off across the street, in Central Park? Caden, Amelie, and the others could be hired actors. That would explain their movie star looks and their perfect nails and their well–groomed hair. Viggo and Mortimer had more than enough money to pull it off. And they had been so interested in hearing about my “dream” yesterday morning.

  Even considering this as a possibility bordered on insane but I was growing more fond of the idea by the second.

  Yes. It made sense. It explained why I was in and out of consciousness so much. Not normally a fainter, I was unconscious all the time lately. Being drugged could do that, couldn’t it?

  By the time I dressed—in a turtleneck sweater to hide the bite marks—I was convinced that I had to do some research. I couldn’t accuse them without concrete proof.

  If I could just run across the street to the park, maybe I’d find it.

  I pushed through the double doors to the atrium in time to witness Sofie deliver a vicious slap to Mortimer’s cheek.

  “Evangeline! There you are,” Sofie said, turning to smile at me as if everything was fine.

  What is going on between these two?

  “Evangeline,” Mortimer greeted in a gruff voice before spinning on his heels and walking briskly toward the statue.

  Viggo sat at the bistro table beside it, quietly reading a newspaper. He looked up. “There you are! Come, Evangeline.”

  I practically ran down the path toward them, until I realized what I was doing and deliberately slowed to a saunter. What if they had nothing to do with this? Maybe it was all in my head. Is this what a paranoid schizophrenic feels like?

  A mysterious expression flickered across Mortimer’s face. “Are you feeling alright?”

  My stomach tightened. “Yes. Why?” I lied as calmly as I could.

  “You look stiff. And your face is much paler than usual.” His eyes darted to Max, narrowing suspiciously.

  “Oh, no, I’m fine. Just tired. Must have been from all the excitement yesterday,” I said, striving to make my voice light as possible. It came out sounding strangled.

  “How did you sleep?” Viggo asked from behind his newspaper.

  I paused for a moment, searching for a standard answer. “Like a baby.” Lie number two.

  “No bizarre dreams again?” he asked, his attention still half–buried in his newspaper. He seemed indifferent today. Could he be feigning indifference?

  “Nope.” My hands hurt. I glanced down to see them clenched into fists by my sides, so tight that my knuckles had turned white. I forced them to relax, my fingers unwinding painfully, as if crippled.

  “Well, you’re probably well rested then,” Viggo said.

  Can they tell I’m lying? I wondered. They both seemed more bored than culprits in an elaborate rouse.

  Sofie’s stilettos clicked against the cobblestones behind me as she approached. “I have some business to tend to and I’ll be away for the afternoon. I’m sorry to leave you alone.”

  Perfect. “That’s okay. I was thinking I could take Max for a walk to the park.”

  Mortimer’s baritone laughter filled the atrium. “Maximus isn’t the kind of dog you take out for a walk,” he said, shaking his head in amusement.

  “Besides,” Viggo added, “there’s supposed to be a protest outside, and those fanatics are known to get violent. You don’t want to get mixed up with them. You’re better off staying here. There’s plenty to do, darling—Leonardo can show you around. We have a lovely indoor pool and games room, as well as a sauna, a gym, a movie theater—whatever you like. And if we don’t have it, Leonardo will get it.”

  I nodded. Drat. So much for my reconnaissance mission. How else can I gather some information?

  The Internet.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have a computer that I could use?” I asked politely. Please don’t ask why.

  “Of course! Maximus, please show Evangeline the way to my study,” Viggo ordered, confident the giant dog understood him perfectly. He stood, folding his paper under his arm. “We have some things to tend to. We’ll see you later.” He nodded to Mortimer and they headed toward the house.

  Mortimer stopped. “Sofie, are you coming? Now?”

  She hesitated, her jaw tightening. “See you later, Evangeline.” She followed them, disappearing through the red doors.

  I was left standing alone with four giant dogs, feeling less confident about my conspiracy theory.

  Ten minutes later I was in Viggo’s brightly lit study, a second floor room overlooking the street through barred windows. I peered out. No picket signs.

  Sitting down in the oversized leather office chair, I launched my investigation. First, I Googled Viggo and Mortimer. I didn’t have their last names but I figured that, given their vast fortune and high–profile location, there had to be some information on a “Viggo and Mortimer”—a successful business, a generous donation, anything.

  I found nothing relevant—not one article about the affluent New York couple, no mention of Viggo through his ties to the play. It was as if they didn’t exist. That wasn’t possible. Everyone who was anyone existed in cyber world.

  Strange.

  I shifted my focus to Central Park—the perfect location for their game, being nearby and enormous. Searching the park’s website, I found listings for plenty of statues but nothi
ng specific for the white woman. And no caves. It had to be in that park, though.

  “Damn it!” I leaned back, my hands locked behind my head. I must be doing this wrong. I wasn’t getting anywhere, penned up in this palace.

  Max leaned forward and bumped his gigantic wet nose against my arm. “Do you know what’s going on around here?” I asked him. He groaned in answer. I sighed, roughly scratching behind his ear. “Sorry, I don’t speak canine, Max.”

  Chewing my bottom lip, I considered my options. Or lack thereof.

  “How scary could those protesters really be?” I reached for the keyboard again, typing in “protesters” and “Manhattan” and “October.” The first search result showed an image of gray–haired seniors with walkers and signs demanding health care reform. “Oh, come on! Them? Seriously?” I exclaimed. It didn’t make any sense. I scanned the next five or six results and found nothing that fit the fanatical protester profile.

  And then it hit me. Perhaps this was all part of the game, keeping me locked up in their fortress so I couldn’t go out and uncover their plot. It was a disturbing idea, but it made more sense than a bunch of maniacal geriatrics getting violent for cheaper drugs.

  I had no choice. I needed to escape.

  Rushing to my room to grab my jacket, mitts, and purse—and praying no one saw me—I convinced myself that I was doing the responsible thing by sneaking out. If this was all a big game, I’d be free of these lunatics. If it wasn’t and I was hallucinating, then I had bigger issues than protesters. I just had to get out without anyone noticing me. It was a good thing this place was the size of a shopping mall.

  “Evangeline! There you are,” Leonardo called out as I stepped into the atrium. His elderly eyes zoned in on my coat.

  Busted. “I was cold,” I lied.

  “I can turn the temperature up, if you wish.”

  “No, that’s alright. I’m good now.”

  He nodded. “Okay. Well, would you like me to put a movie on for you in the theater? Or perhaps you’re hungry. We could see what Martha has on the stove.”

  “I think maybe I’ll just sit out here for awhile,” I said.

  “Great. Why don’t we take a seat over here,” he suggested, heading toward the bistro table.

  Leonardo wasn’t going anywhere. He had obviously been assigned babysitter duty. He pulled out a chair for me which I accepted, smiling politely. We sat across from each other in awkward silence.

  I decided I may as well get some information out of him. “What is Sofie fighting with Viggo and Mortimer about?”

  Leonardo held his hand up to inspect his fingernails. “Oh? I didn’t know they were fighting.”

  “Well … I saw Sofie hit Mortimer earlier today. And yesterday, the screaming …”

  “Hmmm. I’m sure it’s nothing.” He smiled warmly at me.

  That confirmed it. He was either senile or covering for his employers.

  More uncomfortable silence.

  “You seem fidgety. Is everything alright?” Leonardo finally asked, eyeing my hands, which were strumming aggressively against the table.

  No, everything is not alright. You’re hampering my investigation. How was I going to get away? “I’m not feeling well,” I blurted, an idea sparking in my brain.

  “Oh. Would you like some Tylenol?” He stood.

  “Tylenol doesn’t sit well on my stomach,” I lied.

  “Well, I’m sure one of the maids has some Advil or Aspirin,” Leonardo offered.

  I shook my head, stalling. “No … what I really need is … Midol.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Um … it’s for … female problems.” My cheeks heated.

  “Oh. Hmm … okay,” Leonardo said, his eyes dropping to the cobblestones. “I’ll go ask the maids.” He started toward the red door, moving slower than usual. I suspected he wouldn’t be in a rush to fill that request—a proper elderly gentleman polling young female maids for PMS pills.

  “Sorry, Leonardo,” I whispered, then forced the guilt of my deception aside to race toward the gate. I remembered an ominous–looking solid door beside the car entrance. It had to be the exit to the street, though it appeared more appropriate for a bank vault. I’m sure they needed the best security here, with all their wads of cash lying around.

  If I can just get to it before anyone comes out … I was twenty feet from the door when Max’s massive black body appeared in front of it, the other hounds flanking him to create a formidable barrier. A low warning growl rumbled in Max’s throat as I approached. It was deep and threatening and if I hadn’t already developed a certain level of trust and fondness for this dog, I would likely have dropped dead from terror right then and there.

  I veered to the right, attempting to sneak around the canine wall. They all shifted their bodies, blocking my path.

  “Max? What are you doing? I need to get out,” I whispered, glancing anxiously over my shoulder for Leonardo.

  Max whined.

  Why would they do this? Unless …”Max, were you ordered to keep me here?”

  Another whine and a bow of his head, as if he were nodding. Yes, it was clear he had been. I was imprisoned. Leonardo was the warden and these dogs were the guards.

  I had to get out, and fast, but with well over a thousand pounds of ferocious muscle forming a barricade, this was going to be tricky. I needed a distraction. What would distract a dog? Something to chase.

  “Look! A kitty, over there! Go fetch!” I whispered excitedly, pointing to the other side of the atrium.

  None of them budged. Their eyes didn’t even shift.

  “Right. You’re smarter than that. I forgot,” I muttered.

  I reached forward and pushed against Max. Nothing. I leaned in, putting all of my hundred and twenty–odd pounds against him. It was like trying to move a concrete wall. I groaned in frustration. These dogs were more well–trained than Jake, the only dog I had ever really known. That golden retriever’s sole purpose in life was chasing his tail and trying to steal thawing meat off the counter.

  An idea hit me—a desperate one. I dashed up the stairs and into the house, heading toward the kitchen. Luckily it wasn’t too far from the atrium so I found it easily enough on my own.

  Magda was chopping up vegetables when I entered. “Hi, Magda,” I called gaily, trying not to arouse any suspicions. She glanced up to acknowledge me with a polite nod, then returned her focus to her carrots. “I’m just going to grab a snack,” I said, heading casually toward the commercial–sized fridge. She nodded again without looking up, likely having no idea what I had said. That was fine with me.

  I pulled open one of the doors. Bingo! Meat. And it wasn’t hard to find, considering one entire side of the fridge was stocked with it. Why did they need so much? Doesn’t matter, I decided, reaching in to grab a zip lock bag before peeking around the door. Magda was now tending a simmering pot, her back to me. I closed the fridge door softly and hurried out before she could turn around. I’d have a hard time explaining what I was doing with eight raw steaks in any language.

  When I returned to the atrium, Max and the others were still standing in the same positions as before, like statues. Thankfully Leonardo wasn’t back yet. This has to work.

  “Look what I found for you!” I exclaimed, holding up the bag of bloody meat. I didn’t think they’d mind that it was raw. Jake had never been too picky.

  This time my method of distraction worked. Unfortunately, a little too well. All four dogs erupted in a chorus of vicious snarls and deep growls, revealing razor–sharp fangs—much more pronounced than I remembered. Muscles rippled with tension as they began stomping and pawing at the ground with their hooked claws, clearly torn between holding their positions and springing.

  The bag dropped from my hand, spilling blood onto the cobblestones as I scrambled back, terrified. Brilliant idea, Evangeline. Forget protesters. Leonardo’s going to come back to find your mangled body in the atrium. And then he’s going to have a heart attack and
die.

  I locked eyes with Max, pleading silently with him. It seemed to work, as he settled down, his fierce snarls turning to snorts.

  The other three were still focused on the raw meat and frothing at the mouth. Max let out a ferocious growl and, turning, snapped at the dog to his left, his teeth tearing a chunk out of the dog’s ear. With a yelp, the three dogs stiffened immediately, resuming their guard. The meat was instantly forgotten.

  I stepped forward cautiously, deciding my last–ditch effort would be a show of confidence. “Okay, Max, you’re either with me or against me. You choose!” I commanded with as much conviction as I could muster, throwing in, “I’ll never forget this moment,” for good measure.

  Those perceptive yellow eyes gazed into mine as if judging the truth of my words. We remained frozen like that—eyes in a deadlock—for so long that I was ready to give up. Then Max suddenly covered my cheek with a lick. He stepped to one side, allowing a small space for me to fit through.

  I gasped. “Thank you!” Planting a quick kiss on his snout, I darted past, ready to throw the door open.

  Until I saw the keypad.

  “Damn it!” I cried, pounding once on the door. Tears welled in my eyes as defeat swept over me. There was no way out. I was in Alcatraz.

  Six … two … one … a distant deep voice whispered. I recognized the voice from the other day. Only this time it was speaking in numbers. Seven numbers, repeating over and over.

  On impulse, I punched the numbers into the keypad. My eyes widened in shock when I heard the lock release. How?

  It didn’t matter right now. I was free.