Anathema (Causal Enchantment, #1) (13 page)

I averted my eyes guiltily. As much as I
disliked Rachel, I hated lying. More importantly, I was terrible at
it.

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you believe us
now?”

Believe … What am I supposed to believe
again?
I couldn’t remember.

“
I wonder what her blood tastes
like,” she murmured, eyeing me curiously.

“
Leave her alone. She needs rest,”
Fiona growled, magically producing a cool, wet cloth. She began
gently patting my neck.

As if her words had given a signal, I drifted
off to sleep.

I stared vacantly at the plaster swirls on the
ceiling above my bed in Viggo and Mortimer’s room, my body cold and
stiff.
Why do I feel so weak?
Am I getting sick?
No
. I’d had plenty of colds and flu bugs. This didn’t feel
like any of those.

Max whined, resting his head on my chest,
giving my neck a few gentle licks. “Hey boy,” I whispered,
struggling to lift my hand to scratch his head.

The clock indicated noon. I’d slept in. Again.
I forced my body to sit up, fighting the overpowering urge to curl
back up under the covers. I couldn’t do that. Sofie needed me.
Moaning loudly, I dragged the cozy duvet off my body and gave my
eyes a good rub with the heels of my hands to help
focus.

Huh …
The last thing I remembered was
lying down in that gorgeous green satin gown.
When did I put on
these old sweats?

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 nothing
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.