Anathema (Causal Enchantment, #1) (15 page)

On and on I walked, searching. I wondered if
Leonardo had discovered that I had snuck out yet. I hoped he wasn’t
too worried.
If I could just find this statue soon, I’d have
the proof I need,
I thought
. It has to be around here
somewhere.

Leaves rustled, stopping me dead. My head
whipped toward the noise and I saw a stout, round–faced man walking
a scruffy gray mutt of medium size. He had well–groomed,
salt–and–pepper hair and a tidy mustache, and he was smartly
dressed in a blue tweed coat and a matching plaid wool cap.
A
perfectly respectable–looking gentleman,
I concluded,
relaxing.

The dog’s front legs were practically off the
ground as it pulled its owner toward me. When it reached me, the
mutt sniffed my pant leg, let out a low growl, then lunged upward,
snapping at my arm.

“
Badger! Sit!” the man yelled,
tugging the dog back sharply before its fangs could sink into my
skin. Badger sat back on his haunches.

If only Max were here,
I thought
spitefully, glaring down at him.
You’d be shaking in your hairy
paws
.

“
I apologize, miss. Badger has
issues with other dogs. He must have caught the scent of one on
your clothing. He’s seeking therapy,” the man joked in a gentle
voice, patting the dog’s head. I noticed a small tattoo of an
angled cross on the fleshy part of his thumb.

I laughed along with him, keeping one eye on
the mutt’s ugly face.

“
Are you lost? You look lost,” he
inquired.

“
Oh, I’m looking for a statue that’s
supposed to be around here …” I described the statue, hoping he
could redirect me.

“
Oh yes. This way,” the man said,
smiling as he began moving off the path.

That’s right!
There hadn’t been a path
the night before.
That
, I would remember. I followed him
with renewed excitement.

“
Are you a tourist?” he
asked.

“
Is it that obvious?” I said,
giggling.

“
What brought you to the city?” he
asked, veering into a more densely wooded area.

“
Visiting friends.”
Friends who
paid someone to bite me and make me think I’m
crazy.

He held a branch back for me to pass. “Friends
… hmm … and have you known these friends long?”

“
No.” I frowned.
Why would he
ask that?

“
But you’re visiting them?” His eyes
darted to our left, as if searching for something. Or
someone.

Warning bells began sounding in my head.
Get out of here.
“Thanks for your help. I think I need to
get home,” I squeaked.

It was too late, I realized, as I turned to see
two scruffy men closing in behind me, one holding a gun.

T
he two thugs smiled
crookedly at me, one of them revealing a brown tooth. A pretty,
young, round–faced woman of perhaps twenty–five, with
shoulder–length auburn hair and rosy cheeks, stepped out from
behind them.

Cold sweat trickled down my back as panic set
in.
I’m such an idiot!
I was trapped and it was my own
fault. I was that stupid, gullible girl from Maine, wandering
through Central Park.
A big, shiny target for any lowlife.
My eyes darted about, frantically searching for an escape route.
There wasn’t one. Either by flying bullet or flying mutt, I’d be
stopped.

I swallowed. “I have money. Lots of money.
Here, you can have it all,” I quavered, thrusting my purse
forward.

No one made any move toward it.

“
Evangeline, correct?” the man with
the dog asked.

A chill ran down my spine as I ran our brief
conversation through my head.
I hadn’t given my name, had
I?

He chuckled. “You really should be more
careful, sharing information with strangers. Even sweet old ladies.
Looks can be deceiving.” His smile sent a chill through
me.

I managed a small gasp, shocked that the
bird–feeding lady could be in league with them.

“
When we saw you leave the leech
house alone, we were intrigued. So we followed you here.” I
remained silent but my bewilderment at their “leech” reference to
Viggo and Mortimer’s place must have been evident, because the
round–faced man cocked an eyebrow. “So they’ve kept their secret
from you … interesting. They’re very good at it, aren’t they? And
there aren’t as many telltale signs as the stories would have you
believe.” He paused. “I can’t believe they allowed you out on your
own, though … Why are you with them?”

I swallowed hard several times, struggling to
form words. “I’m just visiting … I don’t know what they’ve done to
upset you, but I have nothing to do with it.” I started
trembling.

“
On the contrary, we believe you
have everything to do with it,” the woman interjected, her voice
cold and detached. “You are here with Sofie, correct?”

I blinked.
How do they know so
much?

The woman closed the distance between us. Those
eyes … hazel eyes with dark green flecks, like the old lady’s eyes.
She must be a granddaughter.
A grandmother–granddaughter
criminal team—that
had
to be a first.

The woman paced around me slowly, like a cat
circling its prey. “You’re human; I would know,
otherwise.”

I fought hard to stave off tears. “I don’t know
what you’re talking about.”

“
Perhaps you don’t; it wouldn’t
surprise me that Sofie didn’t inform you of her designs for you.
She’s cunning, that one,” she mused. Her eyes darted to my pendant
and she reached up, but her hand hovered over the stone, not
touching it. “Incredible,” she murmured. Her mouth crooked in a
smile of realization. “Do you know what she’s done to
you?”

I noticed her eyes flicker toward the bushes;
they narrowed suspiciously, and she started backing away. “So
sorry, if you are indeed guiltless,” she said in a rush, nodding to
the man with the gun.

He answered by raising the weapon to point at
my chest.

I heard the click of the trigger.

Once, I had wondered what a bullet would feel
like, tearing into my flesh and organs. I expected it would involve
a considerable amount of pain. I didn’t expect that the impact
would send my body flying as if hit by a train.

But it did. The next thing I knew, I was lying
on my back some distance away, with a crushing weight in my chest.
The bullet must have punctured my lung because I couldn’t inhale.
This is what drowning in your own blood must feel like.
I
hoped it wouldn’t take too long. It was painful.

I was lying on a cushion of brittle leaves,
staring up at the overcast sky as I made my peace with God, when
the tightness in my chest began to subside. I found I could inhale
again—small breaths at first, then increasingly normal ones. Maybe
I would be okay. If I could get to a hospital. If I could get away
from here.

I closed my eyes and remained still, feigning
death until I was sure they were gone.

A wet nose poked against my cheek.
Badger,
checking to see if I’m dead yet
. That mutt would surely give
me away, I realized, fighting panic. I kept my eyes closed, trying
to calm myself.

Another, more forceful nudge against my cheek—
followed by a familiar whine. I dared to peek through one eye to
see Max’s large snout. He was lying beside me. Three other massive
black bodies surrounded us, on guard. I breathed a huge sigh of
relief. The dogs must have scared off everyone.

“
Oh, thank you, Max!” Propping
myself up on one elbow, I reached over to stroke Max’s shoulder. I
felt something warm and slick. I pulled my hand back, gasping when
I saw the blood.

Examining Max’s fur, I found the tiny hole
where a bullet had entered. The bullet that was meant for me, I
realized then, checking my chest to see that I was unscathed. Well,
almost unscathed. Max nosed my left hand, growling. It was covered
in my own blood from a deep gash across my palm.
I must have
cut it on a rock when I fell
.
When Max crashed into me to
take the bullet
.

“
I have no idea how you guys found
me, but let’s get out of here before they come back,” I whispered,
staggering to my feet.

My stomach lurched.

No one had left.

They wouldn’t be going anywhere, except in body
bags.

Body parts were strewn everywhere, heads
practically decapitated, necks torn wide open. And blood—pools of
it. So much blood that it stained the forest floor bright crimson.
I spotted Badger’s head lying three feet away from me, his lifeless
eyes staring vacantly up at the sky, his tongue lolling out. His
body was nowhere in sight.

The trees began whirling around me. I was
unconscious before my body hit the ground.

Sitting on the leather couch in the library, I
watched in silence as a diminutive, elderly woman cleaned and
stitched the three–inch gash on the palm of my hand with skilled
precision, her slender fingers weaving the needle in and out of my
flesh. It should have been painful. Instead, I felt
nothing.

I recall stirring only once after seeing the
corpses, to find myself cradled in Leonardo’s gentle arms. When I
came to again, I was lying on a sheet on the hardwood floor in
Viggo and Mortimer’s library, a maid hovering over me with a set of
blood–free clothes, adamant that I remove mine immediately. Once
changed, I watched her toss the stained outfit and the sheet into
the lit fireplace. Slightly dramatic, in my opinion, but the
clothes were ruined so it didn’t matter.

The grandfather clock gonged. It was four in
the afternoon.

“
Leonardo, where is everyone?” I
asked.

“
They’ll be here soon,” he responded
calmly, placing another log in the fireplace.

“
Do they know what
happened?”

Leonardo sighed. “Oh, yes … they
know.”

“
Are they angry?”

His eyebrows arched severely, but he said
nothing. I’d take that as a yes.

“
What about Max?” I suddenly
remembered.

Leonardo glanced over, frowning.

“
The gun shot … he was shot,” I
elaborated.

He opened his mouth to speak, then paused to
choose his words. “So you were aware of that.” He chuckled. “Don’t
you worry about that brute.”

“
How did he find me?”

“
You’ll need to ask him,” Leonardo
answered with a secretive smile.

My brow puckered as I tried to make sense of
that. I couldn’t. “How did
you
find me?”

“
Thank you for your services,” he
said to the old woman as she finished wrapping my hand in gauze,
ignoring my question.

In response, she shoved two tiny blue
pills—presumably painkillers—into my mouth, then packed up her
medical tools and disappeared without uttering a word.

“
Hopefully those don’t upset your
stomach,” Leonardo murmured with a hint of annoyance, handing me a
glass of water.

I averted my eyes, feeling my face
heat.

Leonardo eased himself to his knees beside me
and surveyed the carpet and furniture from various angles, a clear
spray bottle and rag in hand. He then began scouring the operating
area.

“
Let me do that,” I
offered.

“
That’s quite alright, Evangeline. I
may be old, but I’m not completely useless.”

“
No, I didn’t mean—” I stammered, “I
just thought … it’s my blood. I should clean it up.”

“
Well, that’s a remarkably courteous
way of looking at the situation, though not surprising. You’re a
remarkably courteous young woman, aren’t you?”

I felt myself blush. “And you’re not
old.”

“
Yes, I am,” he responded,
chuckling. “Seventy–eight, to be exact.”

A few more minutes passed. “You’re very
meticulous,” I observed.