Anathema (Causal Enchantment #1)(14)
Author: K.A. Tucker

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.

He offered no response as he struggled to stand.

“Leonardo …” I began hesitantly.

“Call me Leo if you wish. Leonardo is such a mouthful.”

“Okay … Leo.” An inconsequential question suddenly popped into my head. “Hey, why do you have such an Italian name when you’re so … British?”

He chuckled. “My father was Italian and I grew up in England.”

“Oh.”

“Was that your burning question?”

I shook my head. “Should I be worried about anything?”

He sighed, gave me another strange smile, then walked over to throw the rag into the fireplace. I sensed that was the only reply I would get.

My eyes roamed aimlessly around the library, landing on the painting above the mantel. On the black pendant. “Why is Sofie’s sister’s picture on the wall?”

“Do you normally ask so many questions?”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, flushing.

Leo chuckled, glancing up at the portrait. “I believe she was a lady friend.”

“Lady friend … oh, you mean girlfriend?”

A rare smirk appeared on Leo’s face. “Yes, girlfriend, you young folk would call her.”

I smiled sheepishly. “Whose?”

He pursed his lips. “Can’t say, really.”

“So when did Viggo and Mortimer—” I stopped abruptly. ‘When did they switch teams?’ God, Evangeline. Be a little more tactful.

“When did Viggo and Mortimer what?” Leo probed.

I searched for the appropriate words. “Begin their relationship?”

He repeated my question to himself, confused. Then, suddenly, his face lit up and he erupted in raucous laughter. I widened my eyes, startled by the unexpected reaction.

“Viggo and Mortimer are no couple. I wouldn’t even call them friends. Partners in a common interest, one may say.”

I struggled to translate his words as he stoked the fire. What a cryptic old butler.

“Although I suppose I can see how someone on the outside may mistake their relationship,” he continued. “They live together, spend all their time together, and squabble like an old married couple.”

“Who squabbles like an old married couple?” a deep voice boomed.

I spun around to see Viggo and Mortimer strolling into the library. But where’s Max? I held my breath, waiting for the dogs to trot in behind them. They were never too far away. When none of them did, my stomach tightened another notch. What if the police had them? They’d destroy them for that massacre, even if they did save my life.

“Where’s Max?” I asked as the two men took up positions before me, arms crossed over their chests. Viggo’s face displayed the same placid expression as usual. In stark contrast, Mortimer’s was primed to throw daggers. I couldn’t help shrinking guiltily onto the couch, feeling less like an eighteen–year–old adult guest and more like a naughty six–year–old in need of a spanking.

“Busy,” Mortimer said.

“How’s the hand?” Viggo asked, eyeing my bandages, a strange grin on his face.

“A bit sore.”

An uncomfortable silence followed. “So … were those the protesters you were warning me about?” I asked awkwardly.

“You could say that,” Viggo replied.

Another long pause. “How much trouble are the dogs in?”

“None. It’s been taken care of,” Viggo answered as if referring to a minor bill needing payment.

“What does that mean?” I asked warily.

“It’s cleaned up. No evidence. No witnesses.”

A chill ran down my spine. “But, it was broad daylight in a major park. And there was so much blood.”

“So … ?” Viggo shrugged, unconcerned.

“So …” I faltered. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll be accessories to murder? The police would understand, wouldn’t they? Wouldn’t it be easier to report it?” I pictured a full–scale S.W.A.T. team crashing through the gate and pinning the lot of us—the gentle old butler included—to the ground.

“It would have been easier if you had obeyed us,” Mortimer answered through clenched teeth.

I cowered further into the couch.

“Mortimer, please,” Viggo said, patting the air in a soothing gesture. “I’m sure Evangeline has an excellent reason for defying us.” His raised eyebrow indicated he was expecting the explanation right then and there.

Did I tell them the truth? Did I accuse them? I had gained no proof through my adventure. Only more questions.

“Are you going to explain yourself, or sit there and fidget all afternoon?” Mortimer said, drumming his fingers loudly on a console table.

“Well … I didn’t think I was disobeying. It was just a suggestion, wasn’t it?” I finally answered in a meek voice.

Mortimer’s fist slammed down on the table, sending a lamp flying and me cowering.

The library door exploded open and four giant black bodies barreled through. The dogs. In seconds they were circling the couch where I sat, their hackles raised and growling a warning at Mortimer.

If the wall of fangs and froth intimidated him, Mortimer didn’t let on; he stared Max down, looking ready to lunge himself.

Sofie ran into the room.

“I thought you had him under control.” Viggo’s voice was calm but I sensed the underlying contempt.

“You try controlling that beast.” Her eyes fell on me. She took several quick steps forward then froze, glancing uncertainly at Viggo.

“It’s okay, Max,” I said, reaching up to stroke his side, trying to calm him. I examined his shoulder for the wound. Nothing. I must have mixed up the sides. I checked the other shoulder. Nothing. No wound, no bandage, no dried blood. I screwed my face up. Yes, he had been shot. I remembered. “I saw the bullet wound. His blood was all over my hand,” I said out loud.

No one answered. I looked up to see worried glances passing between them.

“Leo. Tell them you saw it too,” I pleaded, frowning my confusion.

Leo shrugged noncommittally, his eyes darting to Mortimer. He ducked his head and exited without a word.

“It happened, didn’t it?” I cried as tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision.

“Do you believe it happened?” Viggo asked calmly.

I looked at each of them in turn, at their blank faces. Maybe it hadn’t happened. Is this what a schizophrenic feels like, skating through delusions and reality so seamlessly that it’s impossible to discern which is which? I raised my hand to see the bandage. I felt the throbbing ache of my gash, a result of the attack. No, this had to be real.

“I warned you two,” Sofie said softly, her eyes never leaving me.

“Well, go ahead then, Sofie. Tell her what you’ve done. See if that doesn’t terrify her, you self–righteous witch,” Mortimer answered, smiling smugly at her.

What is he talking about?

In the next instant Sofie was standing where Mortimer had been and he was airborne, his tall, muscular body flying through the air and slamming into a wall twenty feet away. Glass rained down as the impact from his body shattered a mirror into countless pieces.

I gaped at Sofie, who—with her delicate arms and her lithe frame—had thrown Mortimer across the room right before my eyes. It was impossible. It couldn’t have happened.

Mortimer pushed to his feet and strolled back, brushing glass from his jacket sleeves. “My, you’ve gotten strong, Sofie. Who have you been snacking on?” He paused only a foot away from her, looming, their eyes communicating silently.

What did he say? My stomach dropped with the realization that this was beyond hallucination. This was a full–scale delusion. There was no conspiracy, no one was tricking me. I had lost my mind. “None of this is real. The bullet, Sofie’s lip, my hand, the bites …” I rambled, picturing straitjackets and padded cells with tiny peepholes and seemingly normal people having intellectual conversations with empty chairs. Maybe I could share Eddie’s alley with him. I was his goddess, after all.

“What bites?” Mortimer suddenly said, eyes narrowed.

“No bites. They’re not real. I thought they were real but they’re not,” I rambled absently, yanking the collar of my shirt down. “See? Nothing.”

Sofie gasped.

10. Truth

“You lying bitch!” Mortimer snarled. He flew at Sofie, sending her crashing into a glass side table, which shattered.

“And you!” Mortimer turned his furious eyes to Max. “Traitor!”

Max responded with a short but fierce snarl.

“I didn’t know this would happen!” Sofie shrieked, on her feet in seconds and lunging at Mortimer’s neck with a jagged chunk of glass in her hand, intent on decapitating him.

Mortimer barely avoided the swipe at his jugular, taking a nick on his shoulder instead. Catching her arm in mid–swing on her second attempt, he snapped her forearm with a sickening crack. He followed with a backhand that split her bottom lip wide open.

Arm dangling and blood pouring from her lip, she grimaced in pain. “Is that all you’ve got?” she grated, taunting him.

Mortimer’s dark eyes flashed with rage. He was going to kill her. I couldn’t watch. I buried my face in Max’s body, my hands digging into his fur, bracing myself for the blood–curdling screams.

I heard Viggo’s serene voice instead. “Everyone, calm down please.”

Peeking out from behind Max, I saw Viggo standing between the two of them, his arms outstretched. “You have some explaining to do, Sofie,” he said calmly.

I dared look at her. And gasped. Her lip was as beautiful and unharmed as ever, except for a patch of smeared blood which she now dabbed at with a cloth, using the arm that should be hanging limp at her side.

“Please stop fighting. You’re terrifying Evangeline. She’s already been through enough today!”

All three turned to regard me. “And I suppose you have some questions,” Viggo said, smiling gently. He took a step toward me.

Max growled.

Viggo raised his hands in surrender and backed up to sit in one of the armchairs. “But us first. Why did you sneak off to the park?”