Anathema (Causal Enchantment #1)(9)
Author: K.A. Tucker

Sofie was waiting for me in a black strapless evening dress. I couldn’t help gawking as she glided ghost–like toward me, the soft layers of chiffon swaying with her movements, looking every bit the actress on a red carpet. “You look like …” Sofie began before dropping off. “Someone I knew,” she finished with a wistful smile, her eyes twinkling as she reached out to me.

“Now that’s how a woman of your natural beauty ought to dress,” Viggo called. Blushing, I turned to see him skipping down the steps two at a time, clad in a black tuxedo. “Sofie,” he acknowledged with a nod and a smile, which she returned. I guessed they had reconciled. “Shall we?” Viggo said, offering his arm. I accepted, giggling shyly.

“Where’s Mortimer?” I asked tentatively as we walked through the garden.

“Oh, he has a previous engagement so it’ll just be us three,” Viggo answered, smiling.

My shoulders dropped in relief. I didn’t know why, but I was nervous around Viggo’s somber partner. Viggo was just so much more easygoing and friendly.

We reached the other side of the garden to find Leonardo holding open the door of a Rolls Royce. He inclined his head. “Miss Evangeline.”

“Thank you.” I slid awkwardly into the car, trying to keep all the slits and gaps of my dress in place. Viggo and Sofie took a seat on either side of me, sandwiching me in the middle. In seconds we were pulling into the exit tunnel, passing Max and the other dogs sitting on their haunches, guarding their fortress.

“Seriously?” I exclaimed in a rare burst of childlike gaiety as the Rolls pulled up to the curb in front of the theater.

Viggo laughed as he slipped out of the car in one fluid motion, then offered me his hand. Even Sofie’s smile looked giddy in response to my reaction.

“Romeo and Juliet was my mother’s favorite story,” I said, gazing up at the marquee. In truth, it had been a staple in my bedtime routine, growing up. My mother, the hopeless romantic, referred to it as a fairy tale. It wasn’t until years later that I learned fairy tales didn’t usually end with the main characters dying.

“Then you’re in for a treat,” Viggo said as we walked toward heavy, ornately carved bronze doors.

“You look like a hunchback. Stop skulking and stand up straight,” Sofie murmured, looping her arm in mine.

Viggo immediately grabbed the other one, pulling me closer to him. Sofie tightened her grip. I was beginning to feel like the rope in a tug–of–war as we made our way into the lavishly decorated theater.

The lobby was vacant.

“We’re late!” I cried.

“Impossible.” Viggo smiled, winking mysteriously.

A lanky usher dressed in an intricately beaded suit appeared to personally guide us to our seats, a box near the stage.

“So this is what a theater looks like,” I murmured, taking in the splendid green, blue, and gold decor. Five levels of box seats adorned with fleur–des–lis and gold–plated cherubs wrapped three walls of the theater, overlooking a deep orchestra pit and floor seating before a curtained stage. I looked up to see a giant mural painted in vibrant hues on the ceiling.

“If you ever have the chance, visit the Theatre of the Estates in Prague. This place was designed with it in mind,” Viggo said.

If I ever get to visit Europe, I thought wistfully, but I kept quiet. I’d likely be on the jet there tomorrow if I sounded at all deprived.

The lights dimmed as soon as we sat down, indicating that the show was about to begin. It was as if they had waited for our arrival. The audience hushed as the conductor stood, baton raised. He was so close—close enough that I could poke him with a stick if I wanted to!

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. This was my first real play in a real theater with real actors. I fanned through the pages of the program, curious who the actors were, expecting not to recognize any names. And I didn’t, except for one. It jumped out immediately—the producer.

Viggo. No last name. Just Viggo.

“Is this … you?” I asked, pointing out the name.

He chuckled. “I like to dabble in the arts. This theme holds a special place in my … heart.”

“What exactly does ‘producer’ mean?”

“It means he told somebody what he wanted and threw obscene amounts of money at them to do it,” Sofie replied cynically. “He’s good at that.”

Viggo chuckled but I thought I sensed contempt. “I built this theater and I wrote the play.”

My eyes widened in amazement. He’s a lawyer and a playwright!

The curtain parted, and the heart–wrenching story of Romeo and Juliet, the star–crossed lovers, doomed from the beginning by their opposing family ties, began as I remembered. The actors sobbed and moaned dramatically. The orchestra played soft music with perfectly balanced undertones of melancholy and longing. It was exactly as I had always pictured the story in my head. Right up until Juliet, traveling along a wooded trail alone at night for some unknown reason, was dragged out of her coach and bitten in the neck by a male attacker.

“I don’t remember this part,” I whispered, my brow furrowing.

Both Viggo and Sofie burst out laughing, earning a hush from the woman in the box next to us. “Sorry,” Sofie offered politely. She tapped the program where it said “an adaptation.”

“Oh … that’s what that meant,” I mumbled.

They laughed again, receiving another warning in the form of a sharp hiss from the same woman. Sofie turned to regard her. I couldn’t see her face but whatever look she gave must have had the desired effect, because the woman shrank into her seat, practically disappearing from view for the rest of the show. I was beginning to see another side to Sofie’s reserved, charming demeanor.

From there, the play took on a much darker, more seductive tone. Juliet, now a vampire, was torn between her absolute love for Romeo and her newfound urge to kill him whenever he was near. Romeo longed to join her in the world of the undead but because of a curse was unable. The story was full of scheming, supernatural strength and mind–bending tricks and, by the end of the play, their feuding families were the least of their problems. The story finished with Juliet accidently killing Romeo and then jumping into a fire to end her eternal misery.

“So, how did you like it?” Viggo asked, stretching out in the car on our way home.

“Amazing. Disturbing. Heartbreaking. An interesting ‘adaptation.’ Bravo, Viggo!” I ended with a scholarly clap, giggling. “How did you come up with the idea?”

“Oh, I have a deep fascination with vampires. They’re such misunderstood creatures, don’t you agree?” he said, his voice somber.

I paused. “Well, I doubt they’d be like that … you know, beautiful and emotional. Aren’t they supposed to be evil, blood–crazy creatures with stained, dirty nails and vile breath? You know—bats and coffins?”

“What a terrible misconception,” Viggo said, shaking his head furiously, his brow furrowed. “In my opinion,” he added.

“But they kill people; we’re like giant drinking boxes.”

“Well, they need to survive! I don’t suppose pigs and cows look too fondly at humans. It’s the same thing! A little earlier in the food preparation process perhaps,” Viggo rationalized.

“Hmm.” He had a point, I guess.

“And imagine what it would be like to have heightened senses and super–human strength.”

“That would be pretty cool,” I agreed. “What do you think, Sofie?”

She hadn’t joined in the conversation, instead gazing listlessly out at the streetlights. “It would be lonely,” she answered now, her voice flat. “Everyone around you dies and you live forever.”

“Well, that’s why you’d turn those you loved, so you could be with them. Right?” I said.

Sofie turned to give me a tight–lipped smile. “It sounds so simple, doesn’t it?”

“Unless you can’t turn them for some reason,” Viggo added, sadness dragging at his features. “Because of a curse.”

“Right … and then all the super powers wouldn’t change the reality that you’re the loneliest creature in the world,” I whispered. “That would be awful.”

Viggo’s mouth curved up in a half–smile and he patted my hand affectionately. “Yes, it would. No one deserves to live like that, don’t you agree? So lonely?”

I nodded, thinking about my own solitary existence. Am I that obvious?

Sofie turned back to gaze out her side window. The rest of the car ride was silent.

It was close to midnight by the time I staggered to my room, Max on my heels. I sluggishly kicked off my heels and flopped onto the bed, exhausted from a day of decadence. Even with all the fighting between Sofie and her friends, I could easily get used to living my days in their world.

I briefly considered pulling my weary body up to undress and get ready for bed, but I drifted off to asleep before I could act on it, faintly aware of a burning heat against the skin of my chest.

6. Déjà Vu

This feels too familiar.

The same statue stood beside me. The same trees towered over me. The same twilight challenged my eyes. The only thing worse than last night’s dream would be last night’s dream repeating itself.

I looked down to see my jade green evening gown. That was different, at least. My pendant had come alive again, burning hot and shining a brilliant orange–red.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” a low voice called from the darkness.

My body went rigid. My eyes scanned the trees for the speaker. I sagged in relief as a woman with an angelic face and springy curls stepped out from the shadows. Amelie. This was a different dream.

“We’re alone,” Amelie confirmed when she noticed my eyes checking the trees for the others. “Sorry about last time … we didn’t have much choice. Though I can’t say I didn’t enjoy part of it.” She grinned sheepishly. “You are … an apparition of sorts. I’ll explain later, but we need to get away from here.” She stepped forward, then hesitated. “Sorry about this.”

I frowned. “About what?”

I regained consciousness as my bare feet hit stone. Full darkness had descended and I couldn’t see a thing. “Amelie?” I whispered.

“Sorry,” Amelie said again.

“What did you do to me?”

“Nothing, really. It was just easier if I didn’t have to explain things yet. Besides, it would have taken all night at your pace,” Amelie said, evading my question. “Plus you probably would have tripped and knocked yourself out on a tree root again.”

“I’m not that slow,” I muttered, reaching up to touch the bump on my head from the previous night. I had excelled at track in high school. The perfect loner’s sport.

Amelie laughed. “You are, next to me. Besides, I’d like to see you run through the woods and up a mountain in that,” her eyes appraised my dress.

I pursed my lips, conceding to her logic.

“Come on, let’s build you a fire. You’re shivering.” She grabbed my hand and began leading me through the darkness.

“How can you see anything?” I asked incredulously.

“I have great eyesight,” she answered simply. “Stay right there.”

“Where am I gonna go?” I mumbled, wrapping my arms around my chest.

I heard a harsh scraping sound, like stone striking metal, then a flame suddenly appeared. I watched as it floated through the darkness, sparking other flames as it moved until dozens of little fires lit the space around me.

The torchlight revealed we were in another cave, this one much larger than the one last night—its ceiling invisible from where I stood. It was empty except for a few cast iron park benches arranged around a circle of stones. A perfectly–formed teepee of wood, dried grass, and miscellaneous shreddings was piled within. A firepit. A new one, given the lack of ash. On the other side of the cave, three tunnel openings led into oblivion.

“You’ll be safe here for the time being,” Amelie offered, walking up to me with a torch in her hand, as I surveyed the place.

“Cozy.” I hugged myself tightly.

“Right. A fire.” Amelie strolled over to hold her torch to the teepee. In seconds a roaring fire was blazing. “You’ll need to come closer to feel the heat,” she said, giggling cheerily.

I walked over to sit on one of the benches. A worn piece of metal lay where the wooden slats of a normal park bench seat had rotted away. I awkwardly sat down, trying to avoid the sharp corners on the metal, afraid of tearing my dress or cutting myself.

Amelie slid in easily beside me, seemingly unconcerned about injury. “I love your dress.” She reached out and lightly touched the silky material with her fingertips.

“Thanks. I was wearing this tonight when I fell asleep,” I responded. And then it hit me and I began laughing.