Anathema (Causal Enchantment, #1) (2 page)

Eddie responded with his familiar vacant stare,
placid eyes indicating he was now there only in physical form.
Reaching down, I gently tugged at his arm. His body resisted, as
unyielding as a concrete statue. I knew it was hopeless. “Oh,
Eddie,” I sighed. “You’re going to catch pneumonia if you stay out
here.” I popped open my own umbrella and wrapped its handle within
his hands, hoping it would keep him dry until his mind returned and
moved his body indoors.

Wrapping my arms tightly around my chest, I set
off at a brisk walk. I could handle a little rain. As if Mother
Nature were privy to my thoughts, the sky suddenly opened up and
the light drizzle evolved into a monsoon, pouring buckets of water
onto my head. I began running blindly, seeking shelter.

Guilt welled in the pit of my stomach as I ran,
picturing Eddie sitting on the sidewalk with one measly little
umbrella to protect him.
I should go check on him
.
Maybe the cold rain snapped him out of his daze, and I can
convince him to stay at the shelter tonight. Yes, that’s the right
thing to do. It’s only a few blocks back, if I turn around
now—

My shin collided with something solid. I
stumbled, executing an awkward cartwheel before crashing facedown
in a puddle on the concrete sidewalk.

How long I lay in heap on the sidewalk,
disoriented, faintly aware of rain permeating my clothes through to
my skin, I couldn’t say. I regained my senses when I couldn’t hear
drops pelting the sidewalk anymore. Crawling to my knees, I wiped
the mucky water off my cheek and checked for blood. None. No
scrapes or cuts. My shin didn’t appear to be broken or even
hurting, though it should by all accounts be shattered. Maybe I’d
earned a bruise at least. Otherwise, miraculously, I was
fine.

The victim of my inattentiveness was not so
lucky. I groaned, my hands flying to my forehead in dismay as I
appraised what looked to have been a lovely and expensive
stained–glass object, now scattered in dozens of pieces. I leaned
over to begin collecting the shards.

“
You’ll cut yourself,” a woman’s
silky voice called in a French accent.

I looked up. A stunning redhead stood in a
doorway, regarding me with eyes that were the most peculiar shade
of pale mint green—so pale, they appeared inhuman.
She has a
good point,
I realized as I regarded the jagged piece of glass
in my hand. “But I can’t just leave it here. Someone may hurt
themselves on it.”

“
And what do you plan on doing with
all the pieces?” she asked, lifting a brow in query.

“
I don’t know … glue them back
together?” I said with the certainty of a gas station attendant
asked to perform solo brain surgery.

The woman smirked. “I bought that lantern in
France. It’s one of a kind and it certainly can’t be glued back
together,” she informed me, her tone cool, yet serene.

Oh no. This was hers
. “I’m so sorry.
There was so much rain! I was distracted and I just … hit it. I’m
so sorry. I’ll pay you for it.”

“
You have ten thousand dollars?”
Those haunting eyes gazed down at my rain–soaked department store
clothes with amusement.

I felt the blood drain from my face. “No, but—”
The ground swayed, and I tasted bitter bile forming in the back of
my throat. I didn’t have ten thousand dollars. I had exactly
forty–seven dollars in my bank account and no job.

She regarded me silently, her expression
unreadable. Finally she spoke. “I’m Sofie. What’s your
name?”

I hesitated, swallowing.
“Evangeline.”

“
Evangeline …” My name sounded so
elegant, rolling off her tongue. “Please, come in and warm up with
something hot. On the house, of course. I insist.” She reached out
with a delicate–looking hand to help me to my feet. “Leave all of
this. I’ll clean it up later.”

Confused by her kindness, I accepted, following
her like a disoriented puppy.

A soft buzz of conversation and jazz music
enveloped me as I stepped into the warm café. A stone fireplace was
the source of that heat, a blaze of fierce orange flames dancing on
its hearth.

“
Welcome to Newt’s Brew,” Sofie said
as she led me past sharply–dressed patrons lounging in upholstered
chairs of varying style and pattern as they sipped lazily from
colorful mugs. “Here, sit.” She pointed to a stool by the counter.
“Hot chocolate?”

I nodded.

“
I also offer lattes, cappuccinos,
espresso, herbal teas—anything at all, if you would prefer
something else. And of course, the most supremely delectable
pastries,” she added, noticing my eyes bulge as I observed the
array of sweets in the display case behind the counter.

“
Hot chocolate would be wonderful,
thanks,” I said, curiosity pulling my eyes away to scan the
place—all dark hardwoods, rich fabrics, and ornate
moldings.

Sofie went behind the counter and tossed me a
large towel. “You look like a drowned cat.” Her accent made the
statement sound exotic.

I glimpsed my reflection in a mirror on the
wall behind her, and had to agree. I spent the next few minutes
quietly drying my long hair, wishing I could strip out of my wet
clothes and curl up by the fire.

“
Follow me, please,” Sofie said,
heading over to the fireplace. “Would you mind?” she asked the
couple sitting in the seats directly in front of it, as she
gestured at me.

“
Oh no, that’s okay!” I quickly
countered, embarrassed, but the couple was already up and on their
way out the door, all smiles.

Sofie motioned to one of the chairs.

“
You really didn’t need to do that,”
I said, guilt creasing my forehead.

She waved my protests away, her other hand
pointing insistently toward the chair.

Accepting with a sheepish smile, I sank into
the chair, my wet jeans clinging uncomfortably, then closed my eyes
as my body absorbed the heat.

Moments later I heard something being set on
the table beside me and opened my eyes. A mug of hot chocolate
mounded high with whipped cream sat there; Sofie had settled in the
seat across from me. I stared at her in awe. No one, aside from my
own mother, had ever shown a quarter of the compassion that this
stunning woman was doling out so freely and unwarranted to a girl
who had just broken one of her valuable possessions.

“
So, how do you propose to pay me
back for my lantern?”

Her words yanked me back to reality. My gaze
dropped to floor, and that pungent bile crept up to touch my taste
buds again. The simple act of breathing became difficult.
Great
question
. How was I going to come up with
ten thousand
dollars
? Though I’d tried hard to find a job in the last four
months, the rejections were always the same: experience needed. And
I was fresh from high school graduation—no experience
here.

The silence dragged on as I studied the flames.
Finally I braved Sofie’s gaze again. She was leaning back in her
chair with the poise and style of a super model, her fitted black
dress accentuating her curves and highlighting her creamy pale
skin.

She spoke before I could. “You know, many
people would say that it’s my fault for putting something so
expensive out on the sidewalk. It was bound to get broken,” she
offered, still with no emotion.

My mouth opened to respond but no words came
out. That thought hadn’t crossed my mind. The excuse would
certainly get me off the hook, but I knew my conscience would never
accept it, instead pricking me endlessly like a sliver in my
clothes. “No. You’re nice, offering me an excuse, but I broke it
and I should pay for it … somehow.”

An oppressive weight settled on my chest and I
sent my eyes to roam the room again. The tables were covered with
dirty mugs waiting to be picked up and I could see that the wet
floor was in desperate need of a mop. It dawned on me—I hadn’t seen
anyone serving customers. “I could work here?” I blurted without
thinking. A vivid image of me in my Sketchers and faded jeans,
tripping over a chair leg and scalding a customer with a tray of
hot drinks, popped into my mind. I quickly amended my suggestion.
“I could wash dishes, clear tables, run errands—whatever you need.
All day, seven days a week. Whatever you need. It may take a while
for me to earn the money …”
More like forever.

Those cool, pale eyes studied me silently,
revealing nothing.

“
I don’t know. Maybe it’s a stupid
idea.” I bit down on my thumbnail.

She ignored that. “Yes, I believe I can find
something for you here. Can you start tomorrow night at
six?”

“
Seriously?” I exclaimed, unable to
hide my shock.

She nodded, once.

As I glanced around the place, a thrill stirred
in my stomach.
What would I be doing?
I didn’t care.
“Okay. Yes. Thank you.” I made a mental note to call the shelter to
let them know I wouldn’t be coming in for the next few …
years.

“
Wonderful.” Sofie rose and walked
over to the counter. She grabbed a pen from behind the counter and
scrawled something on a sheet of paper, then returned and handed it
to me. “Please fill this out. I’ve marked your starting pay at the
top.” I saw the slightest smile touch Sofie’s plump lips—the first
one that night. “Some say I pay too well.”

I looked down at the elegant writing at the top
of the job application, and gasped.

My watch read ten minutes to six when I pushed
through the heavy wooden door of Newt’s Brew the next evening, my
nerves performing a full circus production in the pit of my
stomach. I’d sat up in bed most of the previous night, replaying
the inexplicable evening in my head countless times. Half of me was
sick to my stomach knowing I wouldn’t be registering for college
before my fiftieth birthday, given the debt I had so clumsily
acquired. But the other half wondered how I had managed to go from
landing my first job in a trendy cafe to a salary that could only
be described as ridiculous.

Newt’s Brew was empty. Not one customer idled
with a cup of coffee. No buzz of conversation in the air. Maybe it
was still early, I decided. Sofie stood behind the counter, her
back to me, intent on something in her hands. “Hi Sofie!” I called
in a bubbly voice.

“
Good evening, Evangeline,” she
responded without turning, with that same reserved air I was coming
to recognize as a usual aspect of her personality.

My chest tightened.
What if she regrets
hiring me?
“Tell me what I can do,” I urged, sprinting around
the counter to face Sofie. Clad in a provocative, knee–length
indigo–blue dress that accentuated her waspish hourglass figure,
she was opening a trash bag. I tugged self–consciously on the
bottom of my shirt. After spending the entire day in front of my
closet, fussing over my mediocre wardrobe, I had finally settled on
my nicest pair of dark blue jeans and a gray and black striped
shirt, certain that I would still look like a hobo off the street
next to the worst–dressed customer in this place.

“
These all need to go,” she said,
waving a hand dismissively at the display of desserts.

I picked up a silver platter and sniffed a
slice of apple pie. It
smelled
fine.

“
Help yourself, if you’re hungry,”
she offered, bending to tuck the bag into the trash can.

“
Are you getting a new batch
in?”

She shook her head. “I have to close Newt’s. I
have some unfinished business in New York.”

Close?
My smile faltered. “Oh … For
how long?”

“
A few weeks, at least. Maybe
more.”

My smile fell completely. “Well … is there
anything I can do to help? I have ten thousand dollars’ worth of
hours to put in for you, don’t forget.” A small, uncomfortable
giggle escaped me. I’d happily forget that part.

“
This place is pretty much ready for
closing,” Sofie answered, moving to the sink to rinse her
hands.

“
Okay. Well, I’ll be here when you
get back, I guess.”

We spent the next minutes in awkward silence as
I scraped chocolate sauce off a plate, feeling as if an internal
bubble had just been popped.
Why am I so disappointed? So I’ll
have to wait a few weeks to begin paying off my gigantic debt. So
what?