Anathema (Causal Enchantment, #1) (3 page)

Because it wasn’t just about the money, I
realized. I
wanted
to work here—to meet new people, to
talk to them, to have them actually respond to me. To befriend
Sofie … I stole a glance toward her back.
She’s so interesting.
So cool.

“
Unless you want to come with me to
New York?” Sofie asked suddenly, turning to meet my
gaze.

The plate slipped from my hands and clattered
noisily against the tile floor. I felt my eyes bulging.
Go to
New York City with her?

“
You don’t have to. I could use your
help, though,” she added.

“
I … I don’t—” I stammered, my heart
beginning to race.
Me in New York?
I had never been beyond
Portland’s suburbs.

“
You wouldn’t have to worry about
accommodations or meals.” Sofie leaned down to pick the plate up
off the floor.

“
It’s a wonderful offer, Sofie,” I
began, picturing myself surrounded by skyscrapers and the bustling
city life. My stomach spasmed with excitement.
This is
crazy—isn’t it? Would a sane person say yes to this? I barely know
the woman!
Granted, I had smashed her property and she in turn
had graciously invited me in for cocoa and a high–paying job—hardly
the signs of a serial killer. And this was a job, after all. People
traveled all the time for jobs, I rationalized.

“
Consider your debt to me squared
away after this trip,” she added. “You’ll have earned
it.”

My jaw dropped, and my shoulders lifted as if
relieved of an oppressive weight—and they had been.
I won’t owe
her anything? But … that means she won’t be obligated to have me
work here.
I bit my lip, glancing around the empty café with a
twinge of regret.

“
Of course, if you want to continue
working at Newt’s, you’re welcome to,” Sofie added as if reading my
mind.

The offer was turning richer with every second
that I dithered. I didn’t know what to do. I wished I could ask my
mother for advice. “Wow. You’re hard to refuse,” I began, smiling
nervously.

“
What’s there to refuse?” Sofie
reached out, a cordless phone in her hand. “Tell you what: if your
parents are okay with it, then you know it’s a good idea,
right?”

I hesitated for a few seconds but eventually
accepted the phone and dialed home.

My foster mom picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?”

“
Uh, hi, Shelley?”

“
Yes, Evangeline. What would you
like?” she asked in her typical polite but detached tone. She was
never unkind, nor was she overly friendly. She was just there. All
of my foster families had been the same. I was used to it.
Sometimes I wondered if they were government–designed robots
disguised as foster parents—programmed to conform to the law but
incapable of exhibiting emotion.

“
Um, well, I got a job yesterday,
down at a café in the Art District,” I began. This was the most I
had spoken to her in days.

“
That’s nice.” Silence.

“
And my new boss just asked me to go
to New York to help her with some business. Would that be okay with
you?” I held my breath.

“
You turn eighteen tomorrow. You can
legally do what you want.”

I was amazed that she’d remembered my birthday.
Clearly she had no plans to celebrate it. Not a shocker. I normally
went full–fledged hermit on my birthday anyway, burrowing under a
blanket with a bag of popcorn and a mittful of Disney classics.
“Okay, well, I may go then. I’m not sure when I’ll be back,
though.”

“
Have fun.” I heard the phone click
before I could say another word.

“
Well?” Sofie asked.

I stared at the dead receiver in my hand. How
representative of my life. In the five years since my mother’s
death, my existence had become like a one–way conversation with the
world—a solitary life spent drifting through homes and schools, all
but invisible to those around me.

Until now. Sofie had noticed me.

“
I think I’d like to come to New
York with you, if that’s alright.”
Am I really doing
this?

“
Wonderful!” Sofie said, revealing a
rare spike of excitement.

“
Yes, great.” I smiled nervously,
half expecting men in white coats to storm through the door. “So,
when are we leaving?”

Sofie reached under the counter, retrieving a
purse and coat. She walked toward the door, her stilettos clicking
sharply against the wood floor. “Now,” she called to me, flicking
off the light switch. I stared, waiting for her to elaborate.
“Don’t doddle!” she added, suddenly urgent.

I joined her at the front door and we stepped
out just as a black sedan pulled up to the curb. “You’re kidding,”
I exclaimed, my nerves stirring my bladder.

“
Hop in!” she instructed, opening
the door for me.

“
But … I should pack some things
…”

She waved away my concerns. “Don’t worry about
any of that.”

I stood there, baffled.
Don’t worry about
clean underwear and a toothbrush?

A sharp edge in Sofie’s voice brooked no
argument. “Get in the car, Evangeline! The plane is
waiting.”

M
y hands fidgeted in my lap
as I surveyed the bright and airy cabin of Sofie’s friend’s private
jet for the umpteenth time. We were about two–thirds of the way to
New York and I was on my third glass of red wine. I had politely
declined when the flight attendant first offered, admitting I was
underage. But Sofie rolled her eyes dramatically and ordered the
woman to disregard my silliness and keep my glass half full at all
times.

I had protested then. Now, feeling the
alcohol–induced relaxation seeping through my body, I silently
thanked them for ignoring me. Easing back into my chair, I pressed
a button on the side of my armrest and watched with fascination as
a footstool magically rose from the floor.

“
Finally … you’d think we were
escorting you to an enema,” Sofie muttered, glancing up from her
magazine.

“
Sorry.” I offered a sheepish smile.
“I’m a little nervous of flying.” I was lying, of course. Flying
didn’t bother me—that part was exciting. The fact that twenty–four
hours ago this woman was a complete stranger and now I was flying
to New York with her—without so much as an extra pair of underwear
and for God knows how long—had me frazzled.

Sofie, on the other hand, was totally relaxed,
stretched out in one of the ivory leather lounge chairs across from
me, her long, slender legs crossed at the ankles; she could easily
be posing for the cover of a
Lifestyles of the Rich and
Famous
magazine.

“
So this friend of yours who owns
this plane … what does he do?” I asked.

“
Oh, Viggo has his hands in
everyone’s pocket,” Sofie answered cryptically, setting down her
magazine to root through her purse. “Here. “ She handed me a long,
narrow wooden box. “As a thank you for coming. Also, I noticed on
your application that your birthday is tomorrow, so … happy
birthday.”

I gaped at her, speechless.

“
It’s nothing extravagant,” she
added.

“
I …” I stared down at the box.
After a long moment, I opened it. A heart–shaped, black glass
pendant the size of a quarter nestled inside. I lifted it gingerly,
running a thumb over its smooth surface; it felt much like a highly
polished stone. “You really didn’t need to—” I stopped to swallow
the lump in my throat.

“
Here, let me put it on you,” she
offered, moving to sit next to me and lifting the silver chain to
affix it around my neck. The pendant settled against my chest.
“Shoot,” she murmured.

I glanced over my shoulder to see her frowning.
“What?”

“
Oh, something’s wrong with the
clasp,” she replied. I could feel her examining it. “It won’t open
without breaking. Do me a favor and leave it on for
now.”

“
Of course!” I answered, my hand
cupping the smooth stone to admire it. I’d gladly wear it
forever.

Sofie shifted back to her chair, watching me
with a curious expression. “It looks nice,” she finally offered
with a strained smile that never reached her eyes.

“
Thank you. It’s beautiful,” I said,
looking down at it. There was a precious quality to its simplicity.
I wondered when she’d had the chance to get it, since we’d gone
directly from Newt’s to the airport. I opened my mouth to ask, but
Sofie had already turned her attention back to her
magazine.

I turned to gaze out the small window beside
me. We were descending through the clouds. I expected to see a
billion lights below soon, welcoming us to our destination,
escorting me into a new and unknown chapter in my life. But for
now, the flashing lights on the plane’s wings were alone in the
sky, beacons serving as both protection and guidance.

A hollow feeling blossomed in my chest as I
realized that warning lights like those could have saved my
mother’s life. It had been five years since the night she’d been
run down by a car. An eternity for me. The police investigation had
been short and inconclusive, suggesting that the driver hadn’t seen
her. There were no tire marks to imply otherwise. Scared, drunk,
oblivious—whatever the reason, the driver never stayed, leaving my
mother’s shattered body on the pavement and me a broken–hearted
orphan.

I closed my eyes and imagined forcing that
terrible hollowness into a bottle and corking it tightly. That’s
how I had learned to deal with the loss of my mother. It usually
worked. This time, though, the empty void expanded, pushing against
my rib cage, constricting my lungs, becoming a stabbing ache in my
heart.
Deep breaths, Evangeline
. I inhaled and exhaled
slowly, waiting for the pain to dissipate. It didn’t. It only
intensified with each new breath, as each beat of my heart came
harder and faster. Blood rushed to my head, the sound in my ears
overpowering the roar of the jet engines.

What’s happening to me?
My eyes darted
wildly around the plane’s interior. The walls and floor wavered. I
knew it had nothing to do with the pilot’s flying
skills.

And then my heart stopped beating altogether.
Just like that. I couldn’t even manage a gasp. My right hand flew
to my chest while my left groped through the air for help, for
Sofie. It only lasted for a second or two, then my heart thumped
once, twice. Three times. And then it was beating again.

A cool hand rested against mine. “Feeling
okay?” Sofie asked, leaning in to peer at my face, her brow
furrowed with worry.

“
Yes. Just felt a little funny for a
sec. Must be my nerves,” I assured her, adding with a nervous grin,
“or the wine.”

“
Are you sure?”

I nodded, smiling reassuringly.

The copilot poked his head out from the cockpit
to announce that we would be landing shortly. My body jerked in
response as the seat reverted to a stiff, upright position. Exactly
how it should be for a safe landing. Sofie’s gentle laughter filled
the cabin.

Everything else was forgotten.

“
We’re staying here,” Sofie
announced as our sleek black town car turned into a driveway off
Fifth Avenue. I looked out at a luxurious five–storey building
illuminated theatrically by exterior lights shining upward,
highlighting the grooves and ridges and other rich details of its
architecture. The car idled quietly, waiting for a heavy iron
garage door to glide open before pulling into the dimly lit tunnel
beyond. It ended at a second garage door that didn’t open until the
first was firmly shut.

“
I guess we’ll be safe here,” I
murmured.

Sofie offered only a small smile before turning
her minty eyes forward, her jaw tense. She seemed
nervous.

The second door opened and the car pulled
forward. My eyes widened in amazement. “Wow. This is …”

We were in an enclosed courtyard filled with
lush gardens bisected by winding walkways. Giant coach lanterns
illuminated five storeys of balconies climbing the four walls—there
had to be a hundred of them, each adorned with a wrought–iron
windowbox overflowing with flowers in vibrant sunset
hues.