Anathema (Causal Enchantment, #1) (6 page)

Green eyes shot open, focusing on
me.

I gasped. Water flooded into my mouth and
throat, pushing down into my lungs. I had to get to the surface,
breathe—now. Flailing my arms and legs wildly, I clawed my way to
the surface to cough up the frigid river water.

She’s alive! Why doesn’t she swim up?
I wondered while I choked. It didn’t matter, I had to help her. I
dove back down and grabbed her forearm. Both her hands floated up
in unison, bound by a silvery cord. I’d have to untie that later—no
time now. I hooked my arm around her waist and kicked forcefully,
attempting to tow her up.

She wouldn’t budge. Something was weighing her
down.

I let go of her waist and swam farther down to
find a large concrete block resting on the riverbed, fastened to
her ankle with more silvery cord. It had to weigh at least three
hundred pounds.
That’s
what they threw in after her, I
realized, though I didn’t know how any one human being could have
hoisted it and tossed it in with the ease I had
witnessed.

The cord was fastened to her ankle in an
intricate knot. It would take me hours to unravel, if I could even
loosen it. Hours she didn’t have. I reached down and, with one hand
on either side of the knot to test the tautness, I tugged lightly.
My eyes widened in shock when the silvery rope pulled apart like
cotton candy. I didn’t waste time dwelling on the small miracle. I
reached up and pulled at her wrist bindings to find they came apart
as easily.

She was free. Hooking my arm around the girl’s
waist again, I pulled her to the rivers’ surface.

“
You’re going to be fine,” I
whispered hoarsely, my breathing ragged, one arm gripping her
tightly while I used the other to paddle us to shore. She didn’t
struggle, or speak, or even gasp for air.
I’m too late. I took
too long.

By the time we reached the nearest bank, I was
on the verge of unconsciousness. I dragged her to safety, then
collapsed with my cheek in the cool mud, where I would have
willingly stayed for hours.

“
You’re breathing. You’re gasping
for air,” someone said in a raspy voice. It wasn’t offensive or
ugly in the least. It had that inflection that men find
sexy.

I pulled my face out of the mud to see my
would–be drowning victim sitting calmly in the mud, unscathed. My
shock reenergized me, reviving my exhausted body. I sat up to stare
at her.

She repeated herself.

“
I’m sorry, I’m not a strong
swimmer,” I said.

She wore a curious expression as she studied me
with big, almond–shaped green eyes. This girl was pretty when I
thought she was dead; now that she was alive, I could see that she
was drop–dead gorgeous. She had the creamy pale skin and dimpled
cheeks of an angel, reminding me of one of those cheerleaders—the
bubbly, popular kind. “Was the rope difficult to untie?” she asked
softly.

I shook my head. “It practically crumbled in my
hands. Why didn’t you break free?”

“
I couldn’t,” she replied
simply.

My body shuddered violently then, succumbing to
the frigid temperature of the water and the air. A peculiar look
flashed in the girl’s eyes—eagerness, shock—a mixture, perhaps. She
seemed unaffected by the cold air though her clothes were dripping
wet. More importantly, she was too relaxed for someone who had just
been dumped into a river to die.
She must be in
shock
.

Her eyes darted to the darkness under the
trees. “We need to leave right now, before they come back. This
way.” She was on her feet instantly.

The idea of facing murderers had me jumping up
to follow her. I hadn’t taken two steps, though, when I lost my
footing under the slick mud, and fell.

For the second time that night, I woke up in a
strange place. My head throbbed. Reaching up, I winced as my
fingers grazed a sizeable goose egg behind my right temple.
How
did I …
Memories of the night flashed through my mind then—the
statue, icy water, the girl with the emerald eyes. She’d been
drowning and I rescued her. Sort of.

A comfortable heat warmed my back. Rolling over
with difficulty, I found myself lying beside a large firepit. I
spent a few moments staring at the flames as they flickered in a
captivating dance.

“
Are you too hot?” a raspy voice
asked.

I recognized the owner as my near–drowning
victim. Rolling onto my back, I found her sitting cross–legged on
the ground behind my head, peering down at me with eyes that
sparkled like emeralds in the firelight.

“
What’s your name?” she asked,
casually twirling a strand of wildly curly blonde hair—now dry and
jutting out in all directions like shiny, fat springs. The curls
reminded me of Medusa’s head of snakes.

I scrambled to sit up but swooned, my head
throbbing.

“
Don’t rush,” she said, patting my
back as I lay in a heap on the ground, my forehead against a stone.
“At least you’re dry. And clean. I think I got all the mud off you.
I can’t believe you went into that water. Do you know what’s in
there?” She rambled on, though I couldn’t focus on her words; I was
too busy trying not to vomit.

Once the spinning subsided, I slowly pushed
myself up to sit in front of her.
God, she looks like an angel.
Except for her clothes
. They were shabby and dark and frayed
by what looked like decades of wear—clothes one would expect to
find on a homeless person. I hadn’t noticed them before.

She frowned. “How’s your head?”

I didn’t answer, too busy investigating the
stone walls, low ceiling, and general eeriness around me. We were
in a cave.

“
I think there’s something wrong
with her,” Medusa–girl whispered to someone behind me.

I turned. A man in his early twenties towered
over us, several large chunks of wood in his arms. He had the same
large, beautiful green eyes as Medusa–girl, only a different shade
of green—jade instead of emerald, and more intense. His long
slender nose and pronounced cheekbones were almost femininely
pretty, but those features were well balanced by a masculine square
jaw and unkempt chestnut brown hair, neither too long nor too
short.

I gawked openly at him, unable to peel my
attention away, until I noticed his jaw clench. I quickly averted
my gaze to my hands.

Cool, sinister laughter echoed through the cave
then, sending a shiver down my spine. Searching the darkness for
the owner, I saw a woman suddenly materialize out of nothingness,
her seductive, confident gait triggering images of a wild cat
stalking its prey. She stopped beside the young man, tossing her
thick mane of raven black hair over her shoulder before gazing down
at me with a detached air and lemon–yellow eyes, too light to ever
be mistaken for hazel.

I was staring into those eyes, mesmerized,
wondering if they were authentic or colored contacts, when more
voices spoke.

“
What’s with the fire?” a male voice
asked, its owner walking through the cave entrance. He stopped
beside the firepit, a surprised look on his face as his
charcoal–gray eyes landed on me. “Who’s this?” Except for his pale
complexion, he fit the stereotype of a surfer with his shaggy,
golden blonde hair, lean, muscular build, and boyish, carefree
grin, which he was proudly displaying for me now.

Yet another set of piercing eyes landed on me
then—large, catlike, violet eyes—as a woman stepped in beside him.
His girlfriend, by the way he immediately draped his arm around her
shoulder and planted a kiss on her heart–shaped face. She pushed a
strand of long, caramel–brown hair off her brow.

I suddenly understood what it felt like to be a
gangly, awkward twelve–year–old with braces and frizzy orange hair,
stumbling into a group of inhumanly beautiful
adults
. They
were utterly flawless, free of the usual suspects—the crooked
teeth, the deviated nose, the disproportionately set eyes. Their
faces were perfectly symmetrical and universally desirable, their
hair impeccably groomed, their skin soft–looking; even their
fingernails were manicured. Everything about them was perfect.
Everything except their ratty clothes.

“
Who is she?” Surfer Guy asked
again.

“
Dunno. She bumped her head and now
she’s a mute,” the dark–haired one murmured, the corners of her
broad, cherry red mouth curving into a condescending
smirk.

My drowning victim tried again. “What’s your
name?”

“
Evangeline,” I finally croaked,
trembling.

She nodded once. “I’m Amelie. This is Fiona,
Bishop, and over there is my brother, Caden. And that’s
Rachel.”

I cleared my throat. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Is it really? Stupid response, Evangeline
.

“
Evangeline,” Amelie said calmly,
“don’t worry. We won’t hurt you. What were you doing out in the
woods?”

“
I don’t … remember,” I
stammered.

“
Where did you come from?” the girl
named Fiona asked. Her voice had an appealing huskiness to
it.

“
Manhattan … ?” Their blank looks
confirmed it meant nothing to them.
How did I wander so far
from Viggo and Mortimer’s place?

“
What do you remember?” Amelie asked
softly.

“
Not much. I went to sleep in my bed
and woke up in a forest, beside a statue. I heard those people by
the river and I went to find them. They laughed a bit and then
threw you in, and I hid under a bush … I was sure you were dead,” I
added.

The guy named Bishop roared with laughter for
some strange reason.

“
Thank you again for … helping me
out of that predicament,” Amelie said, a strange smile touching her
lips.

That’s a blasé way to thank someone for
saving your life.

“
The statue was of a woman reaching
up to the sky?” the beautiful guy with the
firewood—Caden—asked.

I nodded. They were all silent then, exchanging
cryptic glances.

In a flash, Caden was crouching down beside me,
so unexpectedly that I flinched, startled. He leaned in close,
staring intently at my chest. My half–naked chest, I realized. I
instinctively crossed my arms over my torso, my hot face turning
every shade of humiliation from rose to eggplant, I was sure. With
everything else going on, I had forgotten about my clothing—or lack
thereof. He raised his eyes, his brow furrowed in confusion for a
moment. Then his jade eyes went wide with comprehension. “Your
necklace—I was looking at the charm,” he explained, raising his
hands in surrender.

“
I wasn’t!” I heard Bishop call from
behind him, followed by a loud smack—presumably Fiona’s response to
his lewdness.

“
Can I please see it? The pendant,”
Caden asked gently.

“
Um, yeah, sure … I guess.” I
reached up to unclasp the chain, then remembered Sofie’s request to
leave it on. “I can’t take it off. The clasp is broken and I don’t
want to lose it.” He nodded once. I grabbed the chain and pulled it
as far out from my half–exposed chest as possible, the glowing red
heart swinging back and forth thanks to my trembling
hand.

Caden slid in closer to me.

I swallowed, my chest tightening with anxiety
at his proximity, my heart beginning to hammer my chest again. I
noticed his eyes flit curiously to my face for a second and I
thought I detected the slight crook of a smile, but his face
smoothed before I could be sure.

His hand reached out to grasp the pendant. A
burst of red light flashed brightly. He recoiled. Leaning back to
squat on his heels, he placed his chin in his hands.

“
What is it?” Rachel asked crisply.
I glanced over to see her standing with arms crossed,
scowling.

Caden, a pensive expression on his face,
ignored her. “Where’d you get that?”

“
It was a gift.”

“
Recent?”

I nodded.

“
From whom?”

“
Sofie. Um, I mean … my
boss.”

Caden continued studying it in silence, his
eyes shifting back and forth. “You’ll have to thank Sofie. I think
it saved your life.”