Anathema

by K. A. Tucker

  Nodding politely, I stepped inside. Sofie and Mortimer sat on opposite ends of a cocoa–hued tucked–leather couch, talking casually, as if they hadn’t just been screaming obscenities at each other a moment ago.

  The library was dim, but lamps of various sizes and heights scattered throughout the room gave it a cozy atmosphere. A giant ebony grand piano filled one corner while a full wall of mahogany bookshelves filled another, reaching all the way up to the soaring two–storey ceiling. In between was a fireplace with a large oil painting above it.

  “Hard to avoid, isn’t she?” Viggo asked, walking over to admire the piece.

  I followed him. It was a portrait of a young woman with plump auburn curls tumbling midway down her back and framing a heart–shaped face in which olive green eyes twinkled. Her smile for the painter was mysterious, and revealed sizeable dimples that reminded me of Sofie.

  “This was Sofie’s sister, Veronique.”

  Was Sofie’s sister. Past tense. I hazarded a glance at Sofie, only to see her staring at the portrait of her sister with admiration.

  “She was a real beauty, Veronique was,” Mortimer said, adding, “It’s funny, how different two sisters can be from each other.”

  Sofie’s lips pursed.

  “When was this painting done?” I asked, gazing at the woman’s vintage–looking sapphire–blue dress that nearly exposed her breasts. They were accentuated nicely with a black heart–shaped pendant identical to mine. Instinctively, I reached up to touch the one around my neck.

  “So what do you have planned for today, ladies?” Viggo asked abruptly.

  My eyes darted to Sofie; I was wondering the same thing. Her jaw tightened.

  Before anyone answered, Viggo spoke again. “Well, that doesn’t sound like fun! Why don’t you two go out and do some shopping?”

  “Unfortunately I have several errands I have to run,” Sofie answered briskly.

  Viggo ignored her, pulling a cherry red purse from a drawer and tossing it to me. “Just a gift from us. Prada. Not available in stores yet. I believe some women have clawed eyes out for one of those.”

  “Thanks. You’ve already given me too much,” I stammered, looking down at the bag. It was fat and heavy. Full of something. I glanced questioningly at Sofie, only to see her glaring at Viggo, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “Open it!” Viggo ordered, winking. I hesitated. “Go on!”

  I pulled the zipper. Like a Jack in a Box, out popped money—bundles of bills with multiple zeros on their faces. My legs buckled. I grabbed the back of a chair for support before I keeled over.

  “Are you feeling alright?” Viggo was by my side in seconds, his hand on my shoulder.

  “Yes,” I stammered, “it’s just … you’re much too generous.”

  “Oh, nonsense. We’re billionaires! We have wads of cash lying around this place,” Viggo boasted casually.

  “Yes. This is nothing—loose change, for us. Take it and have some fun. We insist,” Mortimer added, standing.

  “We’ll just steal more when we’re running low,” Viggo said, chuckling.

  Sofie stood up abruptly, her face and voice a mask of calm. “Evangeline, why don’t you go grab your coat. It’s chilly out.” She didn’t glance in my direction as she spoke, her pale eyes glued to Viggo’s face. Something was very wrong.

  “We can go another time, Sofie, if you have other things you need to do. It’s okay,” I said.

  An uncomfortably long pause ensued, Viggo and Sofie exchanging silent looks. Then she suddenly turned to me, a brilliant smile on her face. “Nothing is more important than taking you out shopping on your birthday. Now go, get ready!”

  I turned to Viggo and Mortimer. “I don’t know what to say but thank you—again.”

  “Anything for such a sweet girl, my darling,” Viggo said, winking a second time.

  Max—always by my side—took that as his cue. He was back on duty, leading me up to my room with my ridiculous stash of money. Was I greedy to accept it? But how could I say no? They had practically forced it on me. Well, I didn’t have to spend it. I would leave it in the nightstand when we left for Maine. A maid would eventually find it. An early Christmas bonus for her.

  œ

  Our black town car pulled out of the tunnel around two that afternoon with Leo at the wheel and Max whining by the gate, eliciting an exasperated look from Sofie.

  As we turned onto a busy street, Sofie pointed to a massive forest on its other side. “That’s Central Park, right there.”

  I’d been too overwhelmed to notice it the night we arrived. “Wow, it’s so big,” I murmured.

  “Maybe we’ll go one day this week. Drop us off at Saks, will you?” Sofie instructed Leo.

  “I can’t believe Viggo and Mortimer, with the money. They’re so nice,” I said.

  “Yes, it would appear that way, wouldn’t it?” Sofie said through clenched teeth. Then she sighed loudly and, as if that simple act released a mountain of tension, a broad smile splashed across her beautiful face and the fire went out. “Let’s go spend all their hard–earned money.”

  The car dropped us off and I followed her into Saks like a seven–year–old tailing her mother. “Fifth Avenue is the most expensive street in the world for shopping,” Sofie announced. And then she transformed into a human wrecking ball, weaving through the place without caution, casually yanking clothes off the racks and tossing them at me. “Try these on. And I want to see all of them,” she demanded, the look in her eyes brooking no argument. Not that I would argue. I’d gladly play her dress–up doll if that’s what she wanted.

  Two sales ladies descended upon us, eyes alight with the possibility of large commissions, but froze in their tracks with one venomous look from Sofie. I guessed she wasn’t in the mood for help.

  With my arms buried under clothes, we headed back to the fitting room, where I spent the next half an hour modeling for Sofie.

  “I always dreamed of doing this with a daughter,” Sofie sighed, helping me with the zipper of a black evening gown.

  “You still can. You’re young.”

  Sofie laughed sadly. “There was a time when I dearly longed for two little girls—my dolls.”

  It was my first glimpse of Sofie as something other than my confident and beautiful boss. By briefly sharing such a personal dream, she became human to me. I desperately needed to see more. “You still have plenty of time, Sofie.” She smirked but said nothing. “You just haven’t met the right guy yet,” I continued, defaulting to the universal explanation all females had firmly committed to memory by their early tween years.

  Sofie’s lips pursed. “I did. The perfect guy.” She finished with the zipper and turned me to get a look.

  “What happened?”

  “It didn’t … end well.” She glanced at my pendant before scooping up a pile of clothes and walking toward the cash register.

  I paid for my purchase with my birthday money, holding my breath as I counted out and laid thousand dollar bills on the counter. We stepped out of the store to find Leo waiting with the car.

  “Let’s drop these bags off in the car and—” Sofie stopped in mid–sentence, her eyes suddenly scanning the street, an apprehensive grimace marring her beautiful face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t respond, still searching.

  “Sofie?”

  “This way. Lots of shops to hit still!” she said abruptly, pounding the trunk door twice with her hand. It popped open in response. She tossed her bags in, then turned to stalk toward the next retail victim.

  Hurricane Sofie whipped through three more posh stores on a spiteful mission to exhaust every last cent of Viggo and Mortimer’s money. I noticed her glance out the window several times with that same cautious gleam in her eye but each time I asked, she shrugged it off.

  “I really don’t need any more clothes, Sofie,” I said as we stood in front of the fifth clothing store, my arms laden with bags. And I meant it. Between wh
at we’d just purchased and the full closet back at Viggo and Mortimer’s, I had enough clothing to last me a lifetime. Growing up, my mother never had enough money for more than a pair of Wranglers and tennis shoes at one time. My foster families were required to ensure I had an adequate selection of clean, hole–free clothing, but there was never enough money to indulge in a pair of designer jeans, let alone go hog wild. This was beyond excessive.

  “You’re right,” she said, her brow furrowing in thought. A devilish smile spread her lips. “Follow me.”

  I remained clueless of her intentions until I saw the Harry Winston sign. Jewelry. I groaned.

  Marching in, she headed straight for a counter and turned to me. “Pick something out, Evangeline,” she demanded.

  I swallowed, gazing down at the display cases full of sparkling jewels. “I don’t need—”

  “Okay, this one.” She pointed to a diamond bracelet. The clerk rushed to pull it out. “Wrist,” Sofie ordered.

  I obliged. The clerk slipped on the bracelet. I turned my arm slowly, watching the light reflect off the countless stones. It was stunning. “How much is it?” I asked. When the clerk told me I choked, my eyes bugging out of my head in shock. “Get it off! Please!”

  “We’ll buy it,” Sofie announced.

  “Sofie! I don’t need a bracelet! That could pay for college!” My stomach churned as the words left my mouth, the truth of it distressing. It would take me a lifetime to save that kind of money.

  She ignored me, wrenching my purse from my arm and pulling out a wad of money. The clerk behind the counter raised an eyebrow but remained quiet, likely calculating his commission. Sofie calmly counted out bills—a thick pile of them—with the ease of someone paying for her weekly groceries.

  “Thank you!” she said, smiling at the clerk. “Okay, we’re done.” She handed me the box holding the bracelet.

  I stared at her, flabbergasted, wondering what this wild woman had done with the reserved, graceful Sofie I had met only days ago.

  Surprise flashed in her minty eyes then, and she sighed. “I must seem a little erratic today,” she murmured, smiling sheepishly. “I’m sorry. It’s just … you deserve a hundred times more than anything Viggo and Mortimer could ever buy you.”

  I frowned. “I don’t understand—”

  She cut me off, grabbing hold of my arm. “Come on.” She led me out the door. I clutched the box with the bracelet to my chest with my free hand, visions of a mugger waiting to pounce and steal it playing through my head.

  “Where to now?” Sofie asked.

  “Why don’t we just window shop for a bit?” I suggested. You’ve won! You’ve punished Viggo and Mortimer for whatever they did to you.

  But Sofie hadn’t even heard me. She was busy scanning the pedestrians and cars along Fifth Avenue yet again. Wearing that look again.

  “What’s wrong, Sofie?”

  Silence. I watched quietly as her expression turned from suspicion to comprehension to fury.

  “Come,” she suddenly said, hooking onto my arm and tugging me forward. “I’m tired. It’s time to go home.” She practically threw me into the car. “Home. Now,” she ordered Leonardo. The wheels squealed as we cut into traffic and raced off, earning several angry blasts from horns.

  “Leonardo, please help Evangeline with her things,” Sofie called out over her shoulder, marching through the red doors at Viggo and Mortimer’s expansive abode. “Viggo!” I heard her yell.

  Max galloped over to stand by my side while I stared after Sofie, my head still spinning from the chaotic afternoon with her. I turned to see Leonardo struggling with countless shopping bags, not at all ruffled by Sofie’s dark mood. “I can do that.” I ran over, grabbing the bags out of his hands.

  The sound of glass breaking and Sofie’s shrill voice stopped me in my tracks. “Someone’s watching us!” she screamed. Silence followed, presumably while Viggo tried to calm her. It didn’t work. “Do you think this is another one of your games? Do you realize what’s at stake?”

  “Come, Miss Evangeline. You must be hungry.” Leonardo grabbed my arm. He pulled me into the building with more strength than I expected from the old man. Max followed, practically glued to my hip.

  “What’s going on, Leonardo?” I whispered, but the old man didn’t answer. Maybe he didn’t hear me. I opened my mouth to repeat the question but decided against it. I was probably better off not knowing.

  I sat quietly at the counter as Magda, the heavy Russian cook, placed a bowl of stew in front of me. “You eat now,” she commanded in broken English.

  “Thank you.”

  She nodded once, unsmiling, and marched back to the stove to stir the contents of a giant pot.

  Despite Sofie’s screams and my growing agitation, I was famished; I dove in with reckless abandon, shoveling a spoon filled with gravy and a chunk of meat into my mouth.

  “Oh, good! You’ve found food!”

  Startled, I dropped my fork. It clattered loudly against my plate.

  “So sorry to scare, darling,” Viggo apologized, placing a cool hand on my shoulder. “Did you have fun today?”

  I nodded, my mouth full.

  “We have a special surprise for you,” Viggo continued. “When you’re finished, go get dressed. There’s a dress hanging on the door of your closet. We leave at seven o’clock. Meet in the atrium.” With that, Viggo vanished, leaving me chewing my stew, and very curious.

  “What were you thinking, Viggo?” I mumbled, standing in front of a full–length mirror in my room, studying the clingy green satin dress. Pivoting slightly, I watched as the satin separated to reveal my upper thigh. As if that weren’t risqué enough, the dress was completely backless, exposing my pale white skin. A lot of pale white skin, all the more obvious next to the vibrant jade hue of the dress.

  That color … it brought me back to Caden’s piercing jade eyes. I closed my eyes then, trying to recall the intensity of them, the way my skin tingled under their gaze. How vulnerable I’d felt with his tall, muscular body towering over me. If only he were real.

  Silly girl. I gave my head a shake back to reality and took one last long look at myself. The plunging neckline left little to the imagination but at least it served as the ideal frame for my pendant. Grabbing a white fur stole, I headed out the door.

  The trip down the long hall gave me ample opportunity to improve my walking skills in the matching jade three–inch heels. Realizing that walking in these things was a hundred times harder than it looked—and it looked impossible—I settled on trying not to look like a gorilla on stilts as I made my way to the atrium.

  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 pul
ling 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!