Anathema (Causal Enchantment #1)(11)

Taking a deep, resigned breath, I dove under. Blonde, wavy hair billowed softly beneath me. She was there, motionless, at the bottom of the river.

I resurfaced, grief washing over me. I was too late.

Be more certain, my conscience whispered. I stalled. Swim to her now, it insisted. It was right. I couldn’t ignore it. So I took another deep breath and under I went, propelling myself down to the riverbed in seconds to face her. She had been a pretty girl of maybe sixteen, with a dainty button nose and delicate, high cheekbones. Her eyes were closed, tightened in a way that suggested she was alive and in pain, but her lips—large, plump, pink lips—were parted to allow water into her lungs.

I was sure she was dead, and yet … My hand slowly reached toward her shoulder. I jabbed her with my index finger.

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.