Anathema (Causal Enchantment #1)(12)

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.