Anathema (Causal Enchantment #1)(27)

By the time I dressed—in a turtleneck sweater to hide the bite marks—I was convinced that I had to do some research. I couldn’t accuse them without concrete proof.

If I could just run across the street to the park, maybe I’d find it.

I pushed through the double doors to the atrium in time to witness Sofie deliver a vicious slap to Mortimer’s cheek.

“Evangeline! There you are,” Sofie said, turning to smile at me as if everything was fine.

What is going on between these two?

“Evangeline,” Mortimer greeted in a gruff voice before spinning on his heels and walking briskly toward the statue.

Viggo sat at the bistro table beside it, quietly reading a newspaper. He looked up. “There you are! Come, Evangeline.”

I practically ran down the path toward them, until I realized what I was doing and deliberately slowed to a saunter. What if they had nothing to do with this? Maybe it was all in my head. Is this what a paranoid schizophrenic feels like?

A mysterious expression flickered across Mortimer’s face. “Are you feeling alright?”

My stomach tightened. “Yes. Why?” I lied as calmly as I could.

“You look stiff. And your face is much paler than usual.” His eyes darted to Max, narrowing suspiciously.

“Oh, no, I’m fine. Just tired. Must have been from all the excitement yesterday,” I said, striving to make my voice light as possible. It came out sounding strangled.

“How did you sleep?” Viggo asked from behind his newspaper.

I paused for a moment, searching for a standard answer. “Like a baby.” Lie number two.

“No bizarre dreams again?” he asked, his attention still half–buried in his newspaper. He seemed indifferent today. Could he be feigning indifference?

“Nope.” My hands hurt. I glanced down to see them clenched into fists by my sides, so tight that my knuckles had turned white. I forced them to relax, my fingers unwinding painfully, as if crippled.

“Well, you’re probably well rested then,” Viggo said.

Can they tell I’m lying? I wondered. They both seemed more bored than culprits in an elaborate rouse.

Sofie’s stilettos clicked against the cobblestones behind me as she approached. “I have some business to tend to and I’ll be away for the afternoon. I’m sorry to leave you alone.”

Perfect. “That’s okay. I was thinking I could take Max for a walk to the park.”

Mortimer’s baritone laughter filled the atrium. “Maximus isn’t the kind of dog you take out for a walk,” he said, shaking his head in amusement.

“Besides,” Viggo added, “there’s supposed to be a protest outside, and those fanatics are known to get violent. You don’t want to get mixed up with them. You’re better off staying here. There’s plenty to do, darling—Leonardo can show you around. We have a lovely indoor pool and games room, as well as a sauna, a gym, a movie theater—whatever you like. And if we don’t have it, Leonardo will get it.”

I nodded. Drat. So much for my reconnaissance mission. How else can I gather some information?

The Internet.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a computer that I could use?” I asked politely. Please don’t ask why.

“Of course! Maximus, please show Evangeline the way to my study,” Viggo ordered, confident the giant dog understood him perfectly. He stood, folding his paper under his arm. “We have some things to tend to. We’ll see you later.” He nodded to Mortimer and they headed toward the house.

Mortimer stopped. “Sofie, are you coming? Now?”

She hesitated, her jaw tightening. “See you later, Evangeline.” She followed them, disappearing through the red doors.

I was left standing alone with four giant dogs, feeling less confident about my conspiracy theory.

Ten minutes later I was in Viggo’s brightly lit study, a second floor room overlooking the street through barred windows. I peered out. No picket signs.

Sitting down in the oversized leather office chair, I launched my investigation. First, I Googled Viggo and Mortimer. I didn’t have their last names but I figured that, given their vast fortune and high–profile location, there had to be some information on a “Viggo and Mortimer”—a successful business, a generous donation, anything.

I found nothing relevant—not one article about the affluent New York couple, no mention of Viggo through his ties to the play. It was as if they didn’t exist. That wasn’t possible. Everyone who was anyone existed in cyber world.

Strange.

I shifted my focus to Central Park—the perfect location for their game, being nearby and enormous. Searching the park’s website, I found listings for plenty of statues but nothing specific for the white woman. And no caves. It had to be in that park, though.

“Damn it!” I leaned back, my hands locked behind my head. I must be doing this wrong. I wasn’t getting anywhere, penned up in this palace.

Max leaned forward and bumped his gigantic wet nose against my arm. “Do you know what’s going on around here?” I asked him. He groaned in answer. I sighed, roughly scratching behind his ear. “Sorry, I don’t speak canine, Max.”

Chewing my bottom lip, I considered my options. Or lack thereof.

“How scary could those protesters really be?” I reached for the keyboard again, typing in “protesters” and “Manhattan” and “October.” The first search result showed an image of gray–haired seniors with walkers and signs demanding health care reform. “Oh, come on! Them? Seriously?” I exclaimed. It didn’t make any sense. I scanned the next five or six results and found nothing that fit the fanatical protester profile.