Anathema (Causal Enchantment #1)(29)

Magda was chopping up vegetables when I entered. “Hi, Magda,” I called gaily, trying not to arouse any suspicions. She glanced up to acknowledge me with a polite nod, then returned her focus to her carrots. “I’m just going to grab a snack,” I said, heading casually toward the commercial–sized fridge. She nodded again without looking up, likely having no idea what I had said. That was fine with me.

I pulled open one of the doors. Bingo! Meat. And it wasn’t hard to find, considering one entire side of the fridge was stocked with it. Why did they need so much? Doesn’t matter, I decided, reaching in to grab a zip lock bag before peeking around the door. Magda was now tending a simmering pot, her back to me. I closed the fridge door softly and hurried out before she could turn around. I’d have a hard time explaining what I was doing with eight raw steaks in any language.

When I returned to the atrium, Max and the others were still standing in the same positions as before, like statues. Thankfully Leonardo wasn’t back yet. This has to work.

“Look what I found for you!” I exclaimed, holding up the bag of bloody meat. I didn’t think they’d mind that it was raw. Jake had never been too picky.

This time my method of distraction worked. Unfortunately, a little too well. All four dogs erupted in a chorus of vicious snarls and deep growls, revealing razor–sharp fangs—much more pronounced than I remembered. Muscles rippled with tension as they began stomping and pawing at the ground with their hooked claws, clearly torn between holding their positions and springing.

The bag dropped from my hand, spilling blood onto the cobblestones as I scrambled back, terrified. Brilliant idea, Evangeline. Forget protesters. Leonardo’s going to come back to find your mangled body in the atrium. And then he’s going to have a heart attack and die.

I locked eyes with Max, pleading silently with him. It seemed to work, as he settled down, his fierce snarls turning to snorts.

The other three were still focused on the raw meat and frothing at the mouth. Max let out a ferocious growl and, turning, snapped at the dog to his left, his teeth tearing a chunk out of the dog’s ear. With a yelp, the three dogs stiffened immediately, resuming their guard. The meat was instantly forgotten.

I stepped forward cautiously, deciding my last–ditch effort would be a show of confidence. “Okay, Max, you’re either with me or against me. You choose!” I commanded with as much conviction as I could muster, throwing in, “I’ll never forget this moment,” for good measure.

Those perceptive yellow eyes gazed into mine as if judging the truth of my words. We remained frozen like that—eyes in a deadlock—for so long that I was ready to give up. Then Max suddenly covered my cheek with a lick. He stepped to one side, allowing a small space for me to fit through.

I gasped. “Thank you!” Planting a quick kiss on his snout, I darted past, ready to throw the door open.

Until I saw the keypad.

“Damn it!” I cried, pounding once on the door. Tears welled in my eyes as defeat swept over me. There was no way out. I was in Alcatraz.

Six … two … one … a distant deep voice whispered. I recognized the voice from the other day. Only this time it was speaking in numbers. Seven numbers, repeating over and over.

On impulse, I punched the numbers into the keypad. My eyes widened in shock when I heard the lock release. How?

It didn’t matter right now. I was free.

8. Reconnaissance

I studied the throngs of people as I crossed Fifth Avenue. There wasn’t a single person who could ever be mistaken for a protester. That seemed to favor my conspiracy theory.

I passed through one of the park gates and stopped to take in the gardens and paths of the famous landmark, exhaling heavily. Where do I begin? The aroma of a hot dog cart wafted my way. My stomach growled. Start with lunch.

Foot long and Coke in hand, I searched out a park bench and gingerly sat down, recalling the sharp metal seats of the benches around the fire the night before. This bench’s wooden seat was intact, definitely not one of their props. I scanned the other benches in the area to confirm that all of their seats were also wooden. I’m like Nancy Drew, I thought proudly as I took a big bite of my hot dog. A gob of mustard dripped onto my lap. A slovenly version.

I couldn’t help but feel discouraged, sitting there. It didn’t feel like the same forest. I didn’t remember autumn foliage. But it had been dark and, if they were drugging me, I couldn’t trust my instincts, I rationalized. Still, something didn’t add up.

I scrutinized the people hurrying along the various paths and sidewalks around me, hoping to catch a bubbly blonde skipping by. Or better yet, Caden. My heart began to race at the thought.

It was sunny but the gusting wind carried a bite, enough to warrant a thick jacket and mitts. My hands—ungloved while I handled my messy lunch—were turning red.

“So many people about, all in a rush, aren’t there?” a petite, elderly woman in a blue wool peacoat remarked as she slowly eased herself down beside me on the bench, a bag of dried bread in her frail, wrinkled hands.

I smiled politely at her. “People prefer the warm weather.”

“And you? What are you doing out on a day like this?” she asked, turning to face me as she leisurely tossed a few pieces of bread out to some eagerly waiting pigeons. She had to be in her late eighties, judging by her heavily creased face and her stark white, curly bob. Oddly though, her eyes were not clouded and bland with age but an intense hazel, speckled with dark green flecks.