Anathema (Causal Enchantment #1)(32)

The grandfather clock gonged. It was four in the afternoon.

“Leonardo, where is everyone?” I asked.

“They’ll be here soon,” he responded calmly, placing another log in the fireplace.

“Do they know what happened?”

Leonardo sighed. “Oh, yes … they know.”

“Are they angry?”

His eyebrows arched severely, but he said nothing. I’d take that as a yes.

“What about Max?” I suddenly remembered.

Leonardo glanced over, frowning.

“The gun shot … he was shot,” I elaborated.

He opened his mouth to speak, then paused to choose his words. “So you were aware of that.” He chuckled. “Don’t you worry about that brute.”

“How did he find me?”

“You’ll need to ask him,” Leonardo answered with a secretive smile.

My brow puckered as I tried to make sense of that. I couldn’t. “How did you find me?”

“Thank you for your services,” he said to the old woman as she finished wrapping my hand in gauze, ignoring my question.

In response, she shoved two tiny blue pills—presumably painkillers—into my mouth, then packed up her medical tools and disappeared without uttering a word.

“Hopefully those don’t upset your stomach,” Leonardo murmured with a hint of annoyance, handing me a glass of water.

I averted my eyes, feeling my face heat.

Leonardo eased himself to his knees beside me and surveyed the carpet and furniture from various angles, a clear spray bottle and rag in hand. He then began scouring the operating area.

“Let me do that,” I offered.

“That’s quite alright, Evangeline. I may be old, but I’m not completely useless.”

“No, I didn’t mean—” I stammered, “I just thought … it’s my blood. I should clean it up.”

“Well, that’s a remarkably courteous way of looking at the situation, though not surprising. You’re a remarkably courteous young woman, aren’t you?”

I felt myself blush. “And you’re not old.”

“Yes, I am,” he responded, chuckling. “Seventy–eight, to be exact.”

A few more minutes passed. “You’re very meticulous,” I observed.

He offered no response as he struggled to stand.

“Leonardo …” I began hesitantly.

“Call me Leo if you wish. Leonardo is such a mouthful.”

“Okay … Leo.” An inconsequential question suddenly popped into my head. “Hey, why do you have such an Italian name when you’re so … British?”

He chuckled. “My father was Italian and I grew up in England.”

“Oh.”

“Was that your burning question?”

I shook my head. “Should I be worried about anything?”

He sighed, gave me another strange smile, then walked over to throw the rag into the fireplace. I sensed that was the only reply I would get.

My eyes roamed aimlessly around the library, landing on the painting above the mantel. On the black pendant. “Why is Sofie’s sister’s picture on the wall?”

“Do you normally ask so many questions?”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, flushing.

Leo chuckled, glancing up at the portrait. “I believe she was a lady friend.”

“Lady friend … oh, you mean girlfriend?”

A rare smirk appeared on Leo’s face. “Yes, girlfriend, you young folk would call her.”

I smiled sheepishly. “Whose?”

He pursed his lips. “Can’t say, really.”

“So when did Viggo and Mortimer—” I stopped abruptly. ‘When did they switch teams?’ God, Evangeline. Be a little more tactful.

“When did Viggo and Mortimer what?” Leo probed.

I searched for the appropriate words. “Begin their relationship?”

He repeated my question to himself, confused. Then, suddenly, his face lit up and he erupted in raucous laughter. I widened my eyes, startled by the unexpected reaction.

“Viggo and Mortimer are no couple. I wouldn’t even call them friends. Partners in a common interest, one may say.”

I struggled to translate his words as he stoked the fire. What a cryptic old butler.

“Although I suppose I can see how someone on the outside may mistake their relationship,” he continued. “They live together, spend all their time together, and squabble like an old married couple.”

“Who squabbles like an old married couple?” a deep voice boomed.

I spun around to see Viggo and Mortimer strolling into the library. But where’s Max? I held my breath, waiting for the dogs to trot in behind them. They were never too far away. When none of them did, my stomach tightened another notch. What if the police had them? They’d destroy them for that massacre, even if they did save my life.

“Where’s Max?” I asked as the two men took up positions before me, arms crossed over their chests. Viggo’s face displayed the same placid expression as usual. In stark contrast, Mortimer’s was primed to throw daggers. I couldn’t help shrinking guiltily onto the couch, feeling less like an eighteen–year–old adult guest and more like a naughty six–year–old in need of a spanking.