Anathema (Causal Enchantment #1)(33)

“Busy,” Mortimer said.

“How’s the hand?” Viggo asked, eyeing my bandages, a strange grin on his face.

“A bit sore.”

An uncomfortable silence followed. “So … were those the protesters you were warning me about?” I asked awkwardly.

“You could say that,” Viggo replied.

Another long pause. “How much trouble are the dogs in?”

“None. It’s been taken care of,” Viggo answered as if referring to a minor bill needing payment.

“What does that mean?” I asked warily.

“It’s cleaned up. No evidence. No witnesses.”

A chill ran down my spine. “But, it was broad daylight in a major park. And there was so much blood.”

“So … ?” Viggo shrugged, unconcerned.

“So …” I faltered. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll be accessories to murder? The police would understand, wouldn’t they? Wouldn’t it be easier to report it?” I pictured a full–scale S.W.A.T. team crashing through the gate and pinning the lot of us—the gentle old butler included—to the ground.

“It would have been easier if you had obeyed us,” Mortimer answered through clenched teeth.

I cowered further into the couch.

“Mortimer, please,” Viggo said, patting the air in a soothing gesture. “I’m sure Evangeline has an excellent reason for defying us.” His raised eyebrow indicated he was expecting the explanation right then and there.

Did I tell them the truth? Did I accuse them? I had gained no proof through my adventure. Only more questions.

“Are you going to explain yourself, or sit there and fidget all afternoon?” Mortimer said, drumming his fingers loudly on a console table.

“Well … I didn’t think I was disobeying. It was just a suggestion, wasn’t it?” I finally answered in a meek voice.

Mortimer’s fist slammed down on the table, sending a lamp flying and me cowering.

The library door exploded open and four giant black bodies barreled through. The dogs. In seconds they were circling the couch where I sat, their hackles raised and growling a warning at Mortimer.

If the wall of fangs and froth intimidated him, Mortimer didn’t let on; he stared Max down, looking ready to lunge himself.

Sofie ran into the room.

“I thought you had him under control.” Viggo’s voice was calm but I sensed the underlying contempt.

“You try controlling that beast.” Her eyes fell on me. She took several quick steps forward then froze, glancing uncertainly at Viggo.

“It’s okay, Max,” I said, reaching up to stroke his side, trying to calm him. I examined his shoulder for the wound. Nothing. I must have mixed up the sides. I checked the other shoulder. Nothing. No wound, no bandage, no dried blood. I screwed my face up. Yes, he had been shot. I remembered. “I saw the bullet wound. His blood was all over my hand,” I said out loud.

No one answered. I looked up to see worried glances passing between them.

“Leo. Tell them you saw it too,” I pleaded, frowning my confusion.

Leo shrugged noncommittally, his eyes darting to Mortimer. He ducked his head and exited without a word.

“It happened, didn’t it?” I cried as tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision.

“Do you believe it happened?” Viggo asked calmly.

I looked at each of them in turn, at their blank faces. Maybe it hadn’t happened. Is this what a schizophrenic feels like, skating through delusions and reality so seamlessly that it’s impossible to discern which is which? I raised my hand to see the bandage. I felt the throbbing ache of my gash, a result of the attack. No, this had to be real.

“I warned you two,” Sofie said softly, her eyes never leaving me.

“Well, go ahead then, Sofie. Tell her what you’ve done. See if that doesn’t terrify her, you self–righteous witch,” Mortimer answered, smiling smugly at her.

What is he talking about?

In the next instant Sofie was standing where Mortimer had been and he was airborne, his tall, muscular body flying through the air and slamming into a wall twenty feet away. Glass rained down as the impact from his body shattered a mirror into countless pieces.

I gaped at Sofie, who—with her delicate arms and her lithe frame—had thrown Mortimer across the room right before my eyes. It was impossible. It couldn’t have happened.

Mortimer pushed to his feet and strolled back, brushing glass from his jacket sleeves. “My, you’ve gotten strong, Sofie. Who have you been snacking on?” He paused only a foot away from her, looming, their eyes communicating silently.

What did he say? My stomach dropped with the realization that this was beyond hallucination. This was a full–scale delusion. There was no conspiracy, no one was tricking me. I had lost my mind. “None of this is real. The bullet, Sofie’s lip, my hand, the bites …” I rambled, picturing straitjackets and padded cells with tiny peepholes and seemingly normal people having intellectual conversations with empty chairs. Maybe I could share Eddie’s alley with him. I was his goddess, after all.

“What bites?” Mortimer suddenly said, eyes narrowed.

“No bites. They’re not real. I thought they were real but they’re not,” I rambled absently, yanking the collar of my shirt down. “See? Nothing.”