Anathema (Causal Enchantment #1)(6)
“I …” I stared down at the box. After a long moment, I opened it. A heart–shaped, black glass pendant the size of a quarter nestled inside. I lifted it gingerly, running a thumb over its smooth surface; it felt much like a highly polished stone. “You really didn’t need to—” I stopped to swallow the lump in my throat.
“Here, let me put it on you,” she offered, moving to sit next to me and lifting the silver chain to affix it around my neck. The pendant settled against my chest. “Shoot,” she murmured.
I glanced over my shoulder to see her frowning. “What?”
“Oh, something’s wrong with the clasp,” she replied. I could feel her examining it. “It won’t open without breaking. Do me a favor and leave it on for now.”
“Of course!” I answered, my hand cupping the smooth stone to admire it. I’d gladly wear it forever.
Sofie shifted back to her chair, watching me with a curious expression. “It looks nice,” she finally offered with a strained smile that never reached her eyes.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful,” I said, looking down at it. There was a precious quality to its simplicity. I wondered when she’d had the chance to get it, since we’d gone directly from Newt’s to the airport. I opened my mouth to ask, but Sofie had already turned her attention back to her magazine.
I turned to gaze out the small window beside me. We were descending through the clouds. I expected to see a billion lights below soon, welcoming us to our destination, escorting me into a new and unknown chapter in my life. But for now, the flashing lights on the plane’s wings were alone in the sky, beacons serving as both protection and guidance.
A hollow feeling blossomed in my chest as I realized that warning lights like those could have saved my mother’s life. It had been five years since the night she’d been run down by a car. An eternity for me. The police investigation had been short and inconclusive, suggesting that the driver hadn’t seen her. There were no tire marks to imply otherwise. Scared, drunk, oblivious—whatever the reason, the driver never stayed, leaving my mother’s shattered body on the pavement and me a broken–hearted orphan.
I closed my eyes and imagined forcing that terrible hollowness into a bottle and corking it tightly. That’s how I had learned to deal with the loss of my mother. It usually worked. This time, though, the empty void expanded, pushing against my rib cage, constricting my lungs, becoming a stabbing ache in my heart. Deep breaths, Evangeline. I inhaled and exhaled slowly, waiting for the pain to dissipate. It didn’t. It only intensified with each new breath, as each beat of my heart came harder and faster. Blood rushed to my head, the sound in my ears overpowering the roar of the jet engines.
What’s happening to me? My eyes darted wildly around the plane’s interior. The walls and floor wavered. I knew it had nothing to do with the pilot’s flying skills.
And then my heart stopped beating altogether. Just like that. I couldn’t even manage a gasp. My right hand flew to my chest while my left groped through the air for help, for Sofie. It only lasted for a second or two, then my heart thumped once, twice. Three times. And then it was beating again.
A cool hand rested against mine. “Feeling okay?” Sofie asked, leaning in to peer at my face, her brow furrowed with worry.
“Yes. Just felt a little funny for a sec. Must be my nerves,” I assured her, adding with a nervous grin, “or the wine.”
“Are you sure?”
I nodded, smiling reassuringly.
The copilot poked his head out from the cockpit to announce that we would be landing shortly. My body jerked in response as the seat reverted to a stiff, upright position. Exactly how it should be for a safe landing. Sofie’s gentle laughter filled the cabin.
Everything else was forgotten.
“We’re staying here,” Sofie announced as our sleek black town car turned into a driveway off Fifth Avenue. I looked out at a luxurious five–storey building illuminated theatrically by exterior lights shining upward, highlighting the grooves and ridges and other rich details of its architecture. The car idled quietly, waiting for a heavy iron garage door to glide open before pulling into the dimly lit tunnel beyond. It ended at a second garage door that didn’t open until the first was firmly shut.
“I guess we’ll be safe here,” I murmured.
Sofie offered only a small smile before turning her minty eyes forward, her jaw tense. She seemed nervous.
The second door opened and the car pulled forward. My eyes widened in amazement. “Wow. This is …”
We were in an enclosed courtyard filled with lush gardens bisected by winding walkways. Giant coach lanterns illuminated five storeys of balconies climbing the four walls—there had to be a hundred of them, each adorned with a wrought–iron windowbox overflowing with flowers in vibrant sunset hues.
A throat cleared. I turned to find the car door wide open and a white–haired man in a three–piece suit patiently waiting, his hand outstretched.
“Sorry!” I scurried across the seat to accept his hand. My feet landed on cobblestones as I slid out.
“Good evening, Miss Evangeline,” the man said in a rich British accent as he executed a formal bow. “I am Leonardo, the butler. Please inform me if you require anything at all during your stay.”
I nodded dumbly, awed as much by him as I was by my surroundings. It was warm in here—balmy, compared to the frigid temperature outside. I took a few steps forward and knelt to touch a velvety rose petal. “I didn’t think roses could bloom this late.”