Anathema (Causal Enchantment #1)(83)

He turned to gaze at me with that blank, emotionless stare of his. “You don’t. You don’t let yourself see them. You don’t let yourself feel anything for them. You look right through them. Understand?” He turned away again, his face stone.

Is that what he’s doing now? Looking through me? It suddenly dawned on me that Mortimer may have a thick, impenetrable mask of his own, that he was hiding behind an illusion as Viggo had before. Only for Mortimer, it was a mask of necessary disconnect. There was a different Mortimer underneath it. Who he was—that was a mystery. But it was likely the man Veronique had fallen madly in love with.

“No. I don’t understand,” I replied. “But maybe it’s because I’m human. We can’t be so single–minded and callous.”

Mortimer barked laughter. “You’d be surprised how single–minded and callous a human can be. Nine hundred years is an awfully long time to witness human nature, Evangeline. I’ve seen some things that would haunt your dreams every night for decades.” He paused. “It’s also a long time to witness what vampires are capable of—the deceit, the treachery, the games. Remember when you believed we were drugging you and dropping you in Central Park to amuse ourselves?” he asked.

I nodded, smiling wistfully. It felt like years ago. How much easier life might be if that had been true.

“If there was need to do that, we would have. Just as, if there was a need to pretend to love someone, any vampire would.”

There he was, implying what I dreaded: that everything was staged. That the caresses, the kisses, the whispers of “I love you” were all an act to acquire my complete trust.

“Your money will be in an account by the end of today.” With that, he was off, leaving me in a quiet atrium, wallowing in misery.

He couldn’t be right. But if he was … that was my breaking point. I’d welcome death with open arms.

22. The Beards

I was still standing in front of the statue, considering the awful possibility that Caden was playing me like the stupid, gullible human girl that I was, when the garage door slowly creaked open and a jet black Bentley pulled in.

“Who’s that?” I asked Max.

The Foreros, he answered, rolling his Rs dramatically to emphasize their Spanish ethnicity.

I frowned, trying in vain to recall mention of them. “And who are they?” I asked as a middle–aged man and woman stepped out of the car, followed by a younger male and female version of them. They looked about my age. All four had exotic, dark features—black hair and olive complexions.

My eyes widened.” They’re human!”

Yes. Though some would call them “dinner.”

“So now you’re a comic,” I muttered, scowling. I heard that strange snorting that was Max’s laughter.

The older man nodded once at Leo, then continued into the building as if he owned it, an air of confidence swirling around him. The others followed closely behind him, the young male and female peering around the atrium in awe, as if it was their first time here. The girl suddenly stumbled. I shuddered as I watched her fall facedown to the cobblestones in the exact place where Ursula had met her demise, like it was some sort of reenactment.

“Klutz,” the guy—presumably her brother—muttered, though he stopped to wait for her. When she didn’t get up, he quickly crouched and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Valentina?” She didn’t respond. “Valentina?”

I was already running toward them. By the time I reached her, the girl was conscious and sitting up on her knees, her big, brown, doe–like eyes darting around, curiously surveying the space as if disoriented.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yes … I think so. I just got lightheaded for a moment. Must have been the flight.” She had a high–pitched, childlike voice. Glancing up at me, she smiled shyly. With her brother’s help, she got to her feet, brushing off her pant legs.

“Learn how to walk,” the guy grumbled, stalking off.

She flushed. Turning to me, she said, “I’m Valentina.” She offered me a flimsy hand.

I took it. “Evangeline. And don’t worry. That was nothing. I’m the queen of pass–out lately. It’s pretty embarrassing, actually.”

She giggled sweetly. “Nice to meet you.”

“Valentina!” a woman’s thick Spanish voice called from inside.

“Coming, Mama!” She nodded once at me, then tore down the path and sprinted up the stairs, disappearing within seconds.

I walked back toward where Max stood watching two servants empty the trunk of several suitcases. “Do they live here?” I whispered to Max.

On and off.

“Seriously? Who are they?”

Carlos, Camila, Julian, and Valentina Forero. Viggo and Mortimer’s ‘beard’ family, Max replied. I could tell he found the entire matter amusing.

“What do you mean, ‘beard’—like a disguise?”

Yes; sometimes they find it useful to employ legitimate families, to hide assets and such.

My face screwed up in shock. “Do these people know who they’re living with? Who they’re covering for?”

Sometimes they compel the families, but it’s less work when they can find one that only needs promises of an easy, lavish lifestyle in order to comply.