Viggo spoke up before I had a chance. “Does ten million sound about right?” he offered, his face displaying nothing but complete seriousness.
I began choking violently, sure that I had swallowed my tongue as I sucked in a mouthful of air.
“Twenty. For each of them,” Sofie piped up. She had remained quiet up until now. “So that’s four of them and Evangeline. One hundred million, in an account that I will set up. Only Evangeline will have access to it. It needs to be done by this afternoon.”
A small strangled sound escaped my mouth.
Viggo raised an eyebrow at Sofie, but said nothing.
“That’s an awful lot of money. I’m not sure we can gather that much today.” Mortimer looked as if he were about to explode.
“Oh, please,” Sofie scoffed, rolling her eyes as she called his bluff. “That’s nothing more than a library fine for billionaires like you, but it will give Evangeline and her friends a healthy start.”
A hundred million. A hundred million dollars and twenty of that would be mine. I grasped the back of the headboard to steady myself before I keeled right off the side of the bed.
“Is this necessary?” I heard Viggo ask Sofie through gritted teeth.
“They need to be taken care of or they won’t help us when they get here,” Sofie said with the conviction of a priest asked if he believed in God.
“This is extortion,” Mortimer growled.
Viggo turned his gaze toward me. “Is this true, Evangeline? They won’t help us unless they have a hundred million dollars in an account?” There was that obscene number again.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, remembering that icy cold warning he had delivered previously. Don’t ever deceive me. “Yes. They said they wouldn’t help you.” That part was true, but it had nothing to do with the money. Hopefully my fear would mask any telltale emotions I may be emitting.
The screech of bending metal shot through the room as Mortimer’s white–knuckled grip distorted the bedpost. “How stupid are you? They’re lying to you! Whatever they’ve told you, whatever they’ve done, it’s all lies, you stupid little girl!”
“No, they’re not …” I stammered, his words dislodging a deeply buried fear that had been brewing but hidden inside me. I jumped off the bed and ran out of the room, Max on my heels.
It was my first time in the atrium since finding out that the grand marble statue encased an even grander secret. I stood there now, gawking at it, envisioning the dark–haired sleeping beauty entombed within. The atrium’s tranquil, inviting atmosphere had altered for me with this knowledge, replaced by a disquieting eeriness, as if unseen eyes were peering out at me.
“I hear her voice sometimes in the dead of night, whispering to me.”
I turned to see Mortimer standing beside me, his attention fixated on the marble face. I hadn’t heard him approach. A glimmer of what could be adoration revealed itself in his eyes before they glazed over with their typical ice. I wasn’t sure how to respond to Mortimer’s admission so I kept quiet, turning my attention back to the statue.
Max stood quietly on my other side, unconcerned by his previous master’s presence. That told me Mortimer wasn’t likely there to harm me. Not physically, anyway.
“Viggo had this atrium built as a replica of a villa he and Veronique visited. It was one of her favorite places. She adored the flowers and the balconies. So he decided it should be the first thing she sees when she’s released.”
“Makes sense,” I murmured. Mortimer was acting uncharacteristically nice.
“It’s not fair, what has happened to you, what we’ve asked of you. I realize that,” he continued, still not looking at me.
Is he trying to apologize?
“But sometimes, when someone means everything to you—when the only reason you’re alive is to see their face again—you’ll accept all consequences that go along with that chance. Even if it means someone else will suffer.”
Not a good apology, I concluded bitterly. “Well, as long as you’re comfortable with me being cursed.”
Mortimer smirked. “Maybe you’ll understand one day.”
I decided what I wanted to say. “How can you be so selfish? How can you look someone in the eye, knowing what you’re doing to them?”
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.
“So this family doesn’t know?” There was no way that sweet girl was frolicking into a house of vampires by choice.
Oh, they know.
I did a double–take, my eyes growing wide with shock, earning another deep grunt from Max. And my stellar intuition strikes out again, I thought bitterly. “They must be charming,” I muttered sarcastically. A real bunch of philanthropists. But, whatever. They weren’t my problem. I had enough problems.
I found a relatively hidden spot in the garden beside a giant broad–leafed plant. Not that I can hide from vampires and sorceresses, I mused. But, still … I sat down on the low concrete retaining wall to replay those three amazing words Caden had whispered to me before I disappeared. Had I heard them right? And were they real?
Everything was happening so quickly. Just days ago I was desperate to be in the same room as Caden and now he was telling me that he loved me. And I could lose him forever if I didn’t solve this curse. That awful feeling of dread flared up again. I wrapped my arms around my body, hugging myself tightly. My elbow rubbed against something bulky in my pocket. I reached in and pulled out the digital camera. Amelie must have snuck it in!
Butterflies stirred in my stomach. I hit the power button and began flipping through the files. There were hundreds. Amelie had filled the super–sized memory card. Their beautiful faces were there, smiling and excited over the prospect of being rescued from their hell. I scrolled to an image of Caden and my heart started racing. He was as gorgeous as ever. I ran my finger over his image.
“Is that Caden?” Sofie’s voice murmured in my ear.
I let out a small squeal and the camera fumbled from my hands. Luckily Sofie, with catlike reflexes, caught it in mid–air before it could smash against the cobblestones.
“Sorry.” She took a seat next to me. “Here. Delivery from Martha.” She produced a heaping plate of waffles under an even bigger mountain of whip cream, along with a bowl of fresh raspberries.
“Isn’t there a fairytale about a witch who fattens up children in order to eat them?” I mused dryly.
“These raspberries are especially juicy. Eat up, Gretel … I mean, Evangeline,” she said, followed by an exaggerated cackle. Despite my foul mood, I smirked.
While I ate my waffles—a bizarre meal to have in the late evening—Sofie flipped through the pictures, snorting and laughing frequently. A large part of me wanted to wrench the camera away to protect my friends’ identities, but I restrained myself. I was starving.
“They seem like a fun group.” I nodded. “Who’s this?” Sofie held the camera out to show me someone tethered and tucked into a corner. The image was dark but I could see the glow of hatred in the yellow eyes as if they were still watching me.
I gasped and started choking on a piece of waffle. When I had cleared my throat, I managed to croak, “Rachel.” Amelie must have snuck back and taken a picture at some point. “Erase it. Please.” I shuddered.
Sofie studied it for a moment longer. “Deleting.” She pressed a few buttons and the horrible image was gone.
I let go of the breath I had been holding but that dreadful feeling in the pit of my stomach was still there. I was still afraid. We should have burned her.