But instead, the ferocious brawl died down to an eerie silence and I heard Amelie’s voice murmuring in the distance. Still afraid to breathe, I lifted my head to peek out around the corner—in time to see a white object sail through the air and land in the fire.
Jethro’s head.
Those alarming white eyes stared intently at me from the flames as if still alive. A body followed, quivering violently.
If anyone else remained in the cave, I didn’t notice. Because, for the second time in one night, everything went dark.
I woke up as my head slammed into something hard. Cringing, I opened my eyes to see the legs of a white chaise and a shaggy cream rug beside a fireplace. I recognized that chaise, that fireplace. I had fallen out of bed in the guest room at Viggo and Mortimer’s.
“Oh, thank God!” I exclaimed, crawling back into bed and dropping onto the plush pillows. I winced in pain. Reaching up, I found a bump already forming on the side of my head. That was quick. But even the throbbing injury couldn’t outweigh my relief. It was all just a dream. A horribly bad dream.
Something wet nuzzled against my ear. I turned toward it and saw Max’s enormous black nose. I grinned, scratching his chin. He proceeded to sniff me, head to toe. “Okay, enough Max!” I giggled when he licked my feet.
Today was my birthday and I was in paradise. This, I knew, was real. A huge smile stretched across my face.
The clock on the nightstand read ten–thirty. I slept in! I bolted out of bed and ran for the shower. After all, Sofie had brought me to New York to work off my ten thousand dollar debt to her and here I was, lazing around.
As I stood in the giant tiled shower stall, allowing the numerous jets to drench my body in warmth, my thoughts wandered back to my dream. Oddly enough, I could recall every moment with complete clarity—the forest … the laughter … rescuing Amelie … Caden … Jethro’s head in the fire. I shuddered with that last memory, swiftly replacing it with much more pleasant thoughts—those few brief moments of closeness with Caden. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I immediately felt ridiculous. It’s not like he exists, you moron. It wouldn’t matter if he did. He had Rachel. Beautiful, seductive, confident Rachel. I groaned, leaning my forehead against the iridescent cream tile. Even my subconscious is against me.
A short time later I entered the kitchen to find Sofie sitting gracefully on a stool in the kitchen, magazine in hand. As usual, she looked impeccable in a pair of skinny blue jeans and a patterned black and white shirt. In my new stylish gray jeans and loose–fitting pink sweater, I didn’t feel completely inadequate next to her. Only marginally.
“I’m so sorry!” I blurted. “I never sleep in—it must have been that comfy bed.”
Sofie looked up, relief flashing across her face. “That’s quite alright.” Her eyes darted to Max.
“He’s way smarter than I gave him credit for.”
Max glared at me in response, as if understanding.
“Good dog,” I murmured, scratching his chin.
Seemingly mollified, he ambled over to a bearskin rug by the stone hearth and hunkered down with his brothers.
“She’s awake! Finally,” Mortimer grumbled as he entered the kitchen dressed in a charcoal suit, a folded newspaper under one arm. If he’d seemed a little annoyed yesterday, today he was downright irritable. Maybe he’s not a morning person.
I dropped my head in shame and was about to apologize again when Viggo walked in, instantly lifting the dark cloud that Mortimer had brought. “Happy birthday! What are you craving this morning, my darling—waffles; pancakes; steak and eggs? It’s been an eternity since I’ve cooked for someone,” Viggo offered, snatching up a cast iron pan and flipping it effortlessly around in the air.
I glanced at Mortimer, wondering if he wasn’t “someone.”
“Oh, he doesn’t like my cooking. Says it’s too bland,” Viggo explained, giving Mortimer a secretive wink. Mortimer rolled his eyes with annoyance.
“Coffee would be great, but only if you have a pot made already,” I said.
“But of course, mademoiselle! Anything for you. Leonardo?” Viggo snapped his fingers. The gentle old man suddenly appeared, shuffling over to an elaborate machine on the counter.
“And I’ll have whatever you’re having,” I added. “No needed to go to any extra trouble.”
“Oh, we’ve already eaten,” Viggo said, flashing a pearly white smile. “Speaking of which,” he yanked the newspaper out of Mortimer’s grasp, “Sofie, did you see that article on the quadruple homicide in this morning’s newspaper? Japanese mob. They likely deserved it; however … a little excessive, wouldn’t you agree?” He smiled knowingly at her. He must be a lawyer. Bizarre segue, though. Why would he—
“Besides,” Mortimer interjected, throwing his partner a look of unimpressed shock, “Viggo wouldn’t be cooking. The pan is for theatrical effect. He’s a complete buffoon in the kitchen. He almost burnt it down once and has since been banished.”
“Sadly, that is true,” Viggo admitted, pouting.
I giggled, looking around the state–of–the–art kitchen. Surely it had to be any chef’s dream, with its industrial–sized stainless steel appliances and stone countertops.
“Here you are, dear,” Leonardo said, gently placing a mug of hot coffee in front of me. “And while you’re deciding on breakfast—” His other hand magically produced a double–helping slice of chocolate cake, slathered with chocolate icing and colorful sprinkles.
Nostalgia slapped me across the face, pulling me back to my childhood. My mother used to serve me the same breakfast on my birthdays, sprinkles and all. It had been one of many traditions that died with her.
Until now.
“I guessed at the flavor. And the sprinkles,” Leonardo quickly admitted. “That’s what you kids are eating these days, right?”
I nodded, unable to speak.
“Lucky guess,” Mortimer said, fixing Sofie with an unreadable stare.
Sofie sipped her tea, the corners of her mouth turned up in a devious smile.
“How are you feeling, Evangeline? Did you sleep well?” Viggo asked.
I faltered, instinctively touching the sizeable bump near my temple. “Yes I did. Thanks.”
“That wasn’t a convincing response. We can provide you with a different room or bed if you’d like,” Viggo offered, concerned.
“Oh no, the room and the bed are perfect! It’s … well, it’s silly. I had a dream. More a nightmare.”
Mortimer stiffened in his seat. “What about?” His gruff voice was suddenly two octaves higher than usual.
“It was nothing, really. I was in the woods and there was a drowning. An attempted drowning.”
“Details, please. I’m somewhat of a dream interpreter,” Viggo said. He leaned against the counter, resting his strong, square jaw in the palm of his hand. “From the beginning—don’t leave anything out. You never know what’s important.”
“Alright, I guess,” I agreed, suddenly self–conscious as the three of them stared intently at me. Even Max perked his ears. I began describing the forest and the river and quickly found myself pulled back into the stark reality of the night. They interrupted frequently with questions.
“You saw that same statue in your dream?” Sofie asked.
I nodded.
“And this … Jethro—he could hear your heartbeat?” she continued.
“Only when it was pounding, I think.”
“That silver rope—that sounds horrendous!” Viggo said when I described the flimsy cord that had somehow effectively bound Amelie.
“Describe these people again,” Mortimer instructed, his expression grim.
I described the group a second time, careful not to emphasize my pathetic infatuation with Caden, though I’d have been curious to hear Viggo’s interpretation of that part.
“And you’re sure no one … hurt you in any way?” Mortimer probed.
I shook my head, and remembered the pendant. “Caden said this necklace saved my life somehow. I don’t know … it was bizarre.”
Viggo eyed the pendant. “Did it do anything strange?”
“Yes! It shimmered in a reddish–orange color. Like a sunset. And it was hot. Does that mean anything?”
“It means you had quite the dream. And you remember it with such clarity, you’d think it was real,” Mortimer answered, smirking. “How is that bump?” He reached over, his hand roughly stroking the side of my head. I flinched. “Ah—that’s a nasty welt. But you should be all right. We’ll get you a helmet to sleep in.”
He turned away. “Sofie, you and I have some business to attend to. Max, why don’t you take Evangeline out to the atrium?” Mortimer’s voice had turned unnaturally light and airy, as if he were hiding something.
“Of course, Mortimer,” Sofie said, responding with a sweet smile. Their eyes exchanged a silent message.
5. Veronique
“Do you know what Sofie needs me to do, Max?” I asked the giant beast as we strolled along a path in the atrium, my arm hanging over his back. “No, of course you don’t. I don’t either, but so far, this trip has been one giant fairy tale.” I stooped to pick a sprig of lavender and inhaled deeply, relishing its comforting fragrance. “It’s got to end sometime soon, I suppose. I’m going to miss you, though, Max.” I played with one of his cropped ears. He groaned in response, giving me a quick lick on the cheek. Such a deceiving appearance for a big suck.
We stopped in front of the white woman. I gazed up at the statue’s face, her expression a mixture of tranquility and anticipation. “Exactly how I feel right now,” I mumbled to her, sighing.
Evangeline, someone whispered faintly.
I turned to look for the source. I couldn’t see anyone. “Did you hear that?” I asked Max, frowning. He began tapping his front paws against the stone, clearly excited. “What are you so happy about?” I asked, confusion deepening my frown.
Evangeline.
“There!” My head whipped around, eyes searching. “Did you hear—”
A loud crash preceded angry shouts.
“One hundred and twenty years, you unreliable witch! You seem to forget. How much longer?” Mortimer’s voice boomed.
“I’ve told you what I know!” Sofie shrieked in response.
Silence.
And then I heard doors creak open to my left. “Evangeline? Could you be a doll and come here, please, for a moment?” Viggo’s voice called.
“Coming!” I scurried toward his voice, playing the short exchange between Mortimer and Sofie over in my head. I wonder what that was about? And why would he call her a witch? He was brusque, but he seemed too sophisticated to resort to petty name–calling.
I found Viggo holding open a French door, smiling. “Come, join us in the library.”
Nodding politely, I stepped inside. Sofie and Mortimer sat on opposite ends of a cocoa–hued tucked–leather couch, talking casually, as if they hadn’t just been screaming obscenities at each other a moment ago.
The library was dim, but lamps of various sizes and heights scattered throughout the room gave it a cozy atmosphere. A giant ebony grand piano filled one corner while a full wall of mahogany bookshelves filled another, reaching all the way up to the soaring two–storey ceiling. In between was a fireplace with a large oil painting above it.
“Hard to avoid, isn’t she?” Viggo asked, walking over to admire the piece.
I followed him. It was a portrait of a young woman with plump auburn curls tumbling midway down her back and framing a heart–shaped face in which olive green eyes twinkled. Her smile for the painter was mysterious, and revealed sizeable dimples that reminded me of Sofie.
“This was Sofie’s sister, Veronique.”
Was Sofie’s sister. Past tense. I hazarded a glance at Sofie, only to see her staring at the portrait of her sister with admiration.
“She was a real beauty, Veronique was,” Mortimer said, adding, “It’s funny, how different two sisters can be from each other.”
Sofie’s lips pursed.
“When was this painting done?” I asked, gazing at the woman’s vintage–looking sapphire–blue dress that nearly exposed her br**sts. They were accentuated nicely with a black heart–shaped pendant identical to mine. Instinctively, I reached up to touch the one around my neck.
“So what do you have planned for today, ladies?” Viggo asked abruptly.
My eyes darted to Sofie; I was wondering the same thing. Her jaw tightened.
Before anyone answered, Viggo spoke again. “Well, that doesn’t sound like fun! Why don’t you two go out and do some shopping?”
“Unfortunately I have several errands I have to run,” Sofie answered briskly.