Anathema

  Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. This was my first real play in a real theater with real actors. I fanned through the pages of the program, curious who the actors were, expecting not to recognize any names. And I didn’t, except for one. It jumped out immediately—the producer.

  Viggo. No last name. Just Viggo.

  “Is this … you?” I asked, pointing out the name.

  He chuckled. “I like to dabble in the arts. This theme holds a special place in my … heart.”

  “What exactly does ‘producer’ mean?”

  “It means he told somebody what he wanted and threw obscene amounts of money at them to do it,” Sofie replied cynically. “He’s good at that.”

  Viggo chuckled but I thought I sensed contempt. “I built this theater and I wrote the play.”

  My eyes widened in amazement. He’s a lawyer and a playwright!

  The curtain parted, and the heart–wrenching story of Romeo and Juliet, the star–crossed lovers, doomed from the beginning by their opposing family ties, began as I remembered. The actors sobbed and moaned dramatically. The orchestra played soft music with perfectly balanced undertones of melancholy and longing. It was exactly as I had always pictured the story in my head. Right up until Juliet, traveling along a wooded trail alone at night for some unknown reason, was dragged out of her coach and bitten in the neck by a male attacker.

  “I don’t remember this part,” I whispered, my brow furrowing.

  Both Viggo and Sofie burst out laughing, earning a hush from the woman in the box next to us. “Sorry,” Sofie offered politely. She tapped the program where it said “an adaptation.”

  “Oh … that’s what that meant,” I mumbled.

  They laughed again, receiving another warning in the form of a sharp hiss from the same woman. Sofie turned to regard her. I couldn’t see her face but whatever look she gave must have had the desired effect, because the woman shrank into her seat, practically disappearing from view for the rest of the show. I was beginning to see another side to Sofie’s reserved, charming demeanor.

  From there, the play took on a much darker, more seductive tone. Juliet, now a vampire, was torn between her absolute love for Romeo and her newfound urge to kill him whenever he was near. Romeo longed to join her in the world of the undead but because of a curse was unable. The story was full of scheming, supernatural strength and mind–bending tricks and, by the end of the play, their feuding families were the least of their problems. The story finished with Juliet accidently killing Romeo and then jumping into a fire to end her eternal misery.

  “So, how did you like it?” Viggo asked, stretching out in the car on our way home.

  “Amazing. Disturbing. Heartbreaking. An interesting ‘adaptation.’ Bravo, Viggo!” I ended with a scholarly clap, giggling. “How did you come up with the idea?”

  “Oh, I have a deep fascination with vampires. They’re such misunderstood creatures, don’t you agree?” he said, his voice somber.

  I paused. “Well, I doubt they’d be like that … you know, beautiful and emotional. Aren’t they supposed to be evil, blood–crazy creatures with stained, dirty nails and vile breath? You know—bats and coffins?”

  “What a terrible misconception,” Viggo said, shaking his head furiously, his brow furrowed. “In my opinion,” he added.

  “But they kill people; we’re like giant drinking boxes.”

  “Well, they need to survive! I don’t suppose pigs and cows look too fondly at humans. It’s the same thing! A little earlier in the food preparation process perhaps,” Viggo rationalized.

  “Hmm.” He had a point, I guess.

  “And imagine what it would be like to have heightened senses and super–human strength.”

  “That would be pretty cool,” I agreed. “What do you think, Sofie?”

  She hadn’t joined in the conversation, instead gazing listlessly out at the streetlights. “It would be lonely,” she answered now, her voice flat. “Everyone around you dies and you live forever.”

  “Well, that’s why you’d turn those you loved, so you could be with them. Right?” I said.

  Sofie turned to give me a tight–lipped smile. “It sounds so simple, doesn’t it?”

  “Unless you can’t turn them for some reason,” Viggo added, sadness dragging at his features. “Because of a curse.”

  “Right … and then all the super powers wouldn’t change the reality that you’re the loneliest creature in the world,” I whispered. “That would be awful.”

  Viggo’s mouth curved up in a half–smile and he patted my hand affectionately. “Yes, it would. No one deserves to live like that, don’t you agree? So lonely?”

  I nodded, thinking about my own solitary existence. Am I that obvious?

  Sofie turned back to gaze out her side window. The rest of the car ride was silent.

  It was close to midnight by the time I staggered to my room, Max on my heels. I sluggishly kicked off my heels and flopped onto the bed, exhausted from a day of decadence. Even with all the fighting between Sofie and her friends, I could easily get used to living my days in their world.

  I briefly considered pulling my weary body up to undress and get ready for bed, but I drifted off to asleep before I could act on it, faintly aware of a burning heat against the skin of my chest.

  6. Déjà Vu

  This feels too familiar.

  The same statue stood beside me. The same trees towered over me. The same twilight challenged my eyes. The only thing worse than last night’s dream would be last night’s dream repeating itself.

  I looked down to see my jade green evening gown. That was different, at least. My pendant had come alive again, burning hot and shining a brilliant orange–red.

  “We’ve been waiting for you,” a low voice called from the darkness.

  My body went rigid. My eyes scanned the trees for the speaker. I sagged in relief as a woman with an angelic face and springy curls stepped out from the shadows. Amelie. This was a different dream.

  “We’re alone,” Amelie confirmed when she noticed my eyes checking the trees for the others. “Sorry about last time … we didn’t have much choice. Though I can’t say I didn’t enjoy part of it.” She grinned sheepishly. “You are … an apparition of sorts. I’ll explain later, but we need to get away from here.” She stepped forward, then hesitated. “Sorry about this.”

  I frowned. “About what?”

  I regained consciousness as my bare feet hit stone. Full darkness had descended and I couldn’t see a thing. “Amelie?” I whispered.

  “Sorry,” Amelie said again.

  “What did you do to me?”

  “Nothing, really. It was just easier if I didn’t have to explain things yet. Besides, it would have taken all night at your pace,” Amelie said, evading my question. “Plus you probably would have tripped and knocked yourself out on a tree root again.”

  “I’m not that slow,” I muttered, reaching up to touch the bump on my head from the previous night. I had excelled at track in high school. The perfect loner’s sport.

  Amelie laughed. “You are, next to me. Besides, I’d like to see you run through the woods and up a mountain in that,” her eyes appraised my dress.

  I pursed my lips, conceding to her logic.

  “Come on, let’s build you a fire. You’re shivering.” She grabbed my hand and began leading me through the darkness.

  “How can you see anything?” I asked incredulously.

  “I have great eyesight,” she answered simply. “Stay right there.”

  “Where am I gonna go?” I mumbled, wrapping my arms around my chest.

  I heard a harsh scraping sound, like stone striking metal, then a flame suddenly appeared. I watched as it floated through the darkness, sparking other flames as it moved until dozens of little fires lit the space around me.

  The torchlight revealed we were in another cave, this one much larger than the one last night—its ceiling invisible from where I stood. It was empty except for a
few cast iron park benches arranged around a circle of stones. A perfectly–formed teepee of wood, dried grass, and miscellaneous shreddings was piled within. A firepit. A new one, given the lack of ash. On the other side of the cave, three tunnel openings led into oblivion.

  “You’ll be safe here for the time being,” Amelie offered, walking up to me with a torch in her hand, as I surveyed the place.

  “Cozy.” I hugged myself tightly.

  “Right. A fire.” Amelie strolled over to hold her torch to the teepee. In seconds a roaring fire was blazing. “You’ll need to come closer to feel the heat,” she said, giggling cheerily.

  I walked over to sit on one of the benches. A worn piece of metal lay where the wooden slats of a normal park bench seat had rotted away. I awkwardly sat down, trying to avoid the sharp corners on the metal, afraid of tearing my dress or cutting myself.

  Amelie slid in easily beside me, seemingly unconcerned about injury. “I love your dress.” She reached out and lightly touched the silky material with her fingertips.

  “Thanks. I was wearing this tonight when I fell asleep,” I responded. And then it hit me and I began laughing.

  “Why is that funny?” Amelie asked, confused.

  “Because I’m worried about tearing my dress on this bench!”

  She frowned. “As you should be—it’s a pretty dress.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I’m dreaming. This cave, this fire, you—it’s fake. I know that, and yet here I am, worried about my dress!”

  “You think you’re dreaming,” Amelie said slowly.

  “No. I know I’m dreaming. Last night I went to sleep, dreamed about you guys, then woke up in my bed—right after you threw that man’s headless body into the fire.” I shuddered.

  “Last night … ?” Amelie repeated, looking perplexed. “Maybe you did wake up in your own bed but, here, you disappeared into thin air. And it wasn’t last night. You’ve been gone for over a month.” Her tone and her expression were so convincing that it was a struggle not to believe her.

  A puff of wind cooled my shoulder. I turned to see Bishop and Fiona sitting on the next bench; the unexpected and freakishly quiet entry made me jump.

  “Finally!” Bishop said by way of greeting, his charcoal eyes twinkling. “You took your time coming back.”

  “Where are they?” Amelie asked them quietly.

  Bishop shrugged, a serious look flickering over his face. “Hopefully Rachel will prove useful.”

  All three turned to me now, dismissing their secret concern.

  “So, how does it work?” Bishop asked eagerly.

  I frowned.

  “Evangeline was just telling me how she thinks this is all a dream and we are figments of her imagination,” Amelie said, her eyebrows raised.

  Bishop roared with laughter. “You think you’re dreaming?”

  Fiona cuffed him sharply upside the head, the slap echoing through the cave. It didn’t appear to hurt him in the least, though he looked unimpressed. “You’ll swear it’s a nightmare, soon enough,” he muttered, standing up and stalking out of the cave.

  “Ignore him, he has an odd sense of humor,” Fiona apologized in that smoky voice, offering me a pleasant smile.

  “So why are you dressed up?” Amelie said, chucking another log into the fire.

  “I was about to ask,” Fiona murmured, adding, “It’s gorgeous!” Her long, slender fingers reached out and caressed the material, as Amelie had. “It’s been so long …”

  I glanced at their frayed clothing but averted my gaze politely. They both laughed.

  “We look homeless, don’t we?” Amelie said, holding the corners of her tattered shirt up with beautifully manicured nails. It didn’t make any sense. But of course—this is a dream!

  “Isn’t Evangeline lovely?” Amelie suddenly asked someone behind me.

  I turned my head to see Caden standing a few feet away, his piercing green eyes on me. My heart skipped a few beats. “Hi,” I managed to sputter, feeling heat creep up my neck to engulf my cheeks.

  “You’re wearing slightly more than last time,” he observed, his mouth curving in a tiny smile. “What’s the occasion?”

  I felt a second wave of embarrassment flare, remembering that obscene outfit. Now here I was, barely covered again. “My birthday.”

  “Oh, I love birthdays! How old are you now?” Amelie asked gleefully.

  “Eighteen.”

  “To be eighteen again,” she sang dramatically, tilting her head back, her eyes closing as she reminisced.

  I frowned, looking at her childish face. She’s not a day over sixteen, is she?

  She clapped her hands together in small, quick taps, a mischievous grin on her face. “Oh, goody! You don’t believe me! How old do you think I am?”

  I blinked. “I don’t know … nineteen?”

  “Nope! Guess again!” Amelie exclaimed, her face bright with amusement.

  “Okay … um, twenty?”

  She shook her head, giggling wildly.

  This didn’t seem like much of a game. “I give up!”

  “Well … I’m not exactly sure. But, if we’ve been keeping accurate track of time, I’d say I’m about 752, give or take a decade.”

  I frowned, biting my lower lip. “I don’t get it.”

  “We’re sorry, Evangeline. This isn’t as much fun for you as it is for Amelie,” Fiona apologized, her face softening with a sympathetic smile.

  “Humans never did find this game fun,” Amelie said with a pout, her springy curls bobbing.

  Humans? I stared blankly at her.

  “Haven’t you figured it out yet? What we are?” she asked.

  I glanced at the others’ solemn expressions. If they aren’t humans, what could they be? It hit me then. I started laughing. “Of course! You’re vampires!” Viggo’s twisted adaptation was still fresh in my mind, and now in my dreams.

  “We won’t hurt you, I promise!” Amelie said earnestly, dropping to her knees in front of me to hold my hands. “We just want to be friends.” Her eyes darted to Caden, who was watching me with a concerned expression. I noticed Bishop beside him; he must have snuck back in at some point.

  “Of course! You are,” I was on my feet now, replaying Viggo’s conversation, “beautiful, emotional creatures. Misunderstood.” I paced around the fire. “And you want to be friends, right? With quiet, meek Evangeline, who has no friends. People don’t even notice me. But you—” my arm swept around the circle in rare dramatic flair “—all you want to do is protect me.” I paused. “So this is how things manifest into dreams,” I mused, more to myself. The events from the day were merging with my … what? Deep inner fears of loneliness, perhaps? Forcing them to the surface in this fantasy of super–powered beings.

  I stopped pacing in front of Caden. “And you.” I walked up to him. “Of course you’re in my dream. No guy has ever even so much as blinked in my direction. And here you are, so perfect, and beautiful, and sweet …” Caden’s eyes widened in surprise. “When I see you, I want to …” I didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

  Luckily I didn’t have to, as Rachel suddenly appeared out of thin air to wrap possessive arms around Caden’s waist. His arm quickly found its place around her shoulder, albeit stiffly.

  A vile bitterness bubbled up in me. “And of course you’re dating the gorgeous but trashy girlfriend that I could never compete with. Typical. Is this what you like?” I blurted at Caden, gesturing callously at Rachel. “She’s not a very nice person, you know.”

  Bishop’s head fell back and he barked laughter.

  “Clearly I’ve missed an interesting conversation,” Rachel said, smiling haughtily at me. Her voice didn’t carry the same hostility as the previous night. It was sickly sweet and therefore no more pleasant. “And I would love to hear the rest of this tirade of yours. However, we have visitors that I wasn’t able to deter. Eight of them.”

  “Great! Invite them in!” I said, throwing my hands up in the air. “
Another one of those monsters, maybe? Is that supposed to represent my ugly inner demon?”

  Rachel turned to Caden, grimacing. “Has she lost it?”

  “Let’s play it cool,” Caden suggested, ignoring both of us.

  “And maybe we should get her out of here,” Fiona added, eyeing me warily.

  Caden’s hand—silky smooth and on the cool side—latched onto mine, sending a frisson through my body. He tugged me after him, running toward one of the tunnels and pulling me with him into the blackness.

  I ran blindly, unable to see in the darkness, until my foot snagged on something hard and I stumbled, smashing my shoulder against the wall. I yelped in pain.

  “Quiet!” Caden hissed, but followed that with an apology.

  “How can you see?” I grated through my teeth, rubbing at the burning pain in my shoulder.

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he hoisted me up by one arm and continued running. My pain instantly vanished, as if his closeness had injected me with a shot of morphine.

  Finally he stopped running and set me down gently. He shoved something soft into my hands. “Put those on,” Caden instructed in a whisper.

  “Put what on?”

  He mumbled something incoherent. Seconds later a flickering torch illuminated a tiny, low–ceilinged cave. “Change, please,” he whispered urgently, turning to face the exit. I could sense the apprehension in his voice. It was all too familiar from the other night.

  I looked down at my hands, which held a ratty pair of pants and a shirt similar to what Amelie and Fiona wore. They’re disguising me. Okay, I’ll play along. I pulled on the pants. Unclasping my dress’s neck strap, I let the dress drop noiselessly to the ground, wishing it had allowed for a bra.

  I had my arms through the sleeves of the shirt and was about to pull it over my head when Caden’s body suddenly crushed mine against the cave wall, his arms wrapping around me in a tight embrace.