Blood Cursed

by Alex Archer

  “Have you trained?” Annja asked, hoping to deflect some of the testosterone toward male pride. “With the blade? I’ve not come en garde with you, but I guess that you’re skilled.”

  “My father taught me. He was a master swordsman.” He hit a fist against his chest. “This is my home. And I will not be chased out by you, or the Czech, or even the mullo’s angry spirit.”

  “We’ve no intention of chasing you anywhere.”

  “You don’t understand, you—” The man pointed a finger toward Luke, then Annja. “You are an American, yes?”

  “From New York,” she said. “Brooklyn.”

  “The home of the great Statue of Liberty and freedom to all who walk your shores, yes? Well, I am Romani. We are not accepted anywhere we go. For generations we have been persecuted for simply existing. Can you understand that?”

  “I may not be able to relate to it,” Annja said calmly, “but I can understand. We’re not here to offend anyone, only to research.”

  “Always science is the answer to intrusion upon another man’s rights.”

  She was about to argue the whole rights issue, but the Gypsy continued his tirade and she wanted to keep an eye on his sword and make sure it stayed sheathed.

  “We are not welcome in the city. They sniff at our money. Our women are called whores. And if something strange occurs, like a child who has gone missing, it is always the Roma. The authorities blame us because they think we are lazy and uncaring for our families.”

  “A missing child....” Annja caught his eye as he paced. “One of the Roma here earlier mentioned it. When did that happen? We’re not talking about mullos now, are we? What’s going on?”

  The man spat on the ground and sneered, jerking his head up and away from her. When his eyes widened, Annja noticed the arrival of a black pickup truck. It stopped a hundred yards from where she had parked the Jeep but the driver didn’t get out. The Gypsy waved to the driver, signaling him to either stay put or wait for him.

  Then he turned and eyed the skull Luke still held tucked under his arm as if it was a football he was ready to throw for the long pass. Another glance to the truck. His driver waited.

  Annja narrowed her eyes on the waiting truck―dented, probably twenty years old―but couldn’t make out the driver’s features to know if he was Romani, as well. Not that it mattered.

  Finally the Gypsy said, “You will not leave Chrastava with that skull.” And then he turned and walked to the truck, leaving them with the skull and the means to pack up and drive off.

  Annja tossed Luke a look. “What kind of threat was that?”

  “If you’ve got that sword available,” Luke said, “perhaps now would be a good time to get it out?”

  The two stood there, watching the Gypsy get into the truck. Annja waited for the vehicle to drive toward them. Would this be an attempt to take them out? But instead, it backed down the gravel road and turned to drive away.

  Again she and Luke shared glances that could only be interpreted as gobsmacked. That victory had been too easy.

  * * *

  AFTER A MEAL of pork and dumplings swimming in thick, savory gravy, Annja and Luke made their way back to Luke’s hotel room. There he had a nifty setup of microscope, digital voice recorder and an iPad loaded with apps suitable to an archaeologist’s needs that made Annja jealous.

  “I’ve stopped using pencil and paper,” he said when she asked about the technology. “Ever see a crew chief lugging around ten pounds of ring binder, paper and notes?” He lifted the iPad. “Mine weighs less than a pound and I can fit more material on it, and access my research back in London.”

  “Yes, but you have to recharge, whereas paper is always charged.”

  He dug out a small black box from his backpack. “Solar charger.”

  “Touché. And you have the geek badge. I can’t compete.”

  He tapped the plastic pocket protector. “You want some coffee before we get down to business?” he asked.

  “I’m good for now. But don’t let me stop you.”

  Luke filled up the coffeemaker, then unpacked the skull, while Annja opened her laptop and checked on her email. An instant video message popped up in Skype and, seeing it was from her producer, she settled at the head of the bed, legs stretched before her, and answered the call.

  “Hey, Doug, what’s up? Must be early in the morning there in New York.”

  “I’m in Spain actually, finishing up a segment for the show.”

  The man’s mop of brown hair hung in his eyes. His smile was always eager and a little goofy. In his twenties, he liked to wear geek-shirts―as Annja referred to the T-shirts emblazoned with pop culture logos—and today was nothing new. His brown shirt featured a bat-shaped design formed by white silhouettes of what appeared to be horror movie vampires including Bela Lugosi, Elvira and Count Chocula.

  “Spain? You don’t normally travel for the show, Doug. At least, you’re always complaining that the budget won’t allow it. What’s up?”

  “Call it a working vacation.” He skimmed his fingers through his hair and flipped it out of his eyes. “And I wanted to take in a few bullfights after hearing about your adventures in Cádiz. It’s warm here!”

  “That it is.”

  “And the women are gorgeous. Dark hair and eyes and the skirts that swirl when they dance.”

  “I never would have pegged you for a fan of flamenco, Doug.”

  “Is that what you call it?”

  Annja smirked. Of course, the man only had eyes for the women in their swirling skirts. He always saved the technical details for the small research staff the show employed.

  His face moved awkwardly close to the screen as if he were trying to peer through the monitor glass. Not a flattering view of his nostrils, at all. “Where in the world are you, Annja?”

  “Why? I don’t have an assignment for Chasing History’s Monsters I’ve forgotten, do I?”

  “No. Can’t a guy call and check in on his favorite TV host now and then?”

  “Sure, Doug. I hear your other favorite TV host is in the Bahamas filming about Lusca, the half shark, half octopus.”

  “A tiny bikini opportunity, if there ever was one. Why can I never talk you into a bikini for a segment?”

  “That’s Kristie’s job. I’m sure it’s even in her contract. I, on the other hand, prefer to leave something to be desired.”

  She caught Luke’s quirked eyebrow from over the unwrapped skull, and shrugged.

  “But seriously.” Doug’s face filled the screen again, and she never realized how bushy his eyebrows were until now. “What are you up to? On a dig?”

  “Yep. Just toted a skull with a brick in its mouth back to the hotel and I’m going to have a look over it.”

  “A skull. With a brick?” Doug’s eyes widened and his jaw worked furiously at what Annja guessed was a piece of gum. “You mean you dug up one of the chewing dead?” His triumphant fist pump filled the screen. “Yes!”

  “What the—how do you—? Oh, right, you are a big fan of vampires,” she said innocently. “I almost forgot about the little club you are in that dresses up like vampires and plays.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Play? We don’t play, Annja, we reenact. And you bet I’m a vamp fan. I’m heading to Club Dread next month for the annual Halloween ball. I’ve got my Dracula cape and had the dentist make a new set of custom fangs for me. Annja, you’ve dug up one of the chewing dead? Why aren’t we filming this for the show?”

  “It’s not a vampire, Doug.”

  Why wasn’t she filming it for the show? It was exactly the kind of sensational fiction they produced. Annja knew the answer. Because right now she wasn’t too sure how the angry townsfolk would react to a film crew.

  “It’s just a skull with a brick in its mouth. I
n medieval times the people were superstitious and—”

  “And that’s what Chasing History’s Monsters is all about, Annja! Chasing. History’s. Monsters! Seriously? Are you trying to keep this one from me?”

  Yes, well, she had hoped to. Why had she opened her big mouth now?

  “I need to fly out there and get a good look at the thing. Film it. You have a video camera with you, don’t you?”

  “Just the one on my digital. Nothing good enough for television filming— Doug, don’t come out here. It’s a dangerous situation right now.”

  “Dangerous? Oh, Annja, you are only stirring the fires. How can a dirty old skull be dangerous? Unless—have people been bitten?”

  “No, no one has been bitten. Please, calm yourself. It’s not the skull, it’s the locals, or rather Gypsies, who are upset that the skull might belong to a real vampire that might rise from the grave to torment them.”

  “Really? Rampaging villagers? Oh, dude! And you’re not filming? Annja, you’re killing me. Right here.” He pounded his chest. “Like a stake through the heart. Footage of torch-toting villagers is exactly what the show needs.”

  “No torches.” Yet. “And Chasing History’s Monsters has done vampires to death, Doug.”

  “And yet, the suckers keep rising for another bite. Ha! I have to book a flight right now. You’re in the Czech Republic, right?” He bowed his head, and Annja heard the clatter of keyboard keys. “Yes, I have you on my Find a Friend app. Ah, Chrastava. Where the heck is that?”

  She could’ve kicked herself. A television crew was the last thing she needed on-site when they had no idea what to expect day to day from the Romani. On the other hand, when had she balked at taking a film crew through treacherous situations?

  When said crew consisted of one vampire-crazy producer. She felt sure if Doug didn’t find what he was looking for some supersonic Photoshop skills would kick in.

  A glance to Luke found him leaning against the table where he’d set up the microscope, arms crossed over his chest, shaking his head.

  “Eavesdropper.”

  Luke shrugged. “I don’t see what’s wrong with having a film crew to record our information. It might prove beneficial. I haven’t yet mastered the camera with the iPad, or rather, I haven’t taken the time to learn. I’d love to have another means of documenting my work.”

  “That’s why you wondered where my film crew was when I first arrived.” She figured out his misplaced enthusiasm just now.

  Luke had the decency to look guilty.

  “Yes, but you don’t know Doug Morrell—”

  “Got it!” Doug made the thumbs-up gesture on the computer screen. “My flight leaves in four hours. I should be there by midnight. Where are you staying?”

  Reluctantly, Annja gave Doug the address for her hotel, and warned him not to wake her when he arrived after midnight. By morning, she’d be prepared for his macabre enthusiasm for the undead. She hoped.

  “See you later, Doug.” She closed the laptop and apologized to Luke, though she suspected it wasn’t necessary. “He’s my producer. Always looking for an interesting idea. I suppose you’re right. Any chance to document the research on film shouldn’t be overlooked. I just worry about the crew’s safety.”

  “This skull will prove sensational. Much like the Venetian and Bulgarian finds did. I could get a paper, or an article, out of this, maybe National Geographic’s interest. Though the link to vampires is slightly off. The word vampire didn’t exist in the time period I suspect this was laid in the ground. Of course, no matter what you label it, it all meant about the same in terms of revenants and horror.”

  “Right. But blutsauger has been in use a while. And mullo. I should look that up.” She reopened her laptop, and made sure Skype was off. She didn’t need a play-by-play of Doug’s flight to the Czech Republic. “Revenant would be the best word for a dead being that rises from the grave.”

  “I vant to suck your blood.”

  She glowered over the edge of her laptop at Luke’s horrible impression of Dracula, and quirked a brow. “Just what I need, two grown men wearing capes and fangs.”

  Annja focused back on the Google search. Not all links led to vampires. She’d forgotten mullo was also the name of a Celtic god associated with the planet Mars.

  “If we’re going to film,” Luke said, “do you want to hold off on cleaning the skull?”

  Annja thought about it. “I suppose. Action shots of me dusting bones are no money shot, but they do serve to show archaeological process. Necessary to balance the sensationalism on the show. Doug will bring a video camera with him. But let’s figure out the time period, if we can.”

  “Without radio carbon dating, we can merely guess. I’m no anthropologist, but I’d place it mid–nineteenth century, only because I have a suspicion about the brick.”

  “Much more recent than originally suspected.” Annja considered the skull. “Were they still placing bricks in mouths in the 1800s?”

  “By then I believe they’d graduated to running pipes down through the ground and into the coffin. By affixing a cord or twine to a bell, if the dead were suddenly to come to life, the ringing bell would alert everyone.”

  “I thought that was to get help in the event of being buried alive―” she rolled her eyes “―not a vampire alarm.”

  “True. And by then, embalming had grown popular for the very purpose of keeping the dead, well, dead.”

  “And look where it’s taken us. To hundreds of thousands of graveyards filled with chemicals contaminating our planet.”

  “How can an archaeologist like yourself possibly prefer cremation?”

  “Let’s just say that when I die, I hope it’s fighting for my last breath as the lava flows over me. Or gasping for air five hundred meters underwater.”

  “You want to go out in a blaze of glory.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Indeed.” Luke stared at her a moment. Suddenly, he suggested, “Well, then, how about wild roses and thorns to keep the blokes down?”

  “Why do you know your vampire mythology, Luke? I hadn’t taken you for a vampirologist.”

  “A man glances over all sorts of esoteric information in the process of research. And I have read up on the Romanis. So many delicious beliefs and social customs with the Gypsies. It’s difficult not to run into the undead while reading up on the people.”

  She clicked on mullo and read details they already knew about the legend of rising from the dead to seek vengeance.

  “Do you know how to get rid of a mullo?” she asked Luke, who now tapped the brick with a dental pick he’d pulled from his geek badge. “You hire a dhampir—”

  “The son of a vampire and his mortal bride,” Luke filled in. “I believe the Marvel comic book hero Blade was a dhampir.”

  She looked up quickly. “Please don’t mention comic books to Doug.” He seemed confused by that, but she ignored him and went back to her research. “Hmm...there’s no mention of bricks in mouths in the mullo legend. The Gypsies would drive steel or iron into a corpse’s heart at the time of burial to keep it down.”

  “You’ve read about the Bulgarian vampire finds?”

  “Yes. But refresh my memory.”

  “Excavating a monastery near the Black Sea town of Sozopol, archaeologists uncovered close to one hundred corpses with stakes driven through their chests.”

  “I didn’t hear there were a hundred of them. Really?”

  “You do seem to resist the whole vampire legend. The discovery has boosted tourism in the area. One of the skeletons is currently displayed at the National History Museum. It’s dated to be over seven hundred years old. I believe the man was Krivich.”

  Annja searched her memory of medieval who’s who. “The Crooked?”

  “Yes,
a notorious pirate and aristocrat, possibly a master of witchcraft, as well. Which was a good reason for the iron stake.”

  “I just read about this―isn’t the National History Museum also the place where some of John the Baptist’s bones are on display?”

  Luke smirked. “Quite the variety of history they have on view there.”

  “So, an iron stake through the chest... That’s similar to Dracula’s wooden stake through the heart,” Annja said.

  “Iron used to keep back mythical creatures. Faeries most often. And, of course, iron swords were the weapon of choice for decapitating suspected mullo corpses.”

  “Well.” Annja looked at the skull sitting on the table. “The decapitation part has already been taken care of, so if the Romas protest again we can use that in our defense. Decapitation means the dead can’t rise.”

  “Good. So we’ve got our story straight.”

  They both chuckled.

  Luke tapped the brick with the dental pick again. “Did bricks have holes in them by the mid–nineteenth century?”

  “The holes first appeared when the extrusion process was developed to make clay bricks. Why?”

  “I think this one has a hole in it. It could either be original or created by time and erosion. We’ll have to remove some more soil to be sure, but I’ll save it for filming,” he suggested eagerly.

  Annja glanced up into the man’s gleaming eyes. “You’re excited about the arrival of my producer, aren’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Isn’t every day a man has the opportunity to work with a film crew.”

  “It’s a crew of one.”

  “And you. That makes three of us. I’d call that a crew.”

  She smiled. “All right. We’ll reconvene in the morning at the dig site. I have to head back to the hotel and wash...and prepare to meet Doug in the morning.”

  “I’ll pick you both up at seven?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Chapter 6

  Santos eyed the lanky young American man who got out of the taxicab in front of a grocery store. He knew it was an American from the flashy gestures. The man had apparently wanted the cab to wait, but as the taxi drove off, leaving him waving frantically, he settled down and kicked the street pole beside him. He had a load of gear strapped to his back and carried a long black duffel.