“See this?” He traced the length of the scar with a fingertip.
She nodded. Oh yes. Indeed she did see that.
“Guess how it came to be there,” he demanded.
She thought about refusing to guess, but decided that would be boring and she had vowed when she took the job offer from Black Swan that she had left boring Mercy behind. Forever.
“You were riding a skate-board through a copying office without a shirt on and fell onto the paper cutter when the blade was left open.”
His face split into a gorgeous grin that lit the entire jet cabin. “Good guess! But no. I was actually wearin’ a shirt when this happened. ‘Twas the result of a vamp who’d let his nails grow long and groady like Howard Hughes. Took a swipe at me with his ugly-ass jagged claws and preserved the incident, now frozen forever on my body. As you see.”
“Well, three things. First, what a shame your perfection is thus marred. Second, if I’m reading this manual correctly, it’s a good thing it wasn’t his teeth. Third, you know they make over-the-counter scar reduction cream that could have helped with that.”
He grinned, let his shirt fall and dropped back onto the couch next to her. “True, but usin’ the scar cream? ‘Tis no’ very manly now, is it? And I would no’ have a conversation starter.”
She stared at him. “In other words, you wouldn’t have a legitimate excuse to bare your assets to strangers who happen to be female.”
His grin morphed into a smile that was both seductive and conspiratorial. He leaned over and lowered his voice so that only she could hear. “You got me.”
She looked away, laughed and went back to her reading.
Torn slid down in a sexy devil-may-care slouch, stretched his arms over the back of the sofa behind Mercy’s head in a possessive pose and looked over at Raif to see if he was watching. Raif’s eyes were closed, but Torn could tell by the tension in his jaw that he’d seen every delicious moment, which made Torn chuckle to himself.
Mercy looked over. “Something funny?”
Torn turned back to her, his eyes going deliberately to her mouth and lingering there in an aggressively intimate display. “I was just thinkin’ about my partner over there nappin’ in the nappy chair. He told me he had the pleasure of meetin’ you. Briefly.”
She stiffened visibly and put the book down in her lap, but not before casting a glance toward Raif’s form that was reclined if not relaxed. What Torn saw there in the instant of that flicker was a mixture of embarrassment and outrage. But there was also something more than just wounded pride. Just as he’d suspected.
You could say a lot of things about Torrent Finngarick, but he did know women.
Glen broke up the quiet by raising his voice so that everybody could hear him. He was waving a tour guide in the air. “Hey! Let’s try to finish this up fast so we can do a little sightseeing before we have to head back.”
Torn gave him a blank stare as did Gun, who’d been standing in the galley chatting up the flight attendant. Raif opened one eye before crossing his arms over his midsection and renewing his determination to sleep.
Glen didn’t seem fazed that no one responded. He simply resumed his research on tour destinations.
Torn looked at Mercy, who looked at Glen and said, “Sounds good to me.”
The elf smiled at her in such an indulgent and amused way that, for just a second, she was tempted to give him a chance at a one nighter. That thought took her gaze in Raif’s direction like he was a magnet. Believing that she could look him over without being observed, she let her eyes move slowly over the length of him, from the messy jet black hair to the stubble on his jaw past the partially visible tattoo on his bicep down to the frayed hems of his jeans, all the way to the square toed boots underneath.
She almost jumped when Glen announced that, “They say that there’s history underneath every rock in Sozopol. Turn one over and you’ll find something left by Greeks, Romans, Thracians, Slavs, Ottomans or Proto-Bulgarians. That’s a quote!”
Raif’s eyes opened a slit and caught her staring, but not for long. She quickly looked away with a telltale flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck toward her cheeks.
Mercy had done her fair share of traveling. It went with her occupation of choice, but she’d never come close to the way The Order transported their personnel from place to place. That rich-and-famous level of luxury was a new experience.
When Pietra, the flight attendant, wheeled out an entire standing prime rib on a rolling butcher block, Mercy gaped.
“What’s the matter?” Torn asked.
“I didn’t even know it was possible to cook prime rib on a plane.”
Torn laughed. “Well, you ought to get out more.” He winked.
Pietra cut the prime rib and served it at the booth-style seating in the front of the plane that could be used for dining or cards. She served a Caesar salad that was the best Mercy had ever tasted along with baskets of popover rolls just out of the oven and smelling divine.
Mercy sat next to Torn with Gun and Glen across from them. Raif sat in the other booth, across the aisle, by himself. Having had the experience of once being the new kid at school, the seating arrangement made her uncomfortable. She wouldn’t want her worst enemy to feel ostracized, which probably meant she didn’t have any real enemies. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she decided to say something.
“Perhaps someone should go sit with Mr. Nightsong.”
The three men looked across the aisle. Gun and Torn just laughed like it was a ridiculous notion, but Glen said, “Would it make you feel better if I go sit with him?”
“Well,” she hedged, “I think it would be nice.”
Without another word Glen picked up food and paraphernalia and moved across the aisle. When he started to set his plate down across the table, Raif didn’t look up, but said, “Fuck off.”
Glen promptly picked up his dinner setting and moved back to his original spot. He smiled at Mercy. “Miss me? The gentleman declines and says he prefers to keep his own company this evening.”
She returned his good-natured smile, nodded her head and, as thanks, passed him her portion of chocolate mousse that had just been delivered. While she was scowling at Raif, Torn leaned close and said, “Sir Nightsong.”
She looked back at him. “What?”
“You called him Mr. Nightsong. When you’re in the company of The Order, ‘tis Sir Nightsong.”
“Oh. Of course.” She glanced back across the aisle.
“May seem silly to someone who is new to our conventions. The formal observance of service is a small thin’, but believe me, he’s earned it.”
She looked at Torn. “Respect you mean? He’s earned respect?”
“Oh, aye.” Torn caught Pietra’s eye. “Pee, my darlin’, will ye be kind enough to pour an Irish whiskey as a chaser for this lovely puddin’?”
She smiled. “You know perfectly well that it’s a mousse, Sir Luscious. And, yes, I will bring your nectar of gods.”
Mercy looked across the table and crossed her eyes while mouthing, “Sir Luscious.”
Gun and Glen rewarded her with a big laugh. Smiling at the shared joke she looked across the aisle and came face to face in a stare with Sir Nightsong. The pale color of his blue irises was so arresting and the intensity of his gaze was so electrifying, she couldn’t make herself look away. She had a brief impression of a mouse being held spellbound by a snake.
When she opened her mouth to say something, his eyes dropped to her lips before coming back to her eyes. “I guess we’re going to be stuck together for a couple of days. So let’s be grown up and have a truce. I’ll go first. I apologize for calling you a liar, Sir Nightsong. I guess it turns out that you really are a vampire hunter.”
He desperately wanted to say something. He knew he should say something. All those days that he’d aimlessly loitered around a four square block area of New York he had rehearsed what he was going to say a thousand times. Then he had his cha
nce. There it was. She was staring at him with those big liquid eyes waiting. Waiting. Waiting. While he was dumbstruck.
Pietra stepped in between them to clear Raif’s dishes and, in doing so, broke the visual connection.
Mercy realized that her olive branch had been rejected with Raif’s abject silence. In some ways it was worse than telling Glen to, “Fuck off.”
She was grateful that Pietra’s body hid from view the fact that her face and neck had gone chameleon, perfectly reflecting the red color of her humiliation. It only took an instant to make a vow that the great fiery pit would freeze over before she gave him another chance to be decent.
When Pietra left with Raif’s dishes, Mercy had turned away and was again involved in conversation with her dinner companions. He’d lost the chance to fake a semblance of civilized behavior. He hadn’t left the impression of looking dumbstruck. He’d left the impression of being an asshole. He thought about slapping himself, but it was too late for that, too. It would just raise further questions about his sanity.
Glen was reading from the guide book. “There’s a reserve habitat for rare animal species. The reserve is inhabited by fifty types of mammals: noble deer and lopatar – deer, roes, muflons, foxes, jackals, otters and colonies of bats live in the rock caves. The extinct species of mammals are the bear, the lynx and the monk seal.”
“I’d go with you if it can be worked out, Glen. I’ve never taken much time for sightseeing when traveling. It’s always about the destination and not the journey. I think it would be fun and I haven’t been to a zoo in twenty years.”
“It’s not a zoo! It’s a reserve habitat. Apples and oranges. Think there’s a rare Bulgarian animal tee shirt?”
She laughed. “Let’s find out.”
Eavesdropping on the conversation across the aisle, Raif rolled his eyes and took a sip of the black coffee Pietra had just poured. He was starting to believe that every dick on the plane was a rival. Even the kid. He was thinking that it got dark fast when you were flying away from the sun. And she seemed easy to talk to. He’d never liked flying over oceans at night. How he wished he had found out how easy she was to talk to by talking to her instead of sitting on the other side of the jet sneaking an eavesdrop. He was wishing he’d asked for Benadryl instead of coffee when he heard the rustle next to him. Mercy had stood to return to the lounge seating and left a hint of perfume behind when she passed.
After dinner Mercy had decided to take advantage of one of the luxurious sleeping compartments in the rear. The few hours she could grab in what was left of the nine hour flight would come in handy because the next day would be a full day. Maybe the most important day of her archeological career, even if the work was never published or professionally recognized in any way.
She woke when Pietra announced they were landing. Between the steady vibration of movement and the engine noise, she’d conked out and slept hard. She sat up thanking the gods for the partition that shielded her from being seen sleeping with her mouth open or drooling.
Sitting up and angling her body toward the exterior wall, she looked out the window. Because of the seven hour time difference, the sunrise was just beginning, enough that she could make out the landing strips with farmland on one side and a Black Sea village on the other.
Mercy insisted on supervising the transfer of her equipment from the plane. The Order had provided two identical Audi sedans. The older members of Z Team quickly decided that Glen would drive the car with all the luggage and equipment while the other three and their assignment rode together. Glen seemed to understand that the new guy gets the shit jobs and was okay with it. He took the keys to the equipment car good-naturedly.
Torn grabbed the keys to the people car. “I’ll drive.”
“Shotgun,” Gun said. “I’ll navigate.”
“Welcome to this century, Gunnar. We do no’ need a navigator. The car has navigation.”
“Don’t like the navigator angle? Okay. How about this? I get shotgun because I have long legs.”
“I don’t mind sitting in the back,” Mercy said.
Torn turned to Raif with an especially bright twinkle in his eye. “I guess you’re stuck sittin’ next to her, brother.”
Raif shrugged as if to say he didn’t care, that he’d done worse.
CHAPTER 15
It’s an orangeade sky. Always it’s some other guy.
Sozopol, Bulgaria
Not once during the entire drive did Raif look over at Mercy. He stared out his window as if he’d never witnessed anything as fascinating as farming.
Sozopol turned out to be a picturesque fishing town on the coast of the Black Sea, located on a peninsula that boasted one of the most beautiful coves and beaches anywhere in the world. And, just as they say, build a gorgeous beach and resorts are sure to follow. The marina claimed three hundred thirty berths to house yachts and sail craft for the well-heeled.
The ancient Bronze Age town had been rededicated to Apollo by 7th century BCE Greeks. They erected a temple and a statue forty-five feet tall when they renamed it Apollonia. For centuries after that it thrived as a stop on the trade route of sailing vessels, part of the flow of commerce between Rhodes, Corinth, Athens, and Thracian territories. It was vibrant with culture and art, which meant it was also rich and populous.
The Order didn’t own a property in Sozopol, but there was a five star hotel, a very pretty five story pink building with white columns overlooking the sea. The exterior was 1940s. The interior was Euromodern.
The little band of paranormal investigator and her escorts was delighted to learn that there was an old-world elegant restaurant and a Russian chef who specialized in Mediterranean fare and sushi – of all things. Some of the contingent were more impressed to find out that there were five bars. So far as Torn was concerned that meant the hotel had its priorities straight.
At the height of the season the place was probably hopping, but at that time of year it was practically deserted. When Mercy asked if they would need dinner reservations, the desk clerk laughed.
After checking in, Mercy just had enough time to shake her clothes out and hang the ones that mattered before the hotel phone rang beside the bed.
“Dr. Renaux?”
“Yes.”
“You have guests asking for permission to speak with you on the desk phone. Will you accept the call?”
“Certainly. Put them on.”
“Dr. Renaux?” asked a new male voice.
“Yes,” she said again.
“This is Professor Yanev from Sofia University and the Minister Igvanotof. We’d like to welcome you personally and perhaps discuss your visit. In private if possible. Would it be inappropriate to ask to come to your room?”
“Are your intentions honorable?” She took the pause in dialogue to mean that either the caller didn’t get the joke or his intentions were not honorable. Either way, she was going to find out. “Never mind. It was a poor attempt at humor.”
“Oh,” he chuckled. “You Americans. Always joking.”
“Yes. We’re all comedians. I’m in Room 316.”
“We shall be at Room 316 momentarily.”
Mercy hung up the phone and turned to almost run into Glen who was sharing a connecting room with Gunnar.
“Who was that?” he asked.
“A government representative and an academic. They want to greet me and talk about going to the site. They’re on the way up.”
Gun came closer and leaned on the door jamb separating the two rooms.
“On the way up?” Glen gaped at her.
“Yes. They want to talk in private. Given what I’ve learned about The Order that doesn’t seem either unusual or unreasonable.”
“No, but you gave them your room number?”
“Well, yes. How else would you expect them to find me?”
“How would we expect them to find you?”
“Do you have a repeating problem, Glen?”
“Do you have an absentminded pro
fessor problem, Dr. Renaux?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s supposed to mean this. How are you thinking we’re going to protect you if you give out your room number to any stranger who calls up and asks for it?”
She looked thoughtful. “I see what you mean.”
“Normally I wouldn’t mention this, but I get the feeling you care about other people, so I’m going to share. You didn’t just endanger yourself, but us. We could have been caught unaware.” She just blinked in response, but he definitely had her attention. He turned to Gun. “Get Raif and Torn. Let’s make sure this is up and up.” Gun nodded and moved off. Glen looked at Mercy and softened his tone a notch. “It’s our job to keep you safe, but you have to be willing to help us out with that. Just a little. Right?”
She nodded. “You are right. Of course. I’ve never been in a situation where I needed protection. I just didn’t think about…”
“You’re a smart lady and I’m sure you catch on quick. Don’t take any phone calls unless one of us is with you. Don’t give out your location to anybody unless we give the okay. Always leave the door between us cracked open so we can be aware of what’s going on in here.”
“Okay.”
When the welcome committee arrived on the third floor, Raif and Torn were waiting in the hallway outside Mercy’s room while Glen and Gun waited inside. As the two Bulgarians approached they could see that two rather intimidating individuals were sizing them up. They stopped at 316 and looked over to verify the number on the door.
Just as one of them reached up to knock, Raif and Torn took one each and shoved them against the wall. They were frisked thoroughly, efficiently, and perhaps with more roughness than was necessary.
When they were released, the one with the stupid hat said something in Bulgarian that was most likely about his assailant and most probably uncomplimentary. Both men made readjustments to the business suits they were wearing and looked at Raif and Torn with as much huffiness as they dared.
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