Blood Cursed (Rogue Angel)

by Alex Archer

  “No time for chatter.”

  “Really? I’ll lay bets that you’re not here just to see me. You know those guys? What’s up?”

  “I hadn’t expected him to be here. We’ll discuss this later. Get your friends to a safe location. I’m going after them.”

  And with that, Garin strode out of the hotel room as quickly and mysteriously as he had appeared.

  Annja blew out a frustrated breath at being left behind to babysit the menfolk. Whatever Garin was involved in, she was in it, too. How that had happened, she had no clue. So she would do her best to get that clue.

  She dug in her pants pocket for her hotel room key and slapped it into Luke’s hand. He now held the skull to his chest.

  “Is it okay?” she asked.

  “Think so. Now what?”

  “You and Doug catch a cab and head to my hotel room. Although it isn’t safe anymore. Just gather up my laptop and things, will you? Two minutes. No more. Then go to your hotel. It should be safe because Doug didn’t know where you were staying to tell anyone. Got it?”

  Luke nodded, then he pointedly looked toward the bed, scattered with weapons. “What about that stuff?”

  “Grab a few if you’re so inclined, but they’re probably black market.”

  “I think I’ll stick with the skull,” Luke said.

  “But, Annja.” Doug sucked in a breath and blew it out, shaking out his shoulders and bushy hair as if preparing for a race. “They knew who you were when I mentioned you on the way to the dig site. Who were those men?”

  “I honestly don’t know, Doug. But I’m going to find out. And what was that about, anyway? Do you often walk up to armed men and announce you’re looking for me?”

  “No, they jumped me and tossed me in the van. I was standing in front of the grocery store drinking my soda, minding my own business and waiting for a cab.”

  “Then someone must have seen you were American and put two and two together. I’ll check in with you later. I have to catch Garin.”

  “The man who is not a friend, yet apparently you’ll not let him out of your sight,” Luke commented.

  Annja twisted a look at the archaeologist and wondered if that had been jealousy on his part. Interesting.

  “Sometimes it’s a good idea to keep the enemy close,” she said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “I should come along,” Doug said as he followed her swift exit down the hotel hallway. “I can film you in action.”

  Not if she had anything to say about that. “Where’s your camera?” she called over her shoulder.

  “Oh, hell. Those assholes busted it when they searched my bags.”

  Exactly.

  “Doug, keep an eye on Luke. He’s more skilled in history than espionage.” She knew that word would bring a glint to Doug’s eye. “The two of you go to Luke’s hotel and wait. I’ll be back. Promise.”

  Handing him some responsibility was what he needed to boost his confidence. “I can do that, Annja. I have everything under control!”

  Annja dashed out of the hotel and scanned the parking lot for Garin’s black Mercedes SUV. She spied it driving north a block away, and set off at a run. Surely, she could catch him. The town had a speed limit for vehicles, but not runners.

  Annja heard a few car horns honking in the distance and determined the noise was due to Garin’s pursuit of Bracks. The commotion sounded to be about a quarter of a mile to the west. She veered left, and caught sight of the black SUV as it slowed to a rolling stop.

  She pushed off the balls of her feet, pumping her arms and legs. Since taking possession of the sword her athletic ability, which had been exemplary to begin with, had increased measurably, and she was still thrilled by her faster speed and greater strength. If she could ever figure out a way around the unfair edge the sword gave her, she’d like to run the Boston marathon. Although she’d need at least a month free to train.

  Like that was ever going to happen.

  Her momentum slammed her against the passenger door of the Mercedes and she pounded on the window to get Garin to unlock the door. When he did, despite his obvious exasperation, she opened the door and slid onto the passenger’s seat.

  “Annja!”

  “I’m as thick in this as you are.”

  “You have no clue what you’re dealing with.” He pulled left, and she swung the door shut and buckled her seat belt.

  “But you know what’s going on, and that’s what counts. Why am I suddenly chasing the same people you seem to be chasing? Or was that just a valiant rescue effort back there at the hotel?”

  “Much as the idea of sweeping in to rescue the damsel in distress appeals to me, I know there’s no damsel in distress in this car with me.”

  “You got that right. I don’t think the glass slippers would fit. Besides, I’d break them the first time I tried to walk in them. Who is this guy? He and his men kidnapped us. I need to know who and why, and I think you have the answer to that question.”

  “Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t?”

  She eyed his square-jawed profile as he navigated the street, which headed out of town and toward the hilly, forested terrain between Liberec and Chrastava. His jaw pulsed as he stared straight ahead. His dark hair swept his black shirt collar and he was currently wearing a goatee—perhaps to hide the scar she knew dipped from his lower lip to his chin. The man was vain about his looks.

  Garin’s fingers wrapped tight about the steering wheel. He liked to keep information close to the vest, and rarely doled out all the intel he knew. She accepted that about him. He wasn’t an upstanding citizen by any measure, though he had shown her rare heroic moments that made it difficult to label him friend or enemy.

  “Man’s name is Bracks,” he provided.

  “I know that. He introduced himself. A business opportunist, of all things. And he’s British and apparently educated. What else do you know about him?”

  “That’s all I can give you, Annja.”

  “That’s all you’re willing to give me, but I’ll take it.”

  The car swerved onto a gravel road and gripped the surface with ease.

  “Now answer this one,” Annja said. “Do Bracks and his men have anything to do with vampires?”

  She gripped the hand bar above the door as the SUV accelerated. Loose pebbles drilled out from the back wheels, spitting into the close ditches and pinging the interior metalwork.

  “Vampires? Are you still on that kick?”

  “It’s become a common thread in my troubles lately. And you did almost get staked the other night. My mind just put two and two together.”

  “Vampires aren’t real, Annja.”

  He had once shown her a scar on his chest from when someone had actually attempted to stake him because they’d thought he was a vampire. The former soldier who had once mentored under Roux to protect Joan of Arc had clearly lived a long time.

  “I know that. You know that. But some people, most especially the Gypsies in this area,” she continued, “steeped in tradition and age-old beliefs, don’t know that.”

  Bracks had wanted to capitalize on the superstitious for reasons that evaded her. What kind of capital could a skull and frightened Czech citizens provide him? Didn’t sound like the guy was dealing in illegal artifacts. He wouldn’t need to scare the locals for that. Would he?

  “The vampire connection doesn’t feel right to me, Annja.” Garin took another turn, and she saw the vehicle he was following. The road was well traveled by trucks so they went unnoticed as a tail.

  “Well, something about the vampire myth has lured these guys to Chrastava. Bracks wanted the skull we’d lifted from the dig site.”

  “The one with the brick in the jaws?”

  She gaped at him.

  “Twitter,” he explained.

  “You’re on Twitter? Wonders never cease.”

  “I change with the times. Unlike a gray-haired old bastard we know.”

  “Roux is pretty mo
dern. And, hey, you seem to be trying to pattern your life after him—the big mansion, the British butler—so I wouldn’t knock him if I were you.”

  Roux was the one Annja had to thank for Joan’s sword. Of the two men, he was older, wiser and calmer than Garin Braden, but he’d never give up gambling or women.

  “I don’t get Bracks’s desire to steal your discovery. It’s a damn brick in a skull. And a dirty old brick in a skull, at that.”

  “It’s valuable only historically to researchers. And yet, if the media picks it up in a big way, it could prove a tourism boost. I don’t think Bracks is the sort of entrepreneur who’s after the media and tourism angle, though.”

  “Too honest. Not his scene.”

  “Belief,” she muttered, tapping the window as the foliage whisked by outside. Bracks had been keen on exploiting the local belief in vampires.

  Men had committed terrible crimes because of strong beliefs. The Jonestown suicides. The Nazi concentration camps. The Trojans’ belief in the wooden horse as an omen had supposedly brought them to their knees.

  Briefly, Annja wondered what she believed in. She wasn’t particularly religious, even having grown up in a Catholic orphanage. Leave it to the sisters to chase the faith out of her with a ruler and a stern demeanor. As a rule, she didn’t believe in mythical monsters unless there was compelling archaeological evidence of its existence. And some monsters did exist. Some of them were even human.

  She believed in owning her strength and following the way of the sword she controlled. Sometimes it seemed as if the sword controlled her. As if the sword demanded that if she could help someone she must.

  Vampires? Not so much. But men who lived for centuries...

  She glanced at Garin again.

  The road had narrowed and both ditches were hugged by thick forest and roadside scrub. The car they’d been tailing was nowhere in sight, yet Garin still drove with determination.

  “You know where you’re going, don’t you?”

  He nodded, and didn’t say anything else.

  He knew what was going on, but he wasn’t ready to tell her. She’d have to stay close to him, and hope they weren’t driving into a nest of real bloodsuckers. The human kind who wielded weapons.

  * * *

  LUKE AND DOUG RETURNED TO Chrastava and gathered Annja’s things from her hotel room. Luke’s hotel was on the opposite side of town, a five-minute drive. Luke directed Doug to carry in Annja’s backpack and laptop, while he handled the bagged skull.

  The producer, who acted like a kid but was probably in his mid-twenties, had gotten over his scare. He’d complained about his broken equipment all the way from Liberec.

  Luke wasn’t sure how to take what had occurred back in Liberec. He’d experienced strange happenings related to artifacts found at dig sites before, though. He’d spent half a year in Egypt fighting against pot hunters who would sneak on-site after midnight, dig random holes in search of valuables he and his team hadn’t yet discovered, then be gone by morning, possibly absconding with artifacts that would never know legal provenance or see the inside of a museum. These kind of thieves were generally a nuisance, but sometimes they carried weapons, and Luke had learned to keep his distance. Or else hire security, which was usually not accounted for in a dig’s budget.

  Of course, he wasn’t comfortable at all with Annja having seen him cringing by the wall, trying to stay out of the way, while she fought the men with guns.

  “Does this sort of thing happen often to Miss Creed?” he asked Doug as they went into his room and took a few moments to unpack. Doug tossed Annja’s duffel in the open bathroom doorway; it was unzipped to reveal some clothing and a digital camera.

  “Not sure.” Doug set Annja’s laptop on the desk next to the microscope. “Well, yeah, I guess it does. She does like adventure. Sometimes I swear she purposely seeks out the most dangerous route when we’re filming, but that’s all good. Then again, she keeps a cool profile about the stuff she does that’s not involved with Chasing History’s Monsters, so who knows?”

  “You’re her producer. You seem to know very little about Annja.”

  “I’ve known her for years, and the weird thing is, she grows more enigmatic every day. A mysterious woman. And she’s gorgeous and smart. How can you not like that?”

  Luke nodded in accord. How could he not indeed?

  Still, he should have at least swung a punch or two.

  “If only she would record her adventures today,” Doug said. “Whatever it is she’s up to has got to be interesting. What about the man she went after? The big bruiser who showed up to the rescue. He looked like real muscle. Someone I can entirely see Annja having on her side.”

  “He’s not her friend, or so she says.”

  Luke sat on the end of the bed, holding the skull in the plastic bag. He smoothed the blue tarp. “So you think there’s a television show behind this?”

  “Oh, yeah. Vampires are hot. Even vaguely hinting at that old bone being capable of rising from the grave to stalk the living will hike up our ratings. I already know how I’ll market it to teens. We’ll use the tagline Beware: The Chewing Dead. Ha! I’m going to run promo on that one right around Halloween.”

  Doug joined Luke on the bed and nudged the plastic bag.

  “So can I have a look?”

  “Sure. It’s been banged around enough as it is today, more handling isn’t going to make it any worse.”

  Yet still, he took care in unwrapping the artifact. More dirt had fallen away, and he felt the brick move. If it dislodged, it might damage the mandible.

  Laying it out on the plastic on the bed, he set it with the lower jaw down as the weight of the brick gave it the best position. Doug whistled as he had when he’d first seen it in the other hotel room, but he didn’t touch it. He tucked his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt jacket.

  “To think someone thought this guy was going to survive being buried, chew through his funeral shroud and return to kill them all,” Doug said. “But, hey, shove a brick in his mouth and that’ll keep him down. Isn’t it crazy what people once believed?”

  “You mean to imply we still don’t have similar crazy beliefs?” Luke challenged.

  “I’ll give you that. We all have our own weird beliefs.” He leaned forward, sniffing the skull. “How old do you think it is?”

  “Annja and I originally thought sixteenth century, though that was a guess. The brick seems newer, perhaps nineteenth century. Without radio carbon dating and an anthropologist to take a look at it, that’s as close as we’ll get until I can bring this home to the university’s lab in London. I also want to get back to the remainder of the skeleton at the dig site. Can’t leave that sitting out to be destroyed.”

  “You want to head out there now? I can help you dig. Hell, wish I could get some footage during the day. Do you have a digital camera that takes video?”

  “I have an iPad that has a camera,” Luke said slowly. “Annja said we should sit tight, though, and I’m compelled to follow her wisdom after the morning we’ve had.”

  “Yeah, but guys who sit around in stuffy motel rooms miss all the action. Come on, Luke old buddy.” Doug flexed his biceps and assumed a superhero pose. “If the Romani are afraid of vampires, then don’t you think it’s our duty to remove the suspicious skeleton to keep them from chasing after people?”

  “The bones aren’t going to harm anyone. But the Gypsies may do harm to the bones. And I had only hired the guard for the site during the night. You’re right. We can’t let the skeleton remain in situ.”

  “In situ means in the ground, right?”

  “Exactly—where we originally found it. But I want to secure this skull before we go. Hopefully there’s a safe in here. Why don’t you dig out my iPad and familiarize yourself with the camera while I wrap this back up?”

  “Already know how to use it, but I will probably need to download video editing software apps. You mind?”

  “Go for it,” Luke said.<
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  * * *

  GARIN PULLED UP along the gravel road about three hundred yards away from a red-brick country house edged by high shrubbery. The shrubs prevented those driving by from seeing into the yard and house. They also prevented those inside from noticing anyone parked down the road.

  He’d been surprised to see Bracks in the hotel room, standing over a scatter of weapons on the bed—and Annja. Then again, why did it surprise him that the woman now sitting beside him was in his business?

  He didn’t need Annja barging into his game with Bracks. It was a two-man board, and any extra pieces must be sacrificed. So now to sit tight and wait out the man inside the building.

  And figure out how to get rid of the nosy archaeologist staring out the window to his right.

  Chapter 8

  “Stakeout is fun,” Annja muttered after they’d sat outside the vine-covered country house for an hour. Of course, that was a lie. She was antsy. The sun beamed onto her side of the vehicle and the sun visors did little but deflect the rays from her face to her arms and legs. She was thirsty, and Garin had no water in the car.

  Scrolling through the daily news on her cell phone, she tried to not think about charging inside and swinging her sword to get some answers. “I could use some snacks.”

  Garin huffed and cast her a sideways glance, but didn’t comment. She couldn’t tell if he was seriously into this sitting about and waiting or as bored and anxious as she was.

  “So,” she said, “you show up at a dig site unannounced and quite a surprise to me, I must say. Then later you arrive in time to break up a tense meeting with a man who has ties to the dig—and, I presume, to you—though I can’t figure out either one of the connections. Then you drive off, leaving me behind like it’s your war and you’re not going to share the spoils. You going to tell me what we’re dealing with here? Or am I supposed to figure this stuff out on my own?”

  “What does the weather report say for today?”

  She snorted. She wouldn’t award him points for that clever redirect. She had a weather app, but she refused to open it.