Blood Cursed (Rogue Angel) (17 page)

“You know Romani isn’t a written language,” Chester’s voice bellowed on the other end of the line.

“Yes, it’s conversational. Used by families among themselves in public places. My great-grandfather, who was a Kale Gypsy living in Wales, spoke Welsh Romani, but I can’t recall anything of it.”

“Exactly. Because of its secretive nature. Here goes—‘may the sun always shine,’” Chester said. “That’s what your words translate to. The words are Indic, with a Baltic influence, one of the oldest Romani dialects. Last time the original Romani language was spoken anywhere in the world was late nineteenth century, possibly a generation longer in your neck of the woods, Wales. Which could date your skull to early twentieth century.”

“But what does ‘may the sun always shine’ mean?”

“It’s an old Gypsy blessing. At first I thought it strange to find those words inside a buried skull that was suspected of becoming revenant. You’d think they’d curse it, or at the very least put some kind of binding spell on it. But no, a blessing.”

“Perhaps they thought gentle words would keep the corpse down?” Luke tried.

“Very possible. Though strange. Pagan curses are believed much more effective than a few kind words, that’s for sure.”

“What is it?” Doug asked when he entered the bedroom and saw Luke engaged. Luke shoved the notebook in which he’d written down the translation toward him. The producer sat on the bed and studied it.

“Anything else I can do for you, Spencer?”

“At the moment, no. But I’d appreciate being able to call you if I’ve got further questions.”

“Not a problem. I enjoyed the puzzle, though it wasn’t that much of a challenge. Next time give me hell, old buddy.” He clicked off, and Luke leaned over the tiny paper he’d found inside the brick.

“This is rich,” Doug offered. “‘May the sun always shine.’ It’s so Dracula, it’s not even funny.”

“Why Dracula?”

“Well, Dracula was weak during the day, when the sun was out. So to leave this message with the corpse was like saying, ‘Dude, don’t let the coffin door slam you in the face. Go out and enjoy the sunshine on your pasty white skin. And burn to a bloody crisp while you’re out there.’ Clever.”

“I knew unearthing the skull would immerse me in the subculture that’s fascinated with vampires, but who would have thought it could be so real for some?”

“There are people out there who actually believe they are vampires. Drink blood, too. Supposedly the blood is given with permission. That kills me.”

“This coming from a man who has his own set of fangs?”

“I only use them for parties and the occasional date.”

“A date. Seriously?” Luke held his hand up. “No. I really don’t want to know. I need to do some online research.”

“About vampires? Ask me anything. I bet I have the answer.”

“I bet you do.” And that troubled Luke more than the fact that the man was sitting on the bed picking at the blood-crusted gauze on his leg. “Tell me all you know about
mullos
.”

“
Mullo
means one who is dead. Generally
dhampirs
must kill them. That is, if the stakes or bricks or iron needles driven into their bones at burial didn’t keep them down in the first place.”

“We know all that already.”

“Sorry, but the various renditions of vampire, as they pertain to each country, I’m not too keen on. The Dracula myth is my specialty.”

“Anything in
Dracula
about consuming organ blood? Or taking organs from a human body to feed the vampire?”

“Not particularly, but the whole wolf thing was in there.”

“Right. I don’t think you were attacked by a shape-shifting
mullo,
Doug.”

He inspected the abrasion, which strapped below his knee and had already begun to scab. “I know, but still, it was a real wolf.”

“That it was. We should get you to a clinic for a rabies shot.”

“Check online for a clinic.”

“Sure. Though we may have to drive to Liberec.” Luke pulled Annja’s laptop across the table and opened it up to the browser. Within minutes he had the address to the local clinic.

“Let’s wait for Annja before we go anywhere,” Doug said. “I’m going to shower quick.” He strolled into the bathroom.

There was a clinic in Liberec, so Luke noted the address and searched further for some driving directions. With those notes tucked in a pocket, he then decided to surf for Dracula and revenants and the buried undead. The legend was vast and encompassed so many different breeds and forms that he felt sure it may be more of an exercise in futility, but he had the time.

He thought to type in
mullo
in the search engine, but on a sudden whim, decided to bring up the browser history. What secrets would Annja’s laptop reveal to him?

The bathroom door swung inward, emitting a gust of steam. Doug danced out in a towel and grabbed his backpack. “Forgot my stuff.” The door closed behind him.

The browser showed much the same searches as he’d attempted. A few were not. One site was for brand-name knockoff shoes.

“She doesn’t strike me as the stiletto type,” he murmured, then smiled to imagine Annja in a dress and high heels. With her toned body, she could work the little black dress. He bet she cleaned up rather nicely.

“You snooping?”

“No.” At Doug’s reappearance, Luke lowered the laptop cover, then realized that he looked guilty and reopened it. “A little. I might have checked her browser history.”

“No porn?”

“From Annja? Doug, you really don’t know your employee all that well, do you?”

“I do. Just teasing. Did you kiss her again?”

“You’ve been right there with us since that first kiss. Have you seen me kiss her again?”

“Is that your way of telling me to give you two some alone time?” The man actually made a fluttery eye move and smacked his lips in a kiss.

“No. It was just something that happened. It was a moment. I took it.”

“You’ve got it, man. What you do with it now is all up to you.” He grabbed the iPad. “If you decide to do some real research, why don’t you look up the red lady?”

“What red lady?”

“Just popped into my head right now. She’s a myth. I remember reading about her once. She has fangs and can shape-shift into a wolf, and consumes people whole. And red ladies usually go after children. I think she might be more faerie than vampire, though, but it’s worth a look. Good thing we’re dealing with legends and myths. I hate to think that a real person could be out there doing this to kids.”

“It is a real person, Doug. Wrap your brain around that.”

“Right.” Doug shook his head. “Right.” He sat on the bed and sighed. “This is getting heavy. Too heavy for
Chasing History’s Monsters
. I can’t use any of this stuff if a child really has been killed by someone who is using the vampire as cover. That would be ethically wrong to try and sensationalize it on the show.”

“Depends on your moral compass.”

“I do have one. And it just popped a spring.”

Chapter 14

Santos was strolling out of the house toward his pickup truck when Annja cleared the forest. When he noticed her he immediately set back his shoulders, straightening. Sunlight glinted in the diamonds at his ears. He made to reach behind his back, though Annja did not see the sword sheath strapped across his chest.

“Hold your steel,” Annja said. “Even if it is a bluff.” She tossed him the wolf collar, which he caught.

Santos turned the leather strap in his fingers, then tucked it in a back pocket. “Where did you find it?” he asked.

“Took if off the dead wolf that attacked my friends last night. You remember Luke and Doug. We were all here at your invitation?”

“My wolf is dead?”

“You were expecting to hear something else? Like maybe one of my friends was mauled? Or me? What the hell is going on, Santos? Your wolf? I thought you owned a dog?”

“My
dai
does. I owned that wolf.”

And not even slightly apologetic for it. Annja clenched her fists at her sides. “Why did you send the wolf after us?”

“I don’t control it like that. What?” he challenged at her lifted brow. “You think I can order the wolf to go off and murder someone?”

“So murder was your intent? I only mentioned an attack. And any animal can be trained to obey commands. That electric collar could have delivered the desired signal. The wolf has been taught to obey. It goes after human prey.”

“Get off my land!”

She planted her feet, tucking her thumbs in her front pockets, and lifted her chin. She’d measured this man’s courage and he tended to hide behind weapons and his mother. Now it was time to judge his mettle against hers. She wagered he’d not last long when he didn’t have a blazing fire for distraction. And his sword was blatantly absent.

“We are in mourning this day,” he said firmly. “You are intruding.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me the truth about what’s going on around here.”

“Weren’t you listening to Mamma last night? I’ve nothing more to say.”

“There was no mention of attack wolves when we were talking with your mother. She mentioned you had a dog. Which I haven’t seen. As a matter of fact, I haven’t seen any animals around the Romani encampment.”

Santos spat on the ground. “You Americans think you are so brave, so tough. You don’t know the meaning of strength. Now leave, before someone gets hurt.”

“I don’t take threats lightly.”

“Neither do—”

A wailing female entered the yard from the left. A pregnant woman in a bright yellow skirt and blue top, she stumbled toward Santos. She gripped her belly, yet she wasn’t large enough to be in labor. Perhaps six months along. But who was she to know?

“What is it, Melanie? Is it the baby? The funeral?”

“Not the funeral. I could not attend in my condition.”

Santos shot Annja a stern look. “You should not have come here when we are burying one of our own.”

“Santos, Marcus is gone!” the woman cried. “The
mullo
has taken him!”

“You see!” Santos stabbed Annja with a vicious glare. His jaws hardened. “Look what you have started!”

She had started nothing that couldn’t be explained rationally. Or criminally. “Who is Marcus?”

“Her son.” Santos braced the woman and led her in the direction she had come from. Not far off more houses edged the forest. One was draped with a white ribbon across the door. The dead boy’s home, Annja assumed. “You’ve cursed us all, Annja Creed.”

The woman Annja had spoken with last night, Mamma, dashed out of her home and, giving Annja only a cursory glance, she went after Santos and the pregnant woman.

“It’s Marcus!” Santos called to his mother.

“Oh, blessed mercy,” Mamma cried.

Compelled to follow, Annja vacillated. With a funeral going on, she wouldn’t be greeted with open arms by anyone in this tight-knit community. And now this. Another missing child?

There had to be a means to infiltrate the Romani ranks and suss out details. If a child was missing, someone should contact the authorities. Annja knew they wouldn’t.

And in that case, someone had to begin tracking the child immediately. Before the trail wore thin.

* * *

S
ANTOS
,
HIS
MOTHER
and the grieving pregnant woman entered a house ahead of Annja, who hung back near a parked pickup truck. It was early, before noon. Luke had mentioned the funeral was in the morning, but he hadn’t said where it was going to be held. If it hadn’t taken place yet, the family and friends would be fasting and preparing for the ceremony, which involved a possible funeral march to the cemetery. She had no idea where they planned to bury the child. There must be a cemetery in town, because she couldn’t imagine them burying the child out here after the panic regarding the
mullo
. A dinner would follow the funeral, she knew, along with singing and dancing.

Had Santos cast a glance over his shoulder, spying Annja, before smoothly closing the screened door behind him? He had to have seen her. She wasn’t hiding. Just hanging back, measuring how wise it would be to barge in on the family.

There was something in Annja that could not ignore an endangered child. Most people with a conscience wouldn’t. Yet having been an orphan herself... She had to learn what was going on. If the best she could achieve was to convince someone to call the police, she felt she would be doing what she could.

Marching up to the house, she slid her fingers down the rusted wire screening on the rickety wood door. The inner door was open and she could hear the woman, Melanie, wailing between sniffles and explaining what had happened. She had sent her son Marcus to the store in town to buy sugar and bread, and he hadn’t returned. The father was out cruising the streets of Chrastava right now, searching for the boy.

“It was the
mullo!
” someone cried. “Taking vengeance on us through our children. What have we done?”

“Santos?” she heard Mamma ask.

Did the elder woman suspect her son had a reason to fear a vengeful undead? Santos didn’t respond. He was involved in this mess beyond merely protecting his people. She felt it to her bones.

But could she connect him to Bracks? Bracks would need a man on the inside if he was using the Roma’s superstitions as he’d alluded to. What a more perfect ally than someone who lived in the community?

Yet why would Santos have reason to scare his clan mates this way? And to endanger children? He was obviously a leader. The woman had come to him after her husband had gone out in search of their child. They trusted him. Was that trust mislaid?

Enough with the speculation. Annja pushed open the screen door and walked inside through the empty kitchen into the living area. There, among the decades-old furniture tufted with loose stuffing and a matted shag carpet, half a dozen people stood, all focused on the wailing mother. They didn’t immediately notice Annja.

She met Santos’s gaze and felt his disdain.

“Do you have a picture of the boy?” she asked, bringing everyone around to gape at the
gorja
in the room. “You should get a picture to the police quickly, so the search can begin. Along with information about height, clothing, hair and eye color—”

“It’s her!” a man she didn’t recognize cried. “The one who dug up the cause of our grief.”

The evil eye was flung at her from more than a few fists.

“That skull is not the reason behind your missing son,” Annja protested. “Someone kidnapped him.” She wanted to add
allegedly,
since who could know right now if he had been taken or had merely wandered off and gotten lost? “Real people. Not
mullos
or vampires, or any kind of vengeful dead thing.”

“Ah!” The pregnant woman sank to her knees, another woman’s arms about her shoulders.

“Santos, get rid of her!” Mamma ordered, then turned to face Annja. “You are no longer welcome here. Can you not see we are in mourning?”

Santos moved toward her, and Annja put up her hands in placation. She stood her own in the doorway. “I apologize that I had to come here today. I think you all need to be smart about this. Why aren’t you being the smart one in the room?” she asked Santos. “They need a leader to guide them, not help them sink deeper into this nonsense about vengeful dead.”

“Get out,” he said, and shoved her shoulder roughly.

Annja stepped through the kitchen, the ranks of Gypsies closing up behind her and Santos to protect the wailing mother. When her back hit the screen door, she paused before pushing it open.

“You saw me follow you here,” she challenged. “You could have stopped me, protected your people from the woman who dug up the
mullo
. That makes me think you wanted them to see me. For what reason? To further rile them? Are you involved with Bracks, Santos?”

“Who are you?” He swung the door open and shoved her outside. Following her, he gripped her arm to swing her around to face him. “You will leave now, or I will inform the police.”

“You want to call the police on little ole me, but not for an innocent and helpless child, who could very well be in worse danger than I could ever present.”

“You do not understand our ways. We will handle this—”

“Don’t give me that persecuted Gypsy excuse again. I think you’re helping Bracks use those outdated beliefs to hide something from your friends and family. Do you know Weston Bracks?”

“The man is—” Giving a frustrated grunt, Santos swung a fist at Annja.

She dodged and, tilting to the side, swung up a leg and kicked him squarely in the gut, sending him stumbling backward against a rusted pickup truck. The vehicle swayed on its sagging tires with his weight.

“I don’t want this fight,” she said, keeping her fists up defensively before her face as she waited for him to right himself. “Those people inside need someone to take charge and reassure them. And I certainly don’t want to create a stir with a funeral today. But you seem to want me to be here—to need the anger my presence fuels in your people. You know what happened to the boy, don’t you?”

Santos charged, bending low and grabbing her about the hips, plowing her to the ground. She skidded across grass and dirt. A fist missed her jaw and smashed her shoulder. Dirt sifted into her eyes. She managed to knee his solar plexus, and scratch his neck. The man yelped at the pain as she drew blood. Pulling away from the hit, he plunged onto her gut with his entire body weight, bruising a rib.

The man fought dirty. But Annja could give as good as she got. Elbowing him in the jaw loosened his grip on her wrist. She tossed a handful of dirt over her shoulder and he spat and stumbled off her.

Ruling out using the sword because he hadn’t drawn his blade, Annja jumped up to a squat and, as she came to a stand, swung up a roundhouse kick, clocking Santos soundly in the head.

The screen door flapped open. Those inside crowded in the doorway. One woman shouted for Santos to do something, which Annja didn’t consider very ladylike.

Annja backed in the direction from which she had come, the forest behind her rustling in the breeze. “Santos, there are things we have to discuss. Things that can wait until after the funeral.”

She turned and marched off along the forest edge toward the first home, which belonged to Santos and Mamma.

Twenty seconds later, Santos grabbed her by the arm and shoved her into a faster pace. “I want to see you leave Chrastava and never turn back.”

“I’m only returning to the hotel. I’m not about to leave town until you tell me what I want to know.”

“Then I will have to change your mind about staying.”

“Is that so?”

They landed in the yard of Santos’s home and he shoved her toward the forest path she’d taken last night. Not caring to be pushed around, Annja jerked her arm away from his grasp.

The man detoured to his vehicle, grabbed something from inside and came at her with the katana sword, making sure she understood his threat.

“I give you an hour to return to your hotel, pack your things and get to the train station. After that, I’m coming.”

He was bleeding above the eye thanks to a well-placed kick, and at the neck from her fingernails. His jeans were dirty and torn. The sword was similar to a katana, yet he wielded it as if it was a broadsword.

Santos didn’t believe in the
mullo
. Perhaps he believed whatever crime he’d gotten involved in was for the good of his people? He knew Bracks. He’d almost confessed to that during their scuffle. Which meant Santos could very well be behind stirring up the fear in the Romas.

Annja nodded, turned and walked into the forest. He had given her a deadline. She had no doubt he would come after her, especially since everyone watching had heard his threat. Now to determine if the fight was worth the trouble. Every bone in her body screamed for her to return and beat the truth out of Santos.

Swiping at a fog of gnats above her head, Annja picked up into a jog, passing by the site on the path where the wolf still lay. If the animal had been owned and trained by Santos, why wouldn’t he go looking for it? To leave it lying in the forest seemed cruel, yet natural deaths would allow for much the same, she decided, and quickly passed it.