Blood Cursed (Rogue Angel) (8 page)

Five minutes later, she’d treated Luke’s wound, but hadn’t put a Band-Aid on it because of all his hair. It was thick and soft and she tried not to run her fingers through it after she’d taken care of the wound. Smelled nice, too, like spicy aftershave.

“I’ll survive,” he said. “Now let’s get to it. If we want to lift the skeleton out of the ground it’ll have to be sooner rather than later. I don’t suspect they’ll stay away for long.”

“You’re thinking the same thing I was thinking,” she said. “Their leader isn’t going to take his eyes, or his sword, off us. You know some thugs we could hire to stand guard while we work?”

“Not particularly. The night guardsman has a day job. You?”

The image of Garin Braden’s growling mug popped into Annja’s brain. “Nope. Guess we’ll have to hope the evil eye suffices.”

Chapter 5

It was high noon. Annja sat at the edge of the pit and tilted back the remainder of the warm water from a canteen. Luke spread out a small canvas tarp in preparation for laying their work on it. They had decided to lift only the skull because that was the most valuable part. The rest of the skeleton would have to wait until they could put in another two or three days of digging. Foremost, they wanted to protect the skull and brick from being stolen.

The Gypsy leader had situated himself at the base of an oak tree not thirty feet from the pit. He hadn’t said much, but his keen dark eyes had crept along Annja’s skin all day. He wasn’t going to let them walk away with the skull, she suspected. But then, what did she know? That he was sitting aside, allowing them to do their work, did impress her. And confused her.

What was his story? He’d stood on the side of the angry villagers, and yet now he had settled in and was content to allow them to do what he’d vowed could never happen—remove bones from the site. Of course, she hadn’t wandered over to see if his lowered head included closed eyelids. Was he napping? If so, they had to hurry.

“You ready?” Luke asked, and she turned her attention back to the task at hand.

They’d dug under the skull, leaving a good two inches of soil to support the fragile bone and make lifting it out easier.

“Do you find our silent sentinel disturbing?” Annja asked as they worked.

“More interesting, actually. He’s been sleeping most of the day.”

“No, he hasn’t, he’s—” At a look to the tree she could see that the man’s head was bowed and his eyes closed. “Then we’d best work quickly before he starts taking inventory.”

The skull, filled with dirt, and the brick weighed about four pounds, Annja decided as she placed it on the tarp. Luke then carefully wrapped it and tied it firmly with twine before gesturing she hold the plastic bag open to keep it all together.

“Did you encounter that man when you were here a year ago?” she asked, remembering now Luke was not new to the area.

“Not that I recall. And I certainly would remember a character like him, diamonds in his ears, sword and all. But I do know the encampment on the other side of the forest. I was only able to interview one person from there who was willing to give me any information on the troubles her son had had in the school. And that was only because she was moving in a week, and wasn’t afraid of retaliation. Gypsies are secretive and don’t trust easily. They are misunderstood. That’s the reason for the mistrust.”

“You seem like a man who can gain another person’s trust easily. Your voice has just the right amount of authority.”

“And yours has an interesting cadence,” he offered with an eye-crinkling grin. “Brooklyn.”

“You know my history from watching the show.”

“You have me there, but I do like it. Your voice, that is. You, uh...” He wiped a hand over his chin and looked aside, then shook his head as if dismissing something he didn’t know how to say.

“What?” she prompted, suspecting from his inability to meet her gaze head-on what he might have wanted to ask. No sense in making it easy for him. She did have her standards. “Do I dance with the Gypsies at night around the campfire while you’re not looking?”

That made him chuckle. “No, Annja, I was wondering if you were, well—are you seeing anyone right now?”

“Not at the moment.”

“I suppose relationships are difficult with your travel schedule.”

“A challenge. But I do enjoy challenges.”

He tilted his head. “You must get propositioned a lot.”

“Not nearly as much as I’d like.”

Annja stood, leaving that one hanging out there. She’d had her share of dates and always managed to fit them into her schedule when the man was worth it. If Luke asked, she would definitely clear space for him.

Grabbing another tarp that they’d used to cover the pit, she unfurled it carefully, not wanting to wake their sleeping guard.

“How did you chase them away?” Luke suddenly asked, not looking at her as he carefully laid the tarp over the remaining skeleton.

“I would never chase away a proposition if I liked the man,” she said.

He laughed. “Not the men who proposition you, but the men with guns who were here earlier.”

He wanted an answer to something she couldn’t explain. “I wield a mean evil eye.”

“Doubt it.” Luke straightened and wiped away the sweat from his neck, wincing as he fingered the abrasion, which had colored to a deep red since being pistol-whipped this morning. “I’ve watched your television show. You can handle a weapon well, though I assume that is production and editing. Never saw you with a sword, though.”

So he’d seen her with the sword. Probably everyone else in the dig area had seen it, too. But she’d needed to call it to hand and it had served its purpose of showing the swordsman she was not to be trifled with.

The swordsman. She was curious how he’d come to own the katana and how he’d trained with it. From the few moves she had seen, he could be a skilled swordsman.

With a sigh, Luke leaped up out of the pit and took the bagged skull from her. “Fine. None of my business. Let’s hope the Gypsies have gone. The sleeping guard we can deal with.”

She could imagine Luke might hold his own on an adventure. That glint in his eye broadcast lust for something more. A something more she experienced often.

“I don’t think so,” the Gypsy said as he joined their walk to the car. Before Luke could set the skull inside the Jeep the man touched his sword tip to the string-tied blue tarp in Luke’s hands. “That must be burned.”

“We’ve discussed this,” Annja said, putting herself between the two men. “The skull has to be dated and studied, but we can’t do that here. Mr. Spencer is going to send it on to the archaeology department at London University where he works. I promised we’d keep you in the loop. You’ll know where the skull is at all times.”

“There was no such discussion.” The man gave her a narrow look that bored through to her gut. What was it she had heard about Gypsies being able to read a person’s soul? She filed that one along with Luke’s fortune teller. “You said what you
wanted
to happen. I did not agree to that.”

“I thought you didn’t want the thing around? That it was a curse unearthed from the ground? What better than to take it out of the country, far from here, and remove all possibility of that skeleton returning from death to haunt your people? It surely can’t rise without a head.”

“Legend aside,” the Gypsy said, “that is the head of one of our deceased. Some believe it is dangerous, but it will not be once it has been reburied. It stays.”

“How do you know it’s one of your own?” Luke asked. “This skull is likely centuries old. There is no apparent graveyard in the area.”

“What of the other skeletons in the wall over there?” the Gypsy countered. “This site was obviously used for burial, marked or not.”

“Sure, it could be a burial ground,” Annja agreed, trying to keep him calm. “Yet how can you know the bones are Romani?”

“We bury our dead close to our homes to appease the deceased.”

“Wouldn’t you mark the graves?” Annja asked, but Luke didn’t wait for an answer.

“You weren’t even alive when this body was interred,” he said. “And besides, your people have no real home in Europe. They bury their dead along the trails they travel from town to town. You claiming this skull as one of your own is like me staking claim to the entire cache of graveyards across Wales.”

Annja, sensing the Gypsy’s growing irritation, grasped his wrist as he flicked up his sword hand. The blade stopped under Luke’s chin. Both men held each other in a deadly stare. Luke did not back down, showing her the mettle she’d suspected he possessed, while Annja was surprised at the tension in the wrist she held. The swordsman was strong, and wasn’t about to back down from two unarmed
gorjas
.

“My home is where I lay my head each night,” the leader hissed at the Welshman. “And if you cannot understand a man’s right to honor the dead, then we will never come to accord on this matter. Release me,” he said to Annja. “I will not harm him.”

“Then sheathe that sword now.”

The Gypsy stepped back angrily, but did as he’d said. He sheathed his sword with an elegant move that gave credence to her suspicion he’d done so many times before, and that the weapon wasn’t just for intimidation.

“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.

* * *

A
FTER
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.