Blood Cursed (Rogue Angel)

by Alex Archer

  “A bear,” Luke also guessed. “I’m sorry for your pain, but—”

  “It was a monster!” the man protested, beating his shoulder for emphasis.

  “I thought the mullo appeared as a wolf?” Annja posited.

  The man shook a fist in the air. “Wolf-monster! It lives in the forest!”

  “What could you possibly have done to anger a skeleton that could be centuries old?” Annja defied the man. “And even if the legend were true, the mullo only goes after those who have provoked its vengeance.”

  “The mullo is after our children,” the woman who had spoken earlier broke in. “The bones must be burned. It is the only way to ensure the safety of our children and families.”

  “No.” Luke started toward the dig pit, ignoring the click of the pistol triggers behind him. “This is an important find.” He shoved aside the Gypsies standing in his way. “We’ve got to unearth the skeleton completely and bring it in to study. It is not animate or alive in any manner. It simply cannot return from bone to torment you. It cannot!”

  Her colleague was unaware of the growing danger. Annja kept an eye on the man with the sword, which he’d quietly drawn out of the sheath at his back and held, blade down, near his thigh. The guy, she noticed, watched carefully as the one with the pistol rushed up behind Luke. The lackey raised his pistol hand, preparing to smash it across the back of Luke’s head, when Annja shouted, and drew all eyes to her—and her battle sword.

  As Luke went down to his knees, having received an abbreviated blow to the back of his neck, she swung toward the two gunmen still facing her. They dodged the swing of her blade, and one fired haphazardly. The bullet shattered the Jeep’s left headlight. Annja swung wide. She didn’t want to cause damage, just scare the men more than the skeleton apparently already did. She succeeded in backing them toward the crowd, which now moved as one toward the nearby forest.

  A wolf-monster? This was fast becoming a Chasing History’s Monsters episode.

  With a throaty shout, she sent them all running toward the brushy edge of the forest. Only the man with the katana stood firm, blade held high and over his head, ready for her.

  Someone called out encouragement to him to “send the gorjas running.”

  “This isn’t necessary,” Annja said, holding the battle sword out to her right in a sign that she would not engage if he did not press her.

  She hated revealing the sword to Luke, but hadn’t seen any other way to stop what had already turned violent. Besides, at the moment, Luke was discombobulated at best.

  “You are making it necessary,” the swordsman said. “You know nothing about the ways of my people. The dead travel fast.”

  Again, that line from Dracula. And that he used it to defend a ridiculous belief in the impossible didn’t impress her. Something about the man was off. He wore a pristine black shirt, the collar pointed with silver tips, as were the toes of his boots. At his ears, thick diamonds glinted. A bit flashy, if truth were told.

  “If you are concerned about what we will do with the remains removed from the earth you can assign a man to watch over us,” she said. “We’ll keep you in the loop regarding where the bones are brought when the dig is finished. We’ve found three skeletons so far, so we’ll be here a few more days—”

  The man swung his sword, cutting the air. Behind him, his people had gathered in a pack, eyes wide.

  Out the corner of her eye, Annja took in Luke sitting at the edge of the pit, rubbing the back of his neck. Staying out of trouble. Good boy.

  The man swung the tip of his sword out near her hip, and she heard it cut across the steel loop hanging from her belt loop where she often hooked a canteen. He stepped back, and by the look in his dark eyes, she realized he’d orchestrated that strike. Intimidation tactics, then. When bloodshed was what the angry Romani wanted.

  The fact he’d found opportunity for such a move put Annja on guard. He was no man to take for granted.

  “You’re seriously going to take on a girl?” she taunted. It worked sometimes.

  “I will do what I must to protect my own,” he replied. “But if you put down your weapon first, I will follow. Perhaps we can talk about this?”

  She liked the idea of an exchange between blades much better, but Annja consented with a nod. She wasn’t about to lay down her sword, though. Not until he put his away, which he did, sheathing it behind his back.

  She walked over to the vehicle and made a show of putting the sword in the backseat. By the time she’d returned to stand before her aggressor she knew the sword had returned to the otherwhere, until Annja once again needed it and could call it forth with a thought.

  “Let’s talk, then,” she said. “But not with your angry crew flanking you. Can Luke and I take a look over the site to make sure no one has caused it any damage, then we can meet in town? Over lunch?”

  With a nod toward the others, he said, “They will leave, but I will stay to watch over you.”

  “Fair enough.” For now.

  That spoiled her plans to make a hasty lift of the skull from the ground. But she hadn’t mentioned how long it would take her and Luke to “look over” the site. If they played their cards right, they could finagle a few hours’ work and perhaps lift the skull without the Gypsy swordsman being the wiser.

  Annja strode over to Luke while the man spoke to the others in the Romani dialect Annja couldn’t decipher.

  “You okay?” she asked Luke, who slowly nodded. She inspected the back of his head and found an inch-long gash at the base of his scalp. “A little blood, but it looks like an abrasion. You’re tough.”

  “Hurts like hell, but...where did you get that sword?”

  Always difficult explaining the sudden appearance of a medieval battle sword in her hands. So she never tried.

  “Just something I like to keep handy. Oh, hell.”

  She noticed the tarp had been lifted and the dig pit had been covered over with loose dirt. The skull, which had once been visible, was now completely buried. The dirt wasn’t packed down, though, so they should be able to recover it. Enough to make her and Luke’s day a long one. And that was if they weren’t interrupted by more Romani. And if the man with the katana let them.

  “I think there’s a first-aid kit in the car,” she said.

  Luke nodded and she went back to the vehicle, the Welshman in her wake. She cast the Romani a glare, but he ignored her and made a show of slashing his sword once or twice in front of him. The Gypsies, and the three gunmen, began to drift into the forest. There must be a path through the forest to their encampment, Annja guessed.

  Luke muttered something and she turned to see that he’d stumbled over to the Jeep after her and Katana Man. Luke was now gripping the Jeep door, leaning against it and not hiding the pain. She sensed the workday for him had already ended. “Sit down before you fall down. You could be concussed.”

  “It’s not that bad. Just wasn’t expecting a headache so early in the day.”

  She rummaged through the glove compartment and found a white plastic box filled with Band-Aids and alcohol. She had no idea where the Roma camp was, but it must be either in or on the opposite side of the forest. They could live in town, but she guessed most didn’t.

  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.”