Blood Cursed (Rogue Angel) by Alex Archer Page B

heart at the time of burial to keep it down.”
    “You’ve read about the Bulgarian vampire finds?”
    “Yes. But refresh my memory.”
    “Excavating a monastery near the Black Sea town of Sozopol, archaeologists uncovered close to one hundred corpses with stakes driven through their chests.”
    “I didn’t hear there were a hundred of them. Really?”
    “You do seem to resist the whole vampire legend. The discovery has boosted tourism in the area. One of the skeletons is currently displayed at the National History Museum. It’s dated to be over seven hundred years old. I believe the man was Krivich.”
    Annja searched her memory of medieval who’s who. “The Crooked?”
    “Yes, a notorious pirate and aristocrat, possibly a master of witchcraft, as well. Which was a good reason for the iron stake.”
    “I just read about this―isn’t the National History Museum also the place where some of John the Baptist’s bones are on display?”
    Luke smirked. “Quite the variety of history they have on view there.”
    “So, an iron stake through the chest... That’s similar to Dracula’s wooden stake through the heart,” Annja said.
    “Iron used to keep back mythical creatures. Faeries most often. And, of course, iron swords were the weapon of choice for decapitating suspected mullo corpses.”
    “Well.” Annja looked at the skull sitting on the table. “The decapitation part has already been taken care of, so if the Romas protest again we can use that in our defense. Decapitation means the dead can’t rise.”
    “Good. So we’ve got our story straight.”
    They both chuckled.
    Luke tapped the brick with the dental pick again. “Did bricks have holes in them by the mid–nineteenth century?”
    “The holes first appeared when the extrusion process was developed to make clay bricks. Why?”
    “I think this one has a hole in it. It could either be original or created by time and erosion. We’ll have to remove some more soil to be sure, but I’ll save it for filming,” he suggested eagerly.
    Annja glanced up into the man’s gleaming eyes. “You’re excited about the arrival of my producer, aren’t you?”
    He shrugged. “Isn’t every day a man has the opportunity to work with a film crew.”
    “It’s a crew of one.”
    “And you. That makes three of us. I’d call that a crew.”
    She smiled. “All right. We’ll reconvene in the morning at the dig site. I have to head back to the hotel and wash...and prepare to meet Doug in the morning.”
    “I’ll pick you both up at seven?”
    “Sounds like a plan.”

Chapter 6
     
    Santos eyed the lanky young American man who got out of the taxicab in front of a grocery store. He knew it was an American from the flashy gestures. The man had apparently wanted the cab to wait, but as the taxi drove off, leaving him waving frantically, he settled down and kicked the street pole beside him. He had a load of gear strapped to his back and carried a long black duffel.
    Tourists always made their way through the town, but this one was unusual in that he wasn’t with a friend and didn’t wield a map or GPS on his phone to find his way about without bothering to lift his head to take in the sights.
    Taking note of the hawker who was setting up his stand, Santos could only shake his head when the American man started picking up stakes and a garlic necklace. He handed over American cash to the hawker, who gladly took the currency.
    With a spring to his step now that he’d claimed the ridiculous items, the American walked into the small grocery store.
    And Santos waited to observe his exit five minutes later, beef jerky stick in one hand and a bottle of soda in the other. His hand itched for his katana. No wonder the media claimed Americans were all obese. Did they never eat real food that came directly from the ground or tree? This man, though, was skinny. It was a wonder he could heft what appeared to be some weighty baggage.
    Santos decided to help him with that.