Field of Blood by Wilson, Eric (dar e dil novel online reading .TXT) 📗

pupils. She thought she saw someone there, and she reached out—but the image faded.

Warmth followed. And sizzling heat . . .

Her heart squeezed within her rib cage, pushing life back through her arteries. Though she had no recollection of how she’d arrived at this spot near the curb, she knew she didn’t belong here. She pushed herself up. Felt knuckles scrape the pavement, turning black with oil and grime.

She was on her knees. She tried to stand.

Collapsed.

She wobbled back to her feet and faced an unknown figure.

The Grim Reaper? Coming to steal her away?

She pushed and clawed at him. The man cried out, begging for her attention, her forgiveness—I swear, I didn’t see you there—and insisting that she sit and wait for the paramedics.

But she wasn’t going to succumb so easily, no.

She shoved away from the delivery driver and stumbled down High Street. Habit propelled her across an overpass, up a slight hill, to an apartment building. She stood in the lobby and stared at elevator buttons. Numbers ran from 1 to 7, and her eyes narrowed upon one in particular.

Was this where she lived?

Maybe it was a clever facade, a halfway house for the dead. This could be the tour’s starting point, leading from an earthly residence and working forward—or upward, downward, whatever—to a more permanent location.

Hi, my name is Gina. I’ll be your guide as we descend into the bowels of the earth. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.

“Where am I?”

She got no answer from her reflection in the metal doors.

Swaying on the heels of her boots, she felt her head swim. Twin jets of hot water seemed to course down her spine, massaging the lower curve of her back and easing vertebrae back into place. Her muscles turned mushy. Everything blurred.

“Regina?”

The hand on her shoulder startled her.

“Stop the tour,” Gina said. “I want to get off.”

Nicoleta pushed the elevator button. “You’re hurt. Let’s get you upstairs.”

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

Arad, Romania

The Collectors met in the calm of dusk.

Erota, true to form, had done her homework about this meeting place: the Cetatea Aradului, the Arad Fortress. For ages, Arad had been a passageway between east and west, and this site had been completed in 1783 with Vauban-style embattlements. Shaped like the Star of David and situated in a loop of the Mures River, the Cetatea’s six points formed a prickly line of defense.

Ariston shot Erota a look. “Are we all here, ready to begin?”

“Let me double-check.”

She peered over fashionable sunglasses, shifting her eyes between the Collectors and the list in hand. With her calculating mind and attention to detail, she’d been assigned this evening’s secretarial duties. Attendance was mandatory at these biannual gatherings—seventeen remaining revenants, from two houses, the entire cluster.

House of Ariston:

1. Ariston—cluster leader, Syrian household leader, husband, father

2. Shelamzion—Ariston’s first wife, mother of Sol, Shalom, and

Salome (deceased)

3. Sol—Ariston and Shelamzion’s adult son

4. Shalom—Ariston and Shelamzion’s teen daughter

5. Helene—Ariston’s second wife, mother of Natira (whereabouts unknown), sister of Dorotheus (House of Eros)

6. Auge—Sol’s wife, Kyria’s mother, daughter of Dorotheus (House of Eros)

7. Kyria—Sol and Auge’s young daughter

8. Nehemiah—Ariston’s brother, Shabtai’s father

9. Shabtai—Nehemiah’s teen son

10. Matrona—Nehemiah’s young daughter

11. Barabbas—Ariston’s attendant House of Eros:

House of Eros:

1. Eros—Grecian household leader, father of Erota and Domna

2. Hermione—Eros’s sister

3. Dorotheus—mother of Eros, Hermione, and Auge (married into House of Ariston), sister of Helene (also married into House of Ariston)

4. Megiste—Eros’s former mistress, household priestess

5. Domna—Eros’s youngest teen daughter

6. Erota—Eros’s oldest teen daughter

She ticked off her own name. “All accounted for.”

“Come along then,” Ariston said. “Beneath these bunkers are underground bulwarks, where we can speak without inviting notice. Facilis descensus Averno.”

As Erota echoed the cluster motto along with the others, she visualized those words snapping like storm flags against the bruised apricot sky, signaling trouble and turbulence and the tenderizing effect of gale-force winds upon the unsuspecting.

In the years since their release, this cluster had relished their activity as revenants—dead bodies reanimated and dependent upon blood for survival.

After ascending from the Field of Blood, the House of Eros had immigrated to Ukraine, and the House of Ariston had settled here in Arad.

Ariston, taking the lead, had sold his jeweled armband from the tombs as down payment on a forsaken vineyard just east of Lipova. Erota and the others had immersed themselves, too, in cultural, financial, and linguistic dealings. All had managed to procure for themselves nondescript lodgings and functional false identities.

Erota still found it remarkable what could be done with the aid of Collector-hosting humans. Though armed with the Power of Choice, some seemed willing and even eager to sell their souls for any semblance of significance. Such hosts were particularly easy to come by in bureacratic circles—busy little bees, swarming to the sticky sweetness of money and power.

All of this made it easier, of course, for the Akeldama Cluster.

They embodied those long-fabled traits of the vampire: pointed incisors and unquenchable thirst; a narcissistic disregard for other life-forms; a chill in the bones, which, if not alleviated by ingested blood, left a chalky pall on the skin . . .

Erota had discovered differences, as well.

She loved garlic, for example—was there anything more tasty than a bowl of goulash? Her mirror was a close friend that never failed to reflect her beauty in all its undead glory. Her skin, her eyes, seemed sensitive to the sun, and yet with a modicum of caution she could function day and night as she saw fit. Some in the House of Eros even wore crucifixes as daily attire. Mockery was nothing if not a manner of declawing a fear-some foe.

As for holy water?

A cool beverage on a hot day.

Stakes through the heart?

Oversized slivers to be removed with force.

Through the centuries, certain other Collectors had cloaked themselves in vampiric guises and used compliant humans to great effect. What was the infamous Elizabeth Bathory if not a bloodthirsty and sadistic countess who reveled in her role as a hostess? Collectors had even bedeviled the Scottish lowlands as Redcaps, roosted in Malaysian trees