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

Romania—or wherever he’s really from. He told me he stopped by the house, but you weren’t too thrilled to see him.”

“He stopped by, yes.” Nikki crossed an arm over her stomach. Her hair was coiffed and colored. She was in a business skirt and pumps, with a pale pink top that matched her lips. “I didn’t think it was wise of him to be drawing attention our way.”

“Attention from who?”

“Regina, please. Let’s not revisit the past.”

“If it’s the past, then what’s the worry?”

“There’s no reason to go digging up trouble. That’s simply not for you and me now, is it? You have a son to care for, and we’ll keep marching onward. We are survivors.”

“Immortal? Is that what you really mean?”

“Excuse me?” Nikki crossed the other arm.

“Well, don’t stand there trying to think of the right answer. True or false?”

“Wherever did you hear such nonsense?”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Dear, I’m—”

“Yes or no, Nikki.”

“Yes, if you must have an answer. We all share a measure of immortality.”

“As in, eternal souls. Heaven and hell.”

“Of course. Now, may we return to the matter at hand?”

“My son’s heritage, his purpose,” Gina said, tilting herself away from the bed. “This is the matter at hand, don’t you get that? Just tell me, are we descendants of the original Nistarim?”

“Cal put you up to this, didn’t he?”

“Just give me an answer.”

“This is a lot for an old woman to process.”

“Old woman, huh? So you’re denying that you’re immortal?”

Nikki’s pink top expanded beneath her jacket as she sighed. “The Nistarim,” she said, “are sworn to celibacy. They were not meant to have genetic descendants. They were given an assignment, a God-given task, and after they rose from their tombs, there was to be no giving or taking in marriage. That stipulation was very clear.”

“Cal left that part out.”

“Yes, I suppose he would. Listen, dear, this is talk for another time.” Nikki reached out a hand with painted fingernails, while tragic beauty carved age lines into her face—reminders that she might be human after all. “I can only wish I was something I am not. As you know, I turned fifty this year. Though I must say, I do have my ardent male admirers.”

“I didn’t mean to yell, Mamica.”

“It’s okay.”

“Just tell me, is Jacob in some kind of danger? Are there . . . creatures out to hurt him somehow? Are they the same ones we were trying to avoid when we left Romania? Is that why you got upset with Cal for coming here?”

“Which question first?”

“Start with Jacob. Is he in danger?”

Nikki’s eyes flickered to the side, and she gave a reluctant nod.

“From the Collectors? That’s what Cal called them.”

“Yes.”

“Then,” said Gina, “why didn’t you—”

The bomb blast rocked the entire ward, shattering glass and deafening ears, shaking walls and temporarily knocking out circuits. The swaying floor that Gina had been standing on moments prior became the anvil for a mind-numbing hammer blow. The explosion’s physical force lasted mere seconds, but the overload of the senses imprinted each damaging, nail-slicing, metal-bending sound into Gina’s memory, where they would screech and roar for years to come.

CHAPTER

FORTY-FOUR

Mid-October—Chattanooga

The second-cruelest part of the whole matter was that the three other infants in the nursery had been gathered up for bathings and feedings, while Jacob Lazarescu Turney remained within the bomb’s primary blast zone.

Drywall dust, and slivers of glass, and . . .

Gina had rushed to the nursery, brushing past a wounded nurse, kicking past a toppled gurney. She’d stumbled into a chamber of hell.

Buckled subwalls were surrounded by sparkling shards; blood was spattered across sections of mangled aluminum; scraps of shrapnel were embedded in wood and plastic. Panicked cries. Screams of pain. In the incubator, her baby was lifeless and punctured by nails, his teacup-sized cap still in place.

Five weeks had passed since that day. Media outlets still trolled the town for sporadic updates, hoping for new handheld video footage or anything else that might spike the ratings. Already, though, attention was shifting to the next spate of bad news.

Overwhelmed by constant calls for empathy, the public had turned pragmatic: One dead? Eleven injured? What a relief. It could’ve been so much worse.

It couldn’t be worse.

Gina Turney hadn’t slept more than two or three hours any one night since the bombing. Her imagination was her foe. It crept at the edges of darkness and painted images she wanted no part of. When she tried to make it her ally, it flitted off.

Engrossing novels? Creepy movies? Side-splitting sitcoms?

They had all lost the power to sweep her away.

Gina was now staked to good ol’ terra firma, surviving from one moment to the next. That’s what she did. At heart, she was a Lazarescu. She couldn’t bear, however, the thought of meeting with her mother, and she was unable to meet her husband’s eyes for fear of falling to pieces.

The cruelest part of the whole matter was that the earth continued spinning. Either Jacob hadn’t been what Cal and Nikki thought he was, or there had been others already in place to fill the spots of any vanquished Lamed Vov.

Either way, her son had been killed for nothing.

She blamed the Collectors, and she didn’t even know what they looked like. Were they fang-toothed beasts? Erudite Old World blood-suckers? The only picture she could pop into the frame was the face of the almond-eyed brunette who had harassed her down in the caverns.

She also blamed her mother.

And Cal, who had failed her. What were his words? I’ll be there . . . I’ll make sure your baby’s safe and sound.

Then again, she had told him to bug off.

Mostly, she blamed herself. She’d told Jed she would keep an eye on their baby, but she hadn’t. She had planted a kiss of betrayal on Jacob’s little cheek, then cowered from the vision of a miserable child and fled to the comfort of her bed. She’d stranded Jacob there in his incubator.

If only she had stayed at the nursery window . . .

If only