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

no part of Megiste’s power struggle. Already she’d shown herself capable here on her own in the U.S., and she knew she could turn to the Consortium if the need arose.

“My father,” she said, “would’ve told me to make my own choice as a grown woman. I don’t plan to go back to Israel, or anywhere near those godforsaken tombs. They’re all yours.”

“I warn you: Sol met his end by voicing similar defiance.”

“I’m sorry, Megiste. You’re right, of course. That was out of line. It’s just that I’m enjoying my life here, and I think I’ve added some nice specimens to our Collection too. Did you see Ray-Ban, my husband? I’ve got him wrapped around my finger, as the saying goes. And his sister Kristine? She’s been putty in my hands.”

“Then you should be free to move on. Trust your infestations to take hold.”

“I don’t think you—”

“They grow quite nicely, once the humans start tending to them. Trust that. With a sudden divorce, your husband’ll find even more time to nurture the things. Really, I’m in no mood for such arguments. Not after this awful turmoil.”

Erota watched the priestess push back her ringlets of hair and hold a palm to her head, showing a grimace of discomfort. Erota recognized the look from her own recent migraines. Even now, her head continued to throb, but this empathy did not change her feelings.

Put aside the goals she had set for herself ? Out of the question.

“Are we in agreement?” Megiste asked.

“Sure.”

“Glad to hear it.” Megiste took her hand.

Erota’s mind raced for a way out of this sudden change in plans. “You know, if you’re going to leave tomorrow, I should really go start packing. I’ll be in my room, but feel free to help yourself in the kitchen. Help your-self to Ray-Ban, too, if you like. Filthy males.”

“I’m actually interested in knowing more about this Lettered woman.”

“What? It’s old news now. Just a silly mistake on my part, I’m sure.”

“I suppose I’ll see for myself, won’t I?”

Before Erota could repel the attack, she felt Megiste’s teeth latch into her forearm, pumping, anesthetizing, then sucking away memories like one of these Southern thunderstorms tearing shingles from a roof. She felt drowsy, disoriented. She had found her own Collector’s item, so to speak, and she fought now to retain her mind’s grip on it: the link . . . the Letter . . . the Nistarim. Erota might’ve miscalculated in Chattanooga, but she was still convinced that Gina Turney was a vital connection, one not to be lost.

Erota slowed her breathing, her heartbeat, and tried to tug free from the hooked fangs. She was a warrior. “Megiste, please.”

Still draining away. Roof shingles, memories—fluttering in the storm.

“Megiste.”

The priestess opened her eyes, mouth gnawing, rimmed with red.

“Why don’t you come back to drink more later?” Erota said. “I won’t stop you. But if you’re wanting to know where the woman is, the one with the Letter, I’ll tell you. You can go see her for yourself tonight.”

Fangs unlatched. “I would like that.”

CHAPTER

FORTY-SIX

Chattanooga

Gina lay in a tub of hot water and gardenia-scented bubbles, with a candle burning on the sink. Jed was trying to help. He said this would relax her. She did as she was told, settling back in the bathwater, thick chestnut strands drifting over her shoulders. Her hair had never been as silky or confinable as her mother’s, and she hadn’t cut or added color to it in two months.

Knock, knock . . .

Along her eyelids, she felt the sting of salt. Didn’t go well with gardenias.

Knock, knock, knock . . .

“Gina?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You okay?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You need me to come in and help you with anything?”

“What, Jed? Am I on a suicide watch here?”

“I was thinking of something . . . romantic. You know, you and me.”

“I’m still healing. The stitches and all.”

“Yeah. I mean, what was I thinking? I knew that.” His presence hovered there, outside the bathroom door. “Silly question,” he mumbled, and walked away.

Gina pushed aside any regret for hurting his feelings. He was trying to comfort her, but it only stirred the pain further. She filled her lungs and let herself slip beneath the surface, the bubbles crackling in her floating strands of hair, the heat shifting back and forth across her bread-dough belly and breasts that had deflated after the buildup of the pregnancy.

This was what it was like to be immortal, huh?

Swell. Just great.

She wondered what, if anything, had been true in her conversation with Cal. Long ago he had tried to help her and her mother, then disappeared for years. What was his emotional investment in her life? Why had he been there in the first place? Finally he had come back, dumped a bunch of secrets on her, and promised to be there as guardian and protector. What an idiot she’d been to think he would put himself on the line for the sake of her child.

“Don’t worry about your baby,” Cal had said. “I’ll keep him safe.”

“They’ll come for him,” Nikki had tried to tell her months prior.

Gina’s lungs were about to explode, and she resurfaced to the shrill of the phone. She let her arms float beneath the bubbles, her fingers already puckering.

Brrng, brrng . . . Brrng, brrng . . .

“You going to get that, Jed?”

No answer, but the phone did stop bleating. She could hear her husband’s low voice, the words indiscernible from here in the bathroom.

Knock, knock . . .

“What now?”

“That was Mr. Felsner,” Jed said. “From the FBI. You know how they think this bombing is connected to the three in Atlanta? Now they’re not so sure.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“They’ve isolated a section of material from the package that contained the explosive device.”

“The pipe bomb, Jed. The nails. Just say it.”

“Gina . . .”

“I was the first one to see our son, okay. I know what happened.”

“Can I come in?”

“I’m relaxing.”

“Does that mean no?” he said.

“What’d they find? What was the call about?”

“All of the Atlanta incidents were perpetrated using matching packages.”

“Perpetrated? Jed,