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

stone walls. The others onboard had fallen into stunned silence.

“Stop,” the muncitor said. “I must insist.”

“You,” the driver said, with such authority that it gusted down the aisle and buffeted between the panoramic windows, “will take your seat, watch over the children, and shut your stinkin’ mouth.”

Gina stared at the man behind the wheel. That voice. Could it be . . . ?

There’s no way.

“You should get back to your place,” he told her. “For your own safety.”

“What happened back there?” Gina asked.

“We hit something.”

“We . . . Well, maybe we should’ve stopped. What was it?”

“Show no mercy,” he said through his mustache.

“Was it an animal?”

They exited the tunnel into a purple and red-black twilight. Along the aisle, muncitors spoke in low tones to calm those awakened by the sudden lurches.

“You could say that,” the driver replied. “Could say it was human too. Now, back to your seat, if you don’t mind. I’m trying to get us to Sinaia in one piece.”

The lights of an approaching car threw his profile into silhouette, and Gina felt a spark of recognition. “Cal?”

“Go on back. Stay close to Dov.”

“It’s you?”

Green eyes peered over the rims of his shades, allowing her a glimpse of gold flecks twinkling in the glow of the dash. “Shush.” He said it the way Nikki would have, with the same inflection—as if he had the right to be bossing her around. “Please, Gina, let’s wait till I can stop this thing.”

“But why’re you—?”

“The train station just outside of Sinaia. We’ll pull over and talk there.” He braked, heading into a hairpin turn. A road sign indicated they were twenty-seven kilometers from their destination.

Gina seethed with questions the entire way.

On the asphalt where the tour bus had roared past moments earlier, the wolf whimpered for the last time. Playing temporary host to Ariston’s Collector, the foolish creature had disobeyed orders and found itself snarling and wild-eyed in the path of hurtling metal.

Now, in the darkness, the Collector was left drifting.

He was joined by a female whose primary habitation was Erota. The nineteen-year-old had returned to him last year, offering her allegiance to the Akeldama Cluster and vowing vengeance on her father’s killer. Though suspect of her human inclinations and the long-term effects of estrangement from her younger sister, Ariston had embraced her presence as a welcome diversion from the tedium of his wives. While Barabbas and Megiste had betrayed him, luring others with them, Erota’s youthfulness could work in his favor.

Or so he thought.

Moments ago, just down the incline, her Collector had suffered a fate similar to his own and left behind the carcass of a small bushy-tailed fox. They were both stuck once more in the shadowy corridors of the Separation—imitations of life, at best; mere hints of physicality in the air.

Ariston’s Collector tethered himself to the dead wolf ’s ear. “What now?”

“We’ll have to make it back to our original hosts.”

“I think that driver knew. I’d swear that he aimed for me.”

“For me too,” the female Collector said.

“Dumb animal instinct. The wolf tried to chase a rabbit across the road and ignored my every command.”

He sniffed. His permanent human shell was in repose a number of miles to the north, in Zalmoxis Cave. Erota’s was farther away, in the underbrush of a ravine.

Hidden in the steep slopes between Sinaia and Busteni, the cave was named after a semimythical character who had lived centuries before the arrival of the Nazarene. It was said the man had secluded himself for three years in the caverns of these Bucegi Mountains, along the Carpathians’ eastern fringe, then staged his own “resurrection.” The locals were so impressed that they hailed him a god.

Ariston had chosen the site months earlier as the final resting spot for Eros’s and Sol’s corpses, a place of historical and otherworldly significance. The location was a reminder to the cluster that he valued their fallen, that they were in this together. The bodies served notice that this world of humans was fraught with danger, and they would be wise to heed his commands at all times.

His Collector, now drifting over the carcass of the wolf, wondered what to do next. Why had he allowed a young woman to talk him into this? Unsure of the orphans’ schedule, Erota had suggested they utilize creatures of the forest to spy out the approach of the tour bus, then to cut back over the ridge to Sinaia before the diesel monster could claw its way up the longer, more circuitous road.

“Now they’re going to get there before us,” he told her.

“Don’t worry. We know their plans for tomorrow. After visiting the monastery and Peles Castle, they’ll be taking the Busteni cable car up to the hikers’ cabana that overlooks the valley. We can weed out the boy any-where along the way.”

“Or cut the entire cable car and send it plunging to the rocks.”

“See? We’ll adjust our plans, that’s all.”

“We do have a few others who can help.”

“That’s right,” she said. “Plus, your daughter will be with us.”

“Shalom, yes. She saw Gina in Arad, did she not?”

“While shopping.”

“So she’ll know what to look for.”

“Absolutely.”

Ariston’s Collector found a measure of solace in that.

Earlier, they had discussed Megiste’s attack on Erota while in Atlanta, as well as her decision to lure away Ariston’s henchman—and all of it after cut-ting down his own son. The woman was inscrutable. She was crafty, he had to give her that, but who was Megiste to think she could take over leadership of the House of Eros instead of submitting to his cluster’s oversight?

Word was that she had tucked her tail and scurried back to Israel. Well, let her rot, as far as he was concerned. Not that he would take any-thing for granted. Before making today’s trip to Sinaia, he had posted a handful of his remaining cluster on the vineyard premises to ward off any unruliness. He could not afford any more defections.

“You ready to make our way back?” Erota’s Collector inquired.

“I’m ready.”

He released his slight