Gabriel's Horn

4

“Annja, you’ve got to listen to me. You’re in Prague. That’s almost Romania. They’ve got vampires in Romania. Therefore there are vampires in Prague.”

Seated at the small metal desk she’d been shown to in the police station, Annja stared glumly at the page of photographs of known criminals operating in Prague. Actually she’d looked at so many pictures of criminals now that she believed Skromach had borrowed books from other countries.

After a while they all started to look the same. There were some who were old and some who were younger, but they all had earmarks of desperation or deviance. She wondered if her best friend, Bart McGilley, the NYPD detective, ever noticed how similar the criminals he chased looked.

She glanced at her watch. It was after five. Dinner was at eight.

Now I’m going to have to rush, she thought as she listened to Doug Morrell continue his tirade about vampires. She hadn’t wanted to rush. This was a date. More than that, it was a date with Garin Braden, a man she knew she couldn’t trust.

And how did you dress for something like that? It was a question that had been plaguing her for weeks. Ever since he’d told her that it was time for her to pay off on her promise to have dinner with him after he’d helped her out of a dangerous situation in India ages ago.

“I must have been brain-dead when I made that deal,” she said to herself. At the time it hadn’t seemed like a big deal. Now it felt as if she’d made a deal with the devil.

That was one thing she was certain of—Garin Braden didn’t walk on the side of angels.

But what kind of conversation did she expect to have with someone who was seemingly immortal? It was intimidating and that was a feeling she rarely experienced.

“Doug,” Annja interrupted. Her head throbbed from studying photographs and trying to deal with Skromach’s suspicions about the sword.

The police detective had checked in a few times, usually to bring her something to drink and once to see if she wanted anything to eat. Despite the fact that he’d consigned her to this room and these photographs, he wasn’t a bad guy.

Doug hadn’t been thrown off his game. “Don’t you see that this is important?”

Be patient, Annja reminded herself. She took a breath. Then she spoke slowly.

“There…are…no…vampires…in…Prague.”

“There have to be.”

“Doug,” Annja sighed, “vampires don’t exist.”

“They hide,” Doug said. “No one’s as good at hiding as a vampire.”

“Really?” Annja leaned back in the straight-backed chair and tried to get comfortable. She couldn’t.

“I’m telling you there’s a story about vampires in Prague,” Doug whined.

“I’d rather do the one on King Wenceslas that I suggested.”

Paper turned at Doug’s end of the connection. “This is that sleeping-king thing, right?”

Annja felt encouraged that Doug had read her proposal. “The king in the mountain. Yes.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Doug said. “Sleeping king. King of the mountain. Same diff. Supposed to be called forth from the earth in times of great danger to the world. Did I leave anything out?”

“The legend of King Wenceslas coming back to fight evil is an important part of why I want to do the story. It’s been woven into the King Arthur myth.”

“He comes back from the dead?” Doug sounded excited.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

Annja took a breath. “I did. I sent research notes.”

“You know I don’t look at that stuff. This is television. All you need is a good beat line to make anything fly. I like the idea of him coming back from the dead,” Doug said. “Kind of spooky, actually.”

Annja looked around the small office and spotted a picture of Skromach with a woman about his age and three kids, two girls and a boy.

“Didn’t they write a song about this guy?” Doug asked. “I seem to recall you saying something about a song.”

“A Christmas carol.” Annja focused. The story about King Wenceslas would be a good one.

“Yeah. ‘Good King Wenceslas,’ right?”

“Yes.” Annja was even further amazed when Doug tried to remember the chorus.

He kept singing “Good King Wenceslas” until she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Stop. That’s not how it goes.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.” Annja looked at the mug shots. Those were preferable to dealing with Doug when he went obsessive-compulsive with her.

“Guy was supposed to be Santa Claus, wasn’t he?” Doug asked.

“Not exactly. That’s a connection a lot of people make.”

“I have to admit, I like it.”

Annja felt hopeful. “You do?”

“Yeah. So this King Wenceslas comes back from the dead? Correct me if I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong,” Annja said immediately. She had the worst feeling that she knew exactly where Doug was headed. “He’s not supposed to be dead. Just sleeping.”

“Hibernating,” Doug said. “Kind of like a vampire.”

“No.”

“Comes back from the dead. Wants to wreak havoc on whatever villain is sucking the life out of the world. Kind of sounds vampirish to me.”

“No,” Annja repeated.

“I like it,” Doug said. “I want this story.”

“King Wenceslas wasn’t a vampire.”

“Maybe you just haven’t dug deeply enough. Maybe his whole vampire nature is there waiting for you to discover it.”

“It’s not.”

“I mean, can you imagine this?” Doug asked.

“No,” Annja said. “I can’t. Doug, Wenceslas was not a vampire.”

“He could be.”

“He is a saint.”

“Cool,” Doug exclaimed. “A vampire that’s been sainted. You know what’ll really sell this piece, though?”

Annja was afraid to ask.

“Picture this,” Doug went on. “We show Wenceslas as a warrior knight. A big sword or ax. Horned helmet like the Vikings wore.”

“The Vikings didn’t wear horned helmets,” Annja said. “That’s just a perception created by Hollywood. It’s wrong.” But she knew Doug wasn’t listening. He was lost in his own world.

“So we see this big knight with this gnarly weapon.” Excitement thrummed in Doug’s voice. “Big burly guy. Muscles out to here. And let’s make the armor red. With a hood. So the Santa Claus connection comes through.”

Annja didn’t even try to interrupt. She’d been through sessions like this with Doug before. It was already too late.

“A red hood,” Doug said. “Get it? Then the camera pans in and Wenceslas grins at us. Only instead of regular teeth…he’s got fangs!”

Annja hung up. There were times when talking to Doug, though she counted him as a friend, were exhausting. She could always claim a dead battery later. She laid the phone beside her notebook computer.

While she was looking at the mug shots, she was also searching the archaeological sites for information about the green-scimitar tattoo. She felt certain there was something significant about the design.

So far there weren’t any responses on the boards.

THE PHONE RANG a few minutes later. At first Annja was just going to let it go to voice mail. Then she noticed that the number was local to Prague. She scooped up the phone and answered.

“You’re not at your hotel,” a strong male voice accused.

The voice belonged to Garin Braden. Just like that, all the trepidation Annja had about the upcoming date slammed into her.

She took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out her mouth. This is a mistake, she told herself.

“I’m not,” she said in a calm voice. Still, she felt her pulse beating faster than normal. She didn’t like it. Garin was a dangerous man. If she’d had her preference, she’d have kept him as an enemy the way he’d been when they’d first met. He’d tried to kill her then.

“I thought this would be something special.” Garin didn’t sound disappointed; he sounded irritated. “I’ve gone to considerable lengths to make tonight happen.”

Unable to sit in the chair any longer, Annja got up and paced the room. She rubbed the back of her neck and tried to relax. Her shoulders felt knotted and sore.

“Things didn’t go exactly as planned at the movie set today,” Annja said.

“You’re only there as an adviser,” Garin said in a pleasant baritone. At least, if he didn’t sound as if he was ready to chew nails his voice would be pleasant, Annja thought.

“Leave the movie set and go to your hotel. I’ve got reservations,” Garin said.

Was that a command? It definitely sounded like a command. And Annja didn’t intend to be commanded. She had reservations herself, and they weren’t at a restaurant.

5

“This isn’t working out,” Annja said.

“Prague was your idea,” Garin countered, as if the location was the problem. “I would have preferred meeting in the Greek islands.”

Annja knew that. Garin had even offered to send his private jet—one of his private jets—to pick her up from Brooklyn. But she’d refused. If she had to meet Garin for dinner, she wanted to do it under her own power.

Doing that meant she could also leave whenever she wanted. You could really run out of places to go on an island if you wanted to get away from someone.

“If you’re trying to weasel out of our agreement,” Garin said, “then that’s fine. I’ve got other things to do.”

The man’s arrogance was monumental. In that instant Annja saw that she could break the date if she chose. She also realized that Garin sounded as if he had misgivings, as well.

That possibility irritated her. She knew she was good company, bright, articulate and attractive. She’d been told that by enough men to accept there must be some truth to it. So where was Garin getting off telling her he had other things to do?

“I’m at the police station,” Annja said.

Garin growled a curse. “What did you do now?”

“I,” Annja said, taking affront at once, “didn’t do anything. Some men attacked the movie set today. They planted explosives that nearly killed several people and sent five stunt crewmen and women to the hospital. Maybe you heard about that.”

“No.”

“It was in the news.” In fact, now that she thought about it, Annja wondered if she should have been upset that Garin hadn’t called immediately to check on her.

“I wasn’t watching the news.”

Annja wondered what Garin had been doing.

“Were you injured?” Garin asked.

“No. Otherwise I’d be at the hospital.”

“What are you doing at the police station?”

“Looking at photographs of potential bombers.”

“Ah. You’re giving a statement?”

“One of the local detectives invited me to come down and identify the men who planted the explosives.” Annja stopped pacing and placed a hip on the edge of the table. “He hasn’t been too amenable about letting me go. Of course, I haven’t told him that I was meeting you for dinner. I’m quite positive,” she said as sarcastically as possible, “that if I mentioned that he’d let me go immediately.”

“Don’t be crass.” Garin didn’t sound angry now, only grumpy.

“I tend to get that way when someone calls me and starts dumping blame on me.”

“You have a phone,” Garin argued. “You could have called me.”

“Why? Dinner’s still hours away. I can make it easily.”

“I want you attired properly for the night,” Garin said.

“I didn’t know there was a dress code.” Annja started to get angry all over again.

“This isn’t an evening at McDonald’s. I don’t know how your other men treat you—”

“Kindly,” Annja replied. “And with due consideration for the fact that I have a career and obligations. They even acknowledge that I know how to properly dress myself.”

“Trust me. I’ve moved more on my schedule than you did to make tonight happen.”

Annja was torn between being insulted and flattered. She also felt a little competitive. Being around Garin brought that out in her. She disliked the feeling, but she also knew it was impossible to circumvent given the company.

She also knew that what Garin said was probably true. He had several international business interests under several dummy corporations and holding companies. Managing an empire like his couldn’t be easy. Especially if much of it was criminal, as she suspected it was. And Garin wasn’t exactly the sort to have someone oversee it for him.

“You’d be better served if you just told the police that you didn’t see the men who did this thing,” Garin said.

“They knew I chased them.”

“Well, that was certainly foolish.”

“I didn’t want them to get away with what they did.”

“So now you’re going to identify them for the police and be a witness at some time-consuming trial.” Garin’s distaste for such a prospect was clear.

“I don’t want them to get away with this,” Annja repeated.

“Then find them and kill them yourself. It’s much simpler and not as dangerous as you might think if done properly.”

Annja sighed. “Not exactly my choice of solutions.”

“I find it very comforting,” Garin said.

“Getting caught could be a problem.”

“Did I need to mention that you’d have to be clever about it? You needn’t claim your kills.”

Annja rubbed the back of her neck. The headache wasn’t going away. She wanted a hot bath and time to enjoy it. Stanley Younts, the writer she’d met while looking to solve a friend’s murder, had couriered a draft of his new book to her because he wanted her to fact-check the history in the text. He was paying her quite handsomely. She’d had hopes of spending some time with it that day.

“I can have an attorney there in twenty minutes,” Garin offered. “You’ll be out five minutes after that.”

“No,” Annja said.

Garin cursed again.

“I’ll handle this.” Annja stared at the thick books of photographs. “And I’ll be on time for dinner.”

“I’ll send a cab for you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. It’ll be there.” Garin hung up.

The quick dismissal stung Annja. She almost called him back. But she suspected she wouldn’t get past Garin’s personal assistant. Garin had an infuriating habit of becoming inaccessible.

Just get through tonight, she told herself. Then the debt’s paid.

IN THE END, Skromach wasn’t happy about releasing Annja before she could identify the guilty parties, but he didn’t have a choice. He politely and patiently confirmed her hotel’s information and told her he would be in touch.

A short cab ride later, Annja paid the driver and got out in front of her hotel. She’d chosen to stay in the Old Town where the surroundings were more Gothic than industrial. She loved the older sections of European cities. All she had to do was look at the buildings and she could imagine the wagons, carriages and horses clattering down the cobbled streets. History, hundreds of years of it, was ingrained in the architecture.

Her hotel boasted a collection of gargoyles that perched along the roof and looked ready to swoop down on her. She frowned a little when she realized they made her think of Garin. She didn’t know if it was because they looked like predators or simply devious.

“Are you all right, miss?” the cab driver asked in hesitant English. He held the door open and stood with his cap in his hand.

Jarred back to the present, Annja looked at him. “I am. Thank you.” She reached back into the cab for her backpack. She never went anywhere without it. Her notebook computer, GPS locater, extra batteries, cameras and other electronic equipment, as well as the change of clothes she habitually carried were inside.

She gathered the backpack by the straps and strode up the stone steps leading to the hotel.

“Ah, Miss Creed.”

Barely in the foyer, Annja turned and found one of the hotel’s assistant managers standing there. “Yes, Johan?”

The old man smiled. “You remember my name.” He clapped in delight, then smoothed his long silver mustache with his fingertips.

Annja suspected he was old enough to be her grandfather, but he was thin and elegant and moved like an athlete. His dark suit was immaculate and fit the antique furnishings of the refurbished hotel. Soft yellow light gleamed against the surface of the stone floors.

“You’ve gone out of your way to make my stay here pleasant,” Annja replied. “Of course I’d remember your name.”

“You flatter an old man.” Johan put a hand over his heart.

Annja smiled. During the past few days while she’d been a guest at the hotel, Johan and the other staff had taken good care of her. They’d seemed disappointed that she wasn’t more demanding. As it turned out, several of them were fans of Chasing History’s Monsters.

“There was a bit of a problem while you were gone,” Johan said. He looked a little nervous. “It was most confusing. I was told it was supposed to be a surprise, but I could hardly allow such a thing.”

That troubled Annja a little. “What thing?”

Johan crooked a finger at her and guided her off to the side of the foyer. “The man. I simply couldn’t allow him into your room without you being there.”