Bathed In Blood

The girl’s eyes had gotten wider as Annja spoke, and now she leaned forward.

“It’s the Blood Countess, isn’t it?” she asked quietly. “She’s come back, just as legend claimed.”

Annja was shocked. That was twice in less than twenty-four hours that she’d heard Báthory’s nickname floated about. Granted she was in Báthory country, but still...

“What legend is that?”

Brigitta laughed. “Right. Like the host of Chasing History’s Monsters doesn’t know the legend of the Blood Countess’s return?”

“Humor me,” Annja said with a smile.

“After she was tried and convicted of bathing in the blood of all those women, the king had her walled up inside her own bedroom suite as punishment for her crimes. You know about that, right?”

Báthory hadn’t gone to trial, was never convicted and was walled up inside her bedroom at the request of her own family, but that was beside the point, apparently. Annja just clenched her teeth and nodded, seeing no need to correct her companion.

“She lived for four years—four years, can you imagine that!—before they found her dead on her bedroom floor.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Annja said. “But that’s nothing new. Most people who know anything about Elizabeth Báthory’s history know that.”

“Yes, but what they don’t know is that Báthory wrote a message in blood on her bedroom wall before she died.”

Uh-huh, Annja thought. Aloud she said, “And that would be...?”

The girl’s eyes gleamed. “I’ll be back,” she said, in what was quite possibly the worst Austrian accent Annja had ever heard.

As Annja sat there, staring at her without expression, Brigitta burst into laughter. “I had you! I totally had you!”

Annja wasn’t amused. “Right. Well, it was good meeting you, but now I’ve...”

“Wait! Wait!” the girl said between giggles, reaching out and grabbing Annja’s arm to keep her from leaving. “I’m sorry. I was just joking around. I’ll tell you the real story. Honest.”

Grudgingly Annja let herself be persuaded. Something about the girl called to her, and she had learned to trust such instincts since possessing the sword. There was information to be learned here; she was certain of it.

“I wasn’t kidding. The countess did write on the wall of her bedroom before dying. She used candle wax to do it, though, not blood. They even found the candle in her hand.”

“I see.” Annja eyed her skeptically.

“No, seriously,” Brigitta protested. “The family tried to cover it up but word leaked out. Some say it was through the countess’s lover, though how anyone could love a woman like that, I don’t know.”

Growing tired of all the chitchat, Annja said, “Can you please get to the point?”

“Oh, right. Sorry. The countess wrote amikor vissza on the wall above her bed.”

“Which means?”

“When I return. How creepy is that? Maybe she’s come back. Maybe it was the countess that killed those girls after all.”

Annja was about to thank her for her time and get the heck out of there when the word Brigitta had used hit her like a shovel over the head.

Girls.

Plural.

Annja settled back into her seat and stared at the teenager sitting across from her.

“What girls?” she asked.

7 (#ulink_dc5c0f85-1075-512f-983e-82f120f423ca)

The phone rang seven times before it was answered. That wasn’t a good sign; it meant she’d considered not even taking his call. She only did that when she was annoyed with him, and her annoyance would make the news he’d called to deliver that much more dangerous. He was going to have to be careful.

When she finally answered the phone, all she said was, “Yes?”

“We may have a problem.”

“I pay you to handle the problems. Why are you bothering me?” she asked.

“This one’s a little different.”

“I’m listening.”

“Something went wrong with the latest disposal. The subject was recovered by two women and brought to the hospital in Nové Mesto. The police were notified.”

There was a pause and then, “And?”

“The subject was neutralized as per our usual containment plan. Arrangements have been made and the investigation will take its usual course.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“One of the women who recovered the subject is an American media personality. The host of a popular television show.”

“Who is she?”

He checked his notes. “Her name is Annja Creed. She’s the host of a program called Chasing History’s Monsters.”

There was a chuckle from the other end of the line. “How interesting. Was she alone with the...subject?”

“For a brief time, yes.”

There was another pause, a much longer one this time.

“Did they speak?”

He sighed quietly. “It’s hard to say. I don’t believe the subject was able to do so, but I could be wrong.”

Then he held his breath. This was the moment. If she told him to deal with it, he was all right. He would do as required and that would be that. But if she said she needed time to consider the issue or that she was sending someone else to handle the problem, then he would need to cut and run as swiftly as possible. The cleanup crew would have orders to eliminate any potential threat or loose end and, given what he knew, he would be priority number one for both.