Free Blood Cursed (Rogue Angel) by Alex Archer Page A

entire cache of graveyards across Wales.”
    Annja, sensing the Gypsy’s growing irritation, grasped his wrist as he flicked up his sword hand. The blade stopped under Luke’s chin. Both men held each other in a deadly stare. Luke did not back down, showing her the mettle she’d suspected he possessed, while Annja was surprised at the tension in the wrist she held. The swordsman was strong, and wasn’t about to back down from two unarmed gorjas .
    “My home is where I lay my head each night,” the leader hissed at the Welshman. “And if you cannot understand a man’s right to honor the dead, then we will never come to accord on this matter. Release me,” he said to Annja. “I will not harm him.”
    “Then sheathe that sword now.”
    The Gypsy stepped back angrily, but did as he’d said. He sheathed his sword with an elegant move that gave credence to her suspicion he’d done so many times before, and that the weapon wasn’t just for intimidation.
    “Have you trained?” Annja asked, hoping to deflect some of the testosterone toward male pride. “With the blade? I’ve not come en garde with you, but I guess that you’re skilled.”
    “My father taught me. He was a master swordsman.” He hit a fist against his chest. “This is my home. And I will not be chased out by you, or the Czech, or even the mullo’ s angry spirit.”
    “We’ve no intention of chasing you anywhere.”
    “You don’t understand, you—” The man pointed a finger toward Luke, then Annja. “You are an American, yes?”
    “From New York,” she said. “Brooklyn.”
    “The home of the great Statue of Liberty and freedom to all who walk your shores, yes? Well, I am Romani. We are not accepted anywhere we go. For generations we have been persecuted for simply existing. Can you understand that?”
    “I may not be able to relate to it,” Annja said calmly, “but I can understand. We’re not here to offend anyone, only to research.”
    “Always science is the answer to intrusion upon another man’s rights.”
    She was about to argue the whole rights issue, but the Gypsy continued his tirade and she wanted to keep an eye on his sword and make sure it stayed sheathed.
    “We are not welcome in the city. They sniff at our money. Our women are called whores. And if something strange occurs, like a child who has gone missing, it is always the Roma. The authorities blame us because they think we are lazy and uncaring for our families.”
    “A missing child....” Annja caught his eye as he paced. “One of the Roma here earlier mentioned it. When did that happen? We’re not talking about mullos now, are we? What’s going on?”
    The man spat on the ground and sneered, jerking his head up and away from her. When his eyes widened, Annja noticed the arrival of a black pickup truck. It stopped a hundred yards from where she had parked the Jeep but the driver didn’t get out. The Gypsy waved to the driver, signaling him to either stay put or wait for him.
    Then he turned and eyed the skull Luke still held tucked under his arm as if it was a football he was ready to throw for the long pass. Another glance to the truck. His driver waited.
    Annja narrowed her eyes on the waiting truck―dented, probably twenty years old―but couldn’t make out the driver’s features to know if he was Romani, as well. Not that it mattered.
    Finally the Gypsy said, “You will not leave Chrastava with that skull.” And then he turned and walked to the truck, leaving them with the skull and the means to pack up and drive off.
    Annja tossed Luke a look. “What kind of threat was that?”
    “If you’ve got that sword available,” Luke said, “perhaps now would be a good time to get it out?”
    The two stood there, watching the Gypsy get into the truck. Annja waited for the vehicle to drive toward them. Would this be an attempt to take them out? But instead, it backed down the gravel road and turned to drive away.
    Again she and Luke shared glances that