Anatole drifted in and out of consciousness for most of the drive up. By the time the car rolled to a stop on the pinecone-covered clearing outside the cabin, his breathing had turned shallow.
We carried the wounded immortal inside the lodge and laid him on a couch in the front room. Bruno brought in logs and kindling from the porch and lit a fire in the hearth. He emptied the bag of supplies he had picked up from a chemist near Landstrasse; rolls of bandages, a sewing kit, a disposable scalpel, and a couple of bottles of pills slipped onto the surface of the coffee table.
‘Get the bullets out and stitch him up,’ he told me curtly. ‘He’ll live if he makes it through the night.’ He turned and headed for the front door.
‘Where are you going?’ said Ashely.
Bruno paused with his fingers on the handle. ‘I need to get in touch with Gabriel.’ He indicated the cell phone in his hand. ‘There’s no reception here. I’ll have to make the call from a phone box.’
‘There’s a public telephone in the woods?’
‘No. It’s about an hour’s walk away.’ His eyes shifted to Anatole before he left.
Ashely did a perimeter check around the hunting lodge while I searched the rooms. I discovered a bottle of gin at the back of a cupboard in the kitchen and was pouring a generous amount of it down Anatole’s throat when he entered the cabin.
I followed the alcohol with painkillers and antibiotics.
‘Isn’t that a bit much?’ Ashely indicated the half-empty bottle of liquor.
I threaded a needle and turned to the semi-conscious immortal. ‘He’s going to need it.’
By the time Bruno returned some two hours later, Anatole was sleeping soundly in front of the fire.
‘They made it to one of the hideouts.’ The bodyguard crossed the floor with an armful of logs and set them by the grate. ‘Gabriel’s coming to meet us. He’ll be here tonight.’
We made a meal from the cans we found in the larder. Bruno unearthed a dusty bottle of whisky from a hidden stock I had overlooked and passed it around.
I finally broke the silence that had befallen us. ‘Do you know why the Crovirs are after Sheila Godard?’
‘No,’ Bruno replied with a shake of his head. ‘Gabriel received an urgent request for help from Tomas Godard late yesterday afternoon. They arrived at the Westbahnhof in the evening. We took them straight to the hideout under the Hofburg.’ He gazed into the flames. ‘We got word that a group of Crovir Hunters were asking questions about the Godards a few hours later. We decided to move them to another safe house. That’s when you guys turned up.’
‘Grun mentioned a name at the canal last night,’ said Ashely. ‘Someone called Marcus?’
Bruno’s face hardened. ‘Marcus Pinchter. He’s a Schwatz noble and a member of our Second Council. He works for Gabriel.’
I rolled the glass in my hands. ‘Why would he betray you?’
‘I honestly don’t know,’ said the bodyguard.
‘And Tomas Godard?’
Bruno observed me for a silent moment. ‘I guess there’s no harm in telling you.’ He swallowed a mouthful of whisky. ‘Godard is the oldest surviving member of one of the most ancient families of Schwatzs in existence today.’ He gave me a levelheaded look. ‘He is true nobility, if you know what I mean.’
The meaning behind his words sank in.
‘You mean he’s a pureblood?’
The bodyguard nodded.
Ashely frowned. ‘What’s a pureblood?’
‘It’s an immortal who can trace his genealogy all the way back to the very origins of our races,’ I replied.
Bruno shifted under my unrelenting stare. ‘Godard used to be the Head of the Order of Schwatz Hunters. He abdicated his position in the fifteen hundreds, for reasons unknown to immortals outside the First Council. Gabriel’s father, Roman Dvorsky, was elected the next Head of the Hunters.’
‘Is Gabriel the current leader?’ I asked.
‘No,’ said Bruno. ‘Gabriel’s the Head of our Counter Terrorism Section. Most of us believe he will be the next Head of the Hunters though. Roman is still alive, if somewhat frail.’ He grimaced. ‘It was several decades before the full effects of the Red Death manifested themselves in him.’ He leaned forward and threw another log onto the flames. ‘In the eyes of most Schwatz Hunters, Gabriel is our de facto leader, even if he has not officially been sworn in by the First Council yet.’
Anatole stirred on the sofa and mumbled something in his sleep.
‘Godard mentioned another name last night,’ I said curiously. ‘Who is Santana?’
Bruno scowled. ‘Christie Santana is the Head of the Order of Crovir Hunters.’ Amber liquid splashed inside his glass as he poured in more whisky. ‘She’s a pureblood and a nasty piece of work, if I say so myself,’ he added with a snort. ‘If it was up to her, the immortal war would still be going on to this day.’ He caught the wary glance I exchanged with Ashely. ‘What?’
‘Several members of the Crovir First Council attended a secret meeting in Washington a few weeks ago. A fortnight after that, a Crovir Hunter made contact with us in Boston.’ I hesitated. ‘Forty-eight hours later, he killed me.’
Bruno’s eyes widened at my words.
‘Twenty-four hours after that, he killed him again,’ Ashely added drily.
Bruno looked suitably impressed. ‘How many is it now?’
I knew what he alluded to without him having to clarify the question. ‘Sixteen.’
A low whistle escaped the bodyguard’s lips. ‘That’s not good.’
‘No, it isn’t.’ I sighed. ‘I would like to get to the bottom of whatever’s going on before my final death.’
The logs crackled and hissed in the hush that followed.
‘I’m only on my tenth,’ said Bruno. He glanced at the unconscious driver. ‘Anatole here’s on his eighth.’ He made a face. ‘He’s turned into a bit of a pacifist in the last couple of centuries.’
‘I heard that,’ murmured Anatole.
Bruno straightened. ‘Hey. How’re you feeling?’
‘Like shit,’ said the immortal. He opened his eyes and sat up slowly. A groan escaped his lips. His gaze alighted on the bottle on the table. ‘Here, pass me the whisky.’
‘I don’t think you should be drinking,’ said Bruno. ‘You already had half the gin.’
‘What are you, my mother?’ retorted Anatole. ‘Besides, that was strictly for medicinal purposes. Now shut up and give me the bottle.’
Dusk had fallen across the forest when the roar of an engine finally rose in the distance. Bruno crossed the room with his gun in hand and peered through a gap in the curtains.
‘It’s Gabriel,’ he said, shoulders visibly relaxing.
Headlights appeared between the trees. Moments later, a black Volkswagen minivan rolled to a stop next to the Audi. The passenger door opened.
Gabriel Dvorsky stepped out. There was a bandage around his left wrist and a nasty bruise on his face.
‘You guys ready?’ he called out.
‘Yes,’ said Bruno. He closed the front door behind us.
We headed down the porch steps.
Gabriel peered at Anatole. ‘You look like hell.’
‘Thanks, boss,’ muttered the Schwatz driver. ‘You don’t look so hot yourself.’
Dvorsky’s gaze shifted to Ashely and me. ‘Put your stuff in the van. We’re leaving the car.’
We emptied the Audi and climbed inside the minivan. The vehicle turned and started back up the path that led out of the woods.
‘Where we headed now?’ said Ashely.
‘Vilanec,’ said Gabriel from the front passenger seat.
‘Oh. Where’s that?’
‘It’s in the Jihlava District,’ said Gabriel, ‘in the Czech Republic.’
Pinecones and twigs snapped loudly under the wheels of the van in the silence that followed.
‘We sure travel a lot, don’t we?’ Ashe
ly told me woodenly.
‘Consider it your first European tour,’ I said.
He scowled. ‘Anyone got a smoke?’
It was another half hour before we crossed the border into the Czech Republic. The van skirted around the Podyji National Park and headed north.
‘How’s Godard?’ I said after a while.
Gabriel glanced at my reflection in the rearview mirror. ‘He’ll live,’ he said with a grunt. ‘He’s a tough old man.’ His tone clearly discouraged further conversation.
I ignored it. ‘Did he tell you why the Crovirs are after his granddaughter?’
Gabriel sighed. ‘I’d rather Tomas did the explaining. He was hoping to spare you from the Crovirs, but you’re in too deep for him to put it off any longer.’
It was my turn to be quiet while I tried to decipher the meaning behind his words. ‘Do you know a man called Mikolo Chapman?’ I said finally.
Gabriel thought for a moment. ‘I can’t say I’ve heard the name before,’ he replied. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘He’s an old friend who’s now working for the Crovirs. He tried to kill me in Boston a few days ago and posed as an officer of the Austrian State Police at the Bundeskriminalamt this morning.’
Gabriel scrutinized me in the mirror. ‘Does he bear a grudge against you?’
I shook my head. ‘Not that I was aware of.’ I looked out the window as we drove past a hamlet. ‘You and Godard seem to be good friends.’
Gabriel snorted. ‘You could say that. Tomas Godard is my godfather.’
I was still brooding over this shocking revelation when we reached the outskirts of Vilanec. The van turned down a country lane outside the sleepy village and headed west across a series of dark fields. The land gradually rose up ahead. A wooded hill appeared on the skyline. The road was soon replaced by a rutted dirt track.
Aside from the eerie glow of the eyes of the wild animals that fled the glare of the headlights, the forest seemed uninhabited. Two miles later, the trees thinned out.
A clearing appeared at the end of the track. It was fringed by the woods on three sides, with a dark ridge soaring behind it to form the crest of the hill.
A house stood in the lee of the gray rock face. The limestone walls looked pale under the light of a crescent-shaped moon. Dark windows reflected the star-studded sky.
Gabriel suddenly stiffened. ‘Stop!’ he barked.
The driver slammed on the brakes. Pebbles peppered the underside of the van as it juddered to a halt at the edge of the clearing, jolting us all forward. Anatole swore behind me.
Gabriel frowned. ‘Something’s wrong.’
Unease flooded my mind. ‘What is it?’ I scanned the woods outside the windows of the vehicle.
‘I told Tomas to turn off the porch light if there was any sign of trouble.’ He took the Beretta from his coat and checked the magazine.
I examined the house through the front windshield of the van. The lantern above the front door was dark.
‘I could’ve sworn Marcus didn’t know about this place,’ Gabriel muttered.
The words had barely left his lips when the windows on the first floor blew out. The white glow of the explosion bloomed brightly in the night and shot through the roof, blasting tiles and part of a stone chimney toward the sky. The shockwave rocked the van on its suspensions.
We sat stunned for a moment before scrambling for the doors.
Burning bricks, scorched wood, and smoldering debris drifted down around the clearing. Flames erupted on the ground floor of the house. Glass popped and cracked inside the building as further explosions shook its foundations.
‘We need to get out of here!’ Gabriel took a step toward the van.
I grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. ‘What about the Godards?’ I snapped.
‘There’s a hidden passage in the basement. If Tomas detected the Crovirs’ presence in time to warn us, he would have gotten out through there.’
The conflagration engulfed the house. Heat from the flames washed over us.
Despite the immortal’s reassuring tone, I could not stop the icy lump of fear forming in my gut.
‘Where would they have gone?’ I asked doggedly.
‘Not far. They’ll probably lay low for a while and catch up with us later.’ Gabriel scrutinized the woodland. ‘We need to leave. The Crovirs must be close.’
I hesitated; although it pained me to admit it, I had no choice but to trust the Schwatzs. I turned to cast a final glance at the burning building.
A faint flash erupted from the trees to the east of the clearing. My eyes widened.
‘Get down!’ I shouted.
A second later, a rocket-propelled grenade smashed into the side of the van and detonated. The pressure waves from the explosion sent us tumbling across the pinecone-covered track. Hot shrapnel and blazing fragments erupted from the wreckage and rained down from the sky. A tire hurtled out of the fiery wreck and rolled toward the trees, leaving a flaming trail in its wake.
I pushed myself up to my knees, my ears ringing from the blast. Blood dripped past my eyes where a jagged shard had slashed the flesh on my forehead.
Ashely groaned and climbed dazedly to his feet.
A muffled curse sounded to our right. The driver of the van rolled desperately in the dirt, his legs engulfed in flames. Gabriel staggered unsteadily toward him.
Gunshots rang out from the trees. I looked over my shoulder and saw figures emerge from the woods next to the house. Muzzles flashed in the darkness.
A bullet slammed into the dirt by my hand. I dropped to my back, fingers on the Smith and Wesson, and shot the Crovir Hunter crouching some twenty feet away in the grass.
‘Move!’ Gabriel shouted.
He hauled the wounded driver upright and dragged him into the tree line to the west. Bruno and Anatole followed, spent rounds from their guns dropping soundlessly to the ground as they fired at the Crovirs.
I grabbed Ashely’s arm and pulled him after the fleeing Schwatzs.
Dead leaves and twigs snapped beneath our feet as we entered the forest. The footsteps and shouts of our pursuers soon rose behind us.
The woodland thickened, the gloom beneath the crowded trees deepening with each passing second. We stumbled and tripped over invisible roots and burrows, the undergrowth snagging at our clothes and limbs.
Gunfire erupted on our left. Ashely grunted and clutched at his arm. I drew the Glock and fired blindly in the night. More shots whistled through the air from the right and scored a tree as we darted past it.
Up ahead, Bruno cried out and lost his footing. He clamped a hand on the fresh bullet wound on his thigh. Anatole draped an arm around the bodyguard’s waist and dragged him forward, their breaths leaving their lips in hoarse gasps.
Fear drenched my body in a cold sweat. The shadows between the trees were drawing closer, the enemy flanking us on all sides; we were being herded inside a closing circle from which there would be no escape.
‘We need to split up!’ I called out to Gabriel.
He cast a quick glance around and nodded. We divided into pairs and headed off in separate directions.
I looked anxiously at Ashely’s bleeding arm as we continued north. ‘You okay?’
‘Yeah! The bullet went through the flesh!’
Another explosion rocked through the night. It was followed by a bloom of brightness between the trees behind and to the right. Hungry flames painted the sky above the burning house with an orange glow. I clenched my teeth.
The light also revealed the figures closing in on us.
Shots rang out behind us. Ashely looked over his shoulder, grabbed my arm, and dragged me down in a thicket. We lay frozen, struggling to mask our gasps. Footsteps thundered past a few feet away. Ashely peeked through the low branches of the bushes. He gripped the Glock and motioned to me.
We rose and fired at four Hunters. The men fell with hardly a cry. By the time thei
r bodies struck the ground, we were already running.
Muzzles flared repeatedly in the gloom. Bullets peppered the trunks of trees and showered us with fragments of wood. A splinter sliced across my scalp. I blinked blood out of my eyes and focused on where my feet were landing.
Though only minutes had passed since the first explosion tore through the safe house, exgotzetion had started to creep through my body. I sensed Ashely’s movements had also grown sluggish. This was hardly a surprise, considering the events of the last week. Still, although we were both functioning at over eighty percent of our abilities, I knew we desperately needed to be closer to a hundred if we were to make it through the night.
The darkness lightened ahead, distracting me from my grim reflection. The trees thinned out. A glade materialized out of the gloom.
We burst into the open space, our breaths coming hard and fast as we raced for the cover of the tree line two hundred feet away. I suspected the same thought had just crossed Ashely’s mind: if the Crovirs found us now, they would shoot us down like fish in a barrel.
Halfway across the clearing, Ashely gasped and fell. I skidded to a halt on the muddy, leaf-covered ground and stumbled back toward him.
He lay on his back in a shallow puddle of inky water. I reached him in time to see blood bloom across his shirt from a bullet wound. Air froze in my lungs.
Ashely blinked. He lifted a hand to his chest and stared at his crimson fingers. I dropped to my knees by his side. His blank gaze shifted to my face.
‘Damn. This is definitely not good.’ His eyes fluttered closed.
‘No,’ I whispered brokenly.
I dropped my guns and pressed my hands against the bubbling hole in his ribcage, disbelief numbing my senses. His breathing grew labored, air rattling in and out of his lips in shallow pants. I felt and heard the faint whistle beneath my fingers. I pushed down harder.
Heat exploded on my right flank.
A shocked grunt escaped my throat. I was already reaching for the guns when the second bullet hissed through the night and grazed my forehead. I blinked fresh blood out of my eyes and twisted on my knees.
A man walked out from under the trees to the west of the clearing. As he crossed the ground toward me, he put away the gun and suppressor in his hand and reached for the sword at his waist.