Bathed In Blood. Alex Archer
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around, afraid one of the journalists would overhear and take an interest in what was making the girl increasingly excited. She needed to get off the street.
“Not here,” she said, grabbing the girl’s hand and pulling her through the crowd. “Come on.”
Annja led the girl to a café a short distance down the street. They settled into a table in back. Annja ordered coffee for both of them; she really didn’t want any but knew the waitstaff would hover until they ordered.
When she turned back, she found the girl grinning at her, holding up her cell phone. A picture of Annja working with the film crew outside Faust House was displayed on the screen.
“You’re Annja Creed, from Chasing History’s Monsters,” the girl said triumphantly. “My friend is a huge fan, so we went to watch you filming your show in Prague.”
Annja couldn’t deny it now, not with her own picture staring back at her, so she went with the flow, hoping to learn something useful from the situation. The girl had helped her after all.
“You’re right. You’ve caught me. I’m Annja. Nice to meet you,” she said, holding out her hand.
“Brigitta,” the girl replied, shaking Annja’s hand. “My friend is going to flip when I tell her I had coffee with you.”
“Yes, well, about that...” Annja began. “Perhaps you can wait a few days before doing so?”
Brigitta was watching her closely. “You’re not here on vacation, are you? You’re working, and whatever you’re working on has to do with the woman from the press conference, doesn’t it? That’s why you know what happened!”
Brigitta was no slouch, Annja had to give her that.
“Yes, I’m working. And it might have to do with the woman they were just talking about. I’m not sure yet, though, and that’s why you can’t tell your friend about meeting me. If word gets out that I’m here, I’ll have a difficult time finding the information I need.”
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.
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