Field of Blood by Wilson, Eric (pdf e book reader .TXT) 📕

bench that faced the war monument, watching shoppers and businesspeople bustle by. On overgrown grass, lovers reclined with eyes only for each other, while a couple on the monument’s concrete steps perused a tourist map and argued in English.

Erota couldn’t place the accent. American? Australian? When she got to the States, she would practice to differentiate such things.

All in good time. Which she had plenty of.

Though time was a factor for any Collector, its importance was tempered by a patience unknown to their human hosts. Another few minutes? A week? A year or two? In the expanse of history, it was all relative. Ariston and his small cluster had waited nearly two millennia for an opportunity outside the Akeldama caves. Prior to that, each of them had spent time in restless wandering, each had blundered, even endured a brief porcine detour at the Sea of Kinneret.

Humans, on the other hand, seemed controlled by the clock. It measured their accomplishments and intensified their failures. It added worth to relationships, while sapping monetary value from most inanimate things. People were paid according to time clocks. Awakened by alarms. The city trolleys ran on posted schedules.

“Look at them,” Erota said now to her sister. “Hurrying, always hurrying. Do they think they’ll outrun time?”

“Don’t waste energy trying to understand the way their brains work.”

“But it’s helpful, Domna. Anything for a peek into their motives.”

“Who needs a peek?” The younger teen flaunted her legs and tossed back her brunette waves. “They’re not half as complicated as they like to believe. Food, shelter, a good romp in the sack, and a few pats on the back . . . What else do they need?”

“Years of therapy, when we’re done with them.”

Domna laughed.

“There she is.” Erota combed back her own hair. “Where’s she going?”

“Stop already, stop.”

“What?”

“You’re trying to get inside her head again. You and your hunger for details. Just watch, Erota. She’ll make her intentions clear. You’ll see.”

Thirty seconds later, the sturdy Mrs. Amit was standing before the window of Coandi’s ice cream shop, on an avenue along Avram Iancu Square. She seemed to be debating with herself, pacing past the entry twice. At last, she nosed inside.

“What’d I tell you?”

“Okay,” Erota said. “But what now, O great strategizer?”

“We’ll wing it.”

Erota rolled her eyes. As her vision swung back down, she caught slight movement in the lawn beside the park bench—a brown-black oval, crablike, no bigger than a peppercorn. She remembered Megiste’s reference to ticks and thought back to the research she’d done on these efficient little bloodsuckers. Parasites, in general, were one of her most cherished subjects.

She propped sunglasses on her forehead. “I have a better plan,” she said.

“Do I even want to know?”

“See that tick, on that blade of grass? In this cold season, I’m sure it’s hungry. When Mrs. Amit comes out, I want you to drive her past this spot. I’ll be waiting.”

“You’re kidding? That’s disgusting.”

“I’m thirsty.”

“Any suggestions,” Domna asked, “on how I get her over here?”

“Be creative. You want me to do all your thinking for you, little sis?”

Domna curled her lip and started to respond, then pointed out a dog that was panting on the steps beneath the statue. “What about him? I could use him to chase her across the square.”

“Too mild. Look, he’s not even worried about those pigeons there.”

“I’ll get him to do what I want.”

“If you say so.”

Domna did manage to catch the creature’s eye, but he glanced away in bland rejection of the gesture. Even a witless fourlegger had his standards.

“Fine.” Domna flipped her hair. “What about that mutt beneath the trees?”

“He’s growling, at least. And ugly as sin.”

“Good.”

“Once we’ve switched hosts,” Erota said, “it’s going to appear that we’re just two teenagers snoozing in the sun. We’ll be vulnerable out in public like this, so you’ll have to return quickly. If you drape an arm over me, that should keep passersby from interfering with my abandoned shell. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“I hope so. If not, I’ll have to cart your body to the Cetatea for the night.”

“You’d never make it.”

Domna glanced at her sister. “You really think this’ll work?”

“Sure. I mean, if Ariston can put a mosquito to use, I know I can work with a tick. They’re active all over Romania, so I’m sure this one will know exactly what to do. All that’s required of me is to hang on for the ride.”

“Ughh. Erota, you really have no shame.”

“One of my very best qualities.”

Dalia examined the flavors on display in the glass case. Coandi was her favorite ice cream shop. She’d browsed along the boulevard, found an atomizer of the perfume her husband liked so much, and was now ready to treat herself. A mild winter day would not stop her.

“Cantaloupe and melon,” she ordered.

The first nibble from the spoon waltzed with subtle sweetness on her tongue. After months of deprivation, it was a sensory overload. Fruits and sugars in a delightful blend.

“Mmmm.”

Another, slower, more tantalizing taste.

“Este foarte bun,” she exclaimed.

Very good, indeed. Yet her own sounds of pleasure worried her. A woman in strict control of her urges, she considered diet a spiritual and practical reflection of her beliefs; thus, in her mind, this indulgence bordered upon carnality.

Perhaps if she had waited for her son Dov to get out of school, she could’ve brought him along and justified such enjoyment for his sake. She’d justified the perfume purchase with thoughts of her husband’s appreciation.

But she had not waited. Her selfish desire was exposed for all to see.

She took three more bites before deciding she was done.

Heaven help her. Dalia Amit reminded herself that she was a woman of moral fortitude and that such indulgence was obscene. She wetted a napkin, wiped her lips, then headed for the door. As she escaped Coandi’s tasty temptations, she took with her a bittersweet sense of victory. She was denying her flesh. Her walls were back in place, patched, so that few would ever know how close she’d come to