Page 62 of Destined for Dreams
Chapter 16
Bartol
It was midafternoon when Bartol, Tormod, and Caius arrived in Budapest. After checking into their hotel, they took a taxi to a local mystic’s home. Word had spread in Europe that their group was hunting the demon, and supernaturals were starting to call with tips. Their latest clue had come about two days ago, but they’d had to wrap up their cleaning job in Romania before they could head to Hungary.
The taxi stopped in front of an old apartment building three stories high and made of brick. An older woman with curly gray hair sat on the steps, gripping a cane stretched out in front of her. She looked at them as they approached and said something Bartol could not understand.
Tormod glanced over at him. “What did she say?”
“I’ve no idea. Never had a reason to learn Hungarian.” Bartol knew at least twenty different languages, half of them ancient and dead now, but he couldn’t take the time to learn them all. They were constantly evolving, and it wasn’t easy to keep up.
“I said wipe your feet!” the woman yelled in a heavily accented voice.
Well, it appearedsheknew English. Bartol made a point of giving her a wide berth as he got near the steps. He’d had more than his fair share of experiences with cranky, old women and didn’t have any desire to get hit with a cane. She could probably put up a decent fight.
His nerou charge, on the other hand, hadn’t learned that lesson yet. Before Bartol could warn Tormod, the young man reached down and touched the woman’s shoulder, a look of concentration on his face. It didn’t take long to figure out what he was doing. Tormod might be part demon, but he had a good heart. The elderly lady pulled away from him at first, cursing at him in both Hungarian and English. A moment later, though, she quieted and started leaning toward him.
Her wizened features softened. “You’ve got a good touch, boy. I haven’t felt this good in years.”
“It won’t last forever,” Tormod informed her. “But you should feel better for at least a little while.”
She patted his hand. “Thank you. I always said not all of the magic users were bad.”
Bartol probably shouldn’t have let the nerou heal a stranger when they had more important matters to attend, but Tormod had been rather shaken up by what he’d seen—and had to clean up—in the cathedral. This was the first time the anger and helplessness that had filled his features for days was gone. They all had their ways of dealing with tragedy. The nerou hadn’t faced much in his life, so if healing one old woman made him feel better, it couldn’t hurt to allow it.
They wiped their feet, making a big show of it, and entered the building. It was dim inside, but they found the elevator and took it to the third floor. The apartment they sought ended up being at the end of a long, dark hallway where half the homes contained shouting adults or crying babies. At least it was clean and didn’t smell all that bad.
An older man in his mid-fifties answered the door and waved them inside. “Thank you for coming.”
He had an accent similar to the woman outside, but his English was clear enough to comprehend. Bartol nodded at him. “I’m sorry we couldn’t make it sooner.”
Caius had already explained over the phone what had delayed them.
“I understand.” He looked the group of them over after shutting the door. “My name is Norbert, by the way.”
They each introduced themselves. Bartol went last, adding a question, “You mentioned during your phone call that there were several unusual deaths in the area you wanted us to see?”
The man scratched at his peppered gray and black hair. “Yes, three of them over the last ten days to be exact. I’ve seen a lot in my life as a coroner with the police department, but this is unlike anything I’ve handled before.”
He turned toward his open kitchen and put a kettle on the stove, beginning to heat it.
“When did the last victim die?” Caius asked.
“A few days ago.”
Bartol stilled. Could they finally be that close to the demon? And would Haagenti stay in one place that long just to kill a few people?
He watched as the mystic reached for teacups in the cupboard, wiping them with a cloth before setting them on the counter. The older man likely didn’t get guests often.
“What makes these deaths unusual?”
“For one,” Norbert said, pulling a tea canister out, “I could sense the dark energy about them. For two, there was a symbol carved into their chests that I didn’t recognize, but I was able to find it later after searching through my books.”
The mystic nodded toward the other end of the living room where several shelves sat against two of the walls, filled with both newer hardbacks and tomes that had likely been passed down the mystic’s family for generations. They took up a lot of space in the small room. There was also an older television, a worn couch and chair, coffee table, and a space heater. Thin curtains covered the only window, providing just enough light for a human to see and be able to get around. The mystic wouldn’t win any decorating awards, but he kept everything neat and tidy, which Bartol knew from experience wasn’t always easy in tight quarters.
Tormod addressed the man, “What was the symbol?”
“Well, it was…” Norbert hesitated. Then he moved to his bookshelf and pulled an older tome out, bringing it over to the couch where they sat so they could see it. The page he opened to said it all.
