Name and age?" Abel asked. "Eris Wasmayer. Seventeen."
"Seventeen? Didn't you say you were eighteen yesterday?" he asked incredulously.
"You shouldn't question a woman's age," she said coyly.
"Eris, can you try to be serious?" Abel sighed.
"But I'm bored," she groaned.
Eris plopped down on the bed and folded her legs. She stuck out her bottom lip and showed Abel her profile so he could easily see her pout.
If not for her bratty attitude, she would have been pretty. Her skin was clear and her bobbed haircut was quite fashionable. Still, she was terribly childish. Then again, with her short hair and no makeup, she looked like a fourteen-year-old.
Ten days ago, Eris couldn't speak. She was in such terrible shock after the incident at the vampire safe house that she had to be brought to this bunker for medical treatment and intense questioning. But now that she'd recovered, she couldn't take the situation seriously.
Funny how things change.
"I've been locked up in the bunker for days now, Father. Nothing to do for entertainment, no contact with the outside world. Then when you come back to see me, you only bring more paperwork. How many times do you need to get my side of the story?" she whined.
"Honestly! It's because you always change your story, Eris. I'd like to be more sympathetic, but you have to understand, I have a job to do. I have to take this to my boss, and my boss is no pushover when it comes to inconsistent facts."
Eris nodded. The priest had been nothing but nice to her since saving her from Tres Iqus' bullet. She was in the bunker for her own safety, she knew. She also knew she wasn't making things any easier on Abel.
"I'm sorry, Father. Being a priest must be difficult," she said.
"Yes, it is rough. Listen to me; my boss can be really scary. She's not the kind of person who takes disappointment well. She has plenty on her mind, and I don't want to compound her problems simply because I can't get a girl's story straight. Understand?" Abel implored.
"Tell me about your boss. Is she cute?" Eris teased.
"I'm the one asking questions here. Please cooperate. Please?" he begged.
Eris chuckled to herself when she saw the serious look on the priest's face. She loved to tease him. She was so isolated, and in order to feel wanted, her only option was to get him to keep returning.
"I'll make you a deal. I'll cooperate. But you have to get me some food from outside," she quipped.
"I can't take you outside. Not yet," he replied.
"Then go buy me something. Do that, and I'll answer your questions. The food here really sucks. I want to eat something more . . . human," she said.
"Done," he replied.
The food there did suck. He knew that. It was as bland as the walls of the bunker. It would be an easy trade-off. And it was much better than getting the evil eye from his monocle-wearing boss.
"What would you like? You name it," he said gleefully.
"I want a Gateau Chocola and Marron Glace," she said without missing a beat.
"Roger. Gateau Chocola and Marron Glace."
She might as well have asked for caviar on a golden plate. Gateau Chocola was the most expensive chocolate cake in Rome, and Marron Glace were rare glazed Spanish chestnuts. Combined, they'd cost Abel a year's salary.
Abel checked his wallet as he left the room. He looked at Eris and back to his wallet. He repeated the process. Several times. Finally Eris couldn't take it anymore.
"What is it?" she demanded.
"How about a fresh bread roll?" he responded.
She threw the pillow at the priest, then threw herself across the bed. Looking up at the ceiling, she growled,"I guess I was asking for too much when I asked for the simple pleasures of home. Just buy whatever. Anything is better than what they serve here."
"Excellent, I'm off!" Abel bounded for the door.
WHAM!
The door swung open suddenly and whacked Abel right in the nose. It sent him to the floor faster than a punch. He grabbed his nose and closed his watering eyes tight. Boy does that hurt.
"Hi, Tres," Abel piped from behind his bleeding nose.
"Father Nightroad?" Tres asked aloud, looking down at him expressionlessly. Tres was put together flawlessly; his robe hung exactly like it was supposed to; everything about him was tailor-made. Abel could even call him handsome, but at the moment, he smelled like gunpowder, which wasn't all that attractive.
"Didn't your mother teach you to knock before you enter a lady's room?" Abel asked.
"Negative. There is no time," Tres replied. Moving mechanically, Father Tres Iqus threw a stack of papers on the bed. "Sister Kate contacted me. We have a new place for the girl. Our orders are to clear her out of this room immediately."
"A new place?" Abel asked.
Eris visibly brightened. It was the first tingle of hope she'd felt for several days.
Abel, on the other hand, was obviously concerned. He pulled bloody tissues out his nose and examined the bright red stains. Eris is at the center of several conspiracies. Any place crazy enough to take her in at this point is begging for trouble.
"Saint Rochelle Convent will take her in. Sister Kate went through personal channels for this," Tres informed.
"We owe her one." Abel nodded. "Saint Rochelle Convent has great facilities, and its staff is top notch. That is, unless you don't want to leave the bunker, Eris."
"When do we leave for Rome?" she asked without pause.
"Tonight," Tres replied.
"Tonight?" Abel asked incredulously.
He wasn't comfortable with moving Eris—not without time for proper security preparations. If vampires wanted her dead, a hasty, exit would only help their cause.
"A nun from the convent will meet you tonight at Central Station. Father Nightroad, you are responsible for escorting her there," Tres informed them.
"Where will you be, Tres?" Abel asked.
"I'll be interrogating at the hospital." Tres turned to leave the room but looked back over his shoulder at Abel. "The vampire from the safe house has regenerated enough to be questioned. I will continue my investigation there."
Eris glared at the stiff priest as he left the room. "I don't like him," she declared. "He isn't very nice to you."
"He's all business," Abel replied. "Besides, he actually has business to attend to. My investigation is at a dead end."
Abel considered what he'd just said. His leads looked bleak, but there was always something to go on. And sometimes, small leads cracked open a huge case. He mentally reviewed his notes and the timeline. The Tristan hijacker, Duke Alfredo, was confirmed to have boarded the craft at Matheliah Supply Airport. He was a part of Fleur du Mai, a radical vampire sect in the countryside. They were small-time, disorganized fanatics; they couldn't have possibly staged such a large-scale terrorist attack on their own. The Fleur du Mai safe house was destroyed in a horrible bloodbath where he and Tres had found Eris. She was his only link to the hijacking . . . that wasn't a corpse. There had to be something he was missing.
Abel pulled out his notepad again.
"We don't have much time, so let's finish this report. First, about your age. . ."