Chapter Eleven:
Theresa learned that few things made secret TSA agents drop their cover faster than blood-curdling screams on a packed international flight. She also learned that undercover agents carried firearms – which, incidentally, caused other passengers to scream as well. Thirty-five thousand miles above the Atlantic Ocean turned out to be a very bad place for such misunderstandings to occur.
By the time order returned to economy class, they were somewhere over Slovakia, juggling the landing cards, complimentary sandwiches, and warm towelettes that all seemed to come at once. The stewardess – who had been all smiles when she was doling out $5 a pop alcohol – practically threw Theresa's in her face. Theresa didn't blame her.
Mortified, Theresa was doing her best to keep her head down and not make eye contact with anyone. Michelle ran interference. Rather loudly.
"You have something to say, lady?" she snapped at an angry looking woman across the aisle. The woman huffed but turned to stare out the window.
Face aflame, Theresa said, "Don't," but not very loudly. She was glad for her friend's support; Michelle was easily the only person on the plane who didn't want to hit her. Or – she glanced at the now-uncovered TSA agent – shoot her.
Timothy must have heard the ruckus – how could he not – but he had obviously chosen to pretend he didn't know either woman. After a delay at customs caused, no doubt, by the trouble on the plane, they found him outside the terminal, chatting through an open window to a taxi driver.
"It's about time," he said. His accent sounded even phonier against the Romanians' around them. "I was about to give up on you."
Michelle rolled her eyes with a snort. Theresa just reached for a door handle. She climbed into the back, slamming the door on the tirade Michelle looked ready to burst into. Letting hr head fall back against the seat, Theresa let out a sigh that was part frustration, part relief, and part bone-deep weariness.
She nearly jumped out of her seat when a heavily accented voice said, "Long day?"
The driver raised one bushy, black eyebrow at Theresa in the rear-view mirror. He half-turned in his seat to give her a look that was slightly amused and not the least bit apologetic for making her jump.
"You could say that," Theresa told him as dismissively as possible. He didn't take the hint.
"American, right?"
Theresa made a non-committal noise that the driver took for assent.
"Beautiful country," he told her with a wave of his hand. She assumed he meant the rest of the country, since all she could see was worn concrete and harassed travellers.
"I'm sure it is."
The door opened and Michelle slid in beside Theresa. Timothy chose to ride beside the driver. Both women were silently grateful.
Michelle rested her head on Theresa's shoulder. She was asleep before the black cab forced its way into the long line of traffic leaving the airport. When the driver launched into a history of the landmarks they passed, Theresa considered pretending to sleep herself.
"Prior to the first world war," the driver said over the wail of a horn blaring, "Oradea was called Nagyvárad. It was…"
Theresa tuned out the lecture. Her mind was still working to make sense of the dreams. If such a thing were possible.
They were so real; more like memories than dreams. Which was ridiculous, of course. What was there to remember? She'd only met Vlad once. And what of the village? She was sure that she'd never seen anything like that.
As for the fire… Theresa only wished that she'd never seen that before. It was the only part of the dream that was familiar to her. The nightmare had haunted her for as long as she could remember but it had never been quite so detailed before. And it had always started in flames.
She was chasing phantoms when the cab came to the stop at the bottom of a long dirt road.
"This is the Church of Lost Souls," the driver said cheerfully.
Michelle stretched and yawned. "Lost what?" she asked as she ruffled her wild mane of dark curls.
"The Church of Lost Souls," he said again. "It is said that the bodies that lay in the catacombs beneath the church are buried – but not dead."
"Buried but not dead?"
A chill trickled down Theresa's spine. Images of restless spirits and walking corpses filled her head.
"Thanks for the nightmares," Michelle said with a shudder. "Can we go now?"
The driver shifted the car into park. He tapped the meter. "Twenty-eight lei."
Timothy rifled through a handful of papers, frowning. "I thought Mr. Devac said it was a monastery, not a church…"
"The monastery is at the top of the hill. You go on foot."
Theresa craned her neck to look up the hill. She turned to give Michelle a look of disbelief and found her friend's mouth open and her eyes wide.
"No way," Michelle said. "It's gotta be at least a mile."
"More like two," the driver said.
Timothy shook his head. "You don't underst-"
"Nuh uh. These boots were not made for walking."
"You can't expect us to-"
But the taxi driver was determined. He refused to take them any nearer to the monastery. In fact, he tried to discourage them from going at all.
"I will take you to the nearest village," he said. "You will be safer there, yes?"
"Our work is here," Timothy argued.
The driver finally lost his cheerful demeanour and threatened to call the authorities if they didn't leave the cab immediately. He rolled down his window to offer one last remark before departing.
"There are worse things than death," he told them. "You will meet many of them if you continue your journey."
Theresa, Michelle, and Timothy stared after the departing cab. Then, they grabbed their cases and began the trek up the hill to the monastery.