He had to find Eriko, kill this Dantalion, and blow up this place. No one could see this. No one could repeat this. It had to end here and now.
She could have been my little sister, he thought, the girl’s face coming back to him and merging with his memory of Maeve. Jamie tried to push the image away, but couldn’t. He faltered as he turned a corner and came to another set of doors. He didn’t want to know what was behind any of them.
Then someone grabbed him and slammed him into the wall, clamping a hand over his mouth.
CHAPTER TEN
Faces lifted to the sky
The silvery moon hears our cry
Laugh or cry it matters not
Dead now those whom we have fought
Servant, master, all a name
Power, politics, just a game
For we’re entwined, every part
Spirit, mind, flesh, and heart
SALAMANCA
FATHER JUAN
Father Juan woke suddenly from a deep sleep. He had been dreaming of his childhood, after his father died, when he and his mother and siblings had been living on the streets, doing whatever work they could find, going hungry. Those times had taught him much, toughened him physically and mentally, and given him a spiritual strength that had served him well.
They also taught him the value of home. For years the university had been his home, the place that sheltered him when he fought his own fears and dreamed dreams that were still as prophetic and mystical as those of his youth. He turned on his side, savoring the feel of the pillow beneath his head. Home was where you were safe and comforted. His little room was all his; more than just a place to rest his body, it was a sanctuary for spirit and mind.
He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of incense, and knew as surely as if an angel had whispered in his ear:
Someone had invaded his sanctuary.
Someone who meant to kill him.
Father Juan sat up just as a knife arced through the air toward him. With a shout he grabbed the wrist that wielded it and twisted it sideways. The skin was warm to the touch—a human. Who? How?
His attacker was off balance, and his body followed as Juan wrenched his arm. The assailant fell to the ground hard, grunting as he did so. Without letting go of his wrist, Juan stood up and pressed his foot down on his assailant’s neck, ready to break it at a moment’s notice. The knife fell and skidded under the bed.
“Help!” Father Juan shouted, loud enough that he would be heard by Diego, who was staying overnight in the room next door, but hopefully no others.
Seconds later Diego shot into his room. The bishop flipped the light switch and stood there in his pajamas. Father Juan squinted against the light and looked down at his attacker.
He gasped in dismay as he recognized the normally jovial features of Brother Manuel. Although the cook was grunting beneath the weight of Juan’s foot, he made no effort to get away. He simply lay there passively, barrel chest heaving.
“What is going on?” Diego burst out.
“He tried to kill me,” Father Juan said through clenched teeth. He pushed on his foot slightly, glaring down at the man who had cooked a thousand meals that he had trustingly eaten. “Tell me why.”
“I was ordered to,” Brother Manuel whispered.
“By whom?” Diego asked sharply, stepping forward. “Did a Cursed One put you up to this? What did they promise you, immortality?”
Manuel shook his head, as much as he could with Father Juan’s foot still on his throat.
“Then what did they promise you?” Diego demanded.
Again Manuel shook his head.
“It wasn’t a Cursed One, was it,” Father Juan said quietly.
Manuel squeezed his eyes shut.
Diego turned to Father Juan. “You don’t think—”
“I do,” Father Juan said, heart and voice heavy. “One of us, someone from Rome, most likely.”
“But, they can’t have told him to harm you,” Diego said incredulously. “Shut us down, yes. Force us out, probably, but kill you?”
It was not the first time Father Juan had been attacked by others of his kind for standing up for what was right. “It’s an old tactic.” He looked down at Brother Manuel, and he was filled with sorrow. Brother Manuel was a good man, but he didn’t know how to question, how to stand up for himself. He was at the Salamanca academy because he’d been told it was his duty, not because he believed it was his sacred calling, above and apart from even his calling as a priest.
Father Juan eased his foot up enough to let the man talk. “How many others were you supposed to kill?”
“Just you,” Manuel said, his voice tinged with genuine regret. “They believed that without you the rest would obey.”
Father Juan closed his eyes. Obey. It was a word that had enslaved countless generations. One that he had fought against time and time again. It was the antithesis of responsibility, individuality, conscience.
“What do we do with him?” Diego asked, deferring, as was his wont in times of crisis, to Father Juan.
“We send him back to Rome,” Father Juan said with a sigh. “A pity, too. He was a good cook, and he didn’t mind feeding the werewolf.”
It was a joke, a poor one, but a joke nonetheless. Holgar would have been delighted. The werewolf was clearly rubbing off on him.
He thought of his team out in the field and said a prayer for them. He wouldn’t tell them of this. They needed to believe in the academy, believe it was a sanctuary, as he once had. He would make it safe for them, even if it would never again be safe for him.
RUSSIA
TEAM SALAMANCA MINUS ANTONIO AND ERIKO; TAAMIR AND NOAH
“What are you doing here?” hissed the man who had grabbed Jamie. Speaking English. American English, through the vocal distorter of a gas mask. He was dressed all in black, and he had on a silver helmet emblazoned with a black Jerusalem cross.
“Bloody well the same as you, I figure,” Jamie shot back.
“I very much doubt it. Get out of here before you screw it up. Go!”
“Not until I find my girl.”
“The Hunter? She’s not here.”
“How do you know?”
“Dantalion’s monsters didn’t bring anyone back with them.”
If that was true, then maybe Eriko and Antonio had sent the fang gang running.
“But there’s a male witch, yeah?” Jamie asked.
“No, no witches here except yours,” the man replied. “Come with me. Poison gas is coming in through the ducts, and he’s set the place to blow. Thinks his handlers are on their way.”
“Dantalion might know where she is,” Jamie said.
“He’ll be dead in five minutes,” the man replied. “You will too. Let’s go.”
Jamie was about to argue with the man when they heard steps running down the hall from the same direction Jamie had come. Helmet dragged Jamie through an open doorway a foot away. Three beasties—huge fangs, rubbery lips, bloodshot eyes, and horribly misshapen bodies—streaked past them. Before the other guy could say anything, Jamie twisted out of his grasp and charged after the trio.
His eyes began to water, his lungs to burn. The guy was right; there was something in the air.
Wherever the beasties were going, they were in such a hurry that they didn’t notice they were being followed. Jamie trailed a few steps behind as they twisted through the corridors. He tried to keep the layout straight in his head so he’d be able to get back out again, but he was having trouble focusing. His lungs were on fire, and his eyes were tearing up so he could barely see. Poison gas could kiss his ass.
Jamie picked up speed as the trio skittered down a hallway into darkness. Jamie bounded after them, then came to a T-junction. Light spilled from a doorway on his right. Slowing, hugging the wall, he moved closer. Behind him he could hear quiet footfalls, and he risked a glance over his shoulder. Helmet guy was coming up behind him. Jamie turned back, fixating on the doorway. He couldn’t hear
over the alarms, and crept closer.
“—hell happened?” It was a male voice with a thick Russian accent. He was speaking in English. Lucky break for Jamie. “Where are all the matroyshkas?”
“Two hunters took them down.” More English, very American.
“The two men from the Middle East?” said the thick Russian voice.
“No. A vampire and a little Asian girl.”
Antonio and Eriko!
“Where d they come from?” asked the Russian.
A creature jumped Helmet. The two grappled. Helmet gained the upper hand, so Jamie stayed planted, listening.
“Unknown. They’re no longer a problem. The other vampires took the vampire.”
“Other vampires? What are you saying?” asked the Russian.
“The vampire with long black hair?” the American replied.
Aurora, Jamie thought. She’s here? She got Antonio? But Eri, what about Eri?
“What?” the Russian said. “Who?”
“Yeah, I thought they were with you. Well, anyway after they took the vampire into custody, they killed the girl.”
Jamie blinked. Eriko. His breath stopped. Eriko.
Eriko, dead?
Rage tore away his sight, his thoughts. “No!” he bellowed, seeing nothing, feeling nothing as his reflexes took over.
If Eri was dead, then so was everyone else.
Jamie leaped into the room, and suddenly saw everything in ultrasharp focus. A white-haired vampire in jeans and a black sweater sat at a computer terminal. A man in white cammies and a gas mask was standing in front of him.
Then, from another door in the back, the three monsters charged into the room. They headed straight for Jamie. Jamie sprayed all three with his machine gun, but they kept coming. He dropped the weapon and jumped forward, staking each of them in turn.
“Get me out of here!” the Russian—the vampire—shouted at the man in the white cammies.
“First send Solomon the data. All the data,” said White Cammies, moving backward, putting both Jamie and the vampire in his line of fire.
“Don’t be an idiot!” the vampire yelled.
“Now!” the man bellowed.
The white-haired vampire typed frantically. The white-cammie man fired and nearly took off Jamie’s left foot. Jamie flung himself behind a metal shelf, listening to the ping of gunfire as the man strafed him.
“Get out!” hissed Helmet Guy as he darted behind the shelves, crouching down beside Jamie. He handed Jamie the machine gun he’d dropped. “We want the vampire. That’s Dantalion!”
The guy in the white cammies sprayed bullets at Helmet and Jamie.
“It’s sent!” the white-haired vampire shouted.
Then the poison hit Jamie. It seared his eyes, his face, his nose. Everything fell away. He couldn’t feel, didn’t know if he was moving. Inching forward, he patted his jacket pockets. Grenades, he thought. In my pocket. Eri.
Then someone screamed, “Detonator!”
Eri, Jamie thought.
Darkness. Pain. Cold.
A growl pierced the ringing in his ear. Holgar?
Jamie looked up. A Russian wolfhound was staring down at him as he lay sprawled in the snow.
Jamie dropped his head back. Damn it. Goddamn them all. The Cursers and the war and the werewolves and just feckin’ everybody.
The dog grabbed his sleeve in its teeth and tried to pull him through the snow. With a harsh sob Jamie staggered to his feet and stumbled after the dog into the night. Jamie was sopping wet and covered with ash. He prayed to the Blessed Virgin that it was all that was left of Dantalion. Had he pulled a grenade? He couldn’t remember.
It didn’t matter. Because Eri was dead.
The animal began to bark and veered sharply to the left. Maybe the dog had come with people looking for survivors. Jamie slammed into a tree, spinning around to see flames and oily black smoke shooting into the air. Screams and explosions from the palace formed a wall of sound.
He fell down, unable to move. It didn’t matter, if she was dead. Of course she was dead. Everyone he cared about was dead.
A minute later the dog began to bark in a frenzy. He’d caught the scent of something.
Silhouetted against the red and black, Holgar ran toward Jamie.
The dog lunged forward at the sight of him, and for a moment Jamie thought it was going to try and tear out the wolfman’s throat. Instead the dog began to lick Holgar’s hands and face in welcome.
“Jamie!” Skye burst out, lurching forward from behind a tree. “Jamie, oh, my God, what’s happened to you?”
“Did you get him?” Noah asked, as the rest of the team—minus Antonio, minus Eriko—raced toward him.
For a moment Jamie couldn’t make sounds come out of his throat. And the first sound that did was a wail of fury.
“Eriko’s dead.” He couldn’t move as tears and blood ran down his face. “God.”
Stunned silence followed.
“What?” Jenn asked finally.
“The vampires killed her.” His throat was raw.
More silence.
“How do you know?” Noah asked.
“Some American told Dantalion. Before the place blew.”
“American?” Jenn echoed
“So you saw Dantalion? Is he dead?” Noah pressed.
“Blimey, give im a moment, will you?” Skye spat. “Look at him. He’s half dead himself.” She began to murmur a healing spell in Latin. He wanted to tell her not to bother.
“You didn’t see a body?” Holgar asked.
“The place blew!” Jamie yelled.
“Not Dantalion’s. Eriko’s,” Jenn said gently.
Jamie shook his head, trying not to fall apart in front of them.
“Eriko’s strong,” Jenn said softly. “She might have fooled them. We have to find her. Maybe she’s okay after all.”
He hated himself for glomming on to that slender hope. He nodded slowly.
“How d you get out?” Noah asked him. “Someone help you?”
Ignoring him, Jamie sat up. “Does anyone know the way back?” he asked, taking a ragged breath.
“I do,” Holgar said. He bent down and seemed to whisper to the dog for a moment. The animal disappeared into the night.
“What did you tell him?” Skye asked Holgar.
“I told him he was free to go find someone who could actually love him,” Holgar said. Then he began to head off at a lope. Noah and Jenn reached down and each took one of Jamie’s arms. Slowly they eased him to his feet.
Jamie began staggering along. And he couldn’t help but think bitterly that at least the dog was going to get a happy ending.
It was a simple thing to trace his way back to where they had left Antonio and Eriko. As it turned out, though, it was a lot easier than even he had anticipated.
Holgar smelled blood, and lots of it. He took a deeper breath and underneath it all could smell Eriko. Her scent was still fresh, but fading as though she was retreating or . . .
“Skye!” he called. His partner scrambled to keep up with him as he raced forward. Holgar was going the right direction, but the scent was fading, only to be overtaken by another, most unpleasant one.
“What is it?” she gasped.
“She’s dying. We’ve got a minute or less.”
He could run far faster, but Eriko needed Skye’s healing skills. He didn’t have to say a word as silent understanding passed between them. Holgar swung Skye onto his back. He hissed in pain at the contact with his wounds, which were still healing, but put on a burst of speed as he headed for a thicket of snow-covered trees.
“Eriko!” Skye cried, pointing straight ahead.
Holgar saw the shape of a human lying in the snow. As soon as they reached her side, Skye dropped off his back into a crouch next to the dying Hunter. Her hands began to fly over every cut, staunching the flow of blood that was carrying Eriko’s life with it.
Holgar touched Skye’s back, knowing that witches sometim
es had ways to draw energy from other beings—defensive magicks—but not knowing if she could, or would, do it.
He could feel Skye’s momentary hesitation, but his entire body began to tingle, and fatigue crept over him. His own body protested as its attempts to heal itself were placed on hold, the energy being diverted instead to Skye.
Holgar could scent the fear on the others as they approached. With an anguished cry Jamie collapsed to his knees next to Eriko’s head, but wisely did not reach for her like he so obviously wanted to. Instead he began praying, his voice cracking, entreating every saint and Buddha and Allah and every other deity Holgar had ever heard of and then some to intervene on behalf of the dying girl. After a moment’s hesitation, Taamir and Noah knelt on either side of Jamie and began to pray as well, one to Allah, one to Adonai. The three men’s voices began to blend together, their words different but their faith strong and intertwining.
Holgar glanced up at Jenn, who stood there looking helpless. He knew that she questioned religion, and he could tell at that moment she desperately wished she could join her prayers with the others. But something held her back. She glanced down at him and saw the way he was touching Skye, and understanding lit her eyes. She carefully knelt beside him and placed her hand next to his on Skye’s back, helping to fuel the young witch as she practiced the healing arts of her religion. All this to keep Eriko from prematurely experiencing one of the key elements of her religion: death and the subsequent reincarnation of the soul.
Skye’s back felt hot where Holgar’s hand was touching it, and the energy practically crackled from her fingertips as she worked. Jenn began to droop, and he very gently pushed her back, breaking the connection. Skye hunched her shoulders a little, but he knew she understood. It did no one any good if the efforts to save Eriko put Jenn in danger. It was taking its toll on him, as well, but he had more strength to give. Holgar dropped his head to his chest and dug deep.
When at last he was teetering on the verge of losing consciousness, the other three men eased him out of the way and offered their energy without even a breath’s pause in their prayers.
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