The Damned

by Nancy Holder; Debbie Viguié

  They moved soundlessly, like ninjas.

  “I smell them,” Holgar murmured.

  They slowed. The dark covered them. Fog rolled in. Wind blew. Jenn started to get really, really scared. This was it.

  The moon poked through the layers of fog as Antonio appeared before her. His robe hood was thrown back, and the silver light caught the angles and planes of his face. His eyes were deep-set, his lashes amazingly long. His nose was very straight, above soft lips she had dreamed of kissing a million times. He might die tonight. She wouldn’t be able to bear it.

  He gazed down at her, and she couldn’t look away. It was as if he were casting a magick spell on her. He took a step toward her. Her heart raced.

  “Jenn, tonight,” he began. He fell silent. Then he raised a hand and cupped her cheek. His skin was icy, and she jerked, startled. He began to take his hand away.

  “No,” she said quickly, and he smiled. But it was a sad smile, stormy, and he did move it—to weave his fingers through her hair. His gaze swept over her features, as if he were memorizing them.

  “Jenn, if tonight something happens, I want you to know why . . .” He trailed off, cocking his head, holding her in his gaze like a hypnotist. “Why I didn’t . . . act. It was you, Jenn, these last two years. You who captured my heart. But I couldn’t.”

  His hand slipped from her hair to her shoulder. His touch made her knees buckle. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Here, now. Antonio de la Cruz.

  He cleared his throat. “I couldn’t.”

  “Because you’re studying to be a priest,” she said.

  “But now, when we fight them, you’ll probably see why. I won’t be able to stop it. And I want you to know that it changes nothing about how I feel. What I wish I could be. For you.”

  Then Holgar growled.

  “C’mon, mates!” Jamie yelled. “Wolf’s on the move!”

  “Before we go,” Antonio whispered. Then he bent his head over hers, and kissed her. His mouth was cold, but she felt warm. Tingles raced up her spine. Her heart was going a million miles a minute.

  “Mi luz,” he said. Her Spanish was bad, but she knew he had just called her “my light.” “Mi alma.” My soul.

  “Oh, Antonio,” she murmured, her eyes closed as he nuzzled her face with his mouth, his nose. “Have you known all this time that I—how I felt?”

  “Sí. And I have thanked God for it. But, Jenn, you need to know.” A pause. “Open your eyes.”

  And she did.

  LAS VEGAS

  TEAM SALAMANCA MINUS ANTONIO;

  TAAMIR AND NOAH

  “We’ll work something out, Jenn,” Skye said.

  It was only then that Jenn realized she was sitting on the curb outside Aurora’s Palace. She didn’t remember sitting down.

  “Oh, Skye,” Jenn whispered, her heart breaking. “Skye.”

  Jamie planted his feet in front of her. “Don’t you do it, Jenn. Don’t you bleedin’ cry. You’re our leader. Get it together.” He glared at her. “So, what’s the plan?”

  Her body shook as she looked up at them. Holgar, Skye, Jamie, Taamir, and Noah, too, were all waiting to hear her grand, glorious decision. Noah gave her a quick nod. And something in her . . . shifted.

  He’s right. I can do this.

  “We need to do what will cause the most damage,” she said hoarsely. “What will help us win this war. We need to go in, now.”

  “Likin’ that,” Jamie said. “Good girl.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It’s hard to let go. It’s the most difficult lesson to learn, regardless of whether or not you’re a hunter. We spend our whole lives seeking and building connections—families, friends, mentors, lovers—and then, in a moment, they can be taken from us. These relationships can end along with a human life, or these relationships can fall apart, until they are as dead to you as if that person were in their grave, though they still walk.

  These are the hardest deaths in so many ways, the deaths of a thousand tiny insults or omissions. You wake up one day and realize that the person you counted on most just isn’t there for you. Worse yet, you might not even care. This is the true horror. Physical death is easy to understand, and no one blames you when you mourn. Intangible death is so inexplicable, that when you realize the loss it seems like the time for crying has passed and you must hide your pain from everyone. Even yourself.

  —from the diary of Jenn Leitner,

  discovered in the ashes

  AD 1942, MADRID, SPAIN

  IN THE COURT OF SERGIO ALMODÓVAR

  Sergio Almodóvar, king of the vampires of Spain, sat on his throne and beamed at Antonio de la Cruz as he strode into his chamber with a lifeless human in his arms. Vampires crowded the walls, most dressed in the style of the day—women in black ball gowns with padded shoulders, and men in tuxedoes. Some had clung to the times when they had been converted, wearing remade court dress—hoopskirts and powdered wigs, Renaissance doublets, and frock coats. Sergio had many offspring.

  But none of them pleased him as much as Antonio de la Cruz. The raven-haired youth had rained down destruction on the descendants of the men who had murdered Aurora’s family and planned to burn Aurora herself at the stake. Sergio had planned the deaths as a present for Aurora, but unfortunately, they were having one of their lovers’ quarrels and he had no idea where she was. Sergio wished she could have seen Antonio in action. In Sergio’s opinion, the boy was a born killer. Antonio a priest? What a tragedy that would have been.

  As reward for the seven murders, Sergio had presented Antonio with seven of the twelve exquisite rubies Sergio’s sire had given to Sergio as payment for his various acts of service. Sergio had been more than pleased to give these sparkling stones to the jewel of his crown—Antonio.

  Tonight Sergio had planned a grand fiesta in Antonio’s honor. And apparently his protégé had brought a party favor. Intrigued, Sergio leaned forward.

  “Buenos tardes, Antonio,” he said. “What have you brought me?”

  “My lord,” Antonio said, dropping the body to the floor. As it fell, a wooden stake fell from a halter at its waist and clattered onto the stone. “A Hunter.”

  Sergio was speechless, overcome with pride.

  “Bravo!” someone in the glittering assembly cried. All began applauding Antonio, the priest whom Sergio had found in the woods, praying over a dying Frenchman.

  Sergio stood, arms outstretched.

  “Antonio, you are a prince among vampires,” Sergio declared. “Henceforth you are Duke Antonio de la Cruz.”

  “Bravo!”

  Sergio swept down from the dais and embraced Antonio. Clasping hands with Antonio, Sergio led the boy to the royal room’s focal point, not Sergio’s throne but the statue of Orcus, with his bearded goat’s head. His fanged mouth was open, and a mammoth fire blazed inside. Vampinc servants stoked the flames.

  “Orcus, I present to you my servant, Antonio, duke of the vampires of Spain. He is my best, my pride, my joy. As I am bound to you, so is he, and I give you my bond that he will serve you faithfully. Swear faithfulness and loyalty, Duke Antonio. For eternity.”

  “I swear faithfulness and loyalty,” Antonio repeated. “For eternity.”

  Sergio turned to smile at him, but at that moment a shadow passed over the handsome vampire’s face. He blinked, and Sergio frowned. “Antonio?”

  Antonio blinked again, and looked around, then at Sergio, like a man who had awakened from a daze. His mouth worked, but he didn’t speak.

  “Is something wrong?” Sergio pressed.

  “No, no,” Antonio said. He touched his forehead. “Forgive me.”

  “Then let us continue,” Sergio said.

  But Sergio should have paid better attention. That night Antonio de la Cruz left his court and joined the enemy. Sergio’s sire nearly killed him, beating him for the shame and the humiliation. Sergio’s court abandoned him.

  “I will get him back,” Sergio promised.

  In
1942.

  AD 1591, UBEDA, SPAIN

  ST. JOHN OF THE CROSS

  St. John of the Cross lay on a pallet in a plain and simple room in December 1591, and everyone had given him up for dead. He held his beads, and made a prayer:

  The soul takes flight, to repair the world. Oh, my soul, make good out of this long journey, so that I will achieve my true purpose and end my days in bliss.

  Prayers are like magick, moving through the ethers of time and space. Like finds like, need finds need.

  Fate finds destiny.

  A prayer found the vampire Antonio de la Cruz.

  In 1942.

  LAS VEGAS

  TEAM SALAMANCA MINUS ANTONIO;

  TAAMIR AND NOAH

  Enko sang. She kept having to fight her urge to throw herself at Aurora and try to stake her now. But she would be killed before her team could back her up.

  However, in some ways, dying would have been preferable to singing and making cutesy faces at Shell Ghost Shogun. She had always suspected that he was the vampire who converted Yuki. And now he was here.

  The girl, Staci, was serving a second round of drinks, her hands still shaking. What had Antonio done to her? And looking at the row of Cursed Ones watching so intently, Eriko wondered what they were going to do to her. She had stakes concealed as stays in her top and a tiny cross tucked into her bra. Not much in the way of defenses, and she realized she hadn’t thought through what to do if there was no easy exit.

  She giggled and smiled and wished that she’d posted that she was going to be doing a private show at Aurora’s Palace. Somewhere online. That way if she ended up dead, the team could at least use it to spread awareness of the fact that the vampires weren’t all peace-loving like they pretended.

  So many ifs. And some regrets:

  She was sorry she hadn’t kissed Jamie. She’d never kissed a boy, and he was so into her that it seemed a shame she hadn’t tried it. She was sorry she hadn’t checked on Kenji, to see if he was okay, if he was still alive.

  She finished singing and did an elaborate curtsey, forcing herself to smile and giggle.

  The Cursed Ones applauded, and Aurora stood up, approaching her, fangs clearly visible.

  “Wonderful! Thank you very much for entertaining us this evening.” Aurora cupped her cheek in her hand. “Such a pretty child, and so talented.”

  Eriko couldn’t decide if Aurora was about to eat her or turn her into a pet. She slid a hand to her waist, ready to reach for a stake if need be.

  Kill her now! her inner voice urged. You’ll never have a better shot.

  An explosion rocked the building, and Aurora turned swiftly away.

  “What was that?” the vampire demanded.

  Eriko smiled. She knew exactly what it was. It was Jamie, coming to the rescue.

  SALAMANCA

  FATHER JUAN

  They met in the university chapel: students, teachers, priests. Father Juan stood up at the front and surveyed their ranks. They had fought the good fight; they had kept the faith. But now it was time to make the hard decisions. Diego stood beside him, offering his support. He took a deep breath and began.

  “I’ve called you all here today because it’s time you knew what was going on, and each one of you must decide your future.”

  There was murmuring as people shifted in their seats and looked to each other.

  “The Church has negotiated a peace with the vampires. They have ordered us to cease hunter-training activities and close our doors.”

  Gasps and choruses of “no” echoed around the room. He held up a hand to silence them.

  “I don’t feel that this is the right thing to do. I’ve decided, therefore, to keep the school open, defying the orders from Rome.”

  Spontaneous applause and cheers broke out. Then Father Juan once again held up a hand to bring order.

  “Those teachers who stay may continue to train whoever wishes to learn. But please, all of you, be aware that any Catholic who remains here risks excommunication. And the government may send in troops to force us to leave. We are completely on our own; no help or aid will come from any quarter. This school will stand against the forces of darkness to the end—hopefully the end of this terrible war.

  “You have all trained and taught to the best of your abilities. You now stand at a crossroads. Anyone who wishes to leave this place should do so within the next twenty-four hours. No ill will will be harbored. Those who go do so with my blessings. Those who remain do so with my gratitude.

  “Now, everyone should retire to their room for the rest of the day to think, pray, meditate, and decide their path. Thank you.”

  Father Juan stepped down from the stage and left through a side door. He headed for his office, followed by Diego, who walked beside him.

  After a few minutes of silence Father Juan finally turned to the bishop.

  “How many do you think will stay?”

  Diego shrugged. “I think most of the students will stay. They’re committed to what we stand for.”

  “And what of the teachers, the priests?”

  Diego’s eyes clouded. “That is a far different matter. Many of the teachers have families to care for. Excommunication is a terrible threat for the priests. To be cut off spiritually by the Pope is a terrible punishment.”

  Juan sighed. “I know. Which is why I think you should leave.”

  Diego started, his eyes flashing angrily. “Do you think me a coward?”

  Juan put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “No one who has spent any time with you could ever think that. But you have served the cause, and I think you might continue to do so in Rome. I need to know what they are planning.”

  “I can do that,” Diego said. “I will do that. But the students—”

  “I’ll watch over those who remain. I can’t watch what is happening outside these walls, though.”

  “If I leave, it will give the other priests impetus to go as well.”

  “I know. And it pains me, but if I have to carry on alone, I will.”

  “You don’t have to protect me,” Diego said stubbornly.

  Father Juan laughed at the idea. “I know, my friend, but by sending you to the lion’s den I fear I’m putting you in far greater danger than if you stayed.”

  They faced each other, possibly for the last time. Father Juan watched as Diego struggled with emotions that nearly overpowered him. Finally the bishop held out his hand, and Juan clasped it.

  “I’ll leave at the end of the twenty-four hours,” Diego said. “I won’t make my decision known before I go, so as not to sway others who are making their own choices.”

  “Agreed,” Juan said.

  The two embraced. Then Diego hurried down the hallway, and Juan watched him go. Sending him away was the right thing to do, but it would be harder to face the daily struggles without his companionship and wisdom.

  Father Juan stared at the closed door of his office and didn’t want to go inside. After a moment’s thought he turned away. It was time to pay Heather another visit, to remind himself what they were all struggling for—and against.

  Standing before her cell, he found her huddled in the corner, sobbing quietly.

  “Heather,” he called gently.

  “What do you want?” she screamed in return.

  “To talk,” he said, pulling up a chair, still keeping several feet from the cage.

  “I don’t want to talk. I want to kill you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?”

  She laughed, a hollow, mocking sound that made his hair stand on end. “Because you’re food, and I’m hungry.”

  “You don’t have to kill to eat. Antonio doesn’t.”

  Heather half laughed, half sobbed. “Jenn never told me her precious boyfriend was a Cursed One.”

  “I imagine she didn’t.”

  “Why?” Heather screeched and threw herself at the bars.

  Father Juan didn’t answer. />
  “I’ll tell you why. Because she’s a hypocrite! She was my hero, saving the world from vampires. She couldn’t even save me! And you know what? I’m going to kill her for it,” Heather hissed.

  There was no reasoning with her; Father Juan could see that. She wasn’t scheduled to eat for several more hours, so after sitting with her a few more minutes he got up and left. He walked, wandering through classrooms and down hallways. Jenn was going to be devastated when she returned and discovered that Heather had found her voice, but that all she could do with it was express her hate.

  Antonio, how did you overcome what you are? he wondered. He thought of him in Aurora’s clutches, and his stomach churned. He prayed that the team would find him and save him. They needed to, because in his heart he didn’t think they could save Heather.

  Outside the student dorms, walking, Father Juan lifted his face to the sun and felt the warmth suffuse him. When he had worshipped the Goddess, he had embraced the moon. His current work also kept him up at night. Sometimes he forgot the healing powers of the sun. He breathed in deeply of the golden air, wishing he could drink the light in to himself and illuminate the dark, shadowed corners of his own mind and heart.

  With his eyes closed, he became aware of voices talking together quietly. He followed the sound until he found a bench under a tree and saw that two students, Maria and Marta, fifteen-year-old twins from Argentina, were sitting together, hugging and crying.

  They didn’t see Father Juan, and he lingered for a moment.

  “They could excommunicate us,” Maria said.

  “But Father Juan is a priest. He can absolve us,” Marta answered.

  “Not if they excommunicate him, too. Then he’s not a real priest anymore.”

  “Some things are worth fighting for. And if we survive, if we win, surely we will be forgiven,” Marta said.

  “I’m leaving. Please come with me,” Maria said.

  “I can’t leave,” Marta replied.

  The two girls embraced, and Juan’s heart broke for them. That was the hell of this war, the way it rendered families asunder. And now the actions of the Church were doing the same. Anger burned in his breast, and he fought to maintain control of himself.