“Oh.” Jenn hazarded a glance at Noah, who stayed very neutral. He knew about Heather. It killed Jenn to lie to her, but she and Father Juan had both agreed that no one outside the team—and Noah and Taamir were part of the team—could know about Heather, not even Jenn’s mom. The best way to protect her sister’s life was to lie about her condition.
“I want to be with her. Father Juan is trying to arrange it,” her mom added.
Jenn was surprised, and also very pleased. That was a great idea, if her mother could take the truth. It would help Heather reconnect, and it would reunite Jenn’s family. As much of her family as was left, anyway. Would her father ever join them again? Jenn didn’t know.
Beneath the moonlight her mom looked younger than Jenn ever remembered seeing her. It was as if her new life agreed with her. Jenn thought of all the things her mother had done to try to be helpful in postwar San Francisco, like taking meals to shut-ins, many of whom had been injured battling the Cursed Ones. The local authorities had shut down her art gallery because some of the pieces she exhibited had been seen as “inflammatory” and “detrimental to the truce process.” Even though she was Gramma Esther’s daughter-in-law and not her blood relative, they were two of a kind.
“Your mother brought someone who’s been spying on Solomon for the resistance,” Noah told Jenn. “Your grandmother has called a meeting, and we’ve been out looking for you.”
“Let’s go,” Jenn said. But as she tried to walk forward, she wobbled on her tingling leg. Noah eased her along, his side pressing against hers. His welcome body heat seeped into her. After what she’d seen and heard, it felt so good to lean on him.
“Can’t we stop to get you a coat? You’re frozen,” her mother protested, trailing after them.
“Are you all right?” Noah asked Jenn quietly.
“It’s so good to see her,” Jenn replied. “I hate lying to her about my sister.”
“Life is like that. The sweet with the bitter.” He gave her a sad smile. “So one must remember to taste the sweet when it’s available.”
Jenn’s joy was already beginning to sour. Maybe the meeting was also about Antonio. A thrill of deep fear made her stomach clench, and she slowed down, waiting for her mom. Jenn took her hand and squeezed hard.
“Thanks. I can walk now,” Jenn told Noah.
“I’m not sure—,” he began.
“I’m okay.” She licked her lips and shifted her weight. Tingles raced up and down her leg.
She walked shoulder to shoulder with her mother into the barn. There were about twenty people, all familiar faces, many flashing smiles and gestures of greeting at her mom. Her grandmother and her two lieutenants, Sam and Bo, were seated at a rickety wooden table. A few others sat on wooden chairs, others on hay bales. Father Juan, Skye, Eriko, and Jamie were on the bales.
Skye mouthed, Holgar is with Antonio. Father Juan smiled gently, seeing her and her mother together.
A blond woman, very pretty, stood at the foot of the table, as if she had been asking Gramma Esther for a favor. She was wearing skinny jeans, boots, and an army jacket with a Jerusalem cross pinned on the lapel. But while the government agents wore black crosses, this one was white.
“Jenn Leitner,” the woman said, extending her hand as Jenn and her mom walked to the table. “I’m Marti Swanson. I’m with the Resistance.”
A bit mystified, Jenn shook the woman’s hand. It seemed that there were a number of “resistances” in this war. Father Juan and Antonio had explained that in World War II it had been the same way. But during that war most groups had worked within the borders of their own countries, fighting against invading armies. Jenn was the only person on her team from America, and she had gone to Spain for her training.
Jenn’s mom pulled out two empty chairs from the table, gesturing for Jenn to sit with her. Jenn glanced over at her team, then took the seat beside her mom. Noah leaned against a post and crossed his arms.
“Some of you know that Solomon is planning a film about the history of the Cursed Ones titled, simply, History. Two weeks ago Solomon told an operative of ours, a woman named JMei Lao, that he was planning to film a section set in Russia about vampire supersoldiers. He was talking to someone named Danny about it. But we think that’s a cover for something else.”
All the Salamancans stared at her. Then they looked at one another.
“Dantalion?” Jenn said.
“Maybe? Who’s that?” she asked.
“Dantalion was making hybrid human, werewolf, and vampire monsters. Really strong. Vampire supersoldiers, only for real. That could move in daylight,” Jenn told her.
There was a stir around the room, and Jenn realized, belatedly, that this was news to all but a select few. So much had happened so fast.
“Was he successful? Could they walk in daylight?” Jenn’s grandmother asked.
“We don’t know,” Jenn replied, trying to keep her voice steady.
Marti licked her lips. “I have more.”
“Go on,” Jenn said.
“We all wear these heart necklaces”—she lifted one up from around her neck—“with bugs in them. So far Solomon doesn’t suspect that’s what we’re doing. I got this next bit myself, by standing outside his door. He does love his speaker phone,” she added dryly.
“Camps are definitely the way to go.” Solomon’s voice echoed from portable speakers positioned around the room. “We can round up all the undesirables and keep them in one place. Your thoughts, Jack?”
Camps? Jenn thought, looking at the worry on people’s faces.
“Undesirables would be . . . who, Solomon?” Shock registered on everyone’s faces. “Jack” was Jack Kilburn, the president of the United States.
“I’m taking my cue from your World War Two. The people who stood in the way. The troublemakers. And the weaklings. Hell, your side locked up anyone who was of Japanese descent. You could make your own list, if you like. Do you have any enemies you want to lock up?”
Expressions of dawning horror gave rise to murmurs of alarm. Pleas for quiet accompanied a lot of shushing as people leaned forward to hear.
“You’re talking about concentration camps. Like the Nazis,” said the president.
“Bingo. And I have a feeling quite a few of you humans will be making a new home behind barbed wire.”
There was a pause. “But there are billions of us, Solomon. How many of these camps are you talking about?”
“There’s billions now,” Solomon replied. “But we can take care of that. In record time.”
The room went dead silent. People’s faces drained of color. Jenn’s mom reached for her hand.
There was a long pause. The speakers hissed with white noise.
“That’s all we have,” Marti said. “If Solomon told Kilburn what he was planning, I didn’t pick it up.”
“Oh, Goddess,” Skye said, burying her face in her hands.
In the stillness Jamie stood. His neck was still bandaged from Antonio’s bite.
“Why are any of you surprised? This is what governments do. Throw the people down in front of the tanks. This piece of shite is making a deal to save his own arse, just like Jenn’s da here. It’s you and me against the Cursers, no help from them. Always has been, always will be, till we wipe em out.”
Gramma Esther and her old-folk Defenders nodded in agreement. “Jamie’s right.”
“We know that Solomon is planning a press conference on the mall in Washington, D.C., in a week. Someone in the White House told us the president is going to be there too,” Marti said.
“Good. We can take them both out at the same time,” Jamie said.
“Jamie, there’s no way,” Jenn said. “We won’t be able to get anywhere near them.”
“She’s right,” Esther said.
“Oh, God! You’re a pack of cowards!” Jamie looked around, then grabbed a metal watering can and flung it as hard as he could. It slammed into a post.
“Jenn’s right,” Noah said
. “I’ve ‘taken out’ a few politicians in my time, and it takes months, years of planning. And a lot more manpower than we have.”
Then Father Juan stood. His face was almost glowing. “But we can do something else. We could play that recording for the world.”
“When Solomon and the president meet at the mall. The world will be listening,” Gramma Esther said.
“God and the Devil, too,” Jamie said. He shrugged. “It’s better than nothing. And I guess it’s all we’re going to get from you lot.”
“We’ll try to do better,” Gramma Esther said archly.
“See that you do,” Jamie shot back, deadly serious.
The planning began at once. Jenn was in the thick of it, but she let Jamie do a lot of the strategizing because, as he put it, “my people used to do this sort of thing.” The night wore on inside the barn, and even though she and the others were used to keeping the same hours as the enemy, her head began to bob.
Something caught her attention in her peripheral vision. Near the opened double doors of the barn, Father Juan was gesturing to her. Skye stood beside him, her face pale and wan.
Jenn pushed away from the table and went to see what was up. Father Juan put his arm around her shoulders as if bracing her for a blow.
“I’m going back to Spain, and I’m taking Antonio with me,” he said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sometimes, no matter what you do, no matter how hard you fight, you still lose. That’s one of the most horrific secrets of life. Sometimes there is no victory, no beating the odds, no emerging triumphant. The deck might be stacked against you. Fate may have decreed your failure. I just know that sometimes, even when you think you’ve won, you’ve lost.
I hate it. I’m tired of losing. I’m tired of losing friends, family, the war. How do you change it, though? How do you swap out the deck or change your fate? Because I need to. If I can’t, everyone I know will die. And it will be my fault.
I’ve heard it said that victory is won in inches. That may be true, but we don’t have the time. If we win in inches, we’ll still lose, because with every day that passes, hundreds more die.
How do I stop it?
How do I make my own fate?
How do I even begin?
—from the diary of Jenn Leitner,
discovered in the ashes
MONTANA
TEAM SALAMANCA MINUS ANTONIO;
ESTHER AND THE RESISTANCE
“Master?” Jenn’s throat closed up around the word. Thoughts jumbled in her head—that Father Juan hadn’t given up on Antonio, that Father Juan wouldn’t be there on the mission to Washington. And that Skye also had something to say.
“My heart is telling me that I must stop fighting. But I can help Father Juan with Antonio and Heather.” Skye spoke in a rush, nervous and anxious. “Antonio is better because of what Father Juan and I have done.”
“Antonio is going to get in your way,” Father Juan said to Jenn. “And I need to get back to the academy. And if Skye has been able to help Antonio, she may be able to help Heather.”
Jenn bit her lower lip, and shook her head. “Skye, I can’t let you go.”
“Jenn,” Father Juan began, but she shook her head again.
“Skye can reach the minds of our enemies. She might be able to gather information that we need.” Jenn looked at the gothy witch. “And if we get injured, you keep us going.”
Skye frowned. Jenn sensed her confusion, and gave her a quick hug. “Please, Skye, don’t abandon us. That would be causing harm.” She looked at Father Juan. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Their master remained silent. Then he turned to Skye. “As you’ve pointed out, in my faith good people often do bad things. They take the sin upon themselves, for the greater good. But if you know what you must do, then so be it.”
“I don’t know,” Skye murmured.
“How soon are you leaving?” Jenn asked.
“Ten minutes,” he replied. “Your mother is giving me her van so I can keep the sun off him. She’s staying here. I told her I would send for her later.”
Ten minutes. That wasn’t enough time to prepare herself. But ten hours wouldn’t have been enough time either.
“Why tonight? Why now?” she asked.
“While you were strategizing, I cast the runes,” he said simply. “And I prayed.”
“But . . .” Jenn’s throat tightened.
He drew her into his arms and kissed the crown of her head. “You’ve had so many disappointments, Jenn.”
She froze. Are you taking him away so I won’t be disappointed?
“I want to say good-bye to him,” she said.
Father Juan hesitated. “It would be better if you didn’t see him now.”
“No,” Jenn blurted. “Oh, no.”
“Jenn, be strong,” Skye said, taking her hands. “Father Juan, let her see him. I believe it will help him like it did before.”
The three fell silent as they reached the building. One of Gramma Esther’s Defenders snapped to attention at the sight of Jenn, saluting her.
“I heard we’re going to kill Solomon,” the soldier said.
“Well, that’s the eventual plan,” Jenn hedged.
“Roger that, miss.” He unlocked the door. Jenn looked at Father Juan and Skye.
“I want to go in by myself.”
“Holgar’s in there,” Father Juan said. “I want him to stay with you.”
“All right,” Jenn said.
The room was dim. Holgar was already standing; he moved toward her and gazed down at her. He looked terribly sad.
“He’s not doing well,” Holgar murmured. “This shouldn’t be your last memory of him.”
“It’s not my last,” she said, flaring, not so much with anger but with a horrible fear that he could be right.
She walked forward, forcing Holgar to get out of her way. He did, standing back in the shadows.
Antonio was sitting cross-legged on the floor, gesturing with his hands and whispering. She stood quietly.
“Antonio. I’ve come to say good-bye.”
His hands stopped moving. His head snapped up. His eyes were red, but in the next second they were brown. He looked like a normal nineteen-year-old. Like the guy she’d crushed on for two years, before she’d discovered he was a vampire.
This was the guy she was still in love with.
“Jenn,” Antonio said. “Bueno.” He ran his hands through his hair, such a human gesture that it gave her hope that everything would be all right, somewhere, someday. “You should stay away from me.” He paused. “And from Heather, too. Until we get better.”
She wondered if Father Juan was really going to send for her mother to come and live at Salamanca. What would she say when she saw Heather?
Gazing up at her, Antonio threaded his fingers through the bars. Then he seemed to think better of it, and lowered his hands to his lap. The light cast a circle on his blue-black hair that looked like a halo.
“I’ve been thinking.” Antonio’s voice was hushed and quiet. “I’m rededicating myself to the priesthood. I can’t become a priest, but I can put my focus where it should be. From where it . . . wandered.”
Her breath caught as if he had punched her in the stomach. Her heart stuttered.
“What are you saying?”
“You know what I’m saying.” His eyes glistened. “You need to have a life, with a man. That’s your calling. I’m not a man, Jenn. And I never will be.”
“No,” she choked out. She fell to her knees in front of the cage and put her hands through the bars.
He hissed and pulled himself away from her. His eyes blazed with red, and his fangs extended.
“Get her out of here!” Antonio shouted. “Holgar, please!”
Strong arms gripped her and lifted her to her feet, putting distance between her and Antonio’s prison. Holgar. She struggled against him, but he held her tightly.
“Antonio!” Jenn cried, reaching for him.
“Go,” he ground out.
Holgar forcibly walked Jenn to the door, opened it, and pushed her through. She burst into tears. Then arms came around her—Father Juan and Skye. Weeping, she stumbled as Skye led her away. She tried to turn back, but Skye held her firmly.
“Don’t look back, my angel,” Skye said. “Just come with me. I won’t leave you. Any of you. When we’re done in Washington, I’ll work night and day to figure out how to help bring Antonio back to us.”
“He is back,” Jenn said. But she knew that wasn’t true. She cried harder, and when she thought she couldn’t cry any more, fresh tears slid down her face.
Jenn began to feel rivulets of calm within the wild river of her grief. The witch was casting spells to soothe her.
“Jenn,” Skye whispered, “I’ll bring the Circuit up to date on all this. The witchly communities will have to see that they must get involved.”
“What about Estefan?” Jenn asked her. “Does he have a circuit, too?”
Skye hesitated. “I don’t know. These are things we need to figure out. Things have been happening so fast.”
A van lumbered past them. Skye gripped her hand; Jenn knew Father Juan and Antonio were inside. Jenn bowed her head as Skye murmured over her in Latin.
Good-bye, Antonio. Vaya con Dios.
She put thoughts of him away, as if in a box, to be opened later.
Then she wiped her face and headed back toward the barn, where the planning session was still in full swing. A figure was standing just outside the double-door entrance, an Uzi over his shoulder. Noah.
As she approached, he reached in his pocket and pulled out something. It was a pack of gum. With a trembling hand she took a stick, unwrapped it, and popped it in her mouth. It was cinnamon, her favorite.
“I’m quitting smoking,” he told her. He quirked a lopsided grin. “I noted that you aren’t a big fan.”
She tried to smile, to feel flattered. The best she could do was a nod.
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