by Nancy Holder
“Sí, and I’d rather you had sent yourself.”
Juan laughed, and it felt so good.
Then Diego’s tone grew more somber. “Tell me, old friend, is it true you’re trying to gather the ingredients to make the Hunter elixir?”
Juan sobered quickly. “Yes. I want to make enough for all of them.”
“Do you have a priest assisting you?” Diego asked, more somber still.
“No,” he admitted.
“Father, you mustn’t,” Diego cried, reverting, as was his habit when he was stressed, to a deferential tone toward Juan.
Father Juan smiled gently, grateful that he had such a friend. “I must. Don’t be sorry, my old friend. All things end some time.”
“Not all things, in my experience,” Diego said pointedly.
“But they should.”
“An argument for another time,” Diego said. “Now let me pray.”
SOMEWHERE IN THE UNITED STATES
KENT WALLACE
In his sleeping bag in the abandoned Pizza Hut, Kent woke with a shout. Sweat was pouring down his body, and he was shaking. The imagery of the dream faded, but not its meaning. He pressed his hands to his eyes. It was time. Years of watching, waiting, guiding, praying had come to an end. All the players were on the board, all the pieces in motion. It was now or never. It was time to gather all the allies together from the corners of the world.
Time to take the fight to the Cursed Ones.
He nodded to himself and got up.
Time to let everyone know just what time it was.
BOOK THREE
ERESHKIGAL
All ceased and I abandoned myself,
Leaving my cares forgotten among the lilies.
—St. John of the Cross,
sixteenth-century mystic of Salamanca
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Salamanca Hunter’s Manual: Your Vows
The calling to become the Hunter of Salamanca is like any other summons to serve God. To be free from earthly distractions, to walk alone, and to place your sacred duty above all other concerns. You are married to destruction.
(translated from the Spanish)
THE MONASTERY OF THE BROTHERHOOD OF ST. ANDREW
ANTONIO, JENN, FATHER JUAN, AND ESTHER
There was a soft knock on the door of the little bedroom Jenn had made her sanctuary, and Jenn rose to open it. Her grandmother stood there, a wry smile twisting her features.
“What is it?” Jenn asked, dread settling in the pit of her stomach.
“Father Juan wants to see you in the chapel.”
“Oh,” Jenn said, searching her grandmother’s face for a clue as to what it might be about.
If Esther knew, though, she was good at hiding it. Jenn followed her out into the hallway.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him,” Jenn said, instantly regretting it. It sounded like an accusation when she’d just meant it to be a general comment.
Esther nodded. “He’s a fascinating man. I’ve been enjoying our talks.”
“How fascinating?” Jenn asked. She told herself she wanted to know more about Father Juan—not that she was concerned about her grandmother spending so much time with him.
Esther chuckled as though at some private joke. “More than he’ll admit.”
Jenn waited, but her grandmother didn’t say any more. When they reached the door of the chapel, Gramma Esther gave her a quick wink and then turned and walked away.
Jenn watched her for a moment, then went inside. It was very dark except for rows of lighted candles in glass holders in front of a statue of a sad-looking monk. Jenn guessed it was St. Andrew.
Father Juan was waiting at the front of the chapel. He wore a gold stole over his shoulders, and he was standing in front of the altar, talking to someone in the first pew. With a start she saw that it was Antonio.
Father Juan glanced up and saw her. He beckoned to her to come sit on the bench beside Antonio. She hesitated, then walked forward.
Antonio gave her a weak smile that showed no fang. His dark brown eyes were warm and natural-looking, so she allowed herself to relax ever so slightly. She still remained on guard, though. Mesmerize me once, shame on you; mesmerize me twice . . . , she thought.
Father Juan stared at her, and she ducked her eyes, wondering if he could see her doubts and fears in them.
“Now that you’re both here, there’s something we should discuss.”
She felt Antonio shift uncomfortably next to her, and she flushed. He couldn’t possibly want to discuss what happened, could he? There was no way Jenn wanted to dissect the attack or its aftermath. Maybe Father Juan just wanted to talk about Solomon, Dantalion, and Lucifer with them in private. But why? Surely there was nothing he had to say that couldn’t be said in front of the others?
Father Juan cleared his throat, and she hunched her shoulders as though bracing for a physical blow instead of a lecture. In many ways she’d prefer it.
“Antonio de la Cruz, you are my brother in Christ and my spiritual son. The Church gave you sanctuary in Salamanca, where your namesake, Saint John of the Cross, studied as well,” Father Juan began. He cocked his head. “And what would you say is the most important thing Saint John had to say to us?”
Antonio did not hesitate. “‘Nothing is obtained from God except by love.’” His voice was hushed.
“The exact words of the saint himself. You learned your lessons well.” Father Juan patted Antonio’s cheek. “But have you made those lessons your own?”
Antonio cleared his throat. “I believe that I have, Father.”
Father Juan put his hands on their shoulders. “I bid you both kneel.”
Antonio pulled down the prayer bench, then knelt on both knees. Feeling awkward, Jenn knelt beside him. Where her shoulder brushed his, she felt the chill of his skin. It was cold in the chapel, and Antonio had no body heat.
“This is another thing Saint John said.” Father Juan placed his hands on top of their heads. “‘Where there is no love, put love and you will draw out love.’”
“What are you doing, Father?” Antonio asked, his voice still hushed.
“In the tradition of the Church, we believe that the purpose of the sacrament of marriage is to create new life—whether that be of children, or the new lives of the united couple through the expression of mutual love and support. But there are those who, for various reasons, cannot be together in this way.”
Us, Jenn thought, and she closed her eyes as tears spilled. She wanted to die of embarrassment. Antonio had made it clear that they couldn’t be together in any way, first by his words, then by his actions.
The scar on her neck still hurt, though the wound had finally healed. “Phantom pain,” that was what one of the brothers had called it.
Father Juan removed his hands from the crowns of their heads. Jenn kept her eyes closed as she listened to his voice.
“Ever since you came to the Academia, Jenn, I have cast the runes in order to know the best path for you, and for Antonio. And the answer is always that you must be together. Your power, combined, is what will save us.”
She shut her eyes more tightly, aware that beside her, Antonio shifted his weight.
“I can’t, Father. I’ve given myself to God,” Antonio said.
“And what is God but love?” Father Juan replied.
“But . . . I’m a vampire.”
Jenn heard the self-loathing in his voice. And despite her own turmoil, she opened her eyes and placed a supportive hand on Antonio’s. His chest rose.
“You’re the only vampire capable of such devotion. Such love,” Father Juan said. “But you’re holding back.”
“Out of love,” Antonio whispered. He turned to Jenn, and his eyes welled with real tears. “Because . . . I love.”
Antonio, Antonio, Jenn thought, nearly overcome with the force of her emotion. I love you.
“Out of fear. Because you fear,” Father Juan corrected him. “And this terrible f
ear prevents you from loving Jenn as fully as God wants for you. And for her.”
Jenn caught her breath. What is he trying to say?
“You must free yourself to love her as much as you possibly can. But you’ve created such obstacles to giving yourself.”
“Because I’m a Cursed One,” Antonio said.
“And what would you say to another Cursed One who sought to love God? If he came to you on bent knees, head bowed, humbled and broken-hearted?” Father Juan prompted.
“None of us is deserving of the love of God,” Antonio replied. “But He loves us anyway.”
Father Juan was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Before I was a priest, I served the Goddess. And Her teaching is this: that we are lovable, and She is completely in love with us. Two paths, perhaps? Or is it that you haven’t understood the teachings of our Mother Church?”
“Ay,” Antonio murmured, crossing himself with his free hand.
“Do you dare to see yourself as worthy of Holy Love?” Father Juan demanded. “Do you have that much courage?”
Antonio kept his head bowed, but she could feel him trembling beside her.
“And Jenn,” Father Juan said.
She jumped when Father Juan said her name.
“You have a shadow in your heart as well,” Father Juan said. “Yours is also hatred.”
She looked at him in surprise. He was standing in front of the candles, and the gauzy yellow light seemed to give him a halo and to make him seem timeless, ageless.
“Of course I hate the vampires,” she said. “Don’t ask me not to.”
“I’m speaking of something else. Someone else,” Father Juan said. His expression was so patient, and kind. “The man who betrayed you. Your father.”
Jenn’s mouth dropped open. “He gave me to Aurora. Heather’s a vampire because of him!”
“I’m not talking about his sins. I’m talking about you. Your hatred of him is a shadow in your heart. And while the shadow is there, love cannot grow.”
Jenn felt even more anger rushing in, over her. Filling her to overflowing. “But what he did—he betrayed me, nearly got me killed.”
“Can’t the same be said of Antonio?” Father Juan asked.
Jenn reeled as though he had just slapped her.
“And yet you don’t hate him,” Father Juan said.
“It wasn’t his fault.”
“Yes, it was,” Antonio said roughly.
She turned to look at him, her heart beginning to beat faster. She could tell by the way his lips pursed that he could hear. Suddenly his eyes flashed red, but before she could jerk away, they were back to brown.
“I wasn’t strong enough,” he explained. “I couldn’t overcome my fear and my evil and my lust. I was weak. And for that I am truly sorry.”
Jenn swallowed hard.
Father Juan gestured to her hand on top of Antonio’s. “I believe that God has put you two together for a very specific reason. Jenn, you’re as broken as Antonio. You’ve lost the warmth that brought you to me, to learn how to save your fellow man. You’ve shut down. You need a full heart to be a good warrior.”
“No,” she began, but Antonio stopped her with a finger pressed against her lips. Then he drew back, and averted his face.
Dumbfounded, Jenn stared at him—the blue-black curls, the ruby cross in his ear. Her heart pounded. She felt confused, breathless.
“I hear it,” Antonio whispered. “I hear you wanting. That’s your heart. That’s life. That’s being alive.”
“You must turn wanting into giving, both of you,” Father Juan said. “Listen to me, Antonio, you are not a Cursed One. No one who is loved is cursed.”
“Ay, Padre,” Antonio murmured. “How can that be?”
“My children,” Father Juan said, “these times weigh heavily on all of us. Your hearts are longing and your souls are yearning. But you won’t be able to love until each of you steps out of the shadow and walks in the sun cast by the beloved. That is the way to give love. And giving love is the greatest act of faith there is. Do you believe me?”
Antonio dipped his head. “I have faith, Father. But belief . . .” He tipped back his head and gazed into the darkness of the chapel ceiling. “I’m working on that.”
And I don’t have faith, Jenn thought miserably. I’ve tried to, but I don’t.
“Jenn, my poor child,” Father Juan said, “I can almost read your thoughts. Tell me, what can you place your faith in? Think of something that you can believe in. Search. Hard.”
She was silent. Empty.
Antonio spoke softly. “Remember when you used to call yourself just Jenn? You thought you didn’t belong on the team. You didn’t understand why I . . .” His voice broke. “Why I loved you.”
She swallowed down horrible grief as she nodded. Antonio reached over and took a tendril of her hair between his fingertips and stared at it.
“I . . . I have faith in you, Antonio,” she blurted. “I have faith that you’re trying to be the man you want to be.”
Cautiously, yet deliberately, Antonio put his arms around her. They were strong . . . and cold.
“Then you love me in the same way that God loves me.”
“No,” Father Juan said. “God is sure of you. As each of you must become sure of yourself. And then the gift of your love will give us victory over the Vampire Kingdom. That’s what the runes have been trying to tell me. I understand that now.”
Father Juan turned and gazed at the statue of St. Andrew. “Here beginneth the lesson.”
DOVER, ENGLAND
SKY, JAMIE, LUNE, SOLEIL, AND THE COVEN
We look like a freakin’ parade, Jamie thought as he glanced back at the line of witches following him and Skye.
Well, mostly Skye.
He glanced at her again. Her face was hard, jaw set: one determined witch. She’d have to be. The motley assortment trailing behind them was doing so because of her force of will. It remained to be seen how many of them would actually fight when it came down to it. Would be an interesting thing to see if they did, though. That’d take the Cursers down a notch or two.
He touched his gun with the wooden bullets, which he had tucked into his waistband. He’d run his final test that morning. It worked. After months of blood, sweat, and tears, it finally worked. He had that and the one with silver bullets as well. His granda would be right proud of the work he’d done on her.
He’d risked a call that morning to Father Juan. Sounded like the whole bleedin’ war was about to be centered in Transylvania. It was fitting when he thought about it. There was a kind of poetry to it, if you liked that kind of thing. Himself, he preferred less drama, less irony, and more killin’.
He felt the weight of the gun on his waist. Steady, old girl, you’ll get your chance soon enough.
* * *
Skye walked quietly beside Jamie, far too busy wrestling with her own demons to even try and begin to take on his as well. He kept fidgeting with a gun holster, and unzipping the leather satchel over his shoulder and glancing inside. She had relived the fight with Estefan a thousand times. She kept picturing his face as he died, and it sickened her every time.
She had broken every vow she had ever made. She was a killer, not just of vampires but also now of witches. Or whatever Estefan was in the end, she thought with a shudder.
Lune and Soleil marched right behind her. Once her best mates, now they were more like her lieutenants. And that makes me what, a general? She had a sudden fleeting taste of what it must have been like to be Eriko, or now Jenn. She hated it. She didn’t want to lead. Many of the witches walking behind her would die in the coming battle.
Maybe all of them.
Maybe even her.
And yet all she could do was relive the guilt of killing Estefan over and over again. Even though he had deserved it. Even though he had given them—her—no other choice.
It was me. I made him bleed like that, she thought, though every other witch present had said that th
ey had done the same thing.
She sighed. Holgar wouldn’t take it as hard as she was taking it. He had killed before, and it didn’t seem to bother him. Maybe it was because he was a werewolf. Maybe it was just that he wasn’t a witch who had taken vows to harm none.
“What you thinking, witchy?” Jamie interrupted her thoughts.
She glanced at him. “I was wondering how Holgar is faring,” she said after a minute.
Jamie cocked his head. “Truth? I’m not sure you know the full story on Holgar. Him killing his girl, y’know.”
“Girl?” Skye asked cautiously, heart stuttering for a moment.
“Yeah. Werewolf at the battle at Salamanca,” Jamie said. You know, his fiancée. She stayed with his old pack, and they made a treaty with Aurora. She fought us, and he had to kill her.”
Fiancée. Skye’s head spun. Holgar had killed the woman he loved in that fight. She hadn’t know that. And she hadn’t been there for him afterward. She’d heard him speak often of a girl he had known back home, who had refused to see that joining with the vampires was wrong. Skye had had no idea they had actually been engaged.
Tears burned her eyes.
The war destroyed everyone and everything that was good and decent and beautiful. That had to end. And if it meant she had to march into hell at the head of the coven trailing behind her, so be it.
She could rain fire as well as the next witch.
She blinked at the sudden ferocity of her thoughts. The idea of killing to protect or avenge Holgar seemed so much easier than killing to protect herself. She sighed. It was more proof of how Holgar had stolen her heart and made it his.
“You’re doing this because you’re jealous,” she said. “Trying to drop this on me when you know it’ll shatter me. It’s beneath you, Jamie.”
He ducked his head. “It is that,” he agreed. “I’m sorry, Skye. Then again, it seems like there’s not a one of us hasn’t been buggered by this whole bleedin’ mess.”
In her heart Skye agreed. The war had made monsters of them all. Look at Jamie, trying to diminish Holgar in her heart. But she couldn’t deny that she was shaken by what he’d told her. She couldn’t picture Holgar killing the girl he’d planned to marry.