Vanquished

by Nancy Holder

  Before the werewolf could drink, Jenn went crashing to her knees with an anguished cry. The others jerked in alarm, but Esther put a hand on her head.

  “It’s all right. The pain will pass in a moment.”

  Jenn nodded, though she didn’t say anything.

  Holgar gave her one last look before taking his own swallow. He barely had time to hand the cup to Jamie before a howl was ripped from his throat. His back arched, and for a moment it was as though Esther could watch liquid fire tracing all the veins in his arms and chest.

  Jamie didn’t look, just turned deathly pale, swallowed, and shoved the cup at Skye, who barely had time to catch it before he, too, was on the ground screaming. Skye drank quickly as though she would back out if she gave herself time to think.

  As she passed the cup to Noah, Skye’s features twisted. “What else did he put in—”

  Cut off by a strangled gasp she bent over, making retching sounds.

  Noah held the cup for a moment, his lips moving in silent prayer. He drank and also began to scream.

  Jenn staggered to her feet and grabbed the cup from his hand just as it was slipping to the floor. She glanced inside and then at Esther. “There’s enough left for you,” she said.

  Esther smiled at her granddaughter and shook her head. “No, Father Juan meant this for the hunters of Salamanca, and I am not one.”

  “Then what should we do with it?” Jenn asked.

  Esther produced a small vial and poured the rest of the thick, black mixture into it. She capped it tight and handed it back to Jenn. “Give it to the last Salamancan when you find him.”

  Jenn’s eyes grew enormous, but she didn’t argue. She took the vial and tucked it into a pocket in her jacket.

  Esther surveyed the others as they slowly recovered. Holgar was the first to take advantage of his new abilities, crossing the room in the blink of an eye.

  “It works,” he said, as everyone swiveled to look at him.

  “Excellent,” Esther said.

  “And I hear planes. They’re descending,” Skye said. “They must be from Solomon.”

  “Or Kent,” Jamie said. “Still daylight out. Vampires need to stay inside. We’ve still got that one on the Cursers.”

  “Then you should go meet them,” Esther said, feeling like a real freedom fighter for the first time in years. “Plan your attack.”

  “Are you coming, Gramma?” Jenn asked.

  “In a minute,” Esther replied.

  Excited, eager, Holgar grabbed Skye’s hand. The two flashed past Esther, and Jenn launched herself after them. After a moment’s hesitation Noah and Jamie barreled out of the room, moving so fast they became blurs.

  Esther braced herself, a hand against the wall, the façade she had held in place crumbling.

  In her heart she felt that they were all going to die.

  Her cell phone rang. The caller was blocked. Not a lot of people had her number, and there was a reason for that—they were at war, and she was off the grid. She took the call anyway.

  “Esther? It’s Greg.”

  She blinked. She’d half assumed that Noah had killed him when he’d infiltrated the lab. A rush of happiness was tempered by her instinctive caution.

  “Tell me about the virus,” she said as calmly as possible.

  There was a pause. “I wanted to tell you, Esther, that all those years you thought I was hunting you and Che . . .” He trailed off.

  “The virus, Greg.”

  “I was protecting you. If I was keeping tabs on you, I knew no one else would.”

  Esther smiled faintly. She’d had no idea. “A fellow revolutionary?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” He added, “Gotta go now.”

  “Why did you call me?” she asked.

  The phone went dead.

  TRANSYLVANIA

  THE ALLIED FORCES

  Dozens of sheep from the nearby pasture swarmed around Jenn and Noah as they dismounted from their snowmobiles. Jenn was wearing full battle gear—a black catsuit, a vest, and her Salamanca jacket. Her boots were strapped up to her knees. Velcro pockets held crosses, holy water, garlic, and ammo. Noah wore olive-green fatigues and a vest like hers, but with the Star of David emblazoned on it. As the resistance fighters had arrived, they had brought weapons and clothing for the Salamancans. They had a well-stocked armory now.

  Much later, a military transport plane taxied in the large sheep pasture; three more hovered in the air, waiting their turns. The silhouettes of choppers half a kilometer distant disgorged armed soldiers and hulking hybrids into the chilly sunshine. A few snowflakes drifted down over the scene.

  Special-forces units from around the world had also arrived and put themselves under Noah’s command. Mossad members mingled with what was left of American Ranger and SEAL units, most of which had gone underground when America had surrendered to the Cursed Ones.

  Jamie had gone to round up his street fighters, and Skye was gathering the witches. Holgar was meeting up with Viorica and her werewolves.

  Together all these “special troops” would make an amazing army.

  “Solomon’s Cursed Ones must be holed up inside the planes, waiting for dark,” Noah said.

  Jenn took a deep breath. “I hope it doesn’t start to snow. The vampires in San Francisco could move in the fog.”

  Noah gave her hand a squeeze. “Nothing will stop us.”

  She squeezed back. “We’re the heart of the battle, but it’s going to be happening all over the world.”

  “When this is over, one of the things at the top of my list is to meet Kent Wallace,” Noah said. “Without the Voice of the Resistance, we’d still be one group in a sea of apathy.”

  “Agreed,” she said. “We owe him.”

  “Ready to review the troops?” Noah asked her.

  She nodded, still unable to believe that she, Jenn Leitner, was the commander in chief of their ground forces. Noah let go of her hand, and together they began to walk toward the soldiers, who were already assembling into neat rows for her inspection. Monstrous hybrids loped up behind them.

  Another plane landed with a roar.

  And another.

  Then Jenn spotted Jamie emerging from the trees. He held the hand of a very small girl dressed in camouflage, her hair in pigtails. Together they were leading a throng of about forty people, all brandishing Uzis and rocket launchers.

  From the opposite side of the clearing at least sixty witches appeared with Skye. They wore camouflage as well, and carried weaponry. Many of them wore crowns of evergreens. Skye wore a sort of crown decorated with shards of mirrors on her head.

  “I wonder what that’s about,” Noah said. “Something magick?”

  “Yes, she told me about it,” Jenn said. “They’re going to cast spells so that if the vampires look into the mirrors they will get disoriented. She said she got the idea from something Estefan did.”

  Noah nodded appreciatively. He looked up at the sky, watching the light snowfall. “I can still see the sun very well. Remind everyone that even though the vampires can’t come out of the shadows, they can still shoot weapons and use their hybrids and werewolf forces.”

  Then he put a hand on Jenn’s forearm and pointed.

  “Look.”

  About four dozen men and women, most of them young, marched behind an older man holding a bishop’s crook. Though they were dressed like soldiers, each bore the original Crusader’s cross across their chest—over a shield of white a black cross, with each of the four arms the same length. At the end of each, a smaller line lay perpendicular. They were chanting, their voices rising and falling. As they neared the throng of witches, the witches began to cheer. Then a few broke out into the same chant.

  “Familiar?” Noah asked her.

  Jenn shook her head. “Maybe it’s some religious thing.” She peered at the men. “I recognize that man. He’s Bishop Diego. He is friends with Father Juan.”

  “It’s nice that the Catholics and the wit
ches have something in common. Shared faith,” he said. Then Noah smiled at her. “My faith’s in us.”

  She wasn’t sure which “us” he was referring to, but she smiled up at him. Then his smile faded, and he put both his hands on her shoulders.

  “We’re going to live through this,” he said. “Go tell them that.”

  * * *

  Jenn spent the next half hour conferring with the leader of each of her armies. Though she was unused to strategizing on a large scale, she quickly determined that their assault was actually made up of a number of missions that would be conducted by each group—what she had taken to calling her “squadrons.” Once she and the other leaders—her Joint Chiefs—had decided on a plan of action, each chief took their mission back to their squadron and briefed them. It took far less time to plan the attack than she would have believed possible.

  “This is worth dying for,” Jenn said through the portable microphone that one of Gramma Esther’s freedom fighters had brought from Montana. A dozen of them had flown in on a private plane.

  Jenn was disappointed to see that Father Juan had stayed away. But he’d probably known that the priests and nuns were coming so he could devote his attention elsewhere. They were deeply religious people that Bishop Diego had met in Rome, and all of them were willing to put their lives on the line for the sake of humanity—including a half-crazy, Uzi-packing nun named Sister Toni.

  About fifty of the Pamplonans Jenn and company had saved from the Cursed Ones’ bullfight massacre had also arrived, and since they lacked a leader, Jenn had put Kenji Sakamoto in charge of them. Everyone was accounted for.

  And everyone was ready.

  “On my signal we’ll march out and attack Castle Bran. We have the element of surprise and the advantage of daylight if we move fast.”

  She looked over at Solomon’s vast army: at least two hundred strong, each wearing the symbol of the Vampire Nation—a heart clutched in the talons of a bat. Jenn wondered why she hadn’t heard from him personally. Given who he was, Jenn wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been assassinated. She couldn’t find it in her heart to hope he was all right—except that she wasn’t sure what his troops would do if they found out their leader was gone.

  They began to march; Jenn would hitch a ride in the monastery’s SUV this time so she could stay at the head of the charge. Father Wadim was driving, and when she opened the door, she saw two passengers in the back seat—her mother and her father. They weren’t holding hands, but they were sitting close together. And both of them looked at her with pleading expressions.

  “What’s he doing here?” Jenn asked coldly.

  Father Wadim handed Jenn a note. She read it quickly.

  Dear Jenn,

  My coven—the People’s Coven—believe we have succeeded in lifting the mesmerism from your father. We are as sure as we can be. I’m sorry to spring this on you before the big battle, but there might not be another time for him and you. It will take a miracle of good-heartedness on your part to forgive him, but we need that miracle, Jenn. Even though we have sworn to kill our enemies, my coven’s magicks are still based in love. The more you can open your heart to love, the better it will be for us. Lives may be saved if you can find a way to stop hating him. Please remember that.

  The Goddess protect you from all harm.

  With love,

  Skye, High Priestess, the People’s Coven

  Jenn put the letter down on the seat. Her hands shook, and she had to contain her anger. Maybe Skye wasn’t trying to manipulate her into a reconciliation, but it felt that way. Her “open” heart was an icy, closed fist in her chest. She felt as though she didn’t even have a pulse.

  Still, she said to Father Wadim, “I’ll ride in the back with them.”

  Her mother and father moved to give her room. She wanted to sit as far away from her father as possible, but given no choice, she sat down beside him. It took an act of will not to vomit . . . or beat him to a pulp.

  “Jenn,” Paul Leitner said, as Father Wadim began to drive. “There is absolutely nothing I can say in my defense.”

  You’re right, she thought.

  Jenn didn’t trust herself to speak, so she remained silent. Her fury was directed at her mother, for always wanting to believe in him, wanting her to mount rescue missions for him . . . sacrifice the lives of good people for him.

  “He tried to tell you to stay away from Solomon,” her mother reminded her. “With his Morse code. If Solomon had realized, he would have tortured your father to death.”

  Too bad he didn’t.

  Then she thought of Skye’s letter. White magick was based in love. It wasn’t fair to ask her to love him. But what about the last three years—the last seven, since Solomon had appeared on TV for the first time—what had been fair in any of that?

  But we make choices, she thought. And he made bad ones. Evil ones.

  “I don’t know what to say to you,” she said finally, as the vehicle trundled through the forest, bouncing along in the snow.

  “Oh, Jenn,” he said softly. He looked over at Jenn’s mom.

  “It’s more than he hoped for,” Leslie Leitner said, looking around him at Jenn. “It’s a start.”

  No. I don’t want it to be a start. I want it to be finished, she thought. But almost as if Father Juan were sitting beside her, she heard his voice: By your wanting it finished, it is far from over.

  She looked at her mother. “I want you to stay out of the battle,” she said. “Both of you.” She lowered her head so no one would see her eyes welling with tears. She was so mad at Skye for pulling that.

  “We want to help,” her mother said.

  “You can pray.” She half-turned her head toward Father Wadim. “Please stop the vehicle.

  Father Wadim complied. Jenn got out and held open the door. “Get out.”

  Her parents slid out of the vehicle and up to their shins in snow. They looked bewildered. Jenn dug in one of her Velcro pockets and pulled out two plastic crosses, standard issue for the hunters of Salamanca.

  “Start praying,” Jenn said, and climbed in the front seat with Father Wadim. “Go,” she told the priest. She didn’t look back as the vehicle continued to roll through the forest. Then Father Wadim murmured something under his breath, and Jenn glanced over at him.

  “It’s good that they’re praying,” he said.

  In the distance the stones of Castle Bran gleamed in the sunlight.

  And, with glowing red eyes and glistening fangs, dozens of vampires streamed out of it.

  Charging straight for Jenn and the others.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  In the beginning times, we shall walk in the light, as we were intended. And then we shall know that the gods of our childhood have fallen away, and Lucifer, the Morning Star, shall lead us into our promised land. And our days shall be as long as our nights, and filled to overflowing with blood.

  —from the prophesies of Malachi del Muerto,

  vampire mystic

  CASTLE BRAN

  THE ALLIES AND THEIR ENEMIES

  Vampires swarmed through the daylight toward Jenn’s SUV. Hybrids flanked the enemy Cursed Ones, portions of their faces and bodies bursting into flame as they hit the daylight. Humans brought up the rear, and as Jenn picked up her field radio to warn her troops, Father Wadim shouted, “Rocket launcher!”

  He flung himself from the driver’s side of the SUV as Jenn pushed open the passenger door and sprang out. She jumped farther than she would have expected. The elixir, she realized.

  As she executed a forward roll, she covered her head with her hands, still clutching the radio. Behind her a deafening explosion shook the ground. Rocks, shrapnel, and massive amounts of snow from overhanging tree limbs rained down on her, covering her. She rolled over on her stomach and drew her legs up as fast as she could, to create an air pocket. She couldn’t hear anything, and she thought blood might be pouring from her ears. She was enveloped in agonizing silence. She waited a secon
d, expecting the elixir to heal her. But nothing happened.

  Depressing the mic function on her radio, she said, “Cursed Ones on the move. In full daylight! Repeat, Cursed Ones on the battlefield!”

  She couldn’t hear a word she spoke. She thought she felt a vibration in the unit—maybe someone confirming the message—but she couldn’t be sure.

  I’m cut off, she thought. I’m in command and I can’t hear my people.

  Trying to catch her breath, she depressed the speech function again. “My eardrums are blown,” she said. Or hoped she said. “I can’t hear anything. I need a healing spell.”

  The ground around her shook, harder this time. Another explosion? Firmly grasping the radio, she pushed forward, then dug her elbows into the snow as she pushed. Her newfound strength saved her again as the momentum broke the crust on the dome of snow and she scrabbled to her feet. To her left, a tree promised a modicum of protection while she got her bearings. She raced over to it, then sped around it, flattening herself against the trunk.

  A human soldier wearing Solomon’s symbol—a bat clutching a human heart—appeared at her side. She turned to him, nearly smacking into his Uzi, realizing at the same moment that she’d left her submachine gun in the SUV. So her primary weapon was gone. At least she had the elixir. As she faced him, she felt the zing of bullets coming at them both. He opened his mouth and said something, but she couldn’t hear him. She grabbed him and pushed him to the ground, landing on top of him, shielding him from the gunfire. His Uzi pressed against her rib cage. At the same time, she drew a knife from her jacket and held it against his neck. She wasn’t taking any chances one-on-one with Solomon’s people.

  He spoke again. She shook her head and pointed to her ear with her free hand. He nodded. They stayed in that position until his back arched and his eyes widened. Someone was behind them.

  Since she couldn’t hear anything, she had to trust that he wasn’t faking her out. She rolled onto her back and angled her knife upward. A hulking monster loomed over them, staggering forward as parts of its vampiric face burned away. Werewolf claws slashed at Jenn and Solomon’s soldier as they both scooted out of direct range. The soldier grabbed his submachine gun and fired off a barrage. The creature staggered backward, then fell, hard. More pieces of it burst into flame. It began to writhe.