Vanquished (10 page)

“What’s your poison?” the bartender, a man with sallow skin and an enormous mustache, asked him.

“Give me a shot,” Jamie said, eyeing the others around him. “Whiskey.”

“Seems like you’re looking for more than that,” the bartender said, his tone suggestive.

“Look, boyo, I’m not—” Jamie turned around and stopped in mid-sentence. Below heavy lids the bartender’s eyes were glowing ruby red. And in the mirror behind the bar, Jamie’s was the only reflection to be seen.
A dozen other drinkers in this bar, and none of ’em human.

Jamie leaped off his barstool with a string of swear words. He grabbed the stool and smashed it against the counter. It splintered into a dozen pieces, and he clutched one of them and went to stake the bartender.

But the vampire wasn’t there anymore. Jamie twisted and saw that he was at the front door, throwing the dead bolt. Jamie was locked in with the vampires.

I’m going to die. Just like me sister, Maeve. Just like Eriko.

He sucked in his breath and exhaled. He heard himself begin to recite a Hail Mary out loud.

The vampire nearest him snickered. Jamie hurled the
wooden stake in his hand and nailed the monster in the heart.

That’s for blasphemy,
he thought, as the creature turned to dust.

Two more Cursed Ones rushed him. Jamie dropped to the floor, grabbed each of them by a knee, and flipped them onto their backs. Before they could get up, he had scooped up two more shards of chair. He charged forward and straddled the one on the left and slammed the stake home.

That’s for me ma.

He spun and narrowly escaped being bitten by the second one as he lurched to his knees. A quick feint to the left and then he got behind the Curser. Another stake through the heart.

That’s for me da.

“Hail Mary, full o’ grace, ya sodding suckers!” he shouted. He jumped to his feet just in time to backhand another Cursed One as it came at him. Blood sprayed from the creature’s cheek where Jamie cut it open. It struck back, slashing at him with razorlike nails. They cut through his shirt, cut into his chest. He could tell, but he felt no pain. All he felt was . . .

Dust as the monster went up like kindling beneath Jamie’s makeshift stake.

That’s for Eri.

More Cursers rushed him. His foot slipped on the floor in a pool of blood that he thought might be his, and he
crashed down onto one knee. He managed to hold on to his stake, and he jabbed it sharply upward into a Cursed One’s chest while he reached for another stake with his free hand.

That’s for Maeve.

He hacked and slashed and kept turning, never letting anything get behind him.

That’s for Northern Ireland.

Another Curser dead.

That’s for the university, the students and teachers all dead.

And another.

That one’s for me and the life you bastards stole from me.

And at last he ran out of weapons and still there were more vampires.

The front door suddenly exploded inward, and a hail of arrows came whizzing through. One skimmed his jaw, and he dropped to the ground, pushing a table over to use as cover. There was the roar of angry vampires all around him.

And then there was nothing.

Slowly Jamie sat up to survey the bar. Vampire dust swirled in the air, but nothing else moved. He eased himself up more so that he could get a better look at the door. A slender form filled it, and for a moment he thought it was a young boy. In each hand there was a specially designed crossbow fitted with three bolts each.

Cautiously his rescuer stepped inside, and Jamie saw that it was a girl. She was Skye’s age, maybe a year or two younger. She had flaming red hair and enormous green
eyes. She was dressed in military-style fatigues, and her hair was pulled back with a black hair elastic.

“I think you got them all. And thanks,” he said.

She swiveled toward him with her bows extended. He dropped back down behind the table, afraid she might shoot him by mistake.

“Come out,” she ordered in a lilting Irish accent.

He stood slowly, putting his hands where she could see him.

“How many more of you are there?” she asked.

“Just me.” He stood and stepped around the table toward her.

“That’s as far as you go,” she said. “I’ll dust you same as the others.”

“I’m not a bleeding Curser!”

She dropped one of the crossbows and, swift as lightning, hurled something at him. A glass vial shattered against his shoulder, and water sprayed his face.

“Oi!” he bellowed.

She cocked her head. “That’s holy water. You’re not burning.”

“I told you, not a bloody vampire.” He pointed to where the mirror had hung, but noticed that it had been destroyed. Nothing showed through but the moldy wall that had been behind it.

“Well, you smell like one,” she observed, lowering her one weapon as she stooped to reclaim the other crossbow.

Jamie stared at her.

“If you’re not a fanger, what are you doin’ in a bleedin’ pub?” she asked, indicating their surroundings.

He lifted his chin and crossed his arms over his heaving chest. “Getting a short, what you think?”

She regarded him with large green eyes. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Belfast. I haven’t been home nor here, either, in a while.” He squinted at her. “Why?”

She looked at him as if he were a moron. “Pubs are only for fangers and those what want to
drink
with them.”

He closed the distance between them and grabbed her shoulders. “What are you saying?”

She stared down at his hand on her right shoulder, but she didn’t move away from him. “Been that way at least a year. Irish, Welsh, Scots, English, we’ve been driven out of our own pubs by the bloody bastards.”

He read the truth in her eyes, and rage flared inside him. “
They took our beer?
And no one fought back?”

“Hard to find any fighters back home,” she retorted. “Fangers have killed most of ’em. All that’s left are children and old men and cowards.”

“Say you’re a liar.”

“I’m not.” She made a face at him. “They took our whiskey, too.”

There were no words for what he felt, just a sense of deep anguish. It was a fist to his gut.

He let her go, and she showed her back as she headed outside. He grabbed his bag and followed after.

“So what are you doing here?” she asked as he caught up.

“Looking for a friend of mine that’s been taken.”

The girl snorted. “Oh, and that’s a smart quest. Take my advice. Go back to wherever you been hiding. Your friend is dead. Or worse.”

He grabbed her arm and spun her around. “I’ve not been hiding. I’ve been fighting. Case you missed it, most of the Cursers in that bar were dead long before
you
got there. And my friend is one of my team and near impossible to kill.”

“Team?” She lowered her voice and asked him excitedly, “Are you resistance?”

“Yeah. Hunters.”

Her eyes widened for a moment. “Ain’t no Hunters around here.”

“I told you. Haven’t been here in years.”

He couldn’t read her expression. She looked as if she might hit him, except that a smile was playing along her lips. “Well, it’s about bloody time a Hunter showed up. Where were you a year ago when we needed you most?”

“Still in training,” he said. It was the truth, but it didn’t take the sting out of her words. He had been wrong to stay after graduation. He should have gone straight home to Northern Ireland like he’d planned instead of staying to be part of a bleedin’ team.

And if I had, I’d be dead too,
he realized with absolute clarity. Yet somehow that didn’t make the guilt he was feeling any less. Ireland’s sons and daughters had been bleeding, dying for her, and he should have been one of them.

She cocked her head at him. “Hail Mary. Sort of a strange battle cry.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

She shrugged.

“I’m Jamie,” he said, offering his hand.

“Kate,” she replied, shaking with him.

She was the nearest thing to an ally he had here.

“Kate, maybe you have some friends who might be able to help me figure out where my friend is.”

She let go of his hand as she shook her head. “I don’t have time to deal with your missing persons. I got Cursed Ones to kill.” She turned to go.

“Maybe you’ve heard something on the streets?” he persisted. “She’s a witch. She was kidnapped by another witch.”

That got her attention. Turning back around, she planted her hands suspiciously on her hips. “What’s a good Catholic boy doing hanging out with that lot?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s a fine Irish lass doing ridding London of vampires instead of the mother country?” he countered. “Why you protecting the English?”

“The enemy of my enemy,” she said, “is my friend.”

He nodded. “I’ll give you that. Now, can you help me?”

“I’ve heard rumors . . . but it’s probably nothing,” she said after a moment.

“Tell me anyway.”

He lowered his head, and she said under her breath, “People are whispering that witches have returned to Stonehenge.”

His stomach did a flip. Could it be a lead? “Stonehenge. Why?”

She hesitated. “Because it’s a place of power.”

Jamie could tell there was something else. “And?” he prompted.

She looked away. “They say they’re stockpiling something, some sort of magic herb that enhances their abilities.”

He thought of Father Juan and the promised elixir. “What’s it called?”

“I don’t know.
I’m
not a bleedin’ witch,” she snapped at him.

They walked a few more steps in silence. He glanced down at her crossbows.

“So, where are you headed now?” he asked.

“Another pub half a mile from here. Busy day.” She looked at him speculatively. “I could use some help.”

There it was again. Help a girl from his own people kill Cursed Ones, all he’d ever wanted to do, or go runnin’ off on a fool’s mission to find someone else’s missing fighting partner. He felt the knife twist in his soul.

“You okay?” she asked.

“The whole world’s a feckin’ disaster and you ask if I’m okay?” he said, fighting back the urge to laugh or cry. Maybe both.

“The ability to care for other people, that’s what separates us from them,” she retorted, but her voice was gentle. “It’s all we’ve got left.”

Cursers couldn’t care. He thought about Antonio. The Curser cared for Jenn, and he knew that wasn’t a falsehood on the bloody vampire’s part. How did he do that?

Jamie shook his head. “I have to find my friend.”

She was clearly disappointed. “Well, good luck to you, then.”

“I’m sorry, Kate.” The words were little more than a whisper.

She raised her chin, all brave. “I’m sure she’s . . . important.”

The knife twisted deeper. Jamie knew that they needed to part company then, because if they kept walking, they’d make it to the other pub and then he’d help her. And if they survived it, he’d help her with the next and the next.

And Skye would be lost.

And Skye would die alone.

If she hasn’t already.

With a terse nod he walked quickly away. Tears stung his eyes, and he swore and kicked an empty beer bottle down the street. It was the most futile gesture in the world, and it only made him feel worse.

And deeply, achingly alone.

Then he thought of what Kate had said about the witches stockpiling some kind of magickal herb. He pulled out his cell. A full minute later he heard Father Juan’s voice on the other end of the line. “Have you found her?” the good father asked, voice tense, forgoing any kind of greeting. That kind of blunt abruptness suited Jamie just fine.

“No, but I heard that witches might be stashing some kind of magick plant that gives them a boost. A boost in their magick. Herb.”

There was silence on the other end.

“It’s at Stonehenge,” Jamie added. “Maybe it’s like what you use in your elixir.”

“I understand. Investigate it.”

“I’ll get Skye first and she can tell us what it is,” he said.

“Maybe she’s there,” Father Juan said. “You said that
witches
are stockpiling the herb.”

“Then she would have contacted us,” Jamie argued.

“We’re in hiding, and she doesn’t have the new cell phone numbers,” Father Juan replied reasonably.

“I’ll go within twenty miles of the blasted place. And if the scrying stone don’t light up, I’m moving on.”

“Save the world, Jamie. Focus on the bigger picture. Then you can help Skye.”

Jamie huffed. “But—”

“This is not a request.” Father Juan’s voice was calm
as always. He expected to be obeyed. “Investigate, and call me back.”

“Yes,
sir
,” Jamie ground out, ending the call. He was furious with himself. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, why the hell had he called Father Juan? He should have known what the father would say.

He fumed quietly for a moment. Then he reluctantly admitted that since he had no idea where else in England to look for Skye, traveling to a witchy place might be the best chance he had of finding her.

Hocus pocus,
he thought dryly.

“I was too hard on Jamie,” Father Juan confessed as he pocketed his phone.

“Maybe not hard enough,” Esther observed, her tone dry.

Father Juan smiled faintly. He liked Jenn’s grandmother. She was no-nonsense, tough as nails, and at heart incredibly compassionate. He was sure she’d kick his shins in if he pointed that out, though.

“He might have a lead on something I could use for the elixir. Something the witches use to boost their power.”