Vanquished (11 page)

“It’d be nice if it was the Tears of Christ,” she said. “Then we could get the hell out of here.”

They were deep in the scrubby forest, searching for the rare flower needed for the elixir. The scent of rosemary wafted from the plants at his knees. A week ago they had left Sade and Jenn’s mother with Father Sebastian. Neither of them was a known associate of the hunter team. Privately, Father Juan was disappointed over Sade’s behavior. She’d been selected to train at the academy, but if there had been a fighting spirit within her, the terror of the fall of Salamanca had extinguished it. Once she recovered from the shock, he prayed she would prove a good fighter.

If all went according to plan, he and Esther would return for her and Leslie Leitner before continuing on to rendezvous with Jenn, Antonio, and Holgar in Romania.

If all of them lived that long.

Father Juan shook his head. He, of all people, did not have the luxury of such negative thoughts. He had to keep it together for everyone else.

“Sí,”
he said. “I’d like to get the hell out of here too.”

At moonrise he had set himself apart for a time to meditate on the presence of the flower. In a trance he had opened a map of the area and dangled a moonstone pendulum above it. The pendulum had pointed to a deep ravine about ten kilometers to their north. But according to Father Sebastian’s local informant, those ten kilometers were located in the heart of one of the most dangerous vampire strongholds in the world.

“There are a few hours left until dawn. We should take
turns sleeping, since it’ll be safest for us to move when the sun is up,” he said to Esther.

She nodded. “I’ll take first watch.”

“Are you sure you want to continue on?” Juan asked. “This is a perilous undertaking.”

“‘Perilous.’” She smiled. “Can’t be worse than other things I’ve seen.”

He couldn’t help but return the smile. These were hard times, and a little sense of humor went a long way.

Esther stationed herself on top of a boulder, armed with crosses, holy water, and an Uzi as weapons. He lay at the base of the outcropping, sleeplessly staring up at the moon. He was worried about Jamie. His hold on him was slipping. And even though Jamie was a pain, he was a pain they couldn’t afford to live without. He was vital to the team, even if he did serve as a lightning rod for everyone’s anger and frustration.

Which would mean nothing to Father Juan if he couldn’t get enough rest and lack of concentration got him killed.

If God will even let me die.

It was a thought he had often, more so of late. He didn’t like the direction his thoughts turned in moments of darkness such as these.

He had never liked dark nights.

They were hard on the soul.

Oh, my soul,
he thought,
take flight, and repair the world.

It was a prayer Father Juan had been praying for a very, very long time.

Jenn never liked being alone with her thoughts when she was on patrol. It was her turn, though. She, Holgar, and Antonio had made their way to a safe house on the outskirts of Bucharest that was owned by the Brotherhood of St. Andrew. The crescent moon hung low in the sky, and soon the sun would be up.

Would the enemy succeed in making it possible for vampires to walk in the sunlight? She’d had a dream once where she and Antonio were strolling along a beach in the sunlight, holding hands, kissing.

Her throat tightened, and she willed her tears away. Father Juan had to be wrong. She and Antonio weren’t destined to be together. In her mind she saw Noah smiling at her. She remembered the hard muscles of his chest as they sparred . . . and the vein in his neck pulsing from exertion. He was a living, breathing guy with a beating heart. While Antonio . . .

Stop this. Pay attention. You’re on patrol.

She scanned the area and moved down an alley. She smelled frying meat. A baby squalled.
“This is the Voice of the Resistance.”

Jenn sucked in her breath and froze in her tracks. It was Kent’s voice, speaking in English, and it was coming from a nearby window. She crept softly to it and peered just
over the sill. Inside a small room lit only by a candle, two women sat staring intently at something that she realized must be some sort of sophisticated radio.

She ducked back, flattening herself instinctively against the brick wall. Part of her wanted to warn the women, let them know that they could easily be discovered listening to a forbidden broadcast. But she was afraid that if she made a sound, she wouldn’t hear what Kent had to say.

“ . . . more cities have fallen to the vampires. I’m sad to report that in Japan, Kyoto has been the latest casualty. While it is possible that the Kyoto Hunter has escaped the city, we are not holding out much hope.”

Jenn’s breath caught in her throat. The Kyoto Hunter. Wasn’t that Eriko’s brother, Kenji? Or was this yet another Hunter, who had already filled his shoes? The tears she had held back began to fall as she thought of Eriko, dead at the hands of Aurora. They hadn’t contacted her family. They didn’t want anyone to know.

“And tonight I have a message for a special friend. Jenn, if you can hear this, or if someone can reach her: Jenn, follow in Bram’s trail and you will find friends waiting to aid you. I wish I could say more. But you know why I can’t. And for now this is Kent, praying to make it through one more day and believing that this cursed darkness will pass.”

Oh, my God.
Stunned, Jenn gripped the cement around the bricks as she strained to hear more. White noise followed. Then there was silence. Then she could hear the two
women speaking quietly together, in a language she didn’t understand.

This was the first time she had heard from Kent since they had been stopped from taking down Solomon by Greg and the black crosses back in America. She was so glad he was still alive . . . and still fighting. It was thrilling to hear her own name on Kent’s lips—until she finally processed what he’d said. He had told her to “follow Bram’s trail.” The only Bram she could think of was Bram Stoker—the author of the novel
Dracula. Dracula
, which took place in Transylvania, which was part of Romania. Which was where they were.

A hopeful thrill danced up her spine.

Friends in Romania.

Mortals, mortals fade away
Vampire lords are here to stay
We’ll make you crawl, make you whine
Drink your blood down like it’s wine
Who’s to blame? you want to ask
Who’s the fiend you must unmask?
Gaze upon yourselves and grieve
It is you—your fear, your greed

After pleading her case the best she could, Skye was sent out of the castle while the High Priestess and the other witches debated if they should join Skye in active battle. She walked the hedge maze, marshaling her magickal forces, remembering
how on the winter solstice her family would chalk out a labyrinth to walk in the garden behind the cottage. But now that they had hidden all traces of their heritage from the world, had they abandoned creating a labyrinth, too?

Then she remembered that the last time she had walked a maze, Estefan had tormented her with distorted images of the time she’d gotten lost in a fun house as a little girl. She’d told him that story soon after she’d first met him at her sister’s handfasting at Stonehenge. She’d been so foolish, lowering her guard, assuming he was going to be her sexy protector, keeping her safe from the Cursed Ones, from everything.

Anger moved inside her, and she began to tremble. Suddenly the maze was a trap; the clouds billowed like smoke around the moon, casting Skye in darkness. She began to run, crashing into a hedgerow as she turned left. Twigs scratched her as she pushed her way back out. She brushed against another as she whipped around to the right. She whirled in a circle, her breath coming fast. She had to get out, get free. Something was coming. Something bad . . . She covered her mouth with both her hands to keep from screaming.

Stop,
she commanded herself. You are a child of the Lady.
You are a hunter.

The hedges rustled as if something was about to burst free of them. Skye murmured a finder’s spell, then raised her voice and shouted the words in Latin. The hedges were
made of yew trees, highly magickal, and therefore responsive: The hedge stilled. Then the leafy wall to her left shimmered subtly. She ran along it. The row perpendicular to that hedge also shimmered, and she turned left when she reached it. Beyond, more leaves glittered. As a wind picked up, she followed the magickal light. Slowly it began to dim. She repeated the spell, feeling the drain on her energy.

Instead of glowing, the hedge in front of her burst into flame. The heat smacked her face, and as she jumped backward with a cry, the one behind her did the same. Shocked, she ran; each leafy wall she passed blazed with fiery orange and scarlet flames.

She uttered spells.
Stop, stop,
she ordered the fire, but it continued to rage as she charged along the walls, then took a breath and pushed through one. Her feet slipped on rocks; there was a stone mound before her, and the black maw of an entrance. She stumbled inside, where it was cool and wet. She dashed down slick, uneven stairs as smoke followed her inside.

Coughing, she whirled in a circle. She was in a cavern. She heard running water and ran in its direction.

A hole in the roof poured in silvery moonlight. The clouds must have parted. She darted past figures in hollows made of stone and shell. Then she stumbled to a stop in front of a trickling waterfall. Crouched at its base, a representation of the Green Man stared up at her. His features crafted of stone leaves and ivy, he was a symbol of rebirth
and pagan forces, but not a figure her family revered. He was male, while they followed the Lady.

Yet he is here, and so am I,
she thought, as she gazed down at his likeness. She stretched out a hand and laid it against his cheek.

“Will you help me?” she asked aloud. “Green Man, will you give me shelter?” No, that was not what she wanted. “Jack of the Green, Herne, Forest Man, will you give me dominion?”

The stone head seemed to dip in agreement. Then, as she watched, its face became Estefan’s. Skye jumped back into the shadows. Another face superimposed itself over Estefan’s. It was Basilio, one of Estefan’s coven brothers from Cádiz. A third face appeared over that one, and then a fourth.

Her blood ran cold. Estefan had called on his coven brothers to help him find her, and they had come.

“Oh, my Goddess,” she whispered. Her knees began to buckle.

Then the Green Man’s face gazed steadily back at her, and she lifted her head. “I’ll kill you if I have to, Estefan,” she whispered.

Did she hear Estefan’s arrogant chuckle in the splashing water?

“Skye?” Lune called. She held a flashlight, and she, Soleil, and the High Priestess were standing at the mouth of the cavern. Their white, spangled robes were gone, and in their place the women wore normal street clothes.

“Oh! Did you put out the fire?” Skye asked them, rushing toward them.

“Fire?” Soleil asked, frowning.

Skye raced past the trio. The hedge maze stood intact, and the sun had risen.

“We’ve been looking for you for hours,” Lune said. She cocked her head. “Are you all right?”

“I had a terrible vision,” Skye confessed. “My ex, he’s a Dark Witch, and he’s after me. His coven brothers have come from Spain, and they’re going to help him find me.” Her earlier surge of strength faded, and she felt small and afraid.

“They’ll fail,” the High Priestess assured her, opening her arms. “You’re with us now. We’ve agreed to induct you as a full member into the Circuit.”

“Blessed be,” Soleil and Lune said in unison, as Skye moved uncertainly into the High Priestess’s embrace.

“As our sister, you’re our responsibility,” the High Priestess added. “We take care of our own. We’ll keep you safe. We have voted not to fight in the light, Skye, but we will protect you from harm.”

“No. We need to—,” Skye began, but Lune took a step behind the High Priestess and gave Skye a hard look.

“We’ll keep you safe,” Lune said pointedly.

“Right. Safe,” Soleil added, putting her hand on Skye’s shoulder. Soleil looked as if she wanted to say more. A lot more. Later, in private.

Skye let the High Priestess think her silence was her consent.

But it was not.

As the sun worked its way across the sky, Antonio lay still as death on the floor of their little sitting room beneath a blanket. Seated in a wooden chair beside a small table, Jenn traced the outline of his body with her eyes, catching herself waiting for his chest to rise and fall. It didn’t, and it never would. She drank the tea Holgar had made and reminded herself over and over that the Brotherhood of St. Andrew couldn’t change Antonio back into a human being. But in quiet moments like these, she could admit to herself that deep down, a part of her was hoping for that fairy-tale ending. She had suffered so much, and Antonio had suffered more. Didn’t they deserve a miracle?

Doesn’t Heather?
she thought, biting her lower lip. Who was looking for her sister? No one. Yes, Father Juan was casting spells and throwing his runes, but he was deep in the forest with Gramma Esther searching for the Tears of Christ. Jamie was looking for Skye, and Noah was infiltrating Greg’s lab. There was no one left to spare for Heather.

Because they think she’s a lost cause,
she thought, and a sob escaped her.
And I—I think so too.