Vanquished (41 page)

“Wait. Father Juan is . . . don’t you know who Father Juan is?” Gramma Esther was saying. “He’s a
saint
. Saint John of the Cross. If he says you’re supposed to do this, Antonio,
I
say it must be done.”

“Antonio, the virus is coming,” Skye said. “Time is running out.”

“If she dies now, she dies with God,” Antonio said. Jenn heard his grief, the agony. “How can you ask me to do this?”

“If you don’t do it, I’ll stake you before the virus gets to you,” Noah said.

Then the frantic howl of two werewolves rang out. Yipping and barking . . . as if for help.

“Noah,” Skye said. “It’s Holgar and Viorica. They’re in trouble. See if you can help them.”

“I’m not leaving her,” Noah insisted.

“If you don’t go, I’ll tear out your throat,” Antonio told him.

Noah swore. Jenn faded for a few moments, staring at Father Juan. The light was so beautiful. She wanted to go to him. She wanted to be done.

Antonio,
she begged Father Juan.
Let him come too.

Then she heard a collective gasp. Though her eyes were closed, she could see them all, as if she were looking down on them.

Father Juan stood in front of Antonio, shimmering in a cloud of white light. He gazed down at Antonio and placed his hand on the crown of Antonio’s head. Antonio stirred as if he felt the warmth, and the substance.

Fear not,
Father Juan said. He spoke in Spanish, which Jenn miraculously understood with ease.
You are my beloved son. You and you alone have taken the blood from my veins. Trust in me. Do as I tell you.

“Ay, Padre, no,”
Antonio pleaded, gazing up from his knees. She saw Antonio’s face, so loved, so cherished. She tried to touch him, but she was formless.

Fulfill what I have foreseen,
Father Juan said.
Spirit, soul, body. There are seconds now, Antonio. Heaven watches.

Then Jenn’s world went black. She was back in her dying body.

The light pressure on her lips was Antonio’s mouth. She tried to kiss him back. She wouldn’t go now. She couldn’t go. There was a world to save.

And a vampire to love.

Something warm and coppery dripped into her mouth.

This is my blood,
Father Juan said.
Shed for you.

She couldn’t swallow. She was too close to death. But she felt Antonio’s blood trickle down her throat and diffuse into her veins.

“It won’t work this way,” she heard Antonio say. “I have to drain her nearly to death.”

“She’s already dying,” Skye replied. “Don’t stop.”

“Who’s he talking to?” Jenn’s mother was saying.

Mom,
Jenn thought,
I love you.

“I don’t know,” Paul Leitner replied.

And my father,
Jenn thought, and her heart began to harden. Rage filled her.

You have to let it go. This hatred you feel . . . it’s how Antonio has felt about himself, all these decades. If you let it go, he will be able to do it too,
Father Juan said.
And then you will fulfill the runes I have cast.

I have the right to hate him,
Jenn argued.

But you have the responsibility to love him. That is the new mission of the Hunter of Salamanca, Jenn. To repair the world.

Let the new Hunter do it, then.

If you do as I say, then he will,
Father Juan replied.

“It will take twenty-four hours for her to change,” Antonio was saying. “We don’t have time . . .”

“Trust,” Jenn blurted out. In her heart she was sobbing and raging and hating her father and wishing him dead, but as the blood of St. John of the Cross spread throughout her physical body, it nourished her spirit as well.

Forgive him,
Father Juan told her.

She saw her father holding her mother, both staring at her body, rocking together in mindless sorrow. Her father was coated with vampire ash.

“I’m so sorry. I would die for you. I’m so sorry,” Paul Leitner said. “If I could trade places . . .”

And deep in her heart, her very soul, she knew he was telling the truth.

I forgive you,
she thought.

In her mind, she saw something horrible and black rise out of her like a cloud of smoke. Then a black shape grabbed at it, squeaking as if with glee, and bore it away. She was surrounded by light.

“My love, my love,” Antonio whispered desperately.
“Please.”

Jenn opened her eyes and looked into his deep brown eyes. She saw them widen. Felt his arms around her.

Then she saw Skye bending over behind Antonio, and Jenn looked into her crown of mirrors.

* * *

Noah could tell that Holgar was in trouble. Both he and Viorica were howling in fear and frustration even though they were in human form. The Allied soldiers had been mesmerized, and they were advancing on the two werewolves. More werewolves were bounding toward them, but whether friend or foe, Noah couldn’t tell. He aimed his Uzi at the soldiers, cursing Dantalion’s name with each round he fired. Then he stared up at the burning castle and saw figures standing on a balcony. Dantalion was mesmerizing the entire Allied forces.

He grabbed his radio out of his pocket and clicked it
on. “Crusader Kicker,” he called, using Jamie’s code name. “Blow it sky-high.”

“Copy that, Crusader Star. See you’re busy. Blowing it now, then coming to you,” Jamie radioed back.

As Noah grimly mowed down more approaching soldiers, he took out a couple of the mesmerized Catholics and a witch, too. Then he braced himself for the explosions that he prayed would blow Dantalion, Lucifer, and all their vampire friends straight to hell.

He didn’t have long to wait.

A huge roar threw him to the ground. Noah rolled onto his side and kept firing. He was aware of flame and smoke and huge chunks of stone and wood falling his way, but he focused on the mission, which was to protect the two werewolves.

Menaced by a man in a clerical collar and a short-haired nun with an Uzi, Holgar and Viorica dodged the gunfire by crouching as low as they could and zigzagging around the castle pieces as they fell. Smoke rolled across Noah’s field of vision, and he kept shooting, his only thought to protect the virus.

Then the soldiers, the Catholics, and the witches blinked and staggered as if waking from a dream. They fell into one another’s arms in shock, some collapsing; they began to tend to their wounded as they pointed up at the castle. The mesmerism was broken. Dantalion had to be dead.

We did it, we did it,
Noah thought, turning his submachine gun on furious vampires as they headed in the direction of the awakened Allied troops. Exultant, he kept doing what
he was made to do: kill the enemy by any means possible. He felt a rush of joy as more vampires fell.

And then a terrible pain shot through him as something picked him up. It was a nightmare ruin, one of the hybrids, soaking wet, falling apart. But it had broken something vital—maybe his back—and Noah’s eyes teared with the pain.

“Lovely, lovely,” the monster said. “Killed the lovely.”

Noah heard something crack inside his body. Another bone broken. Sheer, blinding pain engulfed him.

Then the monster grunted, and dropped him. It fell on top of him. Noah saw the hideous face, the glazed, open eyes. It was dead.

Someone pushed it off Noah’s body. As the haze of pain engulfed him, one thing became crystal clear.

“Chayna,” he whispered, as she held him in her arms. His wife. His love. “Chayna, you’re dead.”

I’m here,
she said, though he couldn’t see her. He just
knew
that she was there.

“Tell me what you said,” he begged, gasping through fresh pain. “When I . . . when I killed . . .”

Thank you.
He felt her smile, felt her love.
I said thank you, Noah.

He swallowed hard. He smiled against the agony.

You saved me,
she said.

And then he died.

* * *

“Look,” Autumn said, returning to Skye’s side.

Bishop Diego, Lune, and Soleil headed their way along with other witches and Catholics. All around them vampires were choking, falling, and turning to dust.

“The virus,” Skye whispered. “It’s coming. It’s here.”

Skye reached forward and kissed Antonio on the cheek, folding her arms around him as if she could protect him from death. “I’m sorry, Antonio.”

He didn’t answer. He was staring down at Jenn, who lay still in his arms, gazing up at him with love, and so many hopes and regrets.

“I love you,” Jenn whispered.

“Te amo,”
Antonio answered. “Forever.”

“No,
look
,” Autumn insisted, pointing at Skye’s crown.

* * *

Barely able to move her eyes, Jenn followed the little witch’s insistent finger. She found herself staring at her own reflection in the shards of mirror.

Then she caught her breath, and let out a laugh of pure amazement.

Because she saw Antonio’s reflection there too.

Jenn laughed again. Looking confused, Skye took off the crown and studied it. Her eyes widened. She looked from it to Antonio, and back again.

“Oh, my God,” Antonio murmured. “My God.”

“It’s a miracle!” Skye cried.

And everyone in the little group began to cheer.

As Dr. Sherman promised, the virus was carried on the air, and it infected the entire planet. Within twenty-four hours all the vampires were dead.

Antonio and I survived, because we are not vampires. I have to say it again: We are not vampires.

As far as we can tell, we’re ordinary people. And we are the new Hunters of Salamanca—a pair. It’s a name we’re proud to carry. With all the vampires gone, we have to decide what to do, exactly, how to go about healing the world. But we have some ideas about that.

And so we’ll be writing a new Hunters’ Manual, together. This is the last page of my diary, recovered from the battlefield, from the ruins of the SUV that I was riding in at the beginning of the assault. I had
packed it along with all my weapons. Habit, I guess. I’ve become so accustomed to having it with me.

That will change, though. It’s time to start a new book.

And a new life, with Antonio.

—from the diary of Jenn Leitner,
retrieved from the ruins

Jamie watched as witches and soldiers, street fighters and Catholics crowded into the monastery. Some camped outside. No one wanted to leave. All of them were happy to be alive, and more than a little surprised.

The effects of the elixir wore off.

The Salamancans took over the little chapel of the monastery for three funerals: Noah’s, Father Juan’s, and Heather’s. Two coffins, one urn, a hella lot of priests, and a rabbi, for Noah. Seemed you had to have a Jew bury you if you were a Jew, or you were considered an “abandoned corpse.”

Jamie wore a black sweater, jeans, and kicker boots. He dearly wished for a smoke, but he’d given it up, in honor of Noah.

Skye and the coven wore street clothes and crowns of
roses. Nobody had time for special outfits, except for His Eminence Diego Cardinal Gutiérrez, once a bishop and now promoted on the battlefield, who had flown in from Spain just before the battle with a heavenly host of old friends of Father Juan’s; and Father Wadim, who was officiating; and his monks. They’d given Antonio a brown monk’s robe to wear; he was serving in the capacity of a layman—a faithful member of the Catholic Church, but not a priest or someone hoping to be one. Jamie figured that had something to do with Jenn. He was working his way toward being happy about Antonio being alive.

But Jamie had more important things to do at the moment than nurse habitual vendettas. He had matters of the soul to ponder, and of saying farewell to those who had given their lives for the cause. Jamie knew the funeral Mass: knew the words, knew when to stand, kneel, and pray. Gramma Esther had shared the story of the elixir, and no one, least of all Jamie, knew what to think about Father Juan. Questions of all sorts swirled in his mind. Had Father Juan really been a living saint—the patron saint of Salamanca, St. John of the Cross? Had he, Jamie O’Leary, taken communion with one of God’s own chosen? The thought made him tremble more than the Cursed Ones ever had.

Jamie looked at Holgar, whose face was somber. Everyone was pretty bloody glad to be alive, and there had been moments of heroism among them. But Holgar and Viorica had saved the world.

And that’s why I didn’t shoot him,
Jamie thought.

Jamie had had two excellent chances to do so: The first was when Holgar and the werewolf queen had come bounding away from the fray—deserting the losing side, or so Jamie had thought at first. Then Noah had shown up, all Mossad defending them, and then Holgar and Viorica had begun pouring one cylinder of liquid into another, and the closest vamps had collapsed and burst into dust. That’s when Jamie had realized what was happening. The virus, that was what. So he’d kept the gun with the silver bullets down at his side. Then, after Noah had died in his arms, so out of his head that he’d thought Jamie was his dead wife, and with the virus doing the killing for them, Jamie had had another clear shot at Holgar. But he hadn’t taken it. When all was said and done, he knew that he would never take it.

Jamie had dropped the bullet marked with an
H
in Father Juan’s coffin.

Now, during the Mass, Jamie thought of Skye in a werewolf’s arms, and he was repulsed down to his boots. But maybe Holgar would go for the new wolf, Viorica.

You’re the right bastard, O’Leary,
he thought, crossing himself after His Eminence the cardinal, Father Wadim, and Antonio all crossed themselves first.
Wolfie saved the world, and Skye loves him. Leave it lie. Let it go. Be happy for them.