The Damned

by Nancy Holder; Debbie Viguié

  Moncho had informed Father Juan that the vampires were rumored to be planning a running of the humans, perhaps on the feast day of St. Joseph, March 19. It was March 16, and the team had just arrived. Antonio wondered if Aurora was behind the plan, still hoping to capture Antonio himself.

  Antonio touched the ruby cross that he wore in his left earlobe. Five tiny stones in a vertical line, two on either side of the fourth. To him, the seven rubies represented the very worst of the many mortal sins he had committed as a Cursed One. Sergio Almodóvar, his sire, had presented them to him with great ceremony during an orgy of death and debauchery, celebrating his fledgling’s fine achievement—the murders of seven prominent Spanish Catholic clergymen.

  Sergio had given Antonio the list of seven names. Five beloved parish priests; a bishop; and the most exalted and therefore the most difficult to attack, a cardinal. One by one, coldly and methodically, Antonio had tracked down these shepherds of God, ripped out their throats, and drunk them dry. Antonio did not transform them. There would be no conversion to vampirism for them, as there had been for Antonio. God had chosen them; let God take them.

  “My evil priest,” Sergio had murmured adoringly. Antonio’s sire had accompanied him to each vicious death, to observe, to savor, to gloat. He said that Antonio killed with the style and grace of a flamenco dancer or a matador.

  At the time Antonio had not known that all seven men were descendants of Catholics who had been active during the Spanish Inquisition. Descendants of the religious who had tortured and condemned heretics to burn at the stake. Sergio nursed a personal grudge against the Inquisition, the details of which he had never shared with Antonio, his protégé.

  No one held grudges like Sergio.

  No one mourned those deaths like Antonio. He remembered their faces, and prayed for their souls. Antonio had taken the rubies when he’d escaped, thinking to sell them to pay for lodging. Instead he had found shelter at the University of Salamanca and had had the rubies made into an earring, to remind him that he had fallen—and could fall again.

  As he crossed himself, he and Jenn ambled past the entrance to another alley. Holgar was keeping pace. Ahead, Jamie dropped a cigarette to the ground. Antonio could smell the burning tobacco; the onions, garlic, and piquillo peppers cooking in the kitchens of the clubs and bars; wine; a dozen fragrances on the women. And vampires.

  Then Jamie looked over his shoulder, turned, and straightened. Skye was flying down the street in her scarlet petticoats, black lace-up boots, and black velvet jacket.

  “They’re coming!” Skye screamed, her white-blond Rasta braids bouncing like coiled springs as she raced toward them, waving her arms. “We’ve got to get the people out of here!”

  “Oh, God, it’s happening now,” Jenn said.

  God, protect her, Antonio thought. Let me die for her, if need be. But keep her safe.

  CHAPTER TWO

  For it is written that in the Blood Times we shall walk in the light with our gods, and all shall be as has been foretold. We cast down the scourge of humanity, and inherit the earth. This is our holy calling, and our crusade.

  —from the diary of the Unnamed,

  sire of the Vampire Kingdom

  PAMPLONA, SPAIN

  TEAM SALAMANCA: JENN AND ANTONIO, SKYE AND HOLGAR, AND JAMIE AND ERIKO

  “Prepare for battle! Spare all innocents!” Jenn shouted. The air was charged with terror as waves of humans ran toward Antonio and her, faces contorted in fear. Jenn grunted as the Spanish girl who had been window shopping slammed into her from behind. The boyfriend grabbed his girl’s hand and dragged her toward the dark alley beside the jewelry store just as Holgar burst out of it. He looked human, but the girl began screaming, clinging to her boyfriend’s arm. Then Jenn saw the army of rats scurrying before Holgar as if eager to join the fray. They bumped against Jenn’s ankles.

  “Go, go, go!” Jenn yelled to the young couple.

  “Go into the alley!” Holgar shouted at them, forcibly herding them out of the chaos. Then he galloped ahead of Jenn and Antonio, waving his arms. “Stand in the doorways! Get away from the crowding! For helvede, amigos!” He was stressed, mixing his English, Danish, and Spanish.

  At the back of the mob Cursed Ones were laughing, shouting, “¡Toro! ¡Toro!”

  Jenn knew they must have moved in precision to start the hysteria, invading the clubs and restaurants, driving the patrons into the Pamplona streets.

  From overhead something hit Jenn’s head, hard, and she staggered, then caught up to Antonio. Blood dripped into her eyes, and she shook her head fiercely as she ran, trying to clear her vision. Droplets went flying; one of them hit Antonio on the cheek. He snarled, eyes suddenly awash with red bloodlust.

  It’s too much for him, she thought frantically. All the vampires, and the blood, and the fear.

  Antonio turned and scanned the crowd. He and Jenn moved against the tide, looking for their team. “I see Eriko and Jamie,” he reported to her. “And Skye. They’ve taken on the vampires.”

  “Is Holgar ahead of us?” she shouted.

  “I don’t know.”

  The two were swept along in the stampede, in as much danger of being trampled by humans as they were of death dealt out by the vampires. It was a stupid place for the team leader to be. Blood dripped into her field of vision, and she was already starting to get woozy from the loss of blood.

  “They’re driving us to the Plaza de Toros,” Antonio shouted to her.

  The bullring. Once locked inside, the humans would be cows ripe for the slaughter rather than the fierce fighting bulls that gave Pamplona its bullfighting reputation.

  Jenn glanced at the buildings on either side of the street, desperately looking for an open door. They were all shut. Through balcony windows she could see people watching, faces white with fear and shock. It was New Orleans all over again. The majority of the local populace was too afraid to do anything. Safer to watch the slaughter of friends and neighbors than to chance a brutal death themselves.

  When the Cursed Ones had made their presence known six years earlier, the world had been lulled by the vampires’ assurances that they wanted only peaceful coexistence. Solomon, their leader, was rock-star handsome, charismatic, and suave. But soon the world learned what some had always known—that vampires were monsters. Too late, nation after nation declared war on them. But the vampires were as savage as they were cunning. One by one, countries rapidly capitulated, adopting the fiction—the he—that a truce had been negotiated. There was no truce; it was surrender, and it was wrong.

  Spain was the final holdout. But the Spanish government was showing signs of capitulating. It was futile to resist an enemy so powerful, so difficult to kill.

  So it fell to the hunters, the few who had been especially trained to fight vampires, to save the world. As Jenn raced beside Antonio, she realized she’d be lucky if she could save herself for another hour, let alone anyone else.

  In front of her a man tripped, crashing to the ground and knocking over two others. Jenn leaped over the bodies on the cobblestones, hating herself for not stopping to help. But with a half-crazed mob around her and rampaging vampires behind her, to stop would be to die by trampling or bloodletting.

  “We have to get clear!” she told Antonio.

  “¡Sí!” he yelled back. “I’m looking.”

  Her heart thundered, and the hard rhythm of blood filled her ears, louder even than the pounding feet around her. Suddenly Antonio grabbed her around the waist, looked up at a low-hanging balcony just above their heads, and shouted, “On three! Jump!”

  She placed her hands on his shoulders. “One, two, three,” she yelled, bending her knees and pushing up through the soles of her feet. She sprang; he tossed her up onto the balcony, leaping up after her.

  Jenn landed in a martial arts roll, then pushed up to a standing position. She forced herself to take several deep, slow breaths as she scanned the sea of humanity beneath her, searching for her teammates. At lea
st three hundred people streamed past, nearly all of them screaming.

  There was no sign of Holgar, but after a moment Antonio pointed toward the rear of the mob. There, barely ahead of the Cursed Ones, bobbed Jamie’s and Eriko’s heads. Eriko, very short, was nearly swallowed up.

  “She’s hurt,” Antonio said.

  Fear pricked Jenn’s heart. Antonio leaned over the rail and whistled loudly. Miraculously, Jamie heard; his head swiveled toward them, and he tapped his partner on the shoulder. Jenn and Antonio angled their way toward them. Eriko’s left arm was hanging at an odd angle, with bone jutting out of the skin. Though she had drunk the sacred elixir reserved for the Hunter of Salamanca, which gave her speed, strength, and the ability to heal quickly, she looked to be in terrible pain.

  As they approached, Antonio leaned down low, extending both his hands. Jamie and Eriko jumped, each latching on to one of his hands. He hauled them up onto the balcony. Jenn thrilled at Antonio’s show of strength, which never ceased to amaze her. Cursed Ones were by far faster and stronger than humans.

  “What are the Cursers waiting for?” Jamie bit out as soon as his feet hit the balcony floor. “They could have killed a hundred people easy by now.”

  “They’re holding back,” Eriko said, unable to keep her pain out of her voice.

  “They’re herding them all toward the bullring,” Jenn added. “I guess they’re not planning on killing anyone until they get there.”

  “Wouldn’t want to ruin their bloody appetites.” Jamie balled his fists. He looked as if he wanted to leap back down off the balcony and tear the vampires apart with his bare hands.

  Eyes glowing with hellfire, fangs glistening, the vampires whooped and laughed as they ran beneath the balcony. The streets were clear behind the last phalanx of Cursed Ones. A few curious humans began sticking their heads out of doorways. Some were foolish enough to start following slowly behind, and Jenn grimaced in disgust.

  “You’re hurt too,” Antonio said to Jamie.

  “Give the feckin’ vampire a prize,” Jamie wheezed, gripping the balcony with white knuckles. “Curser broke a couple of my ribs. I see you’re not the worse for wear,” he added, eyeing Antonio suspiciously.

  Jenn scrutinized the silhouette of the Plaza de Toros rising in the distance. “We have to reconnect with Skye and Holgar. Whatever the Cursed Ones are planning, we can’t let them get away with it.”

  “After you, Fearless Leader.” Jamie gestured to the street.

  Jenn hated it when he called her that, but she refused to let him bait her.

  “Maybe you should sit this one out,” she said snidely, “since you managed to get yourself hurt.” Then she added more gently, “You too, Eri.”

  “On a cold day in hell,” Jamie shot back, glancing at Eriko, clearly disliking what he was seeing—that she was in terrible pain. He ticked his attention back to Jenn. “Maybe we are in hell, but I’d storm the gates of heaven to stake meself a sucker.”

  Eriko gestured to Jenn’s forehead. “Jenn-chan, you’re losing a lot of blood. You look very pale. Are you all right?”

  “Blood must be driving you wild, bat,” Jamie sniped. Vampires didn’t change into bats, or wolves, or mists. But Jamie liked to taunt Antonio. And blood did drive him wild.

  “Let’s go,” Jenn said.

  “I’ll back you up,” Antonio said to her.

  “Same here.”

  For a second things were back to normal between Antonio and her. But his surprised smile reminded her that her heart had frozen up.

  Flushing, she vaulted over the railing, landing in a crouch as she had been taught to do in her training at the University of Salamanca, where they had all learned to hunt and kill vampires. No matter how many times she engaged the enemy in a battle to the death, it still jolted her and sent her heart skittering in fear. But fear was a luxury she couldn’t afford. It diminished her focus. It could get her killed.

  She heard the others hit the ground behind her, but she didn’t turn to look. She just took off. Before her the bullring rose like a circular stone skyscraper toward the starlit sky. A dull roar of “¡Olé! ¡Toro!” emanating from inside it set her teeth on edge.

  A dark blue car sat at a haphazard angle in the middle of the road that led to the entrance of the ring. People were swerving around it, and about half of them were racing to the left, disappearing down a small side street. Behind the car the huge bullring gate was swinging shut.

  Two figures jogged toward her, and Jenn increased her pace as she recognized Holgar and Skye.

  Skye’s black bustier was shiny with wetness, and there was blood in her Rasta braids. Holgar’s bomber jacket was torn at the sleeve.

  “What happened?” Jenn asked as she came to a halt in front of them.

  “With Holgar’s strength and a little bit of magick we were able to shove that car into the road just before the mob got here,” Skye explained, catching her breath.

  “Just like stampeding animals, they split around it,” Holgar said. “That was our plan, ja? We shunted about a fourth of them down that street. They’re still running, but they’re safe.”

  Jenn nodded. “Good work.”

  “How many humans went into the bullring?” Antonio asked from behind her.

  “A couple hundred, as near as we can tell,” Skye replied with a frustrated sigh.

  The fighting partners paired up and formed a line. Although Jenn was the leader, Eriko was the Hunter, so she and Jamie took point. Then Jenn and Antonio, and then Holgar and Skye. Crouching, they darted forward into the shadow thrown by the arena.

  As they neared the curved brick wall, Jenn’s stomach plummeted. She could see through the gated entrance to the illuminated ring and, beyond that, twenty vampires and half a dozen humans lounging in seats. Lights blazed everywhere, casting garish bluish-white stripes across the faces of the eager spectators.

  “No Aurora,” Antonio said, “at least that I can see. Nor my sire.”

  “Yeah, about him,” Jamie said. “He going to be coming around too, now that word’s out you’re fighting with us?”

  As Jenn watched, a half dozen Cursed Ones dressed in heavily embroidered and spangled bullfighters’ suits, with black caps on their heads and red capes draped over their forearms, emerged from a passageway beneath the stand where the spectators sat. As soon as the audience of vampires and complicit humans spotted them, they began cheering. At the same time the humans who had been driven inside the bullring milled about in panic and confusion, shoving at one another and crying. The humans were the bulls. But no bulls had ever stood this helpless before those who would slaughter them.

  “We can’t let this happen. We have to go in,” Jenn said.

  Jamie and Antonio both crossed themselves.

  “We’ll be slaughtered too,” Eriko replied. There was no fear in her voice; she was simply stating the obvious.

  “So, what do we do?” Skye asked.

  Jenn took a deep breath. “We go in swinging. But first we need an exit plan.”

  “You honestly think any of us are making it out of there alive?” Jamie asked, pressing his hands against his rib cage and grimacing.

  “Even if we kill the matadors, the vampires in the seats would love to take us down,” Holgar said.

  “And their human minions,” Jamie added with a grunt.

  “I don’t know if any of us will survive,” Jenn replied. “But if we don’t have a plan, then we definitely won’t.”

  Antonio inclined his head in agreement.

  “Tell us what you want to do,” Eriko said.

  They all looked at Jenn. The failure of New Orleans hung heavy on her shoulders. Her stomach clenched. And then she began giving orders.

  “Skye, can you weave a spell so that if we punch a hole through this wall, no one will see it?”

  The witch sucked in her cheeks as she thought about it. After a moment she nodded. “We won’t be able to see it either. But if we all mark exactly where it is, we can find our
way back to get out.”

  “That’s good enough, bruja,” Antonio said gently. He was kind to Skye; he liked her and believed in her. Jenn believed in her too.

  “Let’s go for it,” Jenn said.

  Skye hoped that her protective spells were good enough as they entered the bullring. She bit her lip. Magick had strict rules, and technically she hadn’t broken any. An it harm none, do what thou wilt. There was nothing about creating the hole that could be considered anything but defensive. Still, she had been really pushing the boundaries about using offensive magick—which could be why she was the only White Witch who had trained to become a hunter.

  Of course, other witches were involved in the war.

  I see you, Skye, a voice whispered inside her mind. Te veo, mi amor.

  She shook her head, fear filling her as she heard the words. She couldn’t deal with her ex, the Dark Witch Estefan Montevideo, when she was about to go into battle. Maybe not ever.

  She glanced over at Eriko. She had set the other girl’s arm quickly. It was a sloppy fix, but she hadn’t had time to do a proper healing spell. The same for Jamie. One of his broken ribs had nearly punctured a lung.

  He could have died. A swell of emotion overtook her. He still could. We all could. Focus!

  Skye turned and stared at the six vampiric matadors, who were unfurling their capes and walking toward the humans as someone, somewhere, played the traditional trumpet fanfare announcing the beginning of the bullfight. At Jenn’s signal Skye and her teammates spread out slightly so they wouldn’t be one big target. So far it appeared that the Cursed Ones didn’t know that the Salamanca hunters had entered the ring. The other humans were completely panicked, knocking one another down in their efforts to escape. In the stands the onlookers laughed.