The Damned

by Nancy Holder; Debbie Viguié

  That night he dreamed of Maeve. She was a vampire, white as porcelain, wearing her first-communion dress with its little crown and veil. She was knocking on his window, weeping.

  “Let me in, Jamie, please,” she whispered. “It’s so cold out here. Me bones have frozen to ice.”

  In the morning Jamie woke with a start, to find his window open. For one instant, hope flared inside his heart that she had really come to him. But he had seen them tear her apart. There was nothing left of Maeve to be converted—and he would surely wish her dead and in heaven than eternally weeping at his window. Would he not?

  It wasn’t a question for the asking. No matter; he would warm her poor dead bones with the heat of his fury. And in that way, and only that, would his little sister live on.

  Venice was miles away now, and with it all the dead folk.

  “Jamie,” Eriko said as they sped toward Marco Polo Airport, “are you crying?”

  “Don’t be daft, Eri,” he said. “You’ve never seen me cry and never will.”

  Stonily he gazed out the window. Streetlights, bushes, other cars. That was all there was to see.

  SALAMANCA, SPAIN

  FATHER JUAN, JENN, AND ANTONIO

  Let this be the right course, Juan prayed once more, as Jenn and Antonio walked into his office. He had cast the runes and entreated heaven to make his decision crystal clear. But as often happened when matters of life and death were involved, he was called upon to exercise his free will, and to ask those in his care to do the same.

  Beyond his door the academy students bustled en route to their activities—training, studies, chores—and their lively young voices reminded him of the duties that lay across his shoulders. He had a sure hand in the future of humanity. He might not know everything, but he was certain of that.

  Jenn and Antonio kept their distance from each other as they stood before his desk. He gestured for them to sit. They complied. He could remember a time when Jenn would take Antonio’s hand, or Antonio would smile reassuringly at her. Those days had become a memory. The conversion of Heather had harmed their relationship. That was bad. They were fighting partners.

  Perhaps what I am going to do signals a more permanent change, he thought.

  “We have been asked to help two teams in Russia,” he told them.

  “Two?” Antonio said.

  “It’s a combined effort by an Israeli and an Arab team,” Father Juan explained. “Numerous special-forces veterans were ranked among them, and they were expected to gain a significant victory for our side. Unfortunately, it’s gone badly. Out of twenty members two hunters have survived, possibly three. Jenn, you will take the team to Russia and meet up with them, and together you will stop the vampire named Dantalion.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  Father Juan leaned forward on his elbows.

  “We’ve had some intelligence since the teams went in. Dantalion has been overseeing genetic manipulation experiments. He’s been splicing werewolf, human, and vampire genes to make supersoldiers. Others combine human and Cursed One DNA in hopes of creating the perfect vampire.”

  “Perfect vampire?” Jenn repeated.

  “One who is not affected by sunlight,” he replied.

  Jenn paled. “Cursed Ones who could walk around by day?” She glanced at Antonio, and Father Juan saw the longing there. He guessed she was imagining what kind of life they could have together if he were not forced to hide from the sunlight.

  But then she looked away again, as if to remind herself that she and Antonio would never have a life together. The vampire bore the strangest expression.

  “Has he succeeded yet?” Antonio asked.

  “Not as far as we can tell. Although what he has created is far more frightening.” He fell silent.

  “Father?” Jenn pressed.

  “Bueno. A few of Dantalion’s experiments have either escaped or been set loose. They have been slaughtering everything they come across. It’s only a matter of time before he creates enough of these creatures to take out the entire city of Moscow.”

  Both Jenn and Antonio seemed stunned by the concept. “That’s millions of people,” Antonio said, finding his voice first. “How can he do that? He’s only one vampire.”

  “Antonio, you were in the war when the Germans unleashed the panzers, the armored tanks. And the U-boats. You saw the blitzkrieg for yourself—thousands of bombs fell from the sky. The Allies thought the world was ending.”

  Antonio looked thoughtful. “That’s true. And in this war there is also new technology.”

  “Vale,” Father Juan said. “And just as the Nazis sought to conquer the world with their master race, so do the Cursed Ones.”

  “When do we leave?” Antonio asked.

  Father Juan took a deep breath. “I’ve told the others to return. Eriko and Jamie have booked a flight. Holgar and Skye are already on the road. Barring any problems, the team will leave tomorrow morning.” He hesitated. “With one exception. Antonio, I need you to stay here.”

  Jenn sucked in her breath.

  “But why, Father?” Antonio protested. “My team needs me.”

  “Aurora made contact in Venice,” Father Juan said. “She left a note with the bodies of the resistance cell Eriko and Jamie planned to meet with.”

  “The bodies.” Antonio crossed himself. “So . . . she killed them all?”

  “Yes.” Father Juan also crossed himself. “She wants you, Antonio.”

  Jenn paled, but Antonio betrayed no emotion except for his sorrow at the deaths. “Are you keeping me here to protect me, Father?”

  “No. I’m keeping you here to protect the team.” Father Juan turned to Jenn, who looked stricken. “You don’t need to bring that battle to Russia.”

  “But . . .” She swallowed hard. “If he’s with us, then we can protect him.”

  “No.” Father Juan placed both his palms on his desk, a signal of dismissal. “I am the master here, and this is my decision.”

  Antonio lowered his head, and Father Juan made the sign of the cross above it. Without another word Antonio rose and left the room. Jenn watched him go, then turned back to Father Juan.

  “Thank you,” she said. “It’s the right thing to do.”

  “Powerful vampires like Aurora have enemies,” he replied. “I’ll continue to investigate.”

  “And pray that someone stakes her before she reaches Antonio?” Jenn asked.

  He shrugged. “We would be very lucky if that were the case.”

  “I’ll get ready.”

  After she left, Father Juan pushed back his chair and knelt on the stone floor, humbling himself before the One who knew all things.

  “Let this be the right course,” he prayed. “Your children cry out to You, Merciful Father.” He made a fist and pressed it against his heart. “Protect us from evil, I beg of You. And I beg of You, stake her.”

  Then Juan rose and walked out of his study, and into the small walled garden. Rain wanted to fall; he felt it in his bones and smelled it in the air. The moon was wrapped in gossamer clouds, her face veiled in mystery and pity.

  “I pray to you also, Lady,” he said aloud. “I am still your son. Grant me this boon. Grant us relief from her.

  “Blessed be.”

  Jenn walked to her room, wondering where Antonio had gone. Her face was numb, and her hands were cold with fear. Aurora’s shadow loomed long and dark. The vampire had taken Heather. If she took Antonio, too, Jenn didn’t know how she would stand it.

  She shut the door and leaned against the smooth wood for a moment, wrestling with her emotions. Since her entry into the academy, Antonio had never been far from her, except when she had gone to Berkeley for her grandfather’s funeral. That was when her entire world had been torn apart. When they had been torn apart.

  What was going to happen in Moscow without him? If these two teams of veteran soldiers had been taken out, what chance did the Salamancans have?

  Just breathe, she told herself.
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br />   She pushed away from the door and walked over to the small, simple table that served as her desk. Stakes were stacked neatly underneath the table. A rough-hewn cedar chest held vials of holy water and crosses, which the Church provided. The hunters were allowed to carry any religious symbol they wished, since it was their faith and not the object itself that provided the power. Which confused her—she didn’t have any religious faith, so why did crosses work? Because she knew that others believed they would?

  All she wanted was to personally hunt Aurora down and kill her. She didn’t want to go to Moscow.

  If I get through this mission, I’ll ask Father Juan to send us after Aurora. She will never hurt anyone I love again.

  Did she love Antonio? Despite what Father Juan had told them—that the runes insisted they had a part to play in the future of the world, and that they must play it together—she still felt so guarded, so unsure of him. He kept secrets, mourned private matters he wouldn’t share with her. Even before Heather’s conversion he had held himself in check, constantly monitoring himself lest he hurt her.

  Kill her.

  She grabbed her duffel bag and her journal. After a moment’s hesitation she put her journal down. Father Juan had given it to her when he’d made her the leader, charged her with writing a new Hunter’s Manual, which would replace the centuries-old manual that was required reading for academy students. So far all she’d managed to do was prattle on about daily battles and her own insecurities. Hardly the stuff to inspire new generations. But even that would have to wait. She had to travel as lightly as possible.

  She arranged her battle gear, all black with some strategic pieces of body armor. The crest of the Salamanca Hunter was sewn on the shoulder: a red cross consisting of four curved arms of equal length—the cross of the original Crusaders. A blue knight’s helmet crowned with three white feathers—the color for the Virgin, the feathers to honor the Trinity—perched on the top arm of the cross. Below, the word “Salamanca” was stitched in a font reminiscent of Spain’s Moorish roots. Once a sole Hunter had carried the crest; now all six members of the Salamancans wore it. A black covering could be Velcroed over it when the team needed to hide their identity. She remembered her pride when she’d received it on the night of her final exam, just five months ago. That was the same night she’d found out that Antonio was a vampire. Not such a fine moment, that.

  It felt strange not to be packing stakes or holy water, but Father Juan didn’t want to raise any alarms. The Cursed Ones were tightening the noose around Spain. Security had increased at the Spanish airports, and the team had to avoid detection.

  The world is going to hell, and it seems like we’re nearly there. Of course, Jenn wasn’t sure she believed in hell, or in heaven. She wanted to, but belief didn’t come as easy for her as it did for Antonio, or even Jamie, for that matter.

  She walked to the window and looked out at the moon, surprised to find Antonio standing a distance away, facing her window. He had told her that he had stood guard over her every night for the two years of their training; apparently he had continued to maintain his vigil. Misty moonbeams danced in his hair, and he didn’t look cursed. He looked like an angel.

  Don’t die, she silently begged him.

  He spotted her. A red glow crept into his eyes, and he turned away, disappearing into the darkness.

  Don’t be a vampire, she added, and moved back into the light.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Cursed Ones, that is what we are

  Distanced from you by so far

  Yet we hope and often pray

  That this is not always the way

  For we wish to walk with you

  Hand in hand in morning dew

  Together we will watch the sun

  And all your fears will be undone

  SALAMANCA

  JENN AND ANTONIO

  About an hour later Antonio watched as Jenn walked into the academy kitchen, where Brother Manuel was preparing two large pans full of savory mixed paella, a saffron rice dish loaded with seafood and chicken. In deference to Jenn, who was a squeamish American, the chubby cook had omitted the snails that often accompanied the dish.

  Antonio stood quietly in the doorway uncertain if he should approach her. She had to prepare herself for the mission, and he didn’t want to throw her off her game. They both knew this might be the last time they saw each other.

  Deep red wine caught the light as the cook picked up one of the decanters and poured two glasses, adding some water to Jenn’s. She had never become accustomed to all the wine everyone drank in Spain.

  “Salud,” Jenn said to Brother Manuel as he handed her the watered-down beverage. To your health.

  “Y dinero y amor,” Brother Manuel added. “Y tiempo para disfrutarlos.” And money and love, and time to enjoy them.

  “What time is your flight?” Brother Manuel asked her. Then, as if he had to justify the question, “Should I pack something for the plane?” He arranged some cooked prawns over the mounded rice, stepping back to appraise his handiwork. “The food in Russia is terrible.”

  “Oh, have you been?” Jenn asked him.

  Brother Manuel shook his head. “No, and I never care to. They are godless.”

  A fleeting smile crossed Jenn’s face, and Antonio savored it. She hadn’t smiled in weeks. Her face was gaunt, and there were shadows under her eyes. She was in no shape to go up against a vampire like Dantalion. The stories of Dantalion made Aurora and Sergio seem like kittens. Team Salamanca had failed against Aurora, and Antonio shuddered to think what would ever happen if Sergio attacked them. Dantalion would crush them with the force of a bomb dropping on their heads.

  “We’re going to the airport around five in the morning,” she said. “So this could be our last supper.”

  “Ay, Jenn, please don’t say that,” Antonio murmured, stepping into the kitchen.

  “Hey,” she said. She swallowed hard. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “I was just . . .” He gazed at her. He was so afraid for her.

  “Jenn, if you wouldn’t mind. If you would come with me, please,” Antonio said.

  He hesitated, then held out his hand. He didn’t know if she would be able to bring herself to touch him. But she drank down half her wine, as if to give herself false courage, then slid her hand into his grasp. She was warm as embers against his cold skin. Grateful, he closed his fingers around hers.

  Antonio walked her through the data where the team took their meals together, bobbing his head at Holgar, who was finishing off a plate of uncooked venison. Holgar preferred raw meat, but he never ate it in front of the others. But Antonio, blessed—or was it cursed?—with a super-strong sense of smell, like Holgar’s, always knew when Holgar had dined. Antonio had never made mention of it. Holgar didn’t run around announcing when Antonio drank human blood, either.

  It was past time for Antonio to feed, and Father Juan had spoken to him about it before Antonio had come in search of Jenn. The priest had told Antonio that two students had come forward, offering to be donors for the esteemed vampire who hunted vampires. Antonio was both grateful and mortified. He hated taking blood from anyone; he had tried to hide the fact that it was more nourishing to drink directly from the living than, say, out of refrigerated blood bags or even fancy wine glasses. He didn’t understand why that should be so. Vale, vale; if one tried to apply logic to vampirism, one would be sorely disappointed. How was it that he’d been alive for nearly ninety years, yet still looked nineteen, the age he had been when he’d been changed?

  He wasn’t sure that even God had the answers.

  That did not mean that Antonio would stop asking them of Him.

  Antonio took Jenn to the chapel. They walked through the side door of the sanctuary into the smells of the incense and flowers, the scent of paraffin from the votive candles burning in front of the statues of the Blessed Mother and St. John of the Cross, patron saint of Salamanca. The
resemblance between the figure and Father Juan was pronounced, and many remarked on it. Antonio had vowed that before he died the True Death, he would learn just who and what the priest really was.

  Fonts on either side of the entrance were filled with holy water; Antonio dipped his fingertips and blessed himself. A non-Catholic, Jenn did not partake.

  Bending his knee as they faced the altar and the crucifix, he crossed himself again before sliding into a pew. Antonio didn’t put down the prayer bench. He sat on the cushioned seat and took Jenn’s left hand in both of his as she sat down beside him. Once more he was worried that he was taking liberties he was no longer permitted, but he had to touch her as much as he could, before she left—unless, in her heart, she was already gone.

  “Ay,” he murmured.

  Jenn was silent. He didn’t know how to speak to her anymore, to tell her the things he wanted her to know before she left on the new mission.

  “I believe,” he began, searching for words. “Jenn, I believe in a God who wants the best for us.”

  “Like my sister?” she asked bitterly. The anger in her voice made him want to weep for her and for the world. And even, in the recesses of his soul, to weep a few tears for his own betrayal those many years ago. Not because he thought he was pitiful, but because he still mourned what he could have become for God, whom he loved; what he could have been for the young girl whom he adored. And yet he never would have met Jenn had he not been turned.

  His spirits lowered. This wasn’t the conversation he had wanted to have. But if it was the one she needed, he would do his best to keep his side of it.

  “God did not turn your sister into a vampire,” he said. “But God brought her here, where she has a chance.” His voice cracked on the last word.

  “A chance to what?” Jenn asked, pulling her hand away.