But now, she wasn’t sure the reality was any better. Their enemy wasn’t a ghost, but he was a sorcerer who could . . . teleport, she supposed one could call it, his fighters out of danger in such a way that not even Xavier could follow. She wondered if Xavier had enough power to stop the teleport from occurring. After all, magical energy was still energy. Maybe Xavier could toss a virtual grenade of his own power against the sorcerer’s and break up the . . . spell or whatever it was that created the teleport. That could be one of the reasons their enemy only attacked in daytime. Magic or not, if the attack had come during the night, the vamps would have wiped the field clean in a matter of hours. But daytime attacks also stopped Xavier from matching his strength against that of the sorcerer. Did Xavier know who the sorcerer was? He’d said his vamps were looking, but he’d never specifically said he didn’t know the enemy.
That gave her more to think about, and more questions for Xavier, which she frustratingly couldn’t deal with until sunset, a long day away. Climbing up to the slightly higher guard post above the gate, she studied the postcard perfect scene outside—the seemingly endless flow of trees over the surrounding hills, the winding road that dipped and disappeared on its way to the distant town, which was a charming cluster of colorful rooftops, with sun shining on the blue Mediterranean beyond.
It was lovely, and so peaceful this morning. It should have been soothing. Instead it was making her instincts twitch, and she wasn’t alone. There was no peace up on the wall. Every defender gripped their weapons tightly, their eyes searching the surrounding forest for some sign of an attack they all knew was coming.
Movement and the sound of an engine had her turning back to see the school van heading for the gate. It was driven by an armed guard, while another sat inside near the back emergency exit. A second vehicle, carrying two more armed guards, followed behind. Layla stopped pacing when the small convoy passed under her feet, then turned and kept watch as they disappeared down the hill, until even the dust cloud of their passage had settled.
She stood a moment longer, contrasting all that surrounding beauty with whatever evil had chosen to set poorly trained humans against a powerful and well-defended vampire lord. As always, her thoughts continued to circle back to the same question: what was their enemy after? What did he hope to gain?
Shaking her head in frustration when the answer continued to elude her, she left the guard post to resume her route along the thick wall and tried to stop thinking about their enemy. Maybe if she stopped obsessing about motivation, the answer would come to her. It sure as hell wasn’t doing her any good to continually stress over it. Determined to follow her own advice, and to do what she could to bolster the morale of her fighters, she maintained a relaxed pose as she stopped to speak with every guard she came to—answering their questions and asking some of her own, wanting to get to know these people much better than she did. Most of them were strangers to her, and that could be a problem in the midst of a battle. A few seconds’ delay at some order they didn’t understand could mean life or death. Better to do what she could on this peaceful and too-fucking-hot morning. She tried to recall if it had always been this hot and humid during the summers when she’d been growing up. She didn’t remember it that way, but no one else seemed bothered, so maybe she’d simply been gone too long. Or maybe her patience with the world had been tested too often, her willingness to accept the situation rather than kick someone’s ass and change it.
And maybe she’d been a mercenary for too long. There were some things that a gun couldn’t change any more than wishful thinking could. She stopped and surveyed the landscape once more from the different angle. Why the hell was it so quiet this morning? An intentional strategy by their enemy? Was he or she trying to rattle them, to keep them guessing and eventually putting them off their game? No army—no matter the size—could remain on high alert forever.
Her phone rang, startling her out of her thoughts with a sharp jerk that she immediately tried to cover. A jumpy commander didn’t exactly inspire confidence. She snatched up the phone, expecting it to be Brian calling with an update, but when she looked, the ID wasn’t one she recognized. Frowning, she answered with a sharp, “Casales.”
“Something bad’s happened. The kids, my sister. I can’t get anyone to tell me—” The girl’s voice cut off with a loud sob, as she fought to get her voice back.
“All right,” Layla soothed. “We’ll take care of it. What’s your name, mija?”
“Alícia.”
“Okay, Alícia. Can you answer some questions for me?” As she spoke she was running for the nearest stairway and waving frantically at Danilo who was at a battlement fifty yards away, helping one of the fighters adjust the sights on his MP5. The fighter caught Layla’s excited gesturing first, but Danilo was running to join her a minute later, as Layla returned to the terrified Alícia. “Are you hurt?” she asked the girl.
“No, no. None of us older kids, just the little ones.”
“The little ones? Did the bus crash? Can you see it?”
“No,” she wailed. “It’s gone.”
“All right,” Layla said calmly. “I want you and all the other big kids to get inside the school and stay there together, until I can get someone down there to pick you up. And keep your phone on, in case I need to contact you. You got all that?”
“Yeah, yes. Okay.” She turned away from the phone and Layla heard her calling a name she vaguely remembered as one of the other teenagers. And then she disconnected without another word.
Reminding herself that Alícia wasn’t one of her fighters and couldn’t know about comm procedures, she quickly punched in the number for the lead guard on the children’s van, while explaining the situation to Danilo who’d joined her, standing above the stairway. When there was no answer on the guard’s phone, she called the driver instead, but got the same lack of a response. No answer, no voicemail.
“Shit!” She quickly updated Danilo, while they both ran down the stairs and headed for Layla’s rental car, still parked outside the barracks. “I’m going down there,” she said. “You’re in charge—” Her phone rang. “Casales,” she snapped. “Who is this?”
“What’s happened?” Brian’s response was sharp, no bullshit, right to the point.
“The kids’ bus . . . I don’t know exactly what, but it sounds like a hijacking. Maybe an accident, but I don’t think so. I’m on my way there. Where are you?”
“We just rolled into town.”
“Stay there, don’t come up. And try to look harmless until I get there.”
“Roger that.” Years of joint combat experience had them both hanging up at the same time. There was no need to say more.
Layla was running across the wide main yard when a shout from one of the guards, followed by a loud, metal creak, told her the gate was opening. She spun without slowing and ran that way instead, shouting orders for the fighters above to stop staring and maintain their watch. It would be too easy to use a distracting entry to toss enough explosive through the open gate to clear a path for their attack.
Her own MP5 was on a sling around her neck, and she was never without her side arm and knives, but she didn’t pull any of them as she raced for the gate. The guards had seen something, or more likely someone, that had them opening the gate, and she feared who or what it might be.
Two men stumbled into view, both bloody, though one was in much worse shape, leaning heavily on his companion, being carried as much as walking on his own. Everyone raced to help, including Dr. Nowak whose assistant ran next to her, stretcher under one arm. Nowak stopped the guards when they would have lowered both men to the ground, gesturing sharply for the weaker one to be placed on the now deployed stretcher, while the other was supported on both sides and walked through the open gate and to the small hospital.
Layla altered her trajectory to follow Nowak, aware
of a small crowd gathering behind them, demanding answers. Like a small town, word travelled fast in the Fortalesa, and the families of the missing children were already gathering to demand answers. Layla glanced back to see two guards moving in to prevent the terrified families from storming the hospital, or rushing out the open gate to search for their children.
Layla slowed to a walk when she neared the hospital. Nowak and the stretcher went one way, but she followed the bloody but conscious guard who was being hustled to a bed and surrounded by caregivers. They eased him back and immediately began cutting away his clothes, while a nurse asked questions and gave orders to the others. Layla waited as long as she could, not wanting to get in the way, but lives were at stake, and she needed answers.
“What’s his name?” she asked one of the soldiers who’d helped the injured man into the infirmary.
“Jeremy,” the man said. “His wife was raised here.”
Layla nodded, then moved to stand at the foot of the bed, ignoring a scowl from the woman who seemed to be in charge. Raising her voice to be heard, she added the sharp crack of authority to get his attention. “Jeremy.”
He responded at once, his eyes slitting open to focus on her. “Commander.”
“What happened?” she demanded. “From the beginning.”
His chin dipped when he swallowed hard before beginning to speak. “Ambush,” he said, his voice harsh with pain. “They hit Dario and Edgard at the same time, shooting through the glass front and back, and nearly crashing the van. They’re both dead.” His eyes were glassy, his expression one of disbelief. “Dead,” he repeated faintly, then swallowed again and kept going. “Ruben and I were in the backup car. We fought to reach the van’s emergency door, to get the kids out, but those bastards walked right up to us, as though they weren’t even worried about us shooting back. There were a lot of them, a dozen, maybe. We fired on them, but . . . They must have been wearing body armor or . . . I don’t know. Ruben went down before me. I covered him, but there were so many,” he added in a whisper. “And they were fearless. They just didn’t care.”
“Jeremy,” Layla snapped, needing whatever he could tell her, before he passed out. “What about the kids?”
“Not hurt, I don’t think. The gunmen, women, too,” he clarified, frowning. “That’s all they wanted was the kids, but they didn’t seem to want them hurt. Once Dario and Edgard were down, none of their fire was aimed at the van, just at the two of us. I thought I was dead.” He looked up in confusion, as if not understanding why he was still alive.
“Did they say anything?” she asked.
“No,” he said, obviously puzzled. “They took our weapons, shot our car to hell, then drove away in the van and left us alive. I don’t know why.”
“All of them left? With the kids?”
“Not all the attackers.”
“Just three of them went with the kids. The rest just . . . disappeared like they do. Left our men behind, in the dirt. Just dragged them out of the van and left them there. Dead,” he repeated again. He stared at her. “I tried to follow, Commander, but . . . Ruben needed help, and they were gone so fast. The car was useless, and Ruben . . . I didn’t know what to do.”
“That’s all right, Jeremy. You did the right thing, helping Ruben, coming here. They made a mistake taking our kids. And we’re going to get them back. Every one of them.”
A rough sound escaped Jeremy’s lips. It might have been a sob, but Layla pretended not to notice. The man had lost friends in that attack. Even worse, he’d lost the Fortalesa’s most vulnerable asset—their children. “Rest now,” she told him. “And I’ll let your wife know where you are.”
Layla told one of the techs to make sure both Jeremy’s and Ruben’s families were told where to find them, then turned and strode from the building. The two dead guards would need to be retrieved, but she had to go after those kids. Several guards were milling around outside the hospital, waiting for word. She grabbed one at random and said, “We have two dead at the crash site. Take two guards and a vehicle and get them back here, before their families try to do it themselves.”
Danilo was waiting when she left the crowd behind and started for her car again. “Where are you going?” she asked.
“To get those kids back.”
“Who’s going with you?”
“No one,” Layla responded, raising a hand to forestall any protest. “Three of my people just arrived down below, and time is critical. By the time I get there, they’ll already be scouring the city for any sign of the van. The damn thing shouldn’t be hard for the locals to miss, with the windows shot out. And the blood. You don’t shoot two men point blank without leaving a trace. We’ll find it.”
“Are you sure?” Danilo asked, meeting her gaze. “You haven’t been here in a long time. You don’t know the area—”
“I grew up here. It hasn’t changed that much. Besides, I have a lot of experience sneaking around in places I don’t know.” She opened the car door and threw her MP5 across the seat before sliding in. She’d have liked an extra magazine or two, but her people would have brought plenty with them. She’d get some from them. All those years she’d spent fighting other people’s wars . . . They’d prepared her for this moment, and she was glad. “The Fortalesa is yours to command,” she told Danilo, then closed the door and drove to the gate.
But she’d no sooner paused to let the gate swing open, than a warning shout rang out from above. She left the car where it was and raced up the stairs. Standing next to the guard who’d called to her, she lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the bright mid-morning sun and stared in disbelief. A lone person, a teenaged girl she saw, was approaching from below, her long-legged stride as casual as if she was arriving to visit a friend. A white cloth hung limply from the stick she carried propped over her shoulder, and as she drew closer, she shifted to swing it back and forth in front of her like a flag.
“What the fuck?” Layla muttered. “Don’t open that gate,” she commanded. “I’ll take the sally port.” Without another word, she took the stairs down two at a time and ran for the small door once more. Danilo saw where she was heading and raced after her.
“I should go,” the younger woman insisted. “You’re needed here.”
“Not how I operate. I lead my people, I don’t follow them.”
“Damn it, Layla,” Danilo swore, any semblance of discipline gone. “You know I’m right.”
Layla stopped long enough to face her directly. “No, you’re not,” she said plainly. “Not in my army, okay? Now, help me lift this fucking riot bar, and lock it after me.” Once the door was open, she smiled at the younger woman. “Stop worrying. I’ve survived far worse than this.”
The gate thudded shut behind her as she strode out to meet the messenger, who was even younger than she’d first thought. Drawing her sidearm, holding it in both hands, she aimed at the smiling teenager, and called, “Stop right there,” as soon as they were within speaking distance. “Who are you?”
“I am the messenger, and I bring word from the lord of us all.” She held out a white envelope.
“I don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about,” Layla growled. “But he sure as hell isn’t my lord.”
The messenger smiled in smug bliss. It was the only way to describe it. It was the smile of a true believer, one who was certain she knew truths that Layla didn’t and pitied her for her ignorance. “You will learn,” she said softly. “But you will bleed first. He told us this would happen.”
Layla could hear the capital “H” on “he.” Who the fuck? She started to rip open the envelope, then glared at the creepy messenger. “Are you waiting for a reply? Or are you just hanging around?”
Another placid smile. “My duty is done. Will you respect the—”
“Yeah, I’ll hold to white flag protocol. Just reme
mber, I’m not the one stealing children from their families and putting their lives in danger to make a damn point. It’s your fucking lord doing that. You have ten seconds to start walking, or I start shooting.”
The girl’s façade cracked as anger flared in those calm eyes, the first real emotion she’d shown.
Layla saw it and arched her brows in question. “Problem?”
“You’ll learn,” the messenger said again, but it was a sharp hiss of sound this time, all pretense of blissful calm gone. She spun on her heel and started back down the hill, her stride no longer the relaxed stroll that had brought her there.
Layla waited, backing a few cautious steps closer to the gate, until she was sure the teenager was truly leaving. Shooting a quick glance over her shoulder to verify that the guards above the gate had their attention, and their weapons, focused on the departing teenager, she made her way back to the sally port. A shout rose from the wall when she was a few feet away, and Danilo opened the gate for her.
Once the sally port was barred behind her, she ducked into her father’s unused office and studied the sealed envelope. She was no crime scene investigator like they had everywhere on TV these days. Though it was possible Xavier had one on staff. Maybe one of his vamps had that special skill. She didn’t like the idea of opening a sealed message from a known enemy, but on the other hand, it couldn’t be coincidence that the messenger had shown up so soon after the kidnapping. If this message, whatever it was, contained details or demands relevant to the missing children, she couldn’t wait until sunset to deal with it. And maybe that’s what the enemy was counting on. Just one more incidence of them avoiding any direct confrontation with the vampires.
Xavier: Vampires in Europe (Vampires in America Book 14) Page 14
