Vanquished

by Nancy Holder

  “Ha!” she shouted. Before she could gloat any further, Noah straddled her, catching her wrists in one hand as he mimicked slashing her throat with his other.

  “How did you do that?” she managed between gulps of air as he sprang to a standing position, then pulled her to her feet.

  They were both wearing clean white T-shirts and sweatpants, courtesy of the brothers in the monastery. Their feet were bare. Noah’s hair was crazy wild from the tussle, but it only added to his allure. He had freckles across his nose, like her, and his dark eyes were almost as heavily lashed as Antonio’s.

  Antonio. Jenn drew a slow, steadying breath. She had hoped that sparring with Noah would take the edge off her tension, not add to it. After all, there was no her and Antonio. Before leaving America for Spain, Antonio had shut the door on any hope of their having a relationship. He had told her that he was renewing his vows of poverty, obedience, and chastity to the Catholic Church. He’d been studying to become a priest when Sergio had changed him into a vampire, and Antonio believed that only through prayer and strict observance of his holy orders could he keep from becoming a depraved, soulless Cursed One forever.

  “How did I do that? I let you take me,” Noah said, as he sidled away from Jenn and took a sip of water from a glass on a wooden tray. He tipped back his head and poured a little of the water over his face. “Then I came in for the kill.”

  He grinned at her, then grabbed a pack of cinnamon gum from the tray, pulled out two sticks, and handed her one. He was trying to quit smoking because it bothered her, and cinnamon gum was his weapon of choice. It also happened to be her favorite flavor.

  “Krav Maga?” Jamie said, coming up behind Jenn. Without the chance to shave his head, he’d let caramel fuzz obscure some of his tattoos. Jamie was a Northern Irish street fighter with tons of anger issues. “We were teaching our tricks to Marc Dupree. Jenn mention him? We got him killed in New Orleans.”

  Noah stared back at Jamie. “I thought Jenn beat that lippy crap out of you.”

  Jamie flushed and made a show of adjusting his Adam’s apple, which Jenn had dislocated during their fight in the cave. He smiled sourly at her, and she tensed, angry and wary. She should have known Jamie would never really accept her as his leader.

  “Talking shite’s a bad habit of mine,” Jamie said, which was probably the closest he would get to an apology. Still, it meant a lot to hear it, and Jenn relaxed slightly.

  Noah chomped his gum. “Habits can be broken.”

  Jamie ignored his comment. “May as well smoke ’em while I’ve got ’em. I’ve got nothing better to do.” He pulled a cigarette from behind his ear and fished a lighter out of his jeans pocket. He lit the cigarette. The pungent scent of burning tobacco irritated Jenn’s nose as he exhaled, blowing smoke at Noah, taunting him with forbidden fruit; the two had been smoking buddies before Noah quit.

  “We have something to do,” Jenn said. “We’re having a meeting about it tonight, after dinner.”

  Appraising her, Jamie took another drag on his cigarette. “You’re one for the mysteries. Why not just tell us now?”

  Because it’s daytime, and the sunshine makes Antonio tired and sluggish, and I want him at his best when we discuss our next move, she thought.

  Without replying, she sauntered out of the courtyard.

  “Stones. That girl’s grown ’em.”

  She didn’t know if she was meant to hear Jamie, but she smiled grimly to herself. If Jamie had respect for her newfound toughness, it had come at quite a price. Becoming a leader meant changing—a lot. She’d done things she wished she were incapable of doing. And would do them again.

  Noah and Antonio were seasoned soldiers—Antonio had fought in World War II, and he carried battlefield scars both inside and out. Noah had been in the Israeli special forces—the Mossad—when the vampire war had broken out. Father Juan had privately counseled Jenn never to ask Noah about his missions.

  “You wouldn’t want to know,” he’d told her.

  But as the leader of a vampire hunting team, she knew she should ask. She needed to know what he was capable of. There were darker times ahead, which would require darker deeds.

  Then there was Jamie. He wasn’t troubled by ethics or morality. For Jamie it was kill or be killed, with no further discussion necessary. Eriko had been the only calming influence on him, and now that she was dead, it seemed that the only way to get Jamie to calm down was to knock him out.

  I’d have no problem doing that, she thought, as she rapped softly on the housekeeper’s door. She opened it gently and crossed from the simple sitting room to the bathroom. Señora Nevado had offered the use of her bathtub to Sade and Jenn, the only two women on the Salamancan hunting team—until they found Skye. Of course, no one used the word “hunting” anymore. To appease the Cursed Ones, the Catholic Church had ordered all vampire hunters to stand down and, if they weren’t Spanish, to go home. Jenn’s team was disobeying, and theoretically, Father Juan had been excommunicated. No longer part of the Church and no longer a priest, he wasn’t to say Mass or give communion—but he’d done both since. Antonio, himself a very strict Catholic, had assisted Father Juan at Mass and taken communion from the priest’s own hand.

  To Jenn, the Church’s betrayal of vampire hunters was more proof that religion was silly. It was true that crosses and holy water repelled vampires, but so did other religious symbols. Noah used the Star of David. She had a theory that the symbols worked because they were representations not of some god, but of goodness. Jenn believed in goodness, if not in God. She had grown up in a vaguely Christian atmosphere, as her family was originally from Bavaria, a Catholic section of Germany. Antonio had his own opinions, of course: “Deep down, it must be that you really believe, Jenn. In your soul, where it counts.” Which could be why crosses worked for her.

  The only “counting” she was interested in was how many vampires they had to kill until the world belonged to the human race again.

  Jenn took off her workout clothes and stepped into the shower. She let the hot water sluice over her head. As she toweled off and dressed, she thought she heard familiar voices through the wall. She gathered up her things and darted down the hall. Her grandmother sat facing the entryway, and Jenn’s mom was on the sofa with the housekeeper. Gramma Esther saw Jenn first. She rose from her chair and caught Jenn in her arms as Jenn nearly crashed into her.

  “Gramma, Mom,” Jenn said, as her mother burst into tears and got to her feet. Jenn moved to her and held her. “Mom, we’ll find her. We’ll find Heather.”

  “My baby?” her mother gasped, clinging to Jenn. “Oh, God. My baby.”

  Jenn cast a furtive glance over her mom’s shoulder at her grandmother. Did they not know that Heather had been converted—changed into a vampire? Jenn’s father had offered Jenn to Aurora to guarantee the safety of the rest of the family. It was a promise Aurora had broken, instead kidnapping Heather to lure Jenn—and Antonio—to New Orleans. Aurora’s ultimate target had been Antonio, but first she’d amused herself with Heather.

  I’m going to kill you, Aurora, Jenn promised. She trembled, but one steely-calm look from Gramma Esther told her she needed to keep herself under control. Her mother needed her.

  Did she cry like this when I ran away from home to join the academy? she wondered. She didn’t think so.

  “Where did Heather go?” her mom wailed.

  “Here is wine,” the housekeeper announced. Unnoticed by Jenn, she’d left the room and returned with a bottle of what looked like port and four small glasses. Jenn was eighteen, and in Spain that was an acceptable age to drink, but Jenn hadn’t gotten used to it yet. Still, she took the glass Señora Nevado poured for her. Jenn’s mother drank hers down quickly, but Gramma Esther barely sipped hers. Instead she looked hard at Jenn, as if trying to convey her a silent message.

  “When did you get here?” Jenn asked.

  “Just a few minutes ago. An old friend offered us a lift,” Gramma Esther said meanin
gfully. “He’s moving to Budapest.”

  Jenn blinked in shock. Did Gramma Esther mean Greg, the leader of the black crosses? He was their contact with the covert government operation dubbed Project Crusade.

  A gentle rap came at the door, and Father Juan poked in his head. “Ah, I see that you found Jenn,” he said. “Please, Leitner ladies, I have found a place where you will be more comfortable while we talk.”

  Jenn put her untouched glass on Señora Nevado’s tray, murmured “Gracias,” and turned to go. The housekeeper gestured for Jenn to hand over her towel and workout clothes. Jenn complied and thanked her again.

  The group was silent as they entered the little chapel. Jenn was disappointed not to see Antonio. She felt a deep pang, as if part of her were missing too.

  Father Juan gestured for the three to sit in one of the pews. Then he bowed on one knee, crossed himself, and slid into the pew in front of them, half turning to face them. Jenn studied his face as he looked around, ensuring that they were alone.

  “I have some things I need to tell you,” he said. “I must caution you to keep them to yourselves. Although we are surrounded by my brothers in Christ, we are not necessarily among friends.”

  “What do you mean?” Jenn’s mother asked nervously.

  “You are aware that the government of your country is cooperating with the Cursed Ones,” he began.

  “Yes,” Gramma Esther replied. “And so was my son, Jenn’s dad.”

  Jenn clenched her fists in her lap as fresh anger surged through her. Her grandmother said the words so matter-of-factly, as if she were talking about a stranger. Maybe, in her mind, she was.

  “He knows that was a mistake,” Jenn’s mom cut in, looking pale and wan. “And that’s why we have to get him out of there.”

  Gramma Esther made no comment.

  “Perhaps you also know that Spain, alone, has refused to surrender.” Father Juan’s face darkened. “Until now. The hunters have been ordered to disband, and we priests must no longer teach or lead them. I have refused to stop, and for this I have been cast out of the Church.”

  Esther pursed her lips while Jenn’s mother wiped away her tears. “So it’s not safe in Spain,” Jenn’s mother said. “Jenn, how could you bring Heather here?”

  Jenn felt dizzy. Mom doesn’t know Heather’s been converted, she thought. Jenn peered under her lashes at Father Juan, who shook his head surreptitiously at her, as if to say, I’ll tell her.

  “You know a few things about us,” the priest went on slowly. “You know, for example, that we have among us a vampire who fights for humanity.”

  “He was at the camp,” Jenn’s mom said, fidgeting nervously with her fingers. “Something happened to him, didn’t it? He had become evil again.”

  “Antonio is battling his curse, and I think he will win.” Father Juan cleared his throat.

  He’s going to tell them the truth about Heather. He has to. It’s not a secret among the hunters, and if he doesn’t reveal it, Jamie might, out of pure spite.

  “It is true that Heather has gone missing,” he said.

  Jenn’s mother sobbed once, heavily. Jenn squeezed her hand, then put her arm around her mother.

  Her grandmother was very still. “Go on. Say what you need to say, Father.”

  “Aurora, the Cursed One who kidnapped Heather, turned her into a vampire,” he said, his voice soft, his words crystal clear.

  Jenn’s mom stared at him. For a full ten seconds she was silent. And then a wrenching wail tore out of her—the scream of a mother who had been told her child was dead. Jenn held her with both arms, trying to contain her mom’s shock. But her mom pushed her away and got to her feet, still screaming. She flailed her fists at Father Juan, then showered Jenn with punches. She kicked at Jenn’s legs, shrieking. Jenn scooted away, protecting her mother from her instinctive response to fight back, but her mother came at her.

  “You! You!” she screamed, over and over again.

  Gramma Esther tried to grab her daughter-in-law’s upper arms, to stop her from pounding Jenn. Jenn slid out of the pew and stood in the aisle, her arms outstretched.

  “Mom, we’ll get her back. And we’ll help her. I promise!” Jenn had to shout to be heard over her mother’s screams.

  Father Juan joined her in the aisle. “We have to leave,” he said into her ear. “The brothers will hear. Tell the others to get ready. We’ll depart the second the sun goes down.”

  She looked over at her mother, who had collapsed in the pew. She was rocking back and forth, shaking her head as she shrieked and cried.

  “I should stay with my mom,” she said, but as soon as she spoke, she knew she was wrong. She needed to put distance between her mother and herself.

  Because she blames me. She thinks I made this happen. Just like Daddy thought when I left for the academy.

  Gramma Esther caught her gaze and held it. She gestured for Jenn to leave the two of them alone. Shaking all over, Jenn obeyed. Tears blinded her as she hurried out of the chapel.

  Framed by a stone archway, Antonio was shielded from the dying sun. He remained silent, but his expression—sympathy, pity—spoke volumes.

  Oh, why can’t you love me? she thought, crumbling inside. Her heart was breaking, for herself, for her mother and grandmother, for Heather.

  And for him.

  Why do you have to be a vampire and a priest?

  Why does it have to be this way?

  Antonio retreated into the shadows, becoming almost invisible. As Jenn brushed past him, she cleared her throat and said, “We’re leaving as soon as the sun sets.”

  He didn’t reply.

  IN A BUNKER BENEATH THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C.

  SOLOMON AND PRESIDENT KILBURN

  The room was octagonal, and ringed with high-definition monitors. Solomon, the leader of the Vampire Nation, strolled beside Jack Kilburn, the president of the United States, pausing before each screen so Kilburn could get the full effect. Solomon had been very busy.

  “This beautiful new ‘hospital’—he made air quotes—is in New Mexico,” Solomon explained, gesturing to an enormous structure that towered against the brilliant sunshine. “Filled to capacity already. Six hundred beds. People are dropping like flies from ‘causes unknown,’ and they’re begging for help. People are talking about a worldwide epidemic. Which is what we want them to talk about.”

  President Kilburn tried to smile as his sweat beaded on his brow. Solomon could smell the tantalizing odor of fear. Solomon enjoyed a mini fantasy about ripping into the president’s throat and killing him on the spot. Kilburn’s price for cooperating with Solomon was eternal life. Solomon had yet to pay it.

  Kilburn had yet to earn it. The president was hesitant to get with the program, and Solomon needed someone fully committed to mass extermination.

  “And they’re dropping like flies from . . . ?” President Kilburn asked.

  Solomon smiled patiently. “We sprayed a toxin on the local produce,” he said. “Not traceable. Incurable. So the humans come in for help . . . and they don’t come out.”

  Kilburn swallowed hard and nodded. “But we . . . my family . . .”

  “Just don’t eat any chilies,” Solomon said pleasantly.

  The monitors revealed more “hospitals” and other camps for humans. Solomon had been building them for months, but was only now informing the president. The camps were being presented as “overflow facilities for our crowded prisons,” and of course some of the inmates were convicted criminals. But others would be undesirables—rabble-rousers, protestors, and anti-vampire terrorists—who would never face trial. The definition of “undesirable” would be repeatedly expanded until anyone Solomon could not control—human or vampire—found him or herself behind barbed wire.

  It would be some time before this bothered the Americans. After the chaos of the war, humans wanted security and order. The majority cheered the removal of low-life scum and troublemakers from their streets. By the time things re
ached a point where they realized mankind had been reduced to an exotic species, it would be too late for them to do anything about it.

  “Now, this camp is located in Malaysia,” Solomon said to Kilburn. He frowned. “You seem distracted.”

  “How’s the supersoldier program coming?” Kilburn asked.

  Inwardly Solomon seethed. The supersoldier hybrids were disintegrating. He had scientists from all over the world poring over the files Dantalion had e-mailed him before the lab in Russia had exploded, but a critical component must not have come through.

  “Come and see,” he replied.

  Kilburn stood staring at the screens for a few more seconds, then trailed after him. Six armed guards—three human, three vampire—snapped to attention as Solomon and Kilburn entered the dimly lit corridor. As they progressed down the passageway, the guards stationed at other doors saluted them.

  At the end of the corridor they paused for retinal and fingerprint scans. Solid steel elevator doors opened. The guard inside saluted as Solomon, Kilburn, and their security detail entered. Then the elevator descended, passing floor after floor, until at last it stopped, seemingly at the bottom of the world.

  They walked through a literal maze of corridors, arriving at a steel door guarded by more soldiers in full battle gear. Solomon key-coded the door, and it opened with a vacuumlike fwom.

  After another series of guarded doors, they finally reached one marked BIOHAZARD. Kilburn stank of terror. Solomon was gleeful.

  Six cells, each containing a hybrid, faced them. Solomon led the way to the second cell. A creature, part werewolf, part vampire, part human, and mechanically enhanced, glared at Solomon. Thick, greenish wrists were restrained by handcuffs. Its furry ankles thrashed, clanking the chains that held them. Its long claws tapped against the tile. A thick rope of drool dangled from its mouth. Werewolf teeth gnashed and vampire eyes glowed red.

  Kilburn was really losing it, straining to act normal despite his shallow breathing. Maybe he wouldn’t have been so frightened if he’d known—as Solomon did—that the hybrid was slowly rotting from the inside out. So were the five other hybrids. The different strands of DNA were unraveling. If Solomon was lucky, these hybrids would last another three or four months—long enough for the team to create replacements—if Solomon still needed to pretend that he was fulfilling his promise to Kilburn. Of course, Solomon planned to create his own army, and he’d make sure his hybrids were bigger, faster, and stronger than the supersoldiers he created for the humans. But right now the project was a failure.