Vanquished

by Nancy Holder

  She swiveled toward him with her bows extended. He dropped back down behind the table, afraid she might shoot him by mistake.

  “Come out,” she ordered in a lilting Irish accent.

  He stood slowly, putting his hands where she could see him.

  “How many more of you are there?” she asked.

  “Just me.” He stood and stepped around the table toward her.

  “That’s as far as you go,” she said. “I’ll dust you same as the others.”

  “I’m not a bleeding Curser!”

  She dropped one of the crossbows and, swift as lightning, hurled something at him. A glass vial shattered against his shoulder, and water sprayed his face.

  “Oi!” he bellowed.

  She cocked her head. “That’s holy water. You’re not burning.”

  “I told you, not a bloody vampire.” He pointed to where the mirror had hung, but noticed that it had been destroyed. Nothing showed through but the moldy wall that had been behind it.

  “Well, you smell like one,” she observed, lowering her one weapon as she stooped to reclaim the other crossbow.

  Jamie stared at her.

  “If you’re not a fanger, what are you doin’ in a bleedin’ pub?” she asked, indicating their surroundings.

  He lifted his chin and crossed his arms over his heaving chest. “Getting a short, what you think?”

  She regarded him with large green eyes. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “Belfast. I haven’t been home nor here, either, in a while.” He squinted at her. “Why?”

  She looked at him as if he were a moron. “Pubs are only for fangers and those what want to drink with them.”

  He closed the distance between them and grabbed her shoulders. “What are you saying?”

  She stared down at his hand on her right shoulder, but she didn’t move away from him. “Been that way at least a year. Irish, Welsh, Scots, English, we’ve been driven out of our own pubs by the bloody bastards.”

  He read the truth in her eyes, and rage flared inside him. “They took our beer? And no one fought back?”

  “Hard to find any fighters back home,” she retorted. “Fangers have killed most of ’em. All that’s left are children and old men and cowards.”

  “Say you’re a liar.”

  “I’m not.” She made a face at him. “They took our whiskey, too.”

  There were no words for what he felt, just a sense of deep anguish. It was a fist to his gut.

  He let her go, and she showed her back as she headed outside. He grabbed his bag and followed after.

  “So what are you doing here?” she asked as he caught up.

  “Looking for a friend of mine that’s been taken.”

  The girl snorted. “Oh, and that’s a smart quest. Take my advice. Go back to wherever you been hiding. Your friend is dead. Or worse.”

  He grabbed her arm and spun her around. “I’ve not been hiding. I’ve been fighting. Case you missed it, most of the Cursers in that bar were dead long before you got there. And my friend is one of my team and near impossible to kill.”

  “Team?” She lowered her voice and asked him excitedly, “Are you resistance?”

  “Yeah. Hunters.”

  Her eyes widened for a moment. “Ain’t no Hunters around here.”

  “I told you. Haven’t been here in years.”

  He couldn’t read her expression. She looked as if she might hit him, except that a smile was playing along her lips. “Well, it’s about bloody time a Hunter showed up. Where were you a year ago when we needed you most?”

  “Still in training,” he said. It was the truth, but it didn’t take the sting out of her words. He had been wrong to stay after graduation. He should have gone straight home to Northern Ireland like he’d planned instead of staying to be part of a bleedin’ team.

  And if I had, I’d be dead too, he realized with absolute clarity. Yet somehow that didn’t make the guilt he was feeling any less. Ireland’s sons and daughters had been bleeding, dying for her, and he should have been one of them.

  She cocked her head at him. “Hail Mary. Sort of a strange battle cry.”

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  She shrugged.

  “I’m Jamie,” he said, offering his hand.

  “Kate,” she replied, shaking with him.

  She was the nearest thing to an ally he had here.

  “Kate, maybe you have some friends who might be able to help me figure out where my friend is.”

  She let go of his hand as she shook her head. “I don’t have time to deal with your missing persons. I got Cursed Ones to kill.” She turned to go.

  “Maybe you’ve heard something on the streets?” he persisted. “She’s a witch. She was kidnapped by another witch.”

  That got her attention. Turning back around, she planted her hands suspiciously on her hips. “What’s a good Catholic boy doing hanging out with that lot?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “What’s a fine Irish lass doing ridding London of vampires instead of the mother country?” he countered. “Why you protecting the English?”

  “The enemy of my enemy,” she said, “is my friend.”

  He nodded. “I’ll give you that. Now, can you help me?”

  “I’ve heard rumors . . . but it’s probably nothing,” she said after a moment.

  “Tell me anyway.”

  He lowered his head, and she said under her breath, “People are whispering that witches have returned to Stonehenge.”

  His stomach did a flip. Could it be a lead? “Stonehenge. Why?”

  She hesitated. “Because it’s a place of power.”

  Jamie could tell there was something else. “And?” he prompted.

  She looked away. “They say they’re stockpiling something, some sort of magic herb that enhances their abilities.”

  He thought of Father Juan and the promised elixir. “What’s it called?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not a bleedin’ witch,” she snapped at him.

  They walked a few more steps in silence. He glanced down at her crossbows.

  “So, where are you headed now?” he asked.

  “Another pub half a mile from here. Busy day.” She looked at him speculatively. “I could use some help.”

  There it was again. Help a girl from his own people kill Cursed Ones, all he’d ever wanted to do, or go runnin’ off on a fool’s mission to find someone else’s missing fighting partner. He felt the knife twist in his soul.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “The whole world’s a feckin’ disaster and you ask if I’m okay?” he said, fighting back the urge to laugh or cry. Maybe both.

  “The ability to care for other people, that’s what separates us from them,” she retorted, but her voice was gentle. “It’s all we’ve got left.”

  Cursers couldn’t care. He thought about Antonio. The Curser cared for Jenn, and he knew that wasn’t a falsehood on the bloody vampire’s part. How did he do that?

  Jamie shook his head. “I have to find my friend.”

  She was clearly disappointed. “Well, good luck to you, then.”

  “I’m sorry, Kate.” The words were little more than a whisper.

  She raised her chin, all brave. “I’m sure she’s . . . important.”

  The knife twisted deeper. Jamie knew that they needed to part company then, because if they kept walking, they’d make it to the other pub and then he’d help her. And if they survived it, he’d help her with the next and the next.

  And Skye would be lost.

  And Skye would die alone.

  If she hasn’t already.

  With a terse nod he walked quickly away. Tears stung his eyes, and he swore and kicked an empty beer bottle down the street. It was the most futile gesture in the world, and it only made him feel worse.

  And deeply, achingly alone.

  Then he thought of what Kate had said about the witches stockpiling some kind of magicka
l herb. He pulled out his cell. A full minute later he heard Father Juan’s voice on the other end of the line. “Have you found her?” the good father asked, voice tense, forgoing any kind of greeting. That kind of blunt abruptness suited Jamie just fine.

  “No, but I heard that witches might be stashing some kind of magick plant that gives them a boost. A boost in their magick. Herb.”

  There was silence on the other end.

  “It’s at Stonehenge,” Jamie added. “Maybe it’s like what you use in your elixir.”

  “I understand. Investigate it.”

  “I’ll get Skye first and she can tell us what it is,” he said.

  “Maybe she’s there,” Father Juan said. “You said that witches are stockpiling the herb.”

  “Then she would have contacted us,” Jamie argued.

  “We’re in hiding, and she doesn’t have the new cell phone numbers,” Father Juan replied reasonably.

  “I’ll go within twenty miles of the blasted place. And if the scrying stone don’t light up, I’m moving on.”

  “Save the world, Jamie. Focus on the bigger picture. Then you can help Skye.”

  Jamie huffed. “But—”

  “This is not a request.” Father Juan’s voice was calm as always. He expected to be obeyed. “Investigate, and call me back.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jamie ground out, ending the call. He was furious with himself. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, why the hell had he called Father Juan? He should have known what the father would say.

  He fumed quietly for a moment. Then he reluctantly admitted that since he had no idea where else in England to look for Skye, traveling to a witchy place might be the best chance he had of finding her.

  Hocus pocus, he thought dryly.

  THE MAQUIS, ON THE BORDER BETWEEN FRANCE AND SPAIN

  FATHER JUAN AND ESTHER LEITNER

  “I was too hard on Jamie,” Father Juan confessed as he pocketed his phone.

  “Maybe not hard enough,” Esther observed, her tone dry.

  Father Juan smiled faintly. He liked Jenn’s grandmother. She was no-nonsense, tough as nails, and at heart incredibly compassionate. He was sure she’d kick his shins in if he pointed that out, though.

  “He might have a lead on something I could use for the elixir. Something the witches use to boost their power.”

  “It’d be nice if it was the Tears of Christ,” she said. “Then we could get the hell out of here.”

  They were deep in the scrubby forest, searching for the rare flower needed for the elixir. The scent of rosemary wafted from the plants at his knees. A week ago they had left Sade and Jenn’s mother with Father Sebastian. Neither of them was a known associate of the hunter team. Privately, Father Juan was disappointed over Sade’s behavior. She’d been selected to train at the academy, but if there had been a fighting spirit within her, the terror of the fall of Salamanca had extinguished it. Once she recovered from the shock, he prayed she would prove a good fighter.

  If all went according to plan, he and Esther would return for her and Leslie Leitner before continuing on to rendezvous with Jenn, Antonio, and Holgar in Romania.

  If all of them lived that long.

  Father Juan shook his head. He, of all people, did not have the luxury of such negative thoughts. He had to keep it together for everyone else.

  “Sí,” he said. “I’d like to get the hell out of here too.”

  At moonrise he had set himself apart for a time to meditate on the presence of the flower. In a trance he had opened a map of the area and dangled a moonstone pendulum above it. The pendulum had pointed to a deep ravine about ten kilometers to their north. But according to Father Sebastian’s local informant, those ten kilometers were located in the heart of one of the most dangerous vampire strongholds in the world.

  “There are a few hours left until dawn. We should take turns sleeping, since it’ll be safest for us to move when the sun is up,” he said to Esther.

  She nodded. “I’ll take first watch.”

  “Are you sure you want to continue on?” Juan asked. “This is a perilous undertaking.”

  “‘Perilous.’” She smiled. “Can’t be worse than other things I’ve seen.”

  He couldn’t help but return the smile. These were hard times, and a little sense of humor went a long way.

  Esther stationed herself on top of a boulder, armed with crosses, holy water, and an Uzi as weapons. He lay at the base of the outcropping, sleeplessly staring up at the moon. He was worried about Jamie. His hold on him was slipping. And even though Jamie was a pain, he was a pain they couldn’t afford to live without. He was vital to the team, even if he did serve as a lightning rod for everyone’s anger and frustration.

  Which would mean nothing to Father Juan if he couldn’t get enough rest and lack of concentration got him killed.

  If God will even let me die.

  It was a thought he had often, more so of late. He didn’t like the direction his thoughts turned in moments of darkness such as these.

  He had never liked dark nights.

  They were hard on the soul.

  Oh, my soul, he thought, take flight, and repair the world.

  It was a prayer Father Juan had been praying for a very, very long time.

  OUTSIDE BUCHAREST, ROMANIA

  JENN, HOLGAR, AND ANTONIO

  Jenn never liked being alone with her thoughts when she was on patrol. It was her turn, though. She, Holgar, and Antonio had made their way to a safe house on the outskirts of Bucharest that was owned by the Brotherhood of St. Andrew. The crescent moon hung low in the sky, and soon the sun would be up.

  Would the enemy succeed in making it possible for vampires to walk in the sunlight? She’d had a dream once where she and Antonio were strolling along a beach in the sunlight, holding hands, kissing.

  Her throat tightened, and she willed her tears away. Father Juan had to be wrong. She and Antonio weren’t destined to be together. In her mind she saw Noah smiling at her. She remembered the hard muscles of his chest as they sparred . . . and the vein in his neck pulsing from exertion. He was a living, breathing guy with a beating heart. While Antonio . . .

  Stop this. Pay attention. You’re on patrol.

  She scanned the area and moved down an alley. She smelled frying meat. A baby squalled. “This is the Voice of the Resistance.”

  Jenn sucked in her breath and froze in her tracks. It was Kent’s voice, speaking in English, and it was coming from a nearby window. She crept softly to it and peered just over the sill. Inside a small room lit only by a candle, two women sat staring intently at something that she realized must be some sort of sophisticated radio.

  She ducked back, flattening herself instinctively against the brick wall. Part of her wanted to warn the women, let them know that they could easily be discovered listening to a forbidden broadcast. But she was afraid that if she made a sound, she wouldn’t hear what Kent had to say.

  “ . . . more cities have fallen to the vampires. I’m sad to report that in Japan, Kyoto has been the latest casualty. While it is possible that the Kyoto Hunter has escaped the city, we are not holding out much hope.”

  Jenn’s breath caught in her throat. The Kyoto Hunter. Wasn’t that Eriko’s brother, Kenji? Or was this yet another Hunter, who had already filled his shoes? The tears she had held back began to fall as she thought of Eriko, dead at the hands of Aurora. They hadn’t contacted her family. They didn’t want anyone to know.

  “And tonight I have a message for a special friend. Jenn, if you can hear this, or if someone can reach her: Jenn, follow in Bram’s trail and you will find friends waiting to aid you. I wish I could say more. But you know why I can’t. And for now this is Kent, praying to make it through one more day and believing that this cursed darkness will pass.”

  Oh, my God. Stunned, Jenn gripped the cement around the bricks as she strained to hear more. White noise followed. Then there was silence. Then she could hear the two women speaking quietly together, in a language s
he didn’t understand.

  This was the first time she had heard from Kent since they had been stopped from taking down Solomon by Greg and the black crosses back in America. She was so glad he was still alive . . . and still fighting. It was thrilling to hear her own name on Kent’s lips—until she finally processed what he’d said. He had told her to “follow Bram’s trail.” The only Bram she could think of was Bram Stoker—the author of the novel Dracula. Dracula, which took place in Transylvania, which was part of Romania. Which was where they were.

  A hopeful thrill danced up her spine.

  Friends in Romania.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Mortals, mortals fade away

  Vampire lords are here to stay

  We’ll make you crawl, make you whine

  Drink your blood down like it’s wine

  Who’s to blame? you want to ask

  Who’s the fiend you must unmask?

  Gaze upon yourselves and grieve

  It is you—your fear, your greed

  LEEDS CASTLE

  SKYE AND THE CIRCUIT

  After pleading her case the best she could, Skye was sent out of the castle while the High Priestess and the other witches debated if they should join Skye in active battle. She walked the hedge maze, marshaling her magickal forces, remembering how on the winter solstice her family would chalk out a labyrinth to walk in the garden behind the cottage. But now that they had hidden all traces of their heritage from the world, had they abandoned creating a labyrinth, too?

  Then she remembered that the last time she had walked a maze, Estefan had tormented her with distorted images of the time she’d gotten lost in a fun house as a little girl. She’d told him that story soon after she’d first met him at her sister’s handfasting at Stonehenge. She’d been so foolish, lowering her guard, assuming he was going to be her sexy protector, keeping her safe from the Cursed Ones, from everything.

  Anger moved inside her, and she began to tremble. Suddenly the maze was a trap; the clouds billowed like smoke around the moon, casting Skye in darkness. She began to run, crashing into a hedgerow as she turned left. Twigs scratched her as she pushed her way back out. She brushed against another as she whipped around to the right. She whirled in a circle, her breath coming fast. She had to get out, get free. Something was coming. Something bad . . . She covered her mouth with both her hands to keep from screaming.