by Nancy Holder
“Hey, leave off. I’ve seen that trick before,” Jamie cut in. “Thought I’d take a chance. I was scrying for her, and—”
“Scrying?” Farrah shook her head in disbelief. “Is there anything about our Art that you haven’t shared with the Salamancans?”
“She didn’t. Our priest did,” Jamie snapped, not liking the witch at all. Farrah looked bewildered. “Talk later. Time to sound the alarm. Assemble your people. We may have a nasty fight on our hands. These lads were hurling lightning bolts at me.”
Farrah took Skye’s arm. “We have to get out of here, Skye,” she said. “Move to safety.”
Jamie blinked. “There is no ‘safety.’ There’s fighting.”
“Not like this. Not White Witches,” Farrah said firmly. “Skye, let’s go.”
“You don’t know what they’re like,” Skye told Farrah. “My ex allied himself with the Cursed Ones. He’s done their magicks. They’ve changed him.”
“All the more reason to leave,” Farrah insisted. “Let’s go.”
Skye looked from Farrah to Jamie and back again. It was clear she was torn. Jamie was incredulous. He was about to remind her of the vows she took as a hunter—to hunt, to attack, to destroy. That was their mission. Not to protect. Not to defend. But to fight—to the death, if necessary. Suicide mission with one, but if only these witches would take a stand—
“Jamie, I’m with you,” Skye told him. “Farrah, please, get the others.”
“It’s the wrong thing to do!” Farrah cried.
“If it’s . . . him, we can’t outrun them,” Skye shot back. “Just tell the High Priestess. Tell her. That’s all I ask.”
Farrah frowned. Then she nodded, obviously coming to a decision.
“Thank you.” Skye took a deep breath and looked at Jamie. “I can try to create more Defenders. Maybe they can hold the line until my coven sisters reach the cavern.”
“Agreed,” Jamie said, flashing her a look of approval.
Together they negotiated the warrens and tunnels by way of her little glow light. Another explosion shook the tunnel, and one of the supporting timbers broke free.
The two stone Defenders stood a few yards ahead of them, shifting on their massive feet. Skye’s wall before them seemed to wobble and shimmer, and Jamie’s hair rose up as if he’d just walked into a field of static electricity.
“They’re breaking it down,” she said.
“Does that mean they’ve breached the outer wall?” he asked. Grimly she nodded her head. “Then they’ve got my weapons and, if they find it, the scrying stone.” He raised his Uzi. “Get ready. The only way out for us is through.”
“Right,” she said, raising her arms. She began to chant.
“Don’t hold back,” he warned her. “They ain’t.”
She kept chanting. A wind whistled past him and rushed around the room. He grinned at Skye as the evidence of her power manifested.
The wall jittered. The two Defenders took another giant step forward. Jamie wished he had a rocket launcher. Or twenty.
He could almost see through the wall. See a dark-haired man lying outside the cave, and three others aiming streams of energy at the stone.
“Is that . . . ?” he asked.
“Yes,” she murmured, sounding stricken. “But he’s not the one lying down. You didn’t get him.”
Jamie swore under his breath.
The Defenders took another step.
“But Jamie,” she said, her voice tight and high. “Jamie, thank you. Thank you for coming to get me.”
For getting you killed, more like, he thought. He got ready. Thought of Eri. Clenched his teeth.
“Come on, then, you bloody bastards!” he shouted.
The cold wind howled all around him, like a dervish. He staggered, losing his grip on the Uzi, and the weight of it spun him in a circle. Then he was falling end over end over end, crazily, as the wind howled and screamed around him. He flailed for Skye, crying out for her, but his words were lost in the chaos.
He slammed against a hard stone floor, nearly knocked senseless, and it took precious seconds to catch his breath and survey his surroundings. He was in some sort of chapel. And he was surrounded by women in white decorated robes like Skye’s. As one, they were glaring down at him. If looks could kill . . . well, he’d have taken care of Antonio and Holgar years ago.
“Here she is,” said a voice. Farrah.
The white robes parted as Skye was escorted like a prisoner by two more white robes, one on her left side with ginger hair, and a blue-black dye job on the other.
The trio stopped and looked down at Jamie. Skye was freaking out. She reached down a trembling hand to him, but he got to his feet on his own. No sense looking weak. He figured the witches had magickally transported him and Skye from the cave to somewhere else. It would have been a bad fight, them outnumbered and outgunned, but he withheld his gratitude for the moment. He figured he had not been saved because they wanted to save him.
“Blessed be, Jamie O’Leary,” said an old lady wearing a white veil over her hair. “We bid you welcome.”
“He’s not welcome,” said another woman. “He led evil to our door.”
“It wasn’t intentional,” Jamie said in his own defense, although it kind of was. He looked around. “Where are we?”
“A secure place,” the old lady replied. “I am the High Priestess of this coven. You saved our sister. You also tempted her to break her vows.”
“You mean to fight for her life?” Jamie sniped. “Those lads were coming through, one way or another, and you do know they’re lackeys of the Cursed Ones, right?”
“We have taken a vow. All of us,” the High Priestess said. She looked at Skye. “We have agreed to continue to fight by healing our wounded, providing information, and casting spells of protection. But not to directly harm. I know our path can be difficult. But as you can see, we’re all safe and no one’s been hurt.”
“Not this time,” Jamie argued. “But they’ll keep coming until they get her. Am I right, Skye?”
Before Skye could answer, the old woman held up her hand. “And we will continue to protect her, as we have done. She is our sister.”
“She’s gonna be your dead sister.” Jamie felt the rage building inside him. “I had a sister. Werewolves tore her apart while I was forced to stand by and do nothing. And I’m not going to twiddle my thumbs while Skye’s in danger. And as long as those lads are breathing, she’s in danger.”
“Your way is not our way,” the High Priestess said, and all the white robes nodded their heads in solemn agreement. “And only those who follow the code may remain here.”
“I’m sorry,” Skye said to him, cheeks scarlet.
Jamie’s lips parted in complete, total shock. “So that’s it, then? I risk my life to find my teammate and she’s gonna stay and play the nun?” He scowled. “Just so you know, Skye, Heather’s gone missing, Salamanca has been destroyed, and Eri is dead. Your place is with us, and we can’t stand to lose anyone else.”
As he spoke, he realized with a start that he wouldn’t be heading off to Northern Ireland any time soon. His place was with the Salamancans too. He was devastated.
“She’s . . . dead?” Skye whispered. “Eriko’s dead?”
“Yeah, and she wouldn’t—” He clamped his mouth shut. He was going to say that Eriko wouldn’t be dead if only Skye had been there. It wasn’t in his nature to pull his punches, but there was enough going on at the moment.
“Skye York has given up her warlike ways,” said the High Priestess. “She’s been welcomed back into the fold of White magick. Her spells and incantations will heal the Earth, and stop the hatred between humanity and the vampires.”
“Dream on, sister!” Jamie shouted. “Oh, Skye, Skye, you can’t believe this drivel!”
“High Priestess,” the ginger-haired girl began.
“Be quiet, Soleil,” the High Priestess said.
There was a long silence. Then Skye glan
ced at the girl named Soleil and the dye job, and Jamie realized that the two were holding her up and supporting her, instead of restraining her.
Skye cleared her throat. “I want to believe this ‘drivel,’” she said, and the High Priestess nodded encouragingly at her. “But I also know that he will stop at nothing until he finds me. And I believe that sometimes you have to take a stand, and that to protect you must attack. And so . . .” She lowered her head and sank to her knees. “I’d better leave with Jamie.”
There was a murmur of shock through the coven. The High Priestess’s forehead creased, and she pursed her lips.
“Think this through,” the High Priestess said. “If you walk out that door, we’ll cast you out, and none of us will call you sister ever again.”
Skye gasped as if the old bitch had punched her in the stomach. The other witches muttered darkly as his teammate lifted the voluminous robe over her head. Then she handed it to the High Priestess with two shaky hands, and the old git took it without so much as a by-your-leave. Stared straight ahead like the cold-hearted statue she was.
Soleil and Dye Job made motions as if to remove their robes, but Skye laid a hand on each of them. “Soleil, Lune, this is my path, not yours,” she whispered, voice raw with emotion.
Soleil started to cry. Lune shook her head and mouthed the words “no, Skye, please.” Farther back in the room, Farrah bit her lower lip and made circular motions with her hands. That got her a dirty look from the witch beside her, and Farrah lowered her hands to her sides with an air of defeat.
“Right, then,” Jamie said firmly. “Let’s go. There’s lots of people waiting to hear that you’re found.”
The two walked toward the door. Skye was all hangdog, her shoulders round, her head bowed. Whipped she was, by the ones who’d called her sister.
“We ostracize you!” the High Priestess cried. “So mote it be!”
“So mote it be!” the witches cried.
And little Skye cried, too, as her foot stepped over the threshold.
But being ostracized was the least of her worries. Because her bastard ex was still out there. And the Cursers still walked the earth.
And Jamie knew they’d be lucky to survive the coming night.
CHAPTER NINE
And all our plans
You now shall see
The world is ours
The land, the sea
None can stop us
No man, no god
Upon your lives
We now do trod
THE CARPATHIAN MOUNTAINS, EN ROUTE TO THE MONASTERY OF THE BROTHERHOOD OF ST. ANDREW
JENN, HOLGAR, AND ANTONIO
“Red wine, drink it,” Brother Cristian urged Jenn as he pulled back the blanket they had strung across the back of the panel van to give her privacy. They wanted her to eat red meat and drink red wine to restore her blood. It wasn’t that Antonio had taken so much; it was that the tear he had ripped in her neck had made her bleed badly. They had stitched up the wound and covered it with bandages.
“Later, I think,” Holgar said.
Brother Cristian sighed and let the blanket drop back into place.
In the four days since Antonio had attacked her, he had refused to see her. Unable to reach Father Juan, the four brothers of St. Andrew had held several long discussions with Jenn and Holgar, trying to get a better understanding of Antonio’s current “spiritual condition.” Jenn had been in a state of shock, unable to speak, to believe that Antonio could have done what he had done. She lay still and silent. At night Holgar held her, murmuring to her in Danish, promising to keep her safe.
They chained Antonio’s wrists and ankles, blindfolded him, and locked him into the back of an old military transport vehicle very like the one they had used in Russia. Jenn thought about telling them that chains couldn’t hold a vampire, but she couldn’t make herself speak. Her mind slid over fears that the Brotherhood didn’t know what they were doing. Or that they might decide he had sunk too far into evil and stake him. Sometimes when she touched her bandages, she wanted them to stake him. Then tears of shame and grief would roll down her face, even though she remained as still and silent as ever.
The vehicle they transported Antonio in was old, struggling as it chugged up the steep mountain passes. The four monks took turns driving. They had to stop often to let the engine cool down. Their journey was torturous. Holgar told her that a monk guarded Antonio night and day, telling rosary beads, praying without ceasing for Antonio to find his way back to them. She didn’t ask Holgar if he thought it would happen, and he didn’t say.
Then one night, after Holgar had changed her bandage and settled her against his chest, the howls of wolves shattered the cocoon of her sickbed. She jerked, hard, as their shrill cries grew louder, closer, wilder. Holgar held her fast; she felt his heartbeat beneath her cheek, and heard him swear in Danish under his breath. His arms tightened around her until it was almost painful. When she shifted, he loosened them and rested his chin on the crown of her head.
“Lille skat,” he said gently, “I have to leave you for a little bit. Just a little while.”
There was tension in his voice, and it dawned on her that Holgar hadn’t been simply comforting her all this time. He had been guarding her too, and making sure that Antonio couldn’t get anywhere near her.
“What do they want?” she asked. They were the first words she had uttered since Antonio had bitten her, and her voice was hoarse and scratchy.
He hesitated.
“Tell me,” she insisted. “I’m still your leader.” Then she burst into sobs. She cried hard, her body contracting, and Holgar crossed his arms over her chest, cupping each shoulder, allowing the release she had so desperately needed. In her mind she was back in the safe house, alone with Antonio; his eyes were crimson, and he opened his mouth wide, as if daring her to turn away from the sight of his fangs coming at her. Deliberately mesmerizing her, taunting her, and then . . .
“Oh, God,” she ground out. “Oh, my God.”
“Ja, it’s good to face it,” Holgar said into her ear. “Ja, Jenn.”
She cried for another minute or so, then forced herself to dam her tears. She wanted to weep and scream forever, but she knew they needed to discuss the crisis at hand. “I’m okay,” she said firmly, wiping her face. She molded her hands around his and squeezed them. “Tell me.”
“Well, you know there’s a price on my head,” he said. “And this pack, well, they’ve come to claim it.”
“So it’s a werewolf pack,” she said. And something clicked back into place inside her. Something worked again. She was being called into action. It was time to do her job—to lead her team, even if it was just a team of two. “How many?”
“I think six,” he said. “The alpha and his mate, three males, and one female. The alpha’s saying that they know who I am, and that we’re trespassing on his territory.” He cocked his head, listening to the howls. “And that there is a vampire named Lucifer who will pay handsomely for my pelt.”
“Lucifer,” she said, chills running down her spine. Always Lucifer. They had thought Solomon was their biggest problem, but Lucifer was dogging them. Solomon baited Jenn by parading her traitor father, Paul Leitner, on TV and having him beg Jenn to turn herself in for a crime she didn’t commit. But it wasn’t Jenn whom Solomon wanted. It was Antonio. And Lucifer wanted Antonio. Maybe if they found out that he’d attacked her, they’d lose interest in him.
She hitched a couple of breaths, forcing herself not to lose her composure. Holgar grimaced in response.
“I knew I shouldn’t have come,” he said, but she heard the mixed emotion in his voice. If he hadn’t been there when Antonio had attacked her, she’d probably be dead.
Unless Antonio stopped himself, she thought. Maybe he would have been able to. Maybe—
Holgar pulled away the blanket. Jenn slowly sat up by herself and looked at Brother Cristian, who smiled with delight at the sight of her. But his smile faded as Holgar repe
ated the werewolves’ demand. Brother Cristian’s eyes widened, and he made the sign of the cross in the air.
“If the driver can slow down the van just enough for me to jump out, then you can put some distance between everybody and the pack,” Holgar added.
“Everybody else, you mean. Holgar, you can’t wolf at will,” Jenn insisted. “They’ll rip you to shreds.”
“They’re promising me that if I come out in human form, unarmed, no harm will come to any of you,” Holgar translated.
“You’re not going out there,” she insisted. She turned to Brother Cristian. “Break out the weapons.”
The priests had come well provisioned with Uzis. Werewolves possessed remarkable powers of healing, but it was possible to take one out with a barrage of submachine-gun fire if you could get off enough shots to cut it in half before it took your throat.
“Okay,” Brother Cristian said, nodding. He said something to the driver, who picked up a radiophone and spoke into it. Jenn heard the crackle of a response from Antonio’s transport vehicle.
Their vans slowed, then rolled to a stop. Neither driver turned off his engine, keeping them idling in case they needed to make a fast getaway.
“Let’s go,” Jenn said.
“Not you,” Holgar insisted. “You’re too weak.”
She raised her chin a notch and gave him a long, level look. “For now, you and I are fighting partners, Holgar, and I’m not letting you go out there by yourself.”
“Noah is your fighting partner,” Holgar said. “And that crazy Israeli would kick my ass if I took you outside with me.”
“Then prepare to get it kicked,” Jenn said, as she crawled to the side of the van where they had stowed their jackets. She got hers and began slipping her arms into the sleeves. The world spun. Her throat hurt. She still hadn’t recovered from the loss of blood.
Holgar sighed heavily. “Okay, boss lady, you win. Please hand me my jacket.”
“Here,” she said, grabbing it up and holding it out to him. When he didn’t take it, she looked in his direction.
And that was when he clocked her, his fist against her chin, which hurt, and everything fuzzed yellow, and then black.
