Vanquished

by Nancy Holder

  “Aren’t there always fires when it’s convenient to have them?” Jenn asked irritably, then let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . he—and I—we were kind of hoping . . .” She trailed off and stared at the cell. Antonio, she thought. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but this wasn’t it.

  “Since the cross does not hold him back, we need to put him in here,” Brother Cristian said. “We must think of everyone who lives here.”

  “God is a merciful Father,” Brother Dorin said. “Perhaps if we pray together—”

  She swallowed. “The cell is fine. I’ll see if any of my people need anything.”

  “God needs you,” Brother Dorin said.

  Well, He knows where to find me, Jenn thought, turning away.

  After they had escaped from the werewolves, Antonio hadn’t spoken a word to her. Inside the van he’d kept his back turned, head bowed, and when she’d started to reach out a hand to him, she’d drawn it back. Holgar had seen her do it, and had nodded sadly. She knew that Holgar had always liked Antonio. They were two men who lived with the knowledge that the supernatural forces within them could turn them into monsters.

  Except Antonio’s not a man. He’s a vampire.

  Her back like iron, tears streaming down her face, she left the hellish place.

  After Antonio was put in his cell, chanting filled the monastery. Ancient, holy rhythms rose and fell. The monks were begging God to fill their brother Antonio with His grace.

  Father Wadim, the head of the brotherhood, conferred with Jenn. He assigned rooms for the group and apologized for the bad heating. He also told Jenn that she would be able to use her cell phone. It took a few tries to reach Father Juan, but finally she heard his calm, Spanish voice. She told him they had arrived safely. She withheld the information about Antonio’s attack, telling herself it was because Father Juan had a lot of news to tell her. But the truth was, she didn’t want him to know, ever. He would have to, of course. But what if he told the monks to turn the wheels?

  Father Juan assured her that Gramma Esther was fine.

  “That’s great news,” Jenn said, struggling to be happy when her own news was so grim.

  “And Jamie has found Skye. They’re together, but still in England. I’m afraid her ex is proving dangerous and difficult to evade,” the priest went on.

  “Estefan has found her?” Jenn knew she was terrified of him. She pressed her fingers to her temples and wondered, not for the first time, if Eriko has suffered from so many headaches because of the stress of being the leader.

  “So far they’ve been able to outrun Estefan and his Spanish coven brothers. Skye’s been performing strong spells to blot out their trail, and I’ve tried to help her,” Father Juan said.

  “Oh, God,” Jenn said, her chest constricting from a breath she now realized she’d been holding mentally for weeks. “What about my mom and Sade?”

  “Call them and see,” Father Juan said, then relented. “Your mother’s fine, if stressed and frightened. Sade is another matter. When you speak to them, tell them to come to you.”

  “Just the two of them? Alone?” Jenn asked.

  “Remember, Jenn, after your father betrayed you to Aurora, your mother joined the resistance. She’s been on dangerous recon missions. The news about Heather was a huge blow to her, and I think for a time she felt very helpless. But Sade has not recovered from the shock of the battle at Salamanca. And your mother has had someone to take care of. It’s helped her rally.”

  Jenn swallowed hard. “So . . . no word on Heather?”

  “Not through any of my contacts, nor through magick. I’m sorry.”

  “And Noah?”

  Father Juan shook his head. “I’ve had no word from him. I’ll be honest; that worries me.”

  * * *

  After all the team members had been contacted, they began to arrive. Jenn’s mother and Sade were the first. Anxiously waiting for them in the entryway to the dank, grim chapel, where rows of candles glowed as testament to the many prayers the monks were saying for Antonio’s sake, Jenn wore a black turtleneck sweater to hide the wound Antonio had inflicted on her.

  “Jenn,” her mother said, wrapping her arms around her.

  Jenn tried not to feel intense hurt as she felt the stiffness in her mother’s embrace. It was obvious that her mom still blamed her for Heather’s transformation into a vampire—when it should have been Jenn’s father she blamed. As Jenn did.

  “Your father was on TV again,” Jenn’s mom said as Father Wadim brought her some green mint tea. He was very tall, with a stripe of gray hair wrapped around the middle of his head, like Friar Tuck of Robin Hood. He was wearing a dark brown robe with a huge cross dangling from a rope belt, and sandals. That was the habit all the monks wore inside the monastery, and Jenn had no idea how they could keep their feet from freezing.

  “Welcome,” Father Wadim said to Jenn’s mother and Sade. Still dressed for the severe weather, Sade stood passively by, watching. The chants rose and fell around them, and Jenn’s throat constricted. She wanted her mother to be somewhere else. To be safe. Not to know about a world where holy men prayed to make vampires good.

  “Okay, sweetie, let’s get you settled in,” Jenn’s mother said to Sade. She brushed an errant tendril of hair away from Sade’s forehead. Sade didn’t so much as blink.

  Jenn’s mom turned to Father Wadim. “If you could show us to our room?”

  “I thought maybe you could stay with me, Mom,” Jenn said. “And Sade, of course. It’s hard to heat the monastery, so we’re doubling up. When Gramma, Jamie, and Skye get here—”

  “If,” her mother corrected her, and she turned her back on Jenn.

  * * *

  Father Juan and Gramma Esther arrived next. Jenn flew into her grandmother’s arms. Jenn could tell that Esther sensed that things were not right, but Esther didn’t ask, just hugged her back tightly. Wiping away a tear, Jenn turned to face Father Juan.

  “I’ve still had no word from Noah,” Father Juan said, his eyes troubled.

  She took the words like a body blow. “There’s something I have to tell you,” Jenn said. Her ears roared with the pounding sound of her pulse. She felt very cold, very frightened, very alone. “It’s about Antonio.”

  His deep-set eyes softened with pity as he took one of her hands in both of his. She was so numb she couldn’t feel his skin against hers.

  “I already know, Jenn,” he said. “Father Wadim met us halfway down the mountain and told me all about it. He described the cell to me. I’m going down now to talk to Antonio. He doesn’t want to see me. He doesn’t want to see anyone, but he must.”

  She took a breath. “Maybe I should go with you.”

  Father Juan shook his head. “You’re the last person on this earth he should see.”

  I used to be the first, she thought, anguished.

  After Father Juan left her, she staggered into the chapel, sat in a pew, and laid her forehead on her hands as she clung to the weathered, dark wood. She cried all the tears she’d kept in for so long. Her eyes pressed against her knuckles, she cried until her stomach hurt and her head throbbed and her back ached. She was aware of people entering the chapel, leaving. Of someone stroking her hair, bending over to kiss the top of her head. She yearned for it to be Antonio, then recoiled from the thought. And then she cried some more.

  When she woke, she was in a bedroom on a simple cot with a plain brown blanket pulled up to her chin. Sunlight streamed in through a window. She stared into it, thinking of vampires who might one day walk in daylight. Her throat ached, and she thought of Antonio down in his prison.

  She forced herself to get up. She was still wearing her turtleneck sweater and jeans, but the bandage was in place.

  In the dining room she found Father Juan talking quietly with Esther and Holgar. The incessant chanting seemed like familiar background noise. Jenn walked in, acknowledging everyone with a nod of her head as she covered a yawn.


  “Hello, Jenny,” her grandmother said as Jenn kissed her cheek.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, wondering if Father Juan had been the one to carry her out of the chapel.

  “Did you sleep well?” Holgar asked her. So he had tucked her in.

  She nodded. “Thanks,” she said, and he flashed her a quizzical smile.

  “For what?” he asked.

  “We’ve been discussing the elixir,” Father Juan interrupted. “The Tears of Christ are essential. I’ve added cinnamon and cloves to boost strength and suppress pain, and we have everything we need to make the elixir—except that I need more Transit of Venus.”

  She blinked. “More what?”

  “That’s exactly what I said,” Holgar said. “Except in Danish.”

  Father Juan acknowledged Holgar’s little joke with another gentle smile. Gramma Esther stayed quiet, giving Father Juan her full attention.

  “Jamie heard rumors that witches were stockpiling a spell-strengthening herb somewhere in England. I think it might be the Transit. It’s a very rare herb, and the secret to its effectiveness is the spell you must cast as you pick it. I don’t know if they’ll have a chance to acquire any on their way here,” Father Juan added. “There was none at Stonehenge.”

  “Can Skye cast the spell if she does find it?” Jenn asked. “Does she know how?”

  “Sí. She and I discussed it on the phone,” Father Juan replied. “She believes that the Transit, or a close cousin, may also be found deep in these mountains.”

  “These mountains? Here? No way,” Jenn blurted, excited.

  “Way. In the territory of the local werewolves,” Holgar put in.

  “The same pack that attacked you?” Jenn asked, startled.

  Holgar shook his head. “Those were Romanian werewolves. These are Transylvanian werewolves.”

  “Transylvania is part of Romania,” Jenn said, confused.

  He shook his head. “Not to them it’s not.”

  “Holgar is suggesting that we try to bargain for it,” Father Juan said.

  Jenn shook her head violently. “Because every other interaction we’ve had with werewolves has gone so well? Forget it. We can’t risk lives. Especially not if there’s a chance Jamie and Skye will come through.”

  Esther cleared her throat and laid a hand on Jenn’s arm. “One of the hardest lessons I ever learned was that you can’t always wait for your friends to come through.”

  Holgar nodded. “At least let me try to talk to them, wolf to wolf. I’ll take lots of guns.” He smiled broadly. “And lots of teeth.”

  Jenn sucked in a breath. “I’ll go with you. And don’t even think about refusing. I’m doing no one any good here. I need to get away, do something, not just sit and think.”

  Holgar smiled. “Good. I didn’t want to go alone anyway.”

  Gramma Esther half raised a hand. “I’ll go.”

  “No.” Father Juan gently pushed her hand back onto the table. “You need to recuperate from our adventure. Jenn, Holgar, the two of you will leave tomorrow morning.”

  Mutely, Jenn nodded. Then she rose and left the room, heading back to the little bedroom she’d awakened in. She wanted to be alone. No, not alone—she needed someone, someone who could be there for her, who had no other agenda. Someone who might understand just what she was going through.

  She opened the door. Sunlight poured through the half-closed curtains, revealing a silhouette on the other side: a man gazing out at the mountains through the glass. Her heart skipped a beat.

  “Noah,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER TEN

  When Father Juan gave me this diary, I was going to write a new Hunter’s Manual. Instead I’ve been pouring out my soul. I wonder if anyone will ever read it? What will that mean? That I’m dead? What will the world be like then? What will my world be like? I can’t even think about it. My hand is shaking so hard I can barely write these words.

  —from the diary of Jenn Leitner,

  retrieved from the ruins

  THE MONASTERY OF THE BROTHERHOOD OF ST. ANDREW

  JENN, HOLGAR, ANTONIO, FATHER JUAN, NOAH, AND ESTHER

  Jenn blinked in surprise at Noah.

  “Jenn,” Noah said, pushing away the curtain and coming toward her as she entered the small room. He was dirty and unshaven, but he looked like home to her. Without thinking, she went to him and put her arms around him. She heard the strong, hard beat of his heart and shut her eyes tightly against the tears that ran down her cheeks.

  “You’re safe,” she said. Her brain told her to ask for a report of his mission, but all she could do was rest against him for a moment, just one moment, and know that he was there.

  His lips brushed her hair, and a memory whispered in her mind. Had he been the one to carry her from the chapel last night?

  She broke away gently and looked around for a place to sit. All there was was the bed. She sank down on it, gesturing for him to join her. Their noses were practically touching. She could smell his cinnamon gum, and a trembling smile broke across her mouth. To stop herself from kissing him, she cleared her throat.

  “Why didn’t you call?” she asked.

  “Sorry. I wasn’t sure of this place,” he replied. “Things have happened. I had to do something I already regret.” He shifted on the bed, leaning back on his elbows. He looked exhausted. “Goes with the territory,” he added. “Regrets.”

  “We don’t have time for riddles,” she said, sounding more waspish than she intended, because she felt ashamed for wanting to kiss him when Antonio was in hell. “Fill me in.”

  He let his head fall back and looked up at the ceiling. The sunshine etched his profile, and he was solid and real and there, and she held on to that as she prepared herself. It was obvious to her that he hadn’t come with good news.

  He sat back up. “I should do a full debriefing for the team.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he added, “But you should hear it first. Alone.”

  “You’re scaring me,” she said, all hope flooding from her. He was going to tell her that Project Crusade had failed in its mission, whatever that was; that Greg and the others had been massacred; that they were the last resistance cell in the world.

  That all hope was lost.

  “Michael Sherman was there,” he said.

  “I was in the States when the team worked with him,” she said. I was attending Papa Che’s funeral. And nothing has gone right since then. Please, let there be good news from Project Crusade. Please.

  Noah nodded at her. “Well, as your teammates said, Sherman’s a vampire now. But he’s working with the black crosses. He’s on humanity’s side.”

  Jenn stared at him in ecstatic disbelief. “So he’s good? He stayed good?”

  The strangest expression came over Noah’s face. “He swears he’s evil. He’s obsessed with developing something that will rid the world of vampires. Which, for us, is a good thing.”

  “Why does he want to do that?” She waved her hands. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t interrupt anymore.”

  Noah nodded slowly, as if he were choosing his words carefully. “This thing he’s making. It’s a virus. Airborne. The molecules just have to touch them. And then . . . they are destroyed.”

  “Whoa.” She smiled at him. “Whoa. Oh, my God, that’s so great! So is it close to being finished? How do we protect Antonio from it? Do they want us to take him to their compound?”

  “Jenn.” He took both her hands in one of his. Then he locked gazes with her, the expression in his large brown eyes steady, serious. “They’re not going to protect Antonio from it.”

  When she started to jerk away, he held her fast. He put his free hand on her shoulder and held her still. “There’s no antidote.”

  Her face went numb. For a moment the world went dark. She couldn’t see him. Couldn’t hear anything. She was spinning, falling.

  Then she felt him tugging on the neck of her sweater. A hand on her neck. On the bandage.

  “W
hat the hell is this?” Noah said in a low, angry voice.

  She slapped her hand over his to stop him from pulling away the dressing. She couldn’t breathe.

  “What do you mean, there’s no antidote? What do you mean?”

  Noah pried her hand off the gauze and lifted it up, revealing the stitched-up wound. To anyone who knew anything about vampires, it was obvious that it was a bite.

  “Who did this? Did he do it?”

  “Noah, stop!” she said, batting at him. “Tell me about the virus!”

  “It doesn’t matter that there’s no antidote,” he said, biting off each word. “Because I’m going to kill Antonio right now.”

  He whirled on his heel and headed for the door. Jenn gripped his arm; he shook her off. She raced around him, facing him as she flattened her back against the door.

  “Noah, calm down. It was an accident,” she said, and then her voice broke.

  “Move, Jenn, now,” he said.

  “No.” She flattened her hands against his chest and pushed him as hard as she could. But he’d been ready for her; he wrapped his hands around her forearms as he stumbled backward, bringing her with him. Then he forced her aside, threw open the door, and stomped into the hallway.

  “Don’t you do anything!” she screamed, charging after him. “Noah!”

  As Jenn ran into the hall, she nearly collided with Noah, who was facing Father Juan. The priest stood in front of the door Noah would have to take to go downstairs. From the other side of the doorway, the monotonous chanting rose and fell.

  “There are other doors,” Noah said in a low, menacing voice still audible above the prayers for Antonio’s soul. “Stand aside.”

  “I know how you feel,” Father Juan replied, holding out his left hand as if Noah were a wild animal he had to calm. His right hand was behind his back. “But he’s necessary.”

  “Necessary? After what he did to her? I know you’re there, Jenn. Stay clear of me.” To Father Juan he said, “Get out of my way.”

  “I can’t, Noah,” Father Juan said. “I have cast the runes over and over, and the answer is clear. To win this war, we need Antonio.”