Vanquished

by Nancy Holder

  But this time he felt a new peace. God was going to let him die at last. His Lord was going to let him know the rest that had been denied him for so very long. Every time he’d closed his eyes and death had touched him, he’d been reawakened to help save the world yet again.

  Yes, this time was different. He could feel it. He believed it. It was truly the end.

  And he would make a great ending of it, helping his children in the best way he could, equipping them with what they needed to prevail. In a way, Father Juan was sorry that he wouldn’t get to see their victory or celebrate it with them. But this was better.

  “We don’t have enough of the ingredients to make separate batches of the elixir. You must all share it,” he told them. “And it will be temporary.”

  Jamie’s eyes flashed in frustration, and Juan barely suppressed a smile.

  “This is a good thing,” Father Juan said. “Holgar has confided in me that Eriko suffered terribly from the toll the elixir took on her body. No Hunter had ever mentioned the pain before.”

  “No one had lived as long, no doubt,” Jamie said.

  Holgar grunted.

  “So the ‘boost’ will fade after a few weeks, and your bodies will gradually return to normal.”

  Father Juan could see Holgar nod almost imperceptibly. He was glad Holgar had come to him about Eriko’s terrible condition. Holgar was sure that the side effects had been slowly killing Eriko.

  Father Juan nodded to Noah, and he moved to join him.

  “Pray, meditate, prepare yourselves. The elixir will be yours tonight,” Father Juan instructed.

  Jamie sank to his knees and crossed himself. Skye closed her eyes and began to chant softly. Holgar took off his shoes and shirt, preparing to be at his swiftest. Jenn just stood, looking lost, and Father Juan’s heart bled for her.

  But there was nothing more he could do for her.

  Father Juan parted a curtain and led Noah into a small antechamber, where Esther waited for them. He had set up a small altar on which the ingredients that they had secured at such trouble waited.

  “You’re sure?” Esther asked him.

  “I’m sure,” Father Juan replied. He turned to Noah. “It’s time.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The end of all is come

  Our hearts you will not tame

  The past is gone far away

  And now comes the final game

  Don’t think that you have won

  Just because we’re still

  For what we cannot have

  We will, most surely, kill

  LOS ANGELES

  SOLOMON

  “Last-ditch effort,” Solomon announced as he whipped out his cell phone. Katalin was seated at a new table behind him, staring into her crystal ball. Tears and sweat dripped down her face. He’d pressured her for answers, and so far all she had come up with was more predictions about his demise. “I’ve sent a fleet of planes to Romania loaded with vampires, monsters, and crack-shot soldiers.”

  She said nothing, just kept staring.

  “So I figure if . . . he . . . will listen to reason, I can switch sides with one phone call. I mean, does he even know about the virus? I can be useful to him,” Solomon went on.

  He finished dialing, and the phone on the other end rang. A connection was made.

  “Hello,” a breathy woman’s voice answered. It sounded familiar.

  “Jennifer?” he asked, surprised. “Jennifer Leitner?”

  His query was answered with a hiss.

  “Solomon, I’m here,” Lucifer said into the phone. Just hearing his voice made Solomon quake.

  “Listen. I had a terrible lapse in judgment when I announced our existence to the human race,” Solomon said. “I didn’t think.”

  Silence.

  “I should have checked in with you first,” Solomon continued. “But I—I didn’t know you were real.”

  More silence.

  “So, listen, I’m sending soldiers in a show of support.”

  “Support,” Lucifer echoed.

  Katalin made a strangled sound and pushed back from the table.

  “The final battle,” Solomon said. “It’s happening, right?”

  Silence. Lucifer was making it very clear that he didn’t have to interact with Solomon if he didn’t feel like it. They weren’t equals.

  “Look, with me at your side, you’ve got the entire Vampire Nation at your command. I know things that could help you. You know, like about the virus?”

  “Virus?” Lucifer said. “What—”

  Then Katalin grabbed her crystal ball, raced across the room, and smashed it over Solomon’s head. He was shocked; before he could react, she reached into the folds of her dress, pulled out a piece of the table he’d broken earlier, and rammed it into his chest. Or tried to. Her lips pulled back from her teeth in a feral roar as she threw herself against his chest again.

  Solomon gave thanks for his Kevlar vest and lunged at her, fangs extended, sinking them into her neck.

  His face burned as if she had lit it on fire. Holy water. He recoiled, taking half her neck with him. The holy water splashed into his eyes, blinding him for the moment. And suddenly he hurt everywhere. What was she doing to him?

  “Dantalion, stop her!” Lucifer bellowed through the phone.

  He was burning up. His skin was blazing away, turning black, disintegrating. He dropped the phone as the holy water melted muscle, then bone. The pain—

  CASTLE BRAN

  LUCIFER, DANTALION, HEATHER, AND ANTONIO

  “I’m sorry, Lucifer,” Dantalion said as he, Lucifer, and Heather headed for the dungeon. They wound down the circular stone staircase, Heather attired in another of Aurora’s beautiful gowns. She had just found a very interesting book in Aurora’s room, and she held it against her chest. “I couldn’t stop the little Gypsy from killing him in time. At least now we know the new magicks work.”

  “I should never have agreed to let you send her to him. So far your mesmerism has caused us nothing but headaches,” Lucifer said. “She wasn’t even useful as a spy. He kept so much from her.”

  “At least he’s dead,” Dantalion said. “Our greatest enemy is gone.”

  Lucifer stopped and glared up at Dantalion. “You’re much stupider than I was afraid of.”

  Kill Dantalion, Heather thought. Kill him now. Like Aurora, her predecessor, she didn’t like him and trusted him less.

  Lucifer glanced past Dantalion toward her, as if he could read her mind. She smiled at him.

  “Don’t ever answer my phone again, or I will kill you,” he said to her.

  “Okay, no problem,” she replied, unfazed. She had never met Solomon, and the temptation to talk to him had been too great to pass up. Of course, she had seen Solomon on TV for years, ever since he’d announced that vampires were real and he was their leader. She’d begged Jenn to take her to Spain so she could hunt the Cursed Ones too. Stupid Daddy, who had made a pact with Aurora that if he gave her Jenn, the vampire queen would leave the rest of his family alone.

  My dad is stupider than Dantalion. Still she supposed she should be grateful for his treachery. She was here because of him. And Aurora was dust because of her.

  Lucifer led the way into the dungeon, sweeping past Dantalion’s latest batch of supersoldiers in various stages of creation.

  The creatures were still decomposing at an alarming rate. Dantalion’s outbuilding laboratory reeked of putrid hybrids, the stench so horrible that Dantalion had stopped using it. Dantalion was trying to slow the rate of spoilage by immersing the creatures in various chemical baths or injecting them with preservatives and vitamins. When she had asked Lucifer why they still bothered with the experiments, he’d told her that he hadn’t lived so long by ignoring the future.

  As the three passed, one particularly gruesome nightmare raised its head from a tank and said, “Lovely.”

  Heather faltered. It was her monster.

  Doesn’t matter. He served his p
urpose, she thought.

  “Antonio, do you know anything about a virus?” Lucifer asked, as he opened the slot in the center of the door of Antonio de la Cruz’s cell.

  Antonio was manacled to the wall, sagging from his wrists. His head hung down against his chest. Dim light played on the crown of his matted hair. There was blood everywhere. His shirt was in tatters, and his jeans barely covered him. His feet were bare.

  “Virus,” Lucifer said, from the safe distance of the doorway. “Come on, Antonio. What do you know?”

  The vampire didn’t respond. Lucifer turned to Heather. “Maybe you should throw the book at him.”

  “Maybe I should torture him with my new magicks,” Dantalion offered.

  “Or I should,” Heather said.

  Antonio jerked. Then he slowly raised his head. His eyes blazed scarlet.

  “Heather,” he whispered. “Ay, no.”

  Lucifer looked from Antonio to Heather. Then he grabbed Heather and yanked her across his chest. He slipped his free hand around her neck and squeezed.

  “Of course you care for her,” Lucifer said. “The sister of Jenn Leitner; the vampire you were trying to save. Tell me about the virus or I’ll rip off her head.”

  Heather was curious to see what Antonio would do. Curious, but unafraid. Lucifer was crazy about her. And if she died, she died. She had killed Aurora; she’d had her vengeance. Anything that came after was . . . a bonus.

  Antonio’s face was a portrait in agony, cut and burned, his expression frantic as he shook his head.

  “Don’t, Lucifer. The answer is simple. Solomon has a spy in Project Crusade. The black crosses let the spy think there’s a virus that can wipe out our kind. But it’s a lie.”

  “You’re lying,” Lucifer said, tightening his grip on Heather’s neck. It was a good thing she didn’t have to breathe. But she whimpered for Antonio’s benefit, and raised up on her tiptoes.

  “There was a scientist, Michael Sherman. He was working on the virus before he was converted,” Antonio said.

  “He’s a vampire?” Lucifer said.

  “Sí. After his conversion, the black crosses took him prisoner and locked him up. They tried to force him to resume working on it, but they finally realized he can’t get it to work. They’re pretending that it was successful to throw Solomon off. That’s all I know,” Antonio said, looking anxiously at Heather. “I swear it.”

  “Do you swear in the name of your God?” Lucifer asked.

  “Yes, in the name of Christ, I do,” Antonio said, staring at Heather as if she were drowning and he wanted to jump in to save her.

  “Hmm,” Lucifer said. “All right.” He let go of Heather. Then he took the book from her. “Sergio’s Book of Spells.” He showed it to Antonio. “Did your sire share his magick use with you? I suppose he did. We’ve come a long way since 1942.”

  “We should kill him,” Heather said.

  “We will,” Lucifer replied. “Just not right now.”

  * * *

  As Dantalion reached the landing to the dungeon stairs, Rasputin, his Russian wolfhound, greeted him with slathering kisses. Rasputin’s eyes glowed brilliant red, and his vampiric canine teeth were a sight to behold.

  Dantalion gave him a few pats, then took in the sight of the gathering of Lucifer’s thirteen vampiric sorcerers. They’d done a wonderful job creating the magickal potion that had burned Solomon to death. It had been a simple matter to slip it to Katalin. Solomon’s organization wasn’t as secure as that arrogant vampire liked to imagine.

  The great hall was still decorated from the welcoming celebration, except that heavy black curtains shielded the vampires from the daylight. And the cages containing their human captives sat empty. Eat the rich, wasn’t that what they used to say? The rich were often a bit stringy. So were the famous.

  Surrounded by tall black tapers in golden candle-holders, the sorcerers stood in a ring. Their robes were black, decorated with red bats, beautifully setting off their eyes, which weren’t the normal glowing rubies of bloodlust but deep, shiny black. Enormous ebony leather books with maroon bindings sat on ornate golden stands before the vampires, and in the center of the room they had erected a primitive-looking stone altar. Gagged with a black silk scarf and swathed in a matching robe, a familiar-looking human girl was bound to it.

  “Hey, Flavia,” Lucifer’s new companion, Heather Leitner, trilled, as if delighted to see someone she knew about to serve as a human sacrifice. “We should sacrifice Antonio, too,” Heather said to Lucifer.

  “I would still like to study him,” Dantalion said.

  “I’m not convinced he’s told us everything he knows about this virus,” Lucifer countered.

  As Lucifer surveyed the circle of sorcerers, they bowed low. Black energy ticked off them like static electricity

  “My lord Lucifer,” said the chief sorcerer, a tall, gaunt vampire distinguished by a black diadem decorated with ruby bats.

  “Have you heard about a virus created to harm us?” Lucifer asked.

  The vampiric sorcerer consulted his fellows. Everyone shook their heads. “Nothing, my lord.”

  “Hmm.” He approached the sacrifice and smiled down on her. “Heather, I hope you don’t mind the loss of Aurora’s maid. I thought it prudent to get rid of anyone who might still be loyal to her.”

  “You’re so thoughtful,” Heather simpered.

  “We’ve confirmed the auguries,” the head sorcerer said. “Tonight. Midnight would be auspicious.”

  “No,” Lucifer said. “There’s a time that’s even more auspicious.” He clapped his hands, and the wolfhound trotted over to him. He smiled at Dantalion, who smiled back. “Now, perform your ritual quickly. I have a race to wipe out.”

  THE MONASTERY OF THE BROTHERHOOD OF ST. ANDREW

  FATHER JUAN, ESTHER, AND NOAH

  Into the already fermenting elixir Father Juan added cloves and cinnamon. Next, holy water. Saint John’s wort, aptly named. Shepherds’ Club. Rosemary and tarragon. Oak and rowan leaves. Ginkgo biloba. Passionflower. A dozen other herbs. Then another dozen. And then the special ones: the Tears of Christ. The Transit of Venus.

  He put them all in the simple wooden communion cup he had taken from the chapel. It was consecrated, holy. Into the mixture he dipped a ritual boline—a White-magick knife used for collecting herbs—then passed it through a white candle flame six times.

  As he did so, he uttered the incantation that in Father Juan’s tradition had to be spoken by a Catholic priest: “Greater love hath no man than that he lay his life down for his friends.”’

  He said it first in Latin, for God. Then in Spanish, for himself. Then in Hebrew, for Noah. Then in English, for Esther.

  Then he laid the knife across the top of the cup.

  “And now for the last,” he said, his voice shaky to his ears.

  “Are you sure about this?” Esther asked.

  He nodded. “I can’t ask any of the brothers here to do it. It must be a priest, one who has set himself up as a conduit between God and man, and a priest who gives himself willingly. For generations the priests of Salamanca have been willingly making the sacrifice without the Hunter ever knowing. Father Pedro gave his life for Eriko’s elixir. It is right and fitting that I should give mine for the others.”

  Esther looked at him with misty eyes and laid a warm hand on his arm. “We’ll miss you, Padre.”

  “I hope so,” he said, feeling a bit wistful. They could only miss him if he were well and truly dead.

  He turned and began praying over the concoction. He couldn’t do the deed himself, as suicide was forbidden by the Church. In the end he had been the one to kill Father Pedro.

  And now Noah would kill him.

  Finished, he took a deep breath. “Now,” he whispered.

  Noah put his hand over Father Juan’s mouth and held his nose. Father Juan knew that he would fight for air. He remembered his part in the ritual: to know that his body’s struggles to breathe were only birth pan
gs as he slid from this plane of existence into the next, fighting like a newborn for the first gasp of life. The next breath he took would be from God’s mouth, in Heaven.

  Still, the instinct to save himself was overwhelming, as it had been for Pedro. Death throes overtook him. He struggled, but all life was struggle.

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

  He could see the golden glow of his soul radiating out, entering the cup; he could see the elixir bubble and gleam. Through the steam he could see the room bathed in gold. See the faces of Noah and Esther, gleaming like saints.

  Into Thy hands I commend my spirit.

  And then he saw nothing.

  * * *

  Noah caught the dead priest in his arms. He gazed down with pity at the man, then carried him to a pallet made with fresh white linen. Noah laid him down.

  Esther took a steadying breath. She locked eyes with Noah and nodded. Father Juan’s choice of “deliverer” had been one of the two of them, and she was grateful that Noah had volunteered for the duty. She would never have been able to do it.

  “Rest in peace at last, Saint John of the Cross,” she said, bending down and kissing Father Juan’s forehead.

  On the eve of his death he had finally admitted the truth to her, though she had guessed it long before. Esther knew it had brought him some comfort, knowing that there was another who shared his secret and who would mourn for him as he really was.

  Holding the cup, Esther walked back into the main room with Noah trailing behind her. The others looked up, then past them, clearly expecting Father Juan to be rejoining them.

  “Where’s Father Juan?” Jenn asked.

  “He’s gone into seclusion to pray for victory,” Esther said. By agreement she and Noah weren’t going to speak of his death until they could no longer stave off questions.

  She handed the cup to Jenn. Jenn was the leader; it was right that she went first.

  Her granddaughter took the cup with a steady hand.

  “Only a small sip. There has to be enough for everybody,” Esther reminded her.

  Jenn nodded and raised the cup to her lips. Then she handed it to Holgar.