Vanquished

by Nancy Holder

  She could see the group, which was standing almost like a tableau. Antonio was bent over Jenn’s throat with his eyes glowing red. Jenn’s mom was screaming at Antonio.

  Heather, too, was caught in bloodlust. She stood behind her mother like a cat about to pounce on a mouse—and her mother, who was focused on Antonio menacing Jenn, had no idea how much danger she was in herself. Heather’s father stood behind Heather, riveted with shock.

  “Antonio, no!” Skye shouted. “Antonio, stop!”

  Antonio’s eyes seemed redder still, and his fangs hovered mere inches from Jenn’s neck.

  “No!” Skye shouted. “Lady, I am your daughter. I am your High Priestess, and Jennifer Leitner has received special blessings of protection from you. I call on you. I have drawn you down and into me, and I have served you faithfully. I demand the fulfillment of your promises to my coven sister and me. Save her now. Save her from all harm.”

  Then, as she raced toward the Leitner family and Antonio, they froze. Still as statues, as if locked in ice, each person held their pose. Skye kept running. Above her the dark bat shapes flew and darted, attacking humans and werewolves, causing them to slump and fall to the ground. She leaped over bodies to get to Jenn and the others.

  Then witches converged on the scene, acknowledging her. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a cross just as Antonio—

  As Antonio—

  “No!” she screamed.

  As Antonio’s eyes turned a deep brown, and he made the sign of the cross over Jenn.

  Paul Leitner pulled a stake out of his pocket, grabbed Heather by the shoulder, whipped her around, and plunged it through her heart.

  Heather looked at him and said, “Daddy?” like a frightened little girl. “Mommy?”

  “Forgive me for not saving you,” Paul whispered.

  Seeing what her husband had done, Jenn’s mother screamed again, and fell to her knees in the dust that had been her younger daughter. Behind her Paul Leitner sobbed and collapsed—just as one of the shadow bat shapes landed on his head and dug its talons into his scalp.

  “No, stop!” Leslie Leitner screamed, punching at it, trying to grab it off her husband’s head. But it seemed to be made of shadow, and her fists went through it.

  Skye and the other witches circled around Jenn and Antonio. Antonio looked up at her with a tear-streaked face and said, “Can you help her?” Soft, brown eyes, human tears, a man fighting mesmerism. Battling death for his beloved. And all the faith that she had ever placed in Antonio, in his goodness, and in his love for Jenn was rewarded in that moment.

  Skye trembled from head to toe and wondered if Holgar and Viorica had opened the vials yet. No time for that; she joined hands with the witches and said, “Goddess, keep faith with us. Jenn is your daughter. We are your children. Do as you promised. I charge you.”

  “Oil, I must have oil,” Antonio said in a shaky voice. “I must have it now. I am going to perform the anointing of the sick.” He looked down at a dark splotch spreading from one of Jenn’s Velcro pockets and opened it. Inside lay a vial of some sort, but it was broken.

  “Oh, no,” Skye murmured. “That was elixir. For you, Antonio.”

  “I don’t think there’s oil in it,” he said, testing the texture between his thumb and forefinger.

  “I have essential oil of angelica,” one of the witches said, pulling it out of her pocket and handing it to Antonio. His hand was shaking so badly that Skye was afraid he was going to drop it.

  Skye opened the vial for him. A sweet scent wafted into the air. She thought of the virus again, and wondered if she should tell him what was happening. She handed the vial back to him. He tipped his forefinger against it, and made the sign of the cross with the oil on Jenn’s forehead. Holding her breath, Skye bit her lip and watched. She couldn’t even tell if Jenn was still breathing.

  “Th-through this holy anointing . . .” Antonio stopped, and cleared his throat. “May the Lord in His love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit.”

  Softly, Skye chanted a spell of healing in Latin, as much for Antonio as for Jenn, so that he, too, could wield the magick of his faith. The other witches followed suit.

  Then Antonio anointed Jenn’s limp hands. “May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up.”

  * * *

  I beat Dantalion, Antonio silently told Jenn. With the help of God, I fought against his mesmerism just now. I thought of you, and how much I love you, and how I need to be a man you can love. Please, mi amor, mi luz, fight against death with me. Oh, my love, oh, Jenn. I can’t lose you. I can never lose you again.

  In the forest in 1941 Sergio Almodóvar had changed Antonio into a vampire while Antonio had been giving a fellow freedom fighter last rites. Antonio had been unable to stop Sergio from turning him into a monster. Then something had happened, and he had been freed from committing atrocities, and from heaping sin upon sin on his head. It had been an act of grace.

  Grace had descended upon him once more. He was free of the clutches of evil again, to do all he could for the soul of the woman he loved. He prayed that Skye could heal her body. He looked into the mirrors of Skye’s crown, seeing Jenn’s reflection but not his own. As it should be—he was a vampire. Jenn was not.

  But then Skye lowered her head, and he saw she was weeping. Terror ripped through him. Tears rolled down the little witch’s cheek as she looked back up at him and shook her head.

  “You must have faith in your Lady,” Antonio begged her. “Save her. Please.”

  * * *

  The castle was burning, but not fast enough, and Cursed Ones kept pouring out of it. There were so many of them that not even the elixir singing in Noah’s veins could even the playing field. Noah thought of the charges he and Jamie had set. He’d been grappling with a human fighter who had suddenly turned against him—Noah suspected mesmerism—and to end the battle without killing the man, Noah had shot him in the leg. The man writhed in pain, and a strip of Velcro gave way as Noah ripped open a pocket on his own pants and pulled out the detonator.

  He was about to depress it when he spotted a group of people on the ground at the southern wall of the courtyard. He squinted and made out who they were—Leslie and Paul Leitner, Skye and some of her witches, and Antonio. How had he gotten free? And who was that on the ground?

  Jenn.

  His blood ran cold. Ignoring the wounded human, Noah headed toward them. A Cursed One converged on the gathering and was just about to attack one of the women in the circle when Paul Leitner ran at the vampire with a cross extended, putting it on the defensive. The fanger turned and ran toward Noah, and he staked it with ease.

  When Noah reached the circle, his worst fears were realized: Jenn lay on the ground, mortally wounded. Her face was gray, and her lips were turning blue.

  “No. No,” he said, grief and fury coursing through him. They were losing the battle, and now Jenn . . .

  He saw his own face reflected in the mirrors of Skye’s crown. Streaked with blood and ash, grief-stricken, enraged. Noah had to fight the impulse to knock Antonio out of the way and take his place beside the woman he, too, loved.

  “Noah,” Skye said, choking back tears. “Holgar and Viorica have . . .” She took a breath. “They have the virus, Antonio,” she said directly to the vampire. “They each have a vial, and they’re going to mix them together. Once they do . . . there will be very little time.”

  Stunned, some of the witches stopped chanting and stared at Antonio. He absorbed the information with a single, hard swallow. Then he steadfastly nodded and continued to perform the rite. From the look on his face and the sound of his voice, Noah guessed that it was a ritual blessing for the dead.

  Then Jenn’s lips parted, moved. Skye cried out.

  “She’s alive!”

  She’s dying, Noah thought. He knew the signs . . . very well. He thought of Chayna, and he wanted to scream.

  “What? What, Jenn?” Skye asked. “She’s trying to ta
lk,” she told them. Then she leaned over and placed her ear to Jenn’s lips. She was quiet for a moment, and then she sucked in her breath.

  “No, Jenn,” she said. Skye was quiet again, listening. “Oh, Goddess.”

  She reached out and grabbed Antonio’s hand. “She wants you . . . she wants to be like you,” she said. “So you’ll have a few more moments together. She knows she’s dying.”

  Everyone, including Antonio, reacted with revulsion. He shook his head. “I would never do that,” he said hoarsely. “Never.”

  She bent down and listened. Pulled Antonio down beside her.

  “Listen to her,” Skye implored Antonio.

  * * *

  Jenn couldn’t move or open her eyes. The pain was more than she could stand. She knew she was broken, and that she was about to die. In her mind—or somewhere else—she stared at Father Juan, who floated in the center of a blazing white light. He was crying, too.

  You must make Antonio listen to you, Jenn, Father Juan said. You must drink from him. So much depends on it.

  “Antonio, you swore . . . ,” she mumbled. “Rosalita . . . never let another woman you loved . . . die . . .”

  “No, Jenn, not like this,” Antonio said. He kissed her ear, the side of her face. He was crying. “Let me hear your sins and absolve you. I—I will see you in heaven.” He cried harder.

  He doesn’t believe that, Father Juan whispered. He thinks he’s going to hell.

  “Father Juan,” Jenn whispered.

  “He’s not here. Let me anoint you, Jenn, so that you can . . . that you can die in a state of grace, and . . .” Antonio trailed off.

  “Father . . . says you must,” Jenn finished.

  “Do you hear that, Antonio?” Skye said. “Father Juan is speaking to her.”

  “Oh, my God, baby,” Jenn heard. It was Gramma Esther. “Dear God.”

  There was murmuring. Jenn couldn’t make out the words, but the voices belonged to Skye, Esther, and Antonio.

  “Baby, baby!” Leslie Leitner cried. “Honey, we love you! Please stay with us!”

  “Father Juan,” Jenn managed. “’Tonio, he’s here.”

  “No, Jenn, you’re delirious,” Antonio said, but through the haze of pain Jenn heard the uncertainty in his voice.

  “Wait. Father Juan is . . . don’t you know who Father Juan is?” Gramma Esther was saying. “He’s a saint. Saint John of the Cross. If he says you’re supposed to do this, Antonio, I say it must be done.”

  “Antonio, the virus is coming,” Skye said. “Time is running out.”

  “If she dies now, she dies with God,” Antonio said. Jenn heard his grief, the agony. “How can you ask me to do this?”

  “If you don’t do it, I’ll stake you before the virus gets to you,” Noah said.

  Then the frantic howl of two werewolves rang out. Yipping and barking . . . as if for help.

  “Noah,” Skye said. “It’s Holgar and Viorica. They’re in trouble. See if you can help them.”

  “I’m not leaving her,” Noah insisted.

  “If you don’t go, I’ll tear out your throat,” Antonio told him.

  Noah swore. Jenn faded for a few moments, staring at Father Juan. The light was so beautiful. She wanted to go to him. She wanted to be done.

  Antonio, she begged Father Juan. Let him come too.

  Then she heard a collective gasp. Though her eyes were closed, she could see them all, as if she were looking down on them.

  Father Juan stood in front of Antonio, shimmering in a cloud of white light. He gazed down at Antonio and placed his hand on the crown of Antonio’s head. Antonio stirred as if he felt the warmth, and the substance.

  Fear not, Father Juan said. He spoke in Spanish, which Jenn miraculously understood with ease. You are my beloved son. You and you alone have taken the blood from my veins. Trust in me. Do as I tell you.

  “Ay, Padre, no,” Antonio pleaded, gazing up from his knees. She saw Antonio’s face, so loved, so cherished. She tried to touch him, but she was formless.

  Fulfill what I have foreseen, Father Juan said. Spirit, soul, body. There are seconds now, Antonio. Heaven watches.

  Then Jenn’s world went black. She was back in her dying body.

  The light pressure on her lips was Antonio’s mouth. She tried to kiss him back. She wouldn’t go now. She couldn’t go. There was a world to save.

  And a vampire to love.

  Something warm and coppery dripped into her mouth.

  This is my blood, Father Juan said. Shed for you.

  She couldn’t swallow. She was too close to death. But she felt Antonio’s blood trickle down her throat and diffuse into her veins.

  “It won’t work this way,” she heard Antonio say. “I have to drain her nearly to death.”

  “She’s already dying,” Skye replied. “Don’t stop.”

  “Who’s he talking to?” Jenn’s mother was saying.

  Mom, Jenn thought, I love you.

  “I don’t know,” Paul Leitner replied.

  And my father, Jenn thought, and her heart began to harden. Rage filled her.

  You have to let it go. This hatred you feel . . . it’s how Antonio has felt about himself, all these decades. If you let it go, he will be able to do it too, Father Juan said. And then you will fulfill the runes I have cast.

  I have the right to hate him, Jenn argued.

  But you have the responsibility to love him. That is the new mission of the Hunter of Salamanca, Jenn. To repair the world.

  Let the new Hunter do it, then.

  If you do as I say, then he will, Father Juan replied.

  “It will take twenty-four hours for her to change,” Antonio was saying. “We don’t have time . . .”

  “Trust,” Jenn blurted out. In her heart she was sobbing and raging and hating her father and wishing him dead, but as the blood of St. John of the Cross spread throughout her physical body, it nourished her spirit as well.

  Forgive him, Father Juan told her.

  She saw her father holding her mother, both staring at her body, rocking together in mindless sorrow. Her father was coated with vampire ash.

  “I’m so sorry. I would die for you. I’m so sorry,” Paul Leitner said. “If I could trade places . . .”

  And deep in her heart, her very soul, she knew he was telling the truth.

  I forgive you, she thought.

  In her mind, she saw something horrible and black rise out of her like a cloud of smoke. Then a black shape grabbed at it, squeaking as if with glee, and bore it away. She was surrounded by light.

  “My love, my love,” Antonio whispered desperately. “Please.”

  Jenn opened her eyes and looked into his deep brown eyes. She saw them widen. Felt his arms around her.

  Then she saw Skye bending over behind Antonio, and Jenn looked into her crown of mirrors.

  * * *

  Noah could tell that Holgar was in trouble. Both he and Viorica were howling in fear and frustration even though they were in human form. The Allied soldiers had been mesmerized, and they were advancing on the two werewolves. More werewolves were bounding toward them, but whether friend or foe, Noah couldn’t tell. He aimed his Uzi at the soldiers, cursing Dantalion’s name with each round he fired. Then he stared up at the burning castle and saw figures standing on a balcony. Dantalion was mesmerizing the entire Allied forces.

  He grabbed his radio out of his pocket and clicked it on. “Crusader Kicker,” he called, using Jamie’s code name. “Blow it sky-high.”

  “Copy that, Crusader Star. See you’re busy. Blowing it now, then coming to you,” Jamie radioed back.

  As Noah grimly mowed down more approaching soldiers, he took out a couple of the mesmerized Catholics and a witch, too. Then he braced himself for the explosions that he prayed would blow Dantalion, Lucifer, and all their vampire friends straight to hell.

  He didn’t have long to wait.

  A huge roar threw him to the ground. Noah rolled onto his side and kept fi
ring. He was aware of flame and smoke and huge chunks of stone and wood falling his way, but he focused on the mission, which was to protect the two werewolves.

  Menaced by a man in a clerical collar and a short-haired nun with an Uzi, Holgar and Viorica dodged the gunfire by crouching as low as they could and zigzagging around the castle pieces as they fell. Smoke rolled across Noah’s field of vision, and he kept shooting, his only thought to protect the virus.

  Then the soldiers, the Catholics, and the witches blinked and staggered as if waking from a dream. They fell into one another’s arms in shock, some collapsing; they began to tend to their wounded as they pointed up at the castle. The mesmerism was broken. Dantalion had to be dead.

  We did it, we did it, Noah thought, turning his submachine gun on furious vampires as they headed in the direction of the awakened Allied troops. Exultant, he kept doing what he was made to do: kill the enemy by any means possible. He felt a rush of joy as more vampires fell.

  And then a terrible pain shot through him as something picked him up. It was a nightmare ruin, one of the hybrids, soaking wet, falling apart. But it had broken something vital—maybe his back—and Noah’s eyes teared with the pain.

  “Lovely, lovely,” the monster said. “Killed the lovely.”

  Noah heard something crack inside his body. Another bone broken. Sheer, blinding pain engulfed him.

  Then the monster grunted, and dropped him. It fell on top of him. Noah saw the hideous face, the glazed, open eyes. It was dead.

  Someone pushed it off Noah’s body. As the haze of pain engulfed him, one thing became crystal clear.

  “Chayna,” he whispered, as she held him in her arms. His wife. His love. “Chayna, you’re dead.”

  I’m here, she said, though he couldn’t see her. He just knew that she was there.

  “Tell me what you said,” he begged, gasping through fresh pain. “When I . . . when I killed . . .”

  Thank you. He felt her smile, felt her love. I said thank you, Noah.

  He swallowed hard. He smiled against the agony.

  You saved me, she said.

  And then he died.