Crusade

by Nancy Holder; Debbie Viguié

  The vampire scoffed, weaving closer, seemingly unaware that a hunter advanced behind him with her stake poised. The smell of Jenn’s blood cloaked the subtler scent of unharmed human flesh.

  “Prayer is for mortals,” he said, “who must beg some deity to save them. And as we know, those prayers always go unanswered.”

  “Always?” Jenn asked, feeling the blood oozing down her cheek. The vampire stared at it as if he hadn’t drunk in centuries.

  “Always,” he replied.

  Eriko kept her distance, and Jenn had a terrible thought: She’s using me as bait. Jenn began to back away, and the vampire made a show of taking a step toward her. Her hands were slick with sweat—from the heat, from her fear—and her grip on the stake began to slip. She worked her fingers around it. The vampire snickered.

  Jenn took another step backward, her boot crunching down on something. Her stomach lurched as sparks flew upward. What if it was Antonio?

  She couldn’t stop herself from glancing down. It was only a branch. The vampire launched himself at her with a hiss.

  “No!” Jenn shrieked, falling backward.

  The vampire landed on top of her, his eyes filled with bloodlust. His fangs were long and curved; she flailed, forgetting all her training, every maneuver that could save her. His breath stank of fresh blood, and she heard herself whimper.

  Antonio.

  Then, suddenly, the Cursed One was gone. Jenn pulled herself into a crouch, aware that she’d lost her cross. Eriko had yanked the vampire to his feet and was on his back, legs wrapped around his waist. He batted at her as she laced her fingers underneath his chin, forcing back his head. He hissed and grabbed her ankles, trying to peel her off him.

  “Jenn, stake him,” Eriko shouted. “Now!”

  Jenn blinked. She took two steps forward, and then she stopped for a fraction of an instant. Just stopped.

  She could no longer see Eriko or the vampire. They were moving too fast for her to track. She lunged forward, stabbing at the air. There was no contact. She caught flashes, blurs, but not enough to give her a target. Through her exhaustion Jenn kept swinging, as her mind raced. If Eriko died, it would be on Jenn’s head.

  Then she saw them. The vampire had been forced to his knees, and Eriko stood behind him, her hands still laced beneath his chin. Jenn ran to stake him as Eriko flashed her a fierce smile and twisted off his head. His headless body held its shape; Eriko threw the head into the advancing flames. It was something Jenn could never have done; she didn’t have Eriko’s superhuman strength.

  “At least someone’s prayers were answered,” Eriko said, panting, as the body disintegrated. She trotted toward a crumbling stone wall to their left, which marked the north end of the church’s cemetery. “Let’s keep moving.”

  Jenn looked back to where she had last seen Antonio, but he wasn’t there. Another surge of panic washed over her as she raced toward the spot. He was simply gone. He wouldn’t have just abandoned them, though; he couldn’t have left.

  “Antonio!” Jenn screamed. “Wait, Eriko. Antonio!”

  “Sí,” he called. “Sí, Jenn.”

  Antonio pushed through the burning brush a few yards away, wisps of smoke curling from his charred clothes as he batted at them. His hands were blackened and peeling.

  She ran to him and then stood hesitantly in front of him, frightened and ashamed of her doubts. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  He nodded grimly. “I will be.”

  She began to shake. “I was worried. I thought . . .” She trailed off. It didn’t matter what she had thought. All that mattered was that he was alive and there.

  “You didn’t think I would leave you?” Antonio questioned, his gaze intense as he reached out to cup her cheek with his hand. “I was coming to help you and Eriko.” Then his soft expression flickered, and she saw his despair. He hid it well . . . though not well enough, at least for someone so focused on him as she was. The shadow in his eyes spoke of something he had refused to share with her—his deepest wound.

  His darkest secret.

  Tears stung her eyes. Jenn loved Antonio, and she wanted to trust him. But trust was something she’d left behind two years ago when she’d crossed the threshold of the university. She’d had to learn not to trust her eyes, her mind, or even her heart. Every time she forgot that, she nearly got herself killed.

  “Ay, no,” Antonio whispered, gazing at her. “I would never leave you.”

  Antonio stroked her cheek with his thumb, and she closed her eyes, leaning into the touch. Calloused, velvet. When his lips brushed hers, she returned the kiss with a sob. She threw her arms around his neck and clung to him. His lips were soft and yielding against hers, and the taste of him mixed with the faint metallic flavor of the blood in her mouth.

  Leaning against Antonio, she whimpered, wanting more. Then, suddenly, he was gone.

  Jenn opened her eyes and saw Antonio hunched over a few feet away, eyes glowing and fangs protruding. Eriko strode up beside Jenn, a thick stake clasped in her hand. One throw and she could kill him.

  “Estoy bien,” Antonio growled deep in his throat. He wiped something dark off of his lips and onto his black cargo pants.

  Her blood.

  “Eriko, I’m all right,” he said in English.

  His deep voice always made Jenn shiver, but with fear or desire she was never quite sure. Sometimes when they were kissing she would forget, just for a moment, all that kept them apart.

  Antonio was a vampire.

  She forced herself to take a good look: the gleaming teeth, the hungry, feral look that had crept into his eyes, the way the muscles in his face contorted as he tried to overcome his bloodlust. He didn’t like her to see it, but she needed to. She needed to remember so that she could protect herself—and him.

  Some vampires claimed to be able to control their cravings, but Antonio de la Cruz was the only one she had ever met who could actually manage it. Years of meditation, study, and prayer had given him the strength he needed. Or so he claimed.

  But deep inside Jenn knew that every moment they spent together was eroding that strength. One day he wouldn’t pull away, and then she would have to kill him. If she could. Or one of the other hunters would. Like Eriko. Or Jamie—

  “Good,” Eriko said. “One down.” But she didn’t lower the stake. Muscular and petite, Eriko was a couple of years younger and a couple of inches shorter than Jenn. When they had graduated from the academy two months before, Eriko had been chosen from their class to receive the sacred elixir that bequeathed astounding speed and strength. The elixir was so difficult to make, there was only enough for one Hunter, capital H. Their leader.

  “Antonio killed one too,” Jenn said.

  Eriko raised a brow and glanced at Antonio, who nodded. His face was returning to normal. “There were only three, right? We’re nearly done.”

  “Three’s what we were told,” Jenn said, relaxing only slightly. She pulled out her garlic salve and quickly applied it to her cheek and lip.

  Eriko sighed and pressed the fingertips of her free hand against the spiky stubble of her hair. “The villagers might have miscounted. It wouldn’t be the first time that happened.”

  Jenn swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Eriko,” she said. “I didn’t back you up.”

  Eriko shrugged. “You don’t have the power I do, Jenn. You did fine.”

  But Jenn knew she hadn’t. She had panicked. She’d been more worried about Antonio than anyone else, including herself.

  Eriko looked past her to Antonio. “Antonio, on the other hand . . .”

  “He was burned,” Jenn said, angry and defensive at the implication. “Look at his hands.”

  “Bloody hell, that was all arseways,” a familiar voice fumed. Jenn turned as two figures approached. One was tall, with a nearly shaved head and heavy tattoos on his arms and neck, which made him look like a demon in the firelight. The turtleneck he had been wearing was gone, and only an undershirt remained. That was Jamie O’
Leary.

  For once the girl at his side didn’t disagree. From her black battle clothes—padded jacket, leggings, thigh-high boots—to her white-blond rasta braids, to the silver crescent-moon ring on her thumb, Skye York was covered with soot except where tears had cut paths down her pale cheeks.

  Skye made circles in the air with her hand while muttering an incantation with the Latin refrain “desino.” Cease. One by one the fires in her vicinity were extinguished.

  “Cursers all dead?” Jamie asked, gazing around. He looked at Antonio. “The ones we’re allowed to kill?” he added pointedly.

  “There’s one more,” Eriko said. “I got one, Antonio got one, and that leaves—”

  “None,” Jamie interrupted. “I got one on my way out of the church.” He showed them his singed palms. “Staked him through the back with a piece of burning timber. It was good and long and caught him in the heart.”

  “That’s great; we’re done, then,” Eriko said, grinning at her fighting partner. Jamie grinned back, clearly relishing that both of them had managed kills. They hadn’t been near each other when the church went up in flame, but they had still caused the most damage. Energy practically sizzled between the two. They did seem to belong together, somehow.

  After fasting, praying, and working magicks, Father Juan had matched them into fighting pairs, insisting that each fulfilled some complicated balance of yin and yang, light and dark.

  Strength and weakness.

  Jenn was paired with Antonio, much to her relief. Eriko and Jamie were matched, and they pushed each other hard and themselves harder. Skye and Holgar were the third pair, and they had a quiet closeness with each other that was enviable.

  Like Jenn, Jamie had no special gifts or powers. But his ferocity and the fighting skills drilled into him by his family during his childhood in Belfast more than made up for it.

  Eriko seemed unaware of the way Jamie looked at her. . . . It went beyond a Hunter-hunter relationship. It must have been obvious to Skye, too, as she turned away to concentrate on her incantations. Their gothy witch carried a torch for Jamie, and Jamie had no clue. Jenn wasn’t sure if the other team members knew, or if she was the only one who had figured it out. She felt both sorry for Skye and, frankly, bewildered, because Jamie was a jerk. He made no secret of his desire to be elsewhere; he didn’t even believe that there should be a team of hunters. Jamie was only there because Father Juan had asked him to stay in Salamanca and serve the cause. If it hadn’t been for his deeply ingrained loyalty to his church, Jenn was sure that even Jamie’s attraction to Eriko wouldn’t be enough to keep him from going home.

  Finished with her incantation for the fires, Skye gently touched Jamie’s palms, and his skin began to heal. Her delicate face nearly glowed as she infused him with her nurturing energy. Jamie sighed with pleasure but said nothing.

  Skye turned next to Antonio. Moving into position while the sun was still up had weakened his system. He held out his hands, palms up, and Skye moved her hands over them and whispered in ancient Latin. Jenn felt herself relax slightly. She hated it when Antonio came close to fire. Fire was one of the few things that could kill a vampire. Vampires could also be killed by sunlight, a wooden stake through the heart, and decapitation.

  “How many dead, brujita?” Antonio asked softly, calling Skye “little witch,” as he flexed his fingers. “Villagers?”

  Skye shook her head, her rasta braids swaying down her back. “At least fifty. When the fires started, the vampires killed the first few people who tried to escape the burning buildings. The rest were so afraid . . .” Her voice broke.

  “Some of them stayed inside their homes and burned to death,” Jenn bitterly finished for her, sick knots twisting her stomach. “Then we failed.”

  Eriko shook her head. “No one would be alive if we hadn’t come.”

  “And about that,” Jamie said, spitting into the dirt. “How the bloody hell did they know—”

  “Where’s Holgar?” Skye asked, glancing around for her fighting partner.

  “Fried, extra crispy if we’re lucky,” Jamie muttered.

  “Sorry to say it, Irish, but my ears weren’t burned off,” Holgar quipped, limping toward the group. His clothes hung in tatters from his body. Gaping wounds on his chest and legs had already begun to scab over. Holgar’s hands were bloodied, though whether it was his or someone else’s, Jenn couldn’t tell.

  Jamie swore under his breath, but Jenn only could make out “. . . bloody werewolf.”

  Jamie made no secret of the fact that there was one thing he hated even more than Cursed Ones: werewolves. The world at large had not been forced to accept the existence of humans who transformed into beasts at the full moon, but Jamie’s people in Ireland had witnessed their savagery firsthand. As far as he was concerned, vampires were the enemy, and werewolves were their treacherous accomplices. When the vampires had revealed themselves to humanity, the werewolves had elected to remain hidden, passing as ordinary humans. There were few enough of them that they could pull it off, and they kept their numbers low by bearing few pups. They allied themselves with the vampires, who kept their secret in return. It was an evil bargain, and as far as Jamie was concerned, proved why they should be wiped out. They had destroyed the world, and for that they should be erased from existence. No exceptions, no mercy. Both Holgar and Antonio watched their backs around him, and Jenn wished Father Juan would release Jamie from his promise to remain with the team. When you were fighting for your life, you had to know that everyone on your side would come to your rescue.

  Of course, no one can count on me, either. Jenn swallowed hard as the shame gnawed at her.

  “Father Juan wanted us to check in as soon as we were done,” Skye reminded the group.

  “Yeah, to see if we survived this bloody trap,” Jamie said. He narrowed his eyes. “Oh, come on now. You’re all thinking the same thing. Someone told the C.O.’s we were coming. We were ambushed.” He looked directly at Antonio. Antonio raised his chin and stared back stonily. The tension was as thick as the smoke had been earlier.

  “Father Juan,” Eriko said into her cell phone. “Hai . We’re all fine. Hai, hai .” Jenn knew Eriko was tired. She was lapsing into Japanese and bowing her head with each syllable.

  Jamie shifted his glare from Antonio to Holgar, and then to her. Jenn knew he didn’t like her, either. Loathed her, more accurately. Because of Antonio. And for that Jamie had to watch his back, at least around Jenn’s fighting partner.

  “What happened to you?” Jenn asked Holgar. She noticed Antonio had moved a few steps away and was covering his mouth with his hand. The smell of blood on Holgar was great.

  “Vampire. It was a bad time of it, but I finally got a stake through him.”

  “Feckin’ hell,” Jamie swore.

  “Excuse me?” Holgar asked, clearly puzzled by Jamie’s reaction.

  “That makes four, not three,” Antonio said quietly.

  Instantly they were all on alert. Jenn yanked another stake from the quiver at her belt and spun to face the darkness. She fished in a pocket for another cross. They always carried multiples of each weapon. “Do you think there are any more?” she whispered.

  There was a moment of silence, broken only by Eriko’s occasional reply to their master as she continued to relay information.

  “Only vampire I can smell is ours,” Holgar said after a minute.

  “I don’t hear anything,” Antonio added.

  Skye cast a short seeing spell. “I think there were only four,” she confirmed.

  They all relaxed slightly. Antonio stooped down and picked up a charred piece of wood that had been part of the church. He drove it into the ground as though driving a stake into the heart of the earth itself. From a pocket of his cargo pants he drew a pennant. The thick white silk was emblazoned with a red cross consisting of four curved arms of equal length—the cross of the original Crusaders. A blue knight’s helmet crowned with three white feathers—the color for the Virgin,
the feathers to honor the Trinity—perched on the top arm of the Cross. Below, the word “Salamanca” was stitched in a font reminiscent of Spain’s Moorish roots. It was the ancient crest of the Salamanca Hunter. The hunters wore matching patches on their left shoulders, which could be covered over with Velcro flaps.

  “This town is under our protection,” Antonio announced as he fastened the flag to the stake. “The hunters of Salamanca.” Then he stepped back and made the sign of the cross over the pennant and then himself. It was a strange and miraculous thing that Antonio could do so, given that crosses made other vampires burn. As the only other practicing Catholic in the group, Jamie gritted his teeth, then did the same. As a White Witch, Skye was nominally Wiccan, and Eriko was Buddhist. Jenn’s roots were Bavarian, and her family had long ago stopped thinking of themselves as Catholic. They weren’t anything. As for Holgar, she had no clue what he believed. The rest of them bowed their heads briefly in respect of the flag.

  Team Salamanca, victorious. But as Jenn stared at the flag, she thought of all the dead and dying in Cuevas and couldn’t help but wonder how she could protect anyone else when she couldn’t even protect herself or her teammates.

  A breeze picked up, and the flag fluttered defiantly, a symbol of all that had been fought for and lost—the hunters who had gone before and those who would come after. God help us all, Jenn thought.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lost and searching

  Cursed and undying

  A race in need

  The vampire breed

  Let us show kindness

  Offer respectful silence

  And give each heart

  As our perfect part

  CUEVAS

  TEAM SALAMANCA

  Jenn felt a mixture of pride and shame as she stared at the makeshift flag planted in the bloodied soil. Aware of a gaze on her, she glanced up. Antonio’s eyes blazed with intensity, zeal for the mission of the team. He never wavered, and she loved him and envied him for it.