Her grandmother let her cry long enough to soak her black blouse; then she eased Jenn away with the same gentle insistence that Jenn had used with Heather. She wiped Jenn’s eyes with her fingertips, and actually smiled.
Together they walked toward the black limousine that would take them to her grandparents’ house. Heather and their parents and a couple other family members were already inside.
Esther threaded her arm through Jenn’s. “Now, why don’t you tell me all about this boy you’re in love with. The one back in Spain.”
Jenn stared at her grandmother in amazement. She hadn’t breathed a word about Antonio to her family. She hadn’t told anyone how she felt about him—not even Father Juan.
“How did you know there’s a guy?”
Esther smiled. “The day I met Charles, a friend of mine took a picture of me. I still have it. I had the same look in my eyes that you have now.”
“Oh.” Jenn didn’t believe her. With every step they were walking away from Papa Che’s grave. She wanted to run back and throw her arms around the casket and cry forever. There was no way she looked like a girl in love.
Her grandmother kept smiling at her, waiting.
“His name is Antonio,” Jenn admitted, flushing even as she said his name out loud.
“And why isn’t he here?”
“He wanted to come,” Jenn said. “But he’s a hunter. I told him to stay in case there was . . . work.”
“Very noble of you,” Esther said. Then her eyes glittered, like when Papa Che would tease her and call her Essie. “But next time a young man volunteers to come and meet your family, you say yes.”
She’ll do it. I know she will.
Heather was sitting alone on one of the bar stools; she’d been holding the same plate of food for over an hour without touching anything on it. She wasn’t hungry, but everyone kept pushing food on her. It was as though they all were at a loss after the funeral, and they needed something to focus on. Apparently whether or not she ate or drank anything was the top of the list.
Heather stared at her sister. Nobody was forcing food on Jenn. She was only two years older, and yet everyone treated her like an adult. A few knew why she’d been gone for two years—that she’d gone to Spain to train. That now she hunted vampires.
Vampires.
Dead and yet not. Unlike Papa Che, who would never walk the earth again or hug her or tell her that she could be whatever she wanted to be. It was unfair and still unbelievable in some ways. When she was little and would wake from a nightmare, everyone would tell her there were no such things as monsters. She still remembered the last time someone had told her that. It was the night before the whole world changed.
She and Jenn had been spending a few days with Papa Che and Gramma when the Cursed Ones went public. Their parents had gone away for their anniversary—Valentine’s Day. Heather remembered waking before dawn to hear the phone ringing. She’d known something was wrong, really known, deep down inside. It was the first time she had ever felt like that, and she wished it had been the last.
Her uncle had called from Boston to tell them to turn on the news. A minute later she and Jenn had joined Papa Che and Gramma in the family room, staring at the television, as vampires addressed the world from the United Nations building in New York. Jenn had squeezed her hand until she couldn’t feel her fingers. Her grandparents had looked ashen as the cameras got a close-up of bloodred eyes and flashing fangs.
Peace. That had been the message of the day. Solomon, the vampire who had done all the speaking, had been beautiful and charismatic like some sort of movie star, with gelled red hair, perfect teeth, and a dark suit with no tie.
The thing that had always struck Heather, though, was what her grandfather, who had the symbol for peace tattooed on his shoulder, had said when they’d finally turned off the television.
Papa Che had turned to Gramma and said quietly, “Peace is a lie.”
“Heather, eat up,” one of her uncles said as he walked by.
Heather sighed and watched Jenn, who stood across the room, talking quietly with one of Papa Che’s friends.
Heather remembered the day that Jenn had left home, and the terrible fight. Correction: the last of the terrible fights. Jenn and Daddy had been at it forever. Heather had known that someday he’d drive her away, just as she had known on that Valentine’s Day that the world had ended.
Frantically, Heather had stuffed underwear, her toothbrush, her cell phone, and the three hundred dollars she’d been saving for her winter formal into her backpack, and blasted out of the house after her big sister.
But their mom had caught up with her in their Volvo, and Heather found herself grounded for a month. Forbidden to mention Jenn’s name. Told to tell her parents if Jenn contacted her.
Her mom had never caught up with Jenn that day. Heather wasn’t even sure she had really tried.
“How are you?” Tiffany, one of her best friends, asked, sitting down beside her on a matching oak bar stool. Blond with caramel highlights and blue-eyed, Tiffany was wearing a baggy black skirt and a lacy shirt of a totally different shade of black. Not her own clothes. Black was not Tiffany’s color.
As an answer Heather let all the air out of her lungs.
“Do you want that food?”
“No.”
Tiffany grabbed the plate and tossed it in the trash. “Done.”
Heather stared down at her hands and wondered what she should do with them now. She finally folded them in her lap.
“This sucks,” Tiffany said. Heather nodded, and they sat quietly together for a while.
All around them people were moving, talking, as if by keeping in motion they wouldn’t have to think too much. The doorbell rang, and soon more men carrying flowers came parading through the front door. Heather fought the urge to sneeze as they moved too close to her. Her throat began to constrict slightly with the beginnings of an asthma attack, and she wished she hadn’t forgotten her inhaler on the counter of the bathroom sink at home. Her mom sometimes carried a backup in her purse, but the tiny black clutch probably hadn’t had room for it. She thought about asking, but she was afraid her dad would overhear and yell at her for forgetting it in the first place.
“I haven’t seen your sister in forever.” Tiffany wrinkled her nose, suddenly breaking the silence.
“Yeah,” Heather said vaguely. She didn’t want to discuss Jenn with Tiffany.
“You should talk to her, tell her she’s wrong about the v-folk,” Tiffany said anyway.
Heather rolled her big blue eyes. Tiffany, and half the girls at school, thought that vampires were romantic. Called them “v-folk” like they were fairies or mermaids or something. They all walked around wearing clothes with necklines that practically screamed, Bite me!
Tiffany fingered the silver bat necklace she always wore. The bat had a heart dangling from its claws. Girls like Tiffany wore them to symbolize that they weren’t interested in regular guys; they were holding out for v-guys.
Heather glanced up and saw Jenn headed in their direction. Heather ducked her head, embarrassed. Whether Tiffany knew it or not, the necklace she wore was a total diss of everything Jenn stood for. Jenn fought vampires. She would never fall in love with one.
Heather took a deep breath. This was it. Tiffany might not see what vampires really were, and Heather’s parents might believe the vampires only wanted peace, but like Jenn she knew better. Like Jenn it was time she did something about it.
“Hi, Tiffany,” Jenn said. “Heather, Mom wants to know if—”
“Take me with you,” Heather burst out.
Both girls turned to look at her in bewilderment. Jenn’s pale face got whiter.
Heather rolled her eyes at her own lameness. “To Salamanca, when you go back.”
“What?” Tiffany asked, actually standing up.
Jenn just stared at her through narrowed eyes. Then she gave her head a quick shake.
“I want to do what you do,” Heath
er said, hearing the desperation in her own voice.
“Tiffany, sorry, sister business,” Jenn said. “Give us a sec?”
“Um, sure,” Tiffany said, backing away, trying to catch Heather’s gaze. “Whatever.”
“I’m all packed,” Heather whispered fiercely. “I started getting ready as soon as I knew you were coming back. Please. I’ll train hard. I promise.”
“No, you won’t,” an angry voice said behind her.
Heather spun around to see her father towering over her, rage burning in his eyes. With his high forehead and hazel eyes Dad looked like his father, Papa Che, but Dad was nothing like him.
“You will not.”
Tiffany moved even farther away, clearly not wanting any part in a family confrontation, and headed for the table laden with finger sandwiches and cheese cubes. Some friend.
“But, Dad—”
“No. We’re done.”
Heather knew that once he said that, there was no reasoning with him. She must have been on another planet to dream he’d say yes.
Jenn must have either forgotten that, or else she didn’t care. “If she wants to go, that should be her decision. I was her age when I began my studies.”
“Studies?” He set his jaw. “Your studies go against everything your mother and I believe.”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” Jenn said, the fury in her voice matching their father’s. “We’re in a war.”
“No, you’re in a war. And you’re fighting for the wrong side. My war is over.”
Heather gripped the edge of her stool tightly, her chest constricting more. She hoped her father couldn’t hear the slight wheeze as she breathed.
“Wake up, Dad. Take a look around you. People are getting killed by vampires every day. Worse than that, they’re getting converted. Do you have any idea how many empty graves there were in that cemetery, graves that should have bodies in them?” Jenn asked.
Her father blinked. Maybe he hadn’t noticed. “That doesn’t prove—”
“That’s enough.”
Heather jumped. Her grandmother, fists on her hips, had her feet planted wide apart. She looked the way she had in all the old pictures of her and Papa Che when they were young. Rushing off to blow up a bank or something—
“Let me talk to Jenn,” Gramma Esther said. She stared down their father. His face grim and tight, he walked away.
But not very far.
“I didn’t mean to get into it with him,” Jenn murmured, abashed.
“You might not have meant to, but you did,” Esther retorted bluntly. “Your father’s a fool; you know that. Nothing you say is going to change his mind, either, so there’s no use fighting today.”
“You’re right,” Jenn said.
“Of course I am.” She turned and looked at Heather. “Heather, come on, you should eat something. You’re going to waste away.”
Heather threw her hands up in frustration.
“I’ll make sure she eats,” Jenn said.
Esther nodded as though that was a satisfactory answer and then turned to look at two grizzled old men who were preparing to leave.
“Bobby, Jinx,” she called to them. “I’ll walk you out.”
She took a half step and then reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out an inhaler. Without a word she handed it to Heather before heading toward the door.
Heather took the inhaler and puffed on it, relaxing slightly as the medication went to work and breathing became easier. She was grateful to her grandmother for having an inhaler and giving it to her without making a show. At the same time she had to wonder if maybe everyone was right to treat her like she couldn’t take care of herself.
I’ll never forget an inhaler again, she vowed. Ever.
Jenn sat down on the stool Tiffany had vacated and made a quarter turn to face her squarely. “Are you serious about this?” she asked quietly.
Heather nodded. “I want to go with you. Things aren’t the same here since you left. I don’t mean with Mom and Dad; I mean with this place. Did you know that San Francisco is a stronghold for the Cursed Ones? They’ve taken over the city. Nothing happens without their permission.”
Jenn’s eyes grew wide. San Francisco was only a twenty-minute drive from Berkeley. “No, I didn’t,” she whispered.
“Well, it’s true. It’s like that all over the States. The vampires are taking over the government. They hardly even hide it. I keep waiting for Solomon to be ‘elected’ president.” Her hands shook as she made air quotes.
“We’ve heard that it’s bad here,” Jenn said slowly. “But I had no idea.” She swallowed. “All those graves—”
“I saw them too,” Heather said. She cleared her throat. It was getting hard to breathe again. She was too tense. “Jenn, Daddy keeps saying that Solomon’s going to restore peace and that we have to do everything we can to help him.”
“Oh, God, he’s gotten worse,” Jenn blurted, then winced. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re right.” Heather had to take another puff on the inhaler. Her heart was pounding. “It’s like he’s been brainwashed. He says if we aren’t part of the solution, then we’re part of the problem.”
“Like me.”
Heather could hear the hurt in Jenn’s voice. And the anger. She felt it herself. Their father was acting so stupid.
“He says you guys are like Gramma and Papa Che. They did all kinds of things that were wrong, and no good ever came of it. All they did was hurt their family.”
“Daddy had a bad childhood,” Jenn said, though she was gritting her teeth. “Always hiding, on the run.”
“So did we. I remember the fighting. All day long on TV I heard the bullets, and the bombs, and . . . and . . .” She closed her eyes. “And I remember hearing Daddy yelling at Mom to stop causing trouble.”
“The war never came to San Francisco,” Jenn reminded her. “But we knew we were fighting Cursed Ones. For Daddy everybody was the enemy. He never knew he had uncles until Che’s brothers forced Che and Gramma to tell him. Think what that would do to a little boy.”
“I can’t believe you’re taking his side,” Heather said, stung.
Jenn’s lips parted. “I can’t believe I am either. But . . . now that I know what it feels like, the running, the hiding, the uncertainty, maybe I understand him a little better. He’s scared. He’s been scared all his life.”
“Well, so am I. And at least I’m trying to deal with it.”
Jenn paused and looked at Heather, really looked. Her brows lifted, as if she were seeing Heather for the first time. Heather seized the moment.
“Please, Jenn, I don’t want to stay here. I’m afraid to.” It was true. She hadn’t been into the city in six months. Things were changing. She didn’t go out at night anymore.
The last time she’d gone out—to the mall, to see a movie—she and Lucy Padgett had been chased by a vampire. She was sure that he hadn’t wanted to kill them, or he would have. He was just trying to scare them because he could. Because he liked it.
The thought of fighting a vampire terrified her, but if she went to the academy, maybe she could learn how to protect herself. Maybe she wouldn’t be so afraid. Maybe she could be more like Jenn.
“Please, Jenn.” Heather let a tear trickle down her cheek as she grabbed her sister’s hand.
“Let me think about it,” Jenn said after a few moments. “Even if I can convince Mom and Dad, I’m going to have to get permission from my master.”
Heather sighed. “I have to get out of here.”
“Why is this so important to you?” Jenn asked. “If it’s because I did it, then you should rethink this. It takes a lot of hard work to survive the training.”
Heather stared at the floor. She suddenly felt light-headed. She was afraid she might fall off the stool and the breath would be knocked right out of her.
“I just feel like if I don’t get out of here now, I never will.”
She closed her mouth, hoping Jenn woul
dn’t ask her anything more. Heather wasn’t ready yet to tell her about the nightmares. The ones where she saw . . .
. . . where she saw . . .
She forced away the horrible images.
Oh, God, Jenn, please, she thought, clenching her fists. You’re so good at saving people. Please, save me, too.
Jenn stared long and hard at her little sister. She wanted to protect her, just like when they were kids. She couldn’t, though. If she had learned anything the last two years, it was that. She couldn’t protect Heather if she enrolled in the academy. On the other hand, she certainly couldn’t watch out for her from another continent. Especially if their father was still so blind to the truth, and most especially if San Francisco had truly fallen to the vampires.
Heather stared at her with desperation in her eyes. Jenn’s gut told her that Heather was hiding something, but she knew better than to push.
“Let me think about it,” she said, and she did think about it. She thought about the images on the Net and on TV, of soldiers in America—in Washington, D.C., and Seattle, and Chicago, and L.A.—fighting hand-to-hand with vampires, staking them; of all the failed weapons designed to hurtle stakes like spears at vampires; of scientists endlessly droning about what was real about vampires, and what was myth: Sunlight did burn them; they could die by beheading, burning, or staking. They did have to drink human blood. They were physically superior. They did force people to “convert.”
And they were winning the war.
She remembered the days before the United States had called a truce. There had been food rationing, and days she had to stay home from school because of possible attacks. She remembered hearing that friends of Gramma and Papa Che had died trying to invade a vampire stronghold . . . and died horribly.
Her father had lived through all that too. He remembered that too. And his response was to cave in to the enemy, to vote for politicians who wanted to end the war, and to tell her mother not to sell art in her gallery that might be construed as hostile to the Cursed Ones. It was so wrong.
Crusade Page 6
