Crusade

by Nancy Holder; Debbie Viguié

  “So you came here?” Antonio asked. “To Spain?”

  Sherman nodded, gazing into the distance as if at a place they couldn’t see, or maybe a time he’d rather forget. “Yes, I’d heard that Spain hadn’t just rolled over and played dead. I was right.” He bowed his head, as if personally thanking them.

  Antonio couldn’t help but think of Jenn, who had also fled to Spain from America so that she could join the cause and destroy vampires. He sighed. Thoughts of Jenn always disrupted his concentration.

  “Let me tell you about this attack,” Sherman said. “I went into the freezer for some cultures. Then I heard breaking and crashing, so I hid there until it was quiet and it seemed safe. When I came out”—his voice dropped—“everyone . . . was dead.”

  Antonio glanced at Jamie, whose jaw was tightly clenched. He read the Irishman’s body language: Dead like we’re gonna be if we go on this feckin’ jaunt. Dead like those three Hunters. Were they being set up?

  Sherman sniffed and wiped his nose with another tissue. He was fighting off some sort of infection. To Antonio’s vampire senses it was offensive. Infection tainted the blood, and the smell of it was repulsive to vampires. Holgar twisted uncomfortably in his seat, and Antonio couldn’t help but wonder if the werewolf smelled it too. That infection could have been what saved the scientist’s life during the most recent attack. No vampire would have willingly drunk from him, and they were probably too busy draining the others to go and find him in the icebox and snap his neck.

  Antonio dropped his head and coughed into his hand. The mere thought of feeding was causing him to change. He half listened as Dr. Sherman continued to explain about the virus. If it really worked, humanity could win the war. And then what? As sure as Antonio was that the sun would continue to rise and set, he was certain that, if given a chance, Jamie would use the virus to kill him.

  Not if I kill him first. The thought rose in him as it had many other times, but this time it took more effort to dispel. One day the hotheaded Irishman would make a move against him or Holgar, and what then?

  The priest started speaking, and Antonio forced himself to pay attention.

  “When I phoned your master to tell him that you and Dr. Sherman had arrived, he told me to tell you to leave in three hours, and that you should be prepared.”

  “Can’t we rest and leave tomorrow night?” the scientist begged. He looked at the others. “I’ve been through a lot.”

  “We don’t want to lose time,” Antonio replied flatly.

  The man looked haggard, and Antonio wondered just how sick he was.

  “But surely a few more hours wouldn’t hurt. We could strike early tomorrow evening.” Dr. Sherman emphasized the word “strike” as if he were trying to sound like someone in special ops. Antonio couldn’t fathom taking him with them. He supposed they had to, but it bordered on absurdity.

  Antonio glanced toward Eriko, hoping the Hunter would back him up. It was Jamie, though, who met his eyes. The Irishman smiled grimly.

  “Right there with you, Spain,” Jamie muttered.

  OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

  JENN AND HEATHER

  Everywhere Jenn looked, the Oakland hills were blanketed with layers of white mist. Eight miles east of San Francisco, Oakland shared the same weather patterns, including heavy fog. This fog had set in as soon as the rain had stopped, covering the landscape with a white shroud. Winding through the hills above, Oakland’s older houses, some of them Victorian and all of them well maintained, lined narrow streets. While a majority of the city had been abandoned years before to gangs, the houses up on the hills had always kept their value and status.

  Jenn and her father had parked in a small park-and-drive lot where Bay Area commuters could meet and pile into one car for ride shares into the city. The lot was deserted, what with everyone wanting to get home before dark. Jenn didn’t blame them.

  The feeling of isolation was almost overwhelming as she and her father left the car and began climbing a steep slope. Jenn breathed in deep of the cold air and after a minute turned and looked down to admire the view. But the rest of Oakland and the bay itself were obscured by the thick fog. Even their car, a hundred feet away, had been swallowed up by it. Like a ghost, the thought came, unbidden.

  She had missed the fog and the crispness of the air. She had missed a lot of things about home. So many times she had dreamed about what it would be like to come back. But in her dreams Papa Che was alive, greeting her as a hero, as a peer. In her dreams there were no vampires . . . except Antonio.

  She wished she could have told Heather about Antonio, that she was in love, and that the guy was gorgeous and strong and caring. Jenn couldn’t tell her that Antonio was a vampire. She couldn’t tell anyone in her family. It would just confuse the issue and make them question the cause that much more. Their side couldn’t afford that, especially not over a single vampire, even if he was her boyfriend, sort of.

  The truth was that no one knew why Antonio had the strength to do what he did. Antonio was convinced it was God. Jenn just didn’t know. What she did know was that no one, not even Antonio, had heard of any other vampire who’d betrayed his kind and fought for good.

  She stumbled over a bit of uneven sidewalk, a souvenir from the quake of ‘89. She regained her footing and shook herself mentally. Focus! It scared her when she zoned out like that. Still, at least it was daylight, but it wasn’t good all the same. Especially not when her father walked beside her and she had promised to protect him.

  She stared at her father as he climbed the hill beside her. He was tense. His hands were clenched into fists, and a tiny muscle in his jaw spasmed repeatedly. He was taking a huge risk to help out his friend’s family, and he was scared. She knew how hard it had to be for him.

  “You’re doing the right thing, Dad,” she said, careful to keep her voice barely more than a whisper. Even though it was well before sunset, one never knew who might be listening who was sympathetic to the other side.

  “I hope so,” he murmured.

  They passed a dozen more large, upscale homes; the fog swirled around them, occasionally revealing bits of Queen Anne gingerbread, private hedges, and, in one case, two gray stone lions flanking a cobblestone walkway. It was like seeing mixed-up pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Then the fog descended in earnest, obscuring everything.

  Her father came to a stop. He reached out and put his hand on a white picket fence and just stood for a moment, as though lost in thought.

  “There’s no other way,” he groaned.

  “What is it?” Jenn asked, scanning the street around them for signs that they were being watched. She strained all her senses. All she saw was white on white on white. “Dad?”

  Her father swung open the gate. She remained on high alert. She had to protect him. She couldn’t let anything happen to him.

  From the direction they had come, she heard the sound of shoes slapping against concrete. Someone was running toward them.

  “They’re . . . I thought we were meeting inside,” her dad murmured.

  “Dad! Go through the gate,” she hissed.

  “I . . . oh, Jenn . . .”

  “Dad?” Something was terribly wrong. “Dad?”

  He groaned again. The unseen runner kept coming, footfalls pounding harder and louder. Alarmed, Jenn slid a stake out of her quiver with her right hand. Hunters weren’t supposed to kill humans. What if it’s a spy or a sentry? What if they know what Dad looks like, because of work? She wrapped her fingers around the stake, wishing she had a gun. Adrenaline rushed through her, making her senses pop, heightening her awareness.

  Her father walked through the open gate. She reached for him, but fog washed between them, obscuring him from her view.

  “Dad, we have to get out of here,” she said, wheeling back around the way they had come. The sound grew louder. Someone was deliberately heading for them. Her heartbeat raced. It could just be a jogger. But who would go for a run in a fog bank?

  “No. I
promised,” he said.

  “Dad, wait. Don’t go anywhere.”

  She waited, poised, muscles thrumming. She could hear his quiet footsteps behind her and the pounding footfalls of the person racing toward her.

  Jenn planted her feet and prepared herself for battle.

  Closer.

  Jenn raised her stake high, fear racing through her. What if it was a cop with a gun? Or a soldier with an Uzi? What if this house was a known meeting place for the Resistance? They couldn’t be caught. Her dad couldn’t be identified. If he was seen with the people his coworker had died to protect, he would be killed too. And Mom and Heather.

  I can’t kill a human. Unless I’m absolutely sure that I’m in danger.

  She could hear the runner’s ragged breathing and strained to make out a figure. The stranger was only steps away, but the fog was too thick for her to see who it was.

  Stop and identify yourself, Jenn wanted to call, but she couldn’t risk being heard if there were others.

  Closer.

  She pulled back her arm, preparing to plunge the stake into the stranger’s chest if need be, knowing it would be a violation of every vow she had taken. She wanted to yell at her father to run. The figure of a girl loomed suddenly in front of her, and Jenn began to swing her stake. Then saw her face.

  Heather!

  “Behind you!” Heather shrieked.

  Jenn spun around, her arm still in motion. A woman rushed her; Jenn thought she saw a flash of fangs as she plunged the stake into her heart.

  “Oh, my God, oh, God!” her father yelled, and Heather screamed.

  Horror washed over Jenn. It was still daylight. She had just killed a human being.

  But in the next moment the woman collapsed into a pile of swirling dust as Heather screamed and screamed.

  Vampire? In daylight?

  Five more vampires, eyes glowing in the fog, faced her. Her dad darted to her right, heaving, one hand pressed over his eyes and the other across his chest. Behind her Jenn could hear the familiar wheezing sound as Heather succumbed to an asthma attack.

  Jenn took a step backward as the vampires fanned out, advancing on them. Vampires. In daylight.

  She blinked. “How . . . ?”

  A tall one—sporting the classic vampire look right down to the slicked-back hair and the black cloak—smiled at her. “You know the wonderful thing about thick San Francisco fog? It diffuses the sunlight so that it doesn’t touch us.”

  Fog? Fog! That’s why San Francisco is a stronghold. That’s why the vampires are running wild. And the people—her gaze ticked toward her father, standing with his shoulders slumped and his hands covering his eyes like a two-year-old who didn’t want to see something scary. The people know!

  She threw a vial of holy water so hard that it broke against the Dracula wannabe’s forehead. He howled and began clawing at his eyes. Three of the other vampires shrank back, while the fifth, a thin blond man, came at Jenn. Her hands flew to her pockets. With her left she threw a bottle of olive oil that had been blessed by the Pope to the ground in front of her, and with her right she struck a match against her jeans and dropped it onto the oil. A moment later the oil caught on fire just as the vampire lunged at her. He shrieked as the flames engulfed his shoes and pants.

  He fell to the ground and tried to roll to smother the flames but only managed to catch the pants of his blinded companion on fire as well.

  “Dad, get Heather and run!” Jenn yelled, heart pounding out of her chest. She had only one other vial of oil, and soon the fire on the ground would die out. There were three vampires left, and from the way they watched her quietly, patiently, she knew they were the smartest of the group.

  Jenn pulled another stake from her pocket and gripped it tight. Her hands were slick with sweat, and even she could smell the stench of fear coming off of her. Her mind slipped back to Spain, to the burning church, her hesitation . . .

  Stop it! You’re better than that, better than this.

  The flames engulfed the two injured vampires, and they were soon reduced to dust. Their companions were unfazed.

  She took the remaining bottle of oil and smashed it against the wooden picket fence that surrounded the yard. Jenn lit another match and dropped it, and a flame sprang to life. Fueled by the oil, the fire burned hot and fast. Soon it would surround the vampires.

  She took a step back. One of the three vampires, an older-looking female, glanced uncomfortably at the burning fence. Jenn dug more stakes out of the pockets of her cargo pants and risked a glance at her father, who was frozen with fear. Someone had betrayed them.

  “Are the people we need to help inside the house?” she shouted to him.

  He shook his head slowly. She had never seen such a strange expression on his face, or any other person’s face—shame, fear, and . . . loathing. She jerked her head, bewildered.

  “There were never people inside the house,” he said, his voice barely loud enough to hear over the crackle of the flames.

  “What?” she asked, even more confused.

  “He said, there were never people inside the house,” a throaty female voice purred from behind her.

  Jenn spun around and came face-to-face with evil. She wore a plunging red cashmere sweater and black leather trousers that hugged her thighs. Black hair tumbled down her back, and she looked like a femme fatale out of an old film noir. Only this woman had wicked-looking fangs and super strength. She held Heather by the throat with one hand. Jenn watched as her sister struggled feebly against her grip, gasping for air.

  “Heather,” Jenn croaked, reaching out a hand. “Oh, God, Heather.”

  Feet barely touching the ground, Heather stared at her with enormous blue eyes. Her mouth worked, but no words came out.

  “There are only vampires in that house,” the woman said, smiling.

  “That’s not . . . true,” Jenn said, frantically trying to figure out if she could stake the Cursed One before the Cursed One killed Heather. Wondering if the people in the house were alive, or if they’d been butchered in the surprise attack.

  The Cursed One cocked her head. Her eyes glowed through the fog as Jenn tracked her every movement, her hunter training coming back to her despite her terror. One slash, one bite, and Heather could be dead.

  “It doesn’t matter. Daddy dearest said you were going to help some people. And you are. Her, I presume,” the vampire said, giving Heather a little shake. Heather whimpered.

  “Dad, what is she talking about?” Jenn blurted, without taking her eyes off her sister and the Cursed One.

  There was silence.

  “Tell her,” the vampire said, “about the bargain you made.”

  More silence.

  “What bargain, Dad?” Jenn asked.

  Her father’s voice was shaking so hard she could barely hear him when he spoke. “Jenn . . . Jennifer . . . I had to save Heather. I did it so they would leave her and your mother and me alone. “

  “What did you promise them in return?” Jenn demanded, eyeing the vampire, listening to Heather’s labored breathing.

  “Tell her,” the vampire insisted. She smiled brilliantly at Jenn.

  There was another silence, this one longer than the previous two.

  When he finally spoke, her father’s voice was cold, detached. “You. I promised them I would deliver you.”

  BOOK TWO

  HEL

  In darkness and secure,

  By the secret ladder, disguised~

  oh, happy chance!~

  In darkness and in concealment,

  my house being now at rest.

  —St. John of the Cross,

  sixteenth-century mystic of Salamanca

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  We are the hunters. Steeped in tradition from a time when vampires were considered a local, not a global, menace, Hunters were once trained by their masters and set against the Cursed One, or Cursed Ones, that threatened the Hunter’s hometown, or village, or tribe. In the prime of youth we
served our people—and our people only—one Hunter set apart, revered, rewarded.

  Now that has changed.

  —from the diary of Jenn Leitner

  MADRID

  ANTONIO, HOLGAR, JAMIE, ERIKO, SKYE,

  AND DR. MICHAEL SHERMAN

  According to Father Juan’s source, the vampires who had stolen the virus had set up their own laboratory underneath the Biblioteca Nacional de España, on the Paseo de Recoletos. The library was first founded by King Philip V in 1712; half a million books had been confiscated from civilians during the Spanish civil war of the 1930s alone, locked away inside its vaults to preserve the valuable texts from the ravages of war. Antonio had told Skye a lot about the history of the area, brushing only lightly on his own personal history.

  Skye shared Antonio’s unease about the mission: If the Cursed Ones were so brazen as to set up a laboratory in the subbasement of a public building, they had to have friends in high places. For all she knew, this “mission” could be a trap, arranged to get rid of the thorny problem of a Spanish team of hunters. Together with Father Juan, Skye had thrown the runes and consulted numerous other arcana, searching for auguries to predict the outcome of their mission. Neither she nor the strange holy man who was so conversant in the matters of the Craft had been able to foretell what lay in store for the hunters. Father Juan had apologized, and assured her he would pray.

  But Skye was a child of the Goddess and had never had much reason to believe the Christian God would intercede on her behalf.

  And so, she had turned to . . . other places, for help. But there was no answer there, either, and she worried that by going outside the sacred circle of her team, she had revealed too much about the Salamancans’ plans and made them even more vulnerable.

  Guilt-ridden, she almost told Father Juan everything then, looking for absolution in the event that she died. But her fear kept her silent, and she decided that she would carry her secrets to the grave.

  Holgar whistled low in admiration as they entered the building, which to Skye’s mind resembled a Greek temple. The sheer accumulation of knowledge was staggering. The massive library housed rare books that were centuries old, and Skye was certain that many of the tantalizing spell books believed by witches to be lost were stashed with all the books the Spanish government had deemed too dangerous for their people.