Crusade

by Nancy Holder; Debbie Viguié

  And speaking of danger . . .

  Weapons hidden in their clothes—short swords in scabbards beneath bulky coats, the ingredients for Molotov cocktails taped to their legs—the Salamancans and their “civilian,” the scientist with the bad breath, passed stack after stack of volumes bound in burgundy and hunter green with titles stamped in gold. Skye couldn’t help but wonder if any of the books held clues that could help them fight their hidden war. Did any of them even mention the word “vampire” without immediately attaching it to the word “myth”? The histories of what had happened—the accurate histories—had yet to be written.

  She had been little when the Cursed Ones had made their presence known. She remembered being amazed and frightened and fascinated all at once. It was one of the only times her parents ever permitted the television to be on at home. They said it was only for keeping up with important news in the mundane world and not for rotting her brain.

  A group of vampires had called a press conference at the United Nations building in New York City. Their leader was the stunningly handsome Solomon. There, in full view of the world, Solomon had revealed the truth about his kind. Well, a version of the truth, at any rate. With some others he had shown off his glowing eyes and fangs for the cameras while swearing that vampires only fed off the blood of animals, usually obtained from butcher shops and rarely from the animals themselves. It had all seemed so civilized. They spoke of peace, of a world deeply divided, and how it was time for everyone to come together in a spirit of harmony.

  The thing that she had remembered most, though, was that while she and her sister had been shocked, her parents hadn’t been. She had often speculated since then that they had known of the existence of the Cursed Ones long before that.

  Skye glanced toward Antonio, who was quietly walking beside Eriko beneath the fluorescent lights. The vampires said they wanted to live in peace, but he was the only one who had ever demonstrated that he could live and work with humans. He was fascinating, and she often said prayers that he and Jenn could find happiness together.

  Holgar was even more exotic. No group of werewolves had come forward, the way the Cursed Ones had, to announce that they existed and they, too, wanted to live in peace. Despite her life as a White Witch, holding all nature as sacred even after Holgar had come forward at the academy, Skye had found it almost more difficult to accept that werewolves were real. They had managed to mostly keep themselves concealed, hiding their ways from humans and often their identities, as well. Werewolves were shape shifters; on the full moon Holgar actually changed into a hairy beast. And even when human, he had bizarre habits—swiping at enemies with his fingernails as though they were claws, drinking from streams by dipping his face to the water and lapping it with his tongue, and the full-body growl that seemed to vibrate the air around him.

  Antonio always acted like a person. That had been how the vampires had lulled everyone into a false sense of security—they didn’t seem all that different. Vampires attracted groupies, fan clubs, middle-aged women and young girls swooning over them. People who grew fangs and whose eyes glowed? That had seemed kind of . . . kinky. People who turned into monsters? That was something to fear.

  At first Skye had feared Holgar. Unlike Antonio, he was hard to read. His easy laughter and broad grin hid something dark that frightened her. Antonio had been converted as a young man and had memories of what it was to be human. Holgar had been born a wolf and knew nothing of what life was like for those who were not.

  She had learned, though, how to read his body language and how to react to him. She had felt like an idiot at first, occasionally stroking him as she would a dog and murmuring banalities. The first time she had accidentally told him he was a good boy, she had been mortified. Instead of getting angry, though, he had brushed his arm against hers in what she knew to be a sign of affection. That was what Jamie didn’t get about Holgar. Jamie was constantly trying to put him down by referring to him as an animal. To Holgar there was no insult in that.

  She stayed close to her partner as the Salamancans moved toward the left side of the cavernous reading room, past a row of archaic world globes decorated with little faces puffing winds across the oceans. Oblivious that hunters walked in their midst, people were seated at dark wood tables, reading, coats and scarves draped over chairs. Two little boys were giggling as they played a handheld video game, quieting as the elderly woman across from them glared and cleared her throat. The library would be closing soon; they were lucky that it was open after dark and they could just walk in.

  Next to her, Skye felt Holgar tense.

  “Easy,” she whispered, putting a hand on his arm, feeling the vibration of his muscles against her fingers. “What is it?”

  “Fear. This place reeks of it.” He sniffed the air and grimaced.

  “Most places do these days.” Her smile was sad.

  “Nej, min lille heks, not like this.” He was switching into Danish, calling her his little witch. “Something is rotten, and it’s not in the state of Denmark.” And he was paraphrasing Hamlet. His tension communicated itself to her.

  “I smell it too,” Antonio said quietly, moving up beside them. “Something is different here.”

  “What?” Skye asked.

  “Bloody hell, isn’t it obvious?” Jamie hissed, turning around to glare at them all.

  Skye shook her head.

  Eriko was already several steps ahead and either didn’t hear them or didn’t care to be part of the conversation.

  “Why don’t you enlighten us, Irish,” Holgar said with a low growl.

  Jamie nodded toward a group of college students poring over stacks of math textbooks and asking each other the occasional question. “Resistance meeting.”

  “What? They’re studying,” Skye argued.

  “That’s what it looks like,” Jamie said. “But they’re also communicating.”

  As Skye watched, a pale girl wearing her black hair back with a scarlet headband wrote something down on her notebook, and the dark-skinned guy next to her, in a Real Madrid football sweatshirt, glanced at it. Real Madrid tapped twice with his pencil on the table. Headband nodded almost imperceptibly and then erased whatever it was she had written.

  “Nice,” Holgar said in admiration.

  Skye glanced around the library with new eyes. There were a lot of solitary readers at tables and in overstuffed chairs, but others were clustered in groups of three and four. How many of them were praying for a miracle and risking their lives to make it happen for others? She shook her head in awe.

  “Let’s not draw more attention to them,” Antonio said, pushing forward to follow Eriko, who was almost out of sight.

  The rest fell in behind him, and Skye tried to keep her eyes on the ground lest she stare too long at any one group of people. She moved her hand slowly. It wasn’t exactly a cloaking spell; the hunters could still be seen. If it worked, though, it would ensure that people wouldn’t be interested in them when they did see them.

  The magicks Skye had practiced with her family growing up were minor compared to what she had been called upon to cast since coming to Salamanca. She spent as much time with Father Juan as she could, learning new magicks, more defensive spells. He had even taught her a couple of spells used to attack, but she was too afraid to use them. It was wrong—that was what her upbringing had taught her. The more time passed, though, and the more the vampires took over, the more she wondered if that was her parents talking and not her.

  What did Skye believe? Some days she wasn’t sure.

  They finally caught up to Eriko toward the back of the building; she was scrutinizing a blank wooden wall. A tall bookcase obscured the hunters from view of others in the library as they clustered around her. The Hunter reached out a hand and patted the smooth, dark wood. According to their contact there was a secret passage in that wall that led into the chambers beneath the library. Skye could barely keep herself together. What if it was really a burglar alarm? Or a secret alarm th
at sounded below stairs, alerting the Cursed Ones that they were coming?

  “Where is it?” Jamie hissed.

  Skye waved her hand in a spell of seeing, but it didn’t work.

  “I can smell the difference in the air,” Antonio insisted. “It has to be here.”

  “I agree,” Holgar added. He stepped forward, and put his nose to the wall, pressing his face against it, so that his nose was squished. He yipped softly.

  Skye glanced quickly around to make sure they weren’t drawing attention. Fortunately, there was no one else in sight. Holgar walked slowly, nose sniffing like a dog’s. Finally he stopped and took several deep breaths in one spot and then stepped back. “It’s here,” he said, tracing his finger down a seemingly blank portion of wall. “This is the opening.”

  “Are you sure?” Michael asked, his voice too loud in the silence that surrounded them.

  Skye jumped. She had almost forgotten that the nerdy little scientist was with them. He had followed behind submissively, quietly.

  “Ja,” Holgar said.

  The man frowned. “But I don’t see anything.”

  “I trust his nose,” Jamie snapped. “If he says it’s here, it’s here.”

  Skye was impressed that Jamie was backing Holgar up, especially given that Jamie didn’t trust the rest of Holgar at all.

  “Father Juan said there was a hidden spring,” Eriko reminded them. “The door opens with pressure.”

  “Anyone know where?” Michael nervously pushed up his glasses.

  “Vale, vale,” Antonio murmured, as he knelt and ran his fingers along the base of the wall. “There is a slight depression here. I can’t see it, but I can feel it.”

  “So push the bloody thing,” Jamie urged.

  Antonio did.

  A section of the wall slid silently open to reveal dark, brooding blackness.

  And evil, Skye thought with a shudder.

  OAKLAND

  JENN, HEATHER, AND AURORA

  Jenn turned to her father in shock. It couldn’t be true. Her father would never lure her here to be killed. His guilt, though, was written on his face. “I lost you a long time ago,” he said. “In the end it was the right decision to make.”

  She wanted to scream and lash out at him. But she was a hunter, and she was facing down four vampires. Shivering in horror, she swallowed back bile and forced herself to assess the situation. The fire had consumed all the oil-drenched wood and was burning out. The rest of the fence had absorbed too much moisture from the fog to burn. The vampires at her back were about to spring.

  And her father was slowly backing away, abandoning both her and Heather, the daughter he had done all this for.

  Think, Jenn! she commanded herself, swiveling back to the vampire who held Heather. The black-haired woman exuded power, and Jenn knew instinctively that she was far more dangerous than the three vampires behind Jenn combined.

  “What are you doing so far from your home and your team, little Hunter?” the woman purred.

  Jenn lifted her chin in defiance.

  The woman tightened her grip on Heather’s throat.

  “Jenn!” Heather squeaked involuntarily.

  “Jenn, is it? Just Jenn?” the vampire mocked.

  Jenn felt her face flush. She told herself the Cursed One couldn’t read her thoughts, didn’t know that was what she called herself.

  “And who am I going to have the pleasure of staking?” Jenn asked, forcing bravado into her voice.

  The Cursed One laughed. “Well, you can have a try at Nick, Dora, and Kyle behind you. However, if you want to know my name, it will cost you.”

  Jenn didn’t like it. They were trained never to get into a discussion with vampires. It was dangerous. Not only could they mesmerize people, but they could also distract you while others crept up behind you.

  Just like the three that were behind Jenn. She sensed, though, that they wouldn’t make their move until the woman in front of her commanded it. So Jenn kept her back to them and faced her true adversary, the one who was threatening her sister.

  “Cost me what?” Jenn asked, careful not to look the Cursed One directly in the eyes to avoid being charmed. Jenn was stalling for time, though, while she tried to figure out how to get her and Heather out of the mess alive. To attack without a plan against such an opponent was suicide.

  “Much.”

  Something cold and hard settled in Jenn’s stomach. She and Heather were going to die. There was no way around that. Nothing she could do would stop it. She was one hunter, low on weapons, against four vampires and a human who had betrayed her. She shoved her hands into her pockets and pulled out two small crosses.

  The vampire only smirked at her, then snapped the fingers on her free hand; suddenly, one of the Cursed Ones who had stood behind Jenn appeared in front of her. Jenn took advantage of her own surprise to jump backward, and then she spun around, stabbing the crosses into the eyes of both of the remaining vampires, taking them by surprise.

  They fell to the ground, screaming and smoking as their eyes burned. It wouldn’t kill them, but it would slow them down, giving her the time she needed.

  Jenn pivoted on her left foot and flung the crosses at the leader and the other vampire. The guy reached up and batted away both crosses and then howled in pain.

  A beam of light sliced through the fog and hit the ground right in front of the woman’s foot. She jerked and jumped backward. The fog was thinning; little shafts of light started to open up in several places. The sun was setting, and once it did, all would be lost.

  Jenn leaped forward, like a tiger closing in for a kill. All she had to do was knock the vampire into one of those shafts of light.

  The woman snarled and hurled Heather as if she were weightless toward the guy with the burned hand. He caught Heather and tossed her over his shoulder.

  “No!” Jenn shouted. “No!”

  “Jenn, help me!” Heather shrieked, flailing and kicking. “Oh, my God!”

  “Come along, Nick. It’s time to go,” the woman said.

  “Wait, you said you’d spare my daughter,” Jenn’s father called out, arms raised toward Heather. His daughter . . . as if Jenn were just . . .

  . . . nobody.

  “Be grateful I’m sparing you,” the woman shot back.

  Jenn pulled the remaining stakes from her pockets and hurled them one after the other, but the woman dodged them with ease. She smiled at Jenn, and Jenn’s blood turned to ice. “If you want your sister, come and get her. She’ll be waiting for you in New Orleans. Otherwise, I’ll convert her myself at Mardi Gras. See you. That is, if Dora and Kyle don’t kill you first.”

  And then she, Nick, and Heather disappeared into the remaining fog.

  Jenn gasped and spun around. The two blinded vampires were regaining their feet, their eyes still healing. They hissed angrily. Her father took off running back toward the car, and Jenn let him go.

  She was out of stakes. She grabbed the charred part of the fence, but it crumbled to ash in her hands. She looked around, desperate to find something she could use to kill them. She was running out of time—and then she was just running.

  Reeling, she looked left, right, searching for a place to launch an attack. All her training kicked in, and she ran, changing course every few steps to try and keep them guessing. Vampires were fast, but these were injured, and she had only a few seconds to get away, to find someplace to make her stand.

  A house blurred past in the milky whiteness, then some bushes, and then another house. She cut across a well-mowed lawn and exited on a different street. Everything looked suddenly familiar. Blinking, she turned to the right and began to race downhill, which was faster and easier, but she risked falling. Where was she?

  Suddenly it snapped into place. Trestle Glen. That was the street her best friend, Brooke, had lived on for years. She hadn’t seen Brooke since she left for Salamanca. Hadn’t even had a chance to say good-bye to her before she left, and they had been friends since k
indergarten. Brooke had always been the voice of reason. Deep down she knew she hadn’t called Brooke before she left because Brooke would have been able to talk her out of going.

  Jenn poured on extra speed. Unlike her sister, Jenn was used to massive physical exertion, and she didn’t have the asthma that plagued Heather. She thought of her little sister wheezing and gasping for air as she had chased after Jenn. Heather could never survive the Academia, no matter how much either of them wanted it. Jenn had been foolish to think for even a second that Heather could withstand the rigors of the training.

  But she has the heart for it, Jenn argued with herself. Heather had saved her life, warning her just in time about the vampire that was sneaking up behind her, ready to kill her, while their father stood silent.

  He watched.

  White-hot anger flooded her, driving her on faster and faster. She had heard of it happening, family members selling each other out. But she had never thought it could happen in her family, no matter what bad blood existed. It wasn’t the Leitner way. Or so she had thought. Nothing would ever make her betray her own flesh and blood.

  The fog still pressed in, but it was thinning rapidly. Would it dissipate in time to kill her pursuers or drive them underground to shelter? She hoped so, but she doubted it. The sun was setting; she could feel it as surely as she felt the pounding of her own heart.

  The heart that beat for Antonio.

  Even though his couldn’t beat for her.

  She was sick with fear that she would never see him or Heather again. She had to do everything in her power to save herself and her sister. And to do that, she was going to have to endanger her oldest friend.

  Brooke’s house came into view, and Jenn put on a fresh burst of speed. She leaped up the steps to the front door and pounded on it, spurning the doorbell for something to hit.