Crusade

by Nancy Holder; Debbie Viguié

  “Is that Alice and Skye?” she asked him. Her cheeks burned.

  “Voodoo is a religion of ecstasy,” he replied, keeping his arm loosely around her shoulders. “You must be hungry.”

  “Yes, but I want to see what they’re doing.” She made a little face. “Unless they’re dancing around naked or something.”

  “That’d be a sight, no?” he said, smiling faintly. Living in such close quarters, Jenn had seen most of her team members in various stages of nakedness, except for Antonio. It actually made him sexier, if that were possible.

  She took a step down the hall, a little surprised and disappointed when he stayed put, letting his arm slide off her shoulders. He shrugged.

  “Father Juan and I thought it best for me to stay out of Alice’s way. In fact,” he continued, “I’ve been thinking that it might be better if I leave.”

  Now it was his turn to look surprised, as if he hadn’t meant to say that. But he looked thoughtful and nodded to himself.

  “Por supuesto. That’s exactly what I should do.”

  “No,” she said, but at the same moment something settled around her, fiery hot and exciting, something that felt so good, and she entwined herself around him, parting her lips. She wanted him. All of him. It would be so wonderful.

  “Antonio,” she breathed, turning toward him.

  “Jenn.” His hands caught her face. “Jenn.” His eyes took on a red tint. When he looked down at her, she almost couldn’t breathe. The drums vibrated through the floor and the bones in his hands.

  “Antonio . . .” She couldn’t say his name enough. Couldn’t be close enough. The drumbeat ran up and down her spine, playing her, and pounded deep inside her bones like a pulse. It commanded the rhythm of her heart.

  She put her arms around his neck and threw back her head, offering herself. And he felt warm, finally, and he was heating her blood.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  “Ay, no, amor, no,” he murmured.

  “Antonio.” She loved him, loved his name, loved who he was.

  Do you love what he is? asked a voice inside her head.

  She ignored it.

  “Jenn,” he whispered. His lips parted, and he kissed her mouth, then her upper and lower lip. Tingles skittered through her body; his arms tightened around her. They held each other.

  Wanted each other.

  Do you want what he is?

  Then his lips touched her throat, and he groaned. She felt as though someone had set her on fire. She wanted him to bite her.

  “Yes,” she whispered, clinging to him. “Yes, Antonio.”

  And then he hissed.

  “Ay,” he ground out in agony, and pushed her away from him.

  She fell backward with a cry, and the world spun; as she collapsed, someone picked her up and carried her down the hall.

  The corridor rocked; she moaned, dizzy and weak. And then she saw that Father Juan was the one who was carrying her.

  “What happened?” she whispered.

  “One more second and I would have had to kill him,” the priest said tightly.

  He carried her into a small room lit by a candle. Jenn’s head lolled to the left. Eriko was there, huddled beside Lucky, looking grim. And Jenn knew that Lucky’s luck had run out. He was dead.

  “No,” Jenn whispered. “No.”

  Her sight blurred, and she sank into the black.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Salamanca Hunter’s Manual: Your Duty

  Know this: You are locked in combat with the forces of evil. For so long as you honor your holy calling, God’s grace will shine on you as the sun on the vine. Do not waver. All vampires are evil, and they beget the sons of evil. You must never waste an opportunity to end the existence of such a one; otherwise, it is the same as if you have spilled the blood of innocents yourself.

  (translated from the Spanish)

  NEW ORLEANS

  TEAM SALAMANCA AND THE RESISTANCE

  Someone pressed a spoon to Jenn’s lips; it was beef broth, and she eagerly opened her mouth. She thought she heard Alice’s voice, then Skye’s. Someone was arguing. Someone else was speaking in French.

  She drifted and dozed. Someone stayed with her. Someone kissed her forehead and the back of her hand. That someone had cold skin.

  When she opened her eyes, she was lying in a bed against the wall of the room. Seated in a wooden chair, Antonio was staring at her, and Skye sat beside him, knitting something out of moss-green yarn.

  “Buenos tardes,” Antonio said, and Skye looked up from her knitting. She cried out and threw her arms around Jenn.

  “Oh, thank Goddess, Jenn!” She turned to Antonio. “Please tell Dr. Alice that Jenn’s awake.”

  “Sí,” Antonio said, looking one last time at Jenn and then rushing from the room.

  “What happened? What time is it?”

  She tried to sit up, but Skye forced her down, laying a hand on her head.

  “Easy, Jenn,” she said. “You’ve had a high fever. You’ve been out of it for three days.”

  “What?” Jenn croaked.

  “Yes.” Skye reached down to a light blue plastic basin and retrieved a wet washcloth, which she wrung and then used to gently wipe Jenn’s face. It was icy, and Jenn jerked away. “Do you know, Antonio’s been going outside in the cold mornings, and then coming and putting his hands on your face, to bring your fever down. That’s really awfully sweet, in a very strange way.”

  “Have we found my sister?” Jenn asked, grabbing Skye’s hand and searching the witch’s face. There were rings under Skye’s eyes, and she was very pale.

  Skye sighed heavily. “Teams have been searching for Aurora’s lair. We think she must have moved. I’m so sorry, Jenn. But there’s time yet.” She took a deep breath. “We think.”

  “What do you mean?” Now Jenn did sit up, forcing Skye’s hand away and frowning at her. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Well, you see, what we didn’t realize is that Mardi Gras is not just a one-day event here in New Orleans. They’ve been celebrating in the French Quarter for almost two weeks now, with smaller parades and such. We missed one the day we arrived, in fact. The biggest days are the last three, when the big parades and balls are held. There are these groups called krewes; they’re like clubs, and they put on the parades—”

  “Skye, please, get to the point.”

  “I’m sorry. Well, the point is, that from what you told us, Aurora threatened to convert Heather ‘at’ Mardi Gras.” She made air quotes. “But we’re wondering if she meant the actual night of Mardi Gras, or during the Mardi Gras season.”

  “No, she said in nine days,” Jenn insisted. Then she stopped. “Wait, I’m not sure she said that.” She covered her face. “Oh, my God. What if it’s already happened?”

  “Jenn, I checked with the Circuit. They’re trying to help, throwing the stones, doing magicks. I’ve been working with Alice, but we’ve not come up with an answer. But at night we can hear voodoo drums. And when the Resistance fighters come in, they tell us that there’s increased activity in the graveyards. The voodoo sorcerers are warning their followers not to go out at night.”

  “Jenn,” said Alice, sweeping into the room. She was wearing a purple fleece bathrobe over a white flannel nightgown. “How are you feeling? Are you in pain?”

  “I was just bringing her up to date,” Skye said. “It was rather upsetting, I’m afraid.”

  Alice pursed her lips. “I have some news. I’ve contacted Papa Dodi, and he’s going to help us.”

  She looked at the two Salamancans, then tapped her forehead lightly. “Sorry. Of course you don’t know who he is. He’s the most respected voudou bokor in the state of Louisiana, and he lives in New Orleans. If anybody can get the loa to tell us where your sister is, he’s the one.”

  “Thank you,” Jenn said fervently. Then she had a vague memory of how she had behaved during Alice’s voodoo ceremony, crawling all over Antonio, and flushed.

&nbs
p; At that moment Antonio entered the room. He looked not at Jenn, but at Alice.

  “One of Marc’s soldiers just arrived. Andrew, the one with the red hair? We’re going to the French Quarter to try Bourbon Street again. We might have a lead.”

  “I’ll go too,” Jenn said.

  “I as well,” Skye offered.

  “No,” Antonio said, finally looking at Jenn. For less than a second. “You’re too weak. And as for you, Skye, Doña Alice has told me that since Papa Dodi has offered to help, you and she should conduct another ceremony. No?” He turned to Alice for confirmation.

  “That’s right.” Alice nodded at Skye. “Midnight tonight.”

  Antonio was behaving oddly; he wouldn’t look at Jenn. His profile was sharp against the soft light in the room as he lowered his head.

  “We’ll be back before dawn,” he said, and turned to go.

  “Antonio?” Jenn asked in a small voice.

  Then he did turn, and she saw a wash of scarlet in his eyes. From her position Alice couldn’t see, but Skye could.

  “Be careful,” the witch said, effectively dismissing him.

  He said nothing more, but simply left.

  Jenn welled up, and Alice cleared her throat. “I’ll see if there’s something a little more substantial to eat. You need to make up for lost calories.”

  Jenn nodded mutely. When Alice was gone, Skye put the washcloth back in the plastic basin and dried her hands. She leaned forward and made circular motions with her hands, murmuring to herself in Latin.

  “Healing spell,” she said when she was done. Then she took a breath. “I think we need to speak about Antonio. He’s been having a rough time of it.”

  Jenn’s face went hot, even though a chill centered at the base of her spine. “What do you mean?”

  “Around you. You affect him too much.” Jenn stiffened, and Skye leaned forward, as if needing her to pay close attention to what she was saying. “I know that you care about him. But sometimes, no matter how much you want to be with someone, it just doesn’t work.”

  Swallowing hard, Jenn tried to clear her throat. “Do you really think this is the time to talk about this? My sister is in danger for her life.”

  “Yes, yes, I do,” Skye answered. “We have a lot of strangers helping us. They’ve committed their lives to killing Cursed Ones. It was bad of us not to tell Marc and his fighters that I’m a witch. No one really knows about werewolves, so I don’t suppose Holgar’s in danger of discovery.”

  She bit her lower lip and dropped her gaze down to her hands. “But maybe you should think about Antonio in all this. What they would do to him if they found out that he’s a vampire? Or to the rest of us?”

  Then, without another word, she turned and walked out of the room—leaving Jenn staring after her, speechless, and fearing, in her heart, that Skye was right.

  After Skye left her room, Jenn got up and took a walk with Father Juan up and down the hallways of the house. She leaned on his arm, moving like an old lady.

  They came to a room where several of their hosts were gathered around a radio. A thin voice was speaking, and she strained to make out the words through the static.

  “It’s not hopeless, but you can’t give in. They have weaknesses. Sunlight, fire, beheading, wood through the heart. These can all kill vampires, as you know. Holy water, crucifixes can burn them. Take your garlic tablets. Rub garlic cloves over the skin on your throat and wrists so they will be unable to feed from you. Tattoo crosses on your body so you can burn them with a touch.”

  Jenn smiled faintly. Half of Jamie’s tattoos had a cross of some kind in them. Must be his long-lost twin.

  The man on the radio continued. “The government of Cuba, the last country on this side of the ocean to keep the faith, signed a free-trade agreement with the vampires today. Rumors have it that Spain is about to recognize Solomon as the official ambassador of what is being referred to behind closed doors as the Vampire Nation.”

  Everyone in the room gasped and looked at Father Juan. His face was white.

  “Can that be true?” she said. “What vampire nation?”

  “Do not despair, though. Every day people are taking back their towns, their villages, and one day soon their cities. And I have a special message now for our listeners in New Orleans.”

  Jenn jumped. Everyone else did as well. She moved closer, Father Juan still supporting her, and held her breath.

  “Let it burn.”

  There were disbelieving protests all around.

  “You are needed elsewhere desperately, and the city is already irretrievably lost. And now we must end this transmission. I am Kent, and you have been listening to the Voice of the Resistance.”

  “Who is he?” Jenn asked.

  One of the men shook his head. “Nobody knows. Nobody knows where he is or how he manages to keep from getting caught.”

  “This type of thing happened in World War Two,” Father Juan noted.

  “Yeah, but this isn’t the 1940s. Technology should have been able to track this guy and shut him down months ago. It’s a miracle he’s still doing it.”

  “Then we must pray that it continues,” Father Juan said, pulling Jenn away from the door. They continued walking.

  Let it burn. It was weird, but she almost felt like he’d been talking directly to her. She would love to leave the city, run far and fast, but she couldn’t, not without Heather.

  Hiding, secret transmissions—it wasn’t her life. She thought of her grandparents and all that they had seen and experienced. They would have been so much better equipped to deal with this than she was.

  She wished she could call her grandmother. She hoped she and her mother were safe. As for her father—

  I hope the vampires killed him.

  “Ow,” Father Juan said. She was digging her nails as she clutched his arm. He looked at her. “Jenn?”

  “I hate him,” she whispered. “If he were here, I’d kill him myself.”

  “Then for your sake I hope you never see him again.” He stopped walking, turned, and faced her. Putting both his hands on her shoulders, he cocked his head, his face softened by grief and understanding.

  “Jenn, take this hatred and put it into your fight. But don’t let it fester in your heart.” He smoothed a tendril of her auburn hair out of her eyes. “We all try so hard to be just, and to be fair, but the truth is, we’re only a heartbeat away from sin. From letting out the beast . . .”

  “Hello, Mester Jens,” Holgar said cheerily from the other end of the hall. He was wearing the same sweater and jeans he’d arrived in days ago. Everyone was. “Speaking of the devil, eh?” There was a strangely forced giddiness in his tone. He made claws out of his hands and showed his teeth. “I’m a beast, loaded with extra sin?”

  Father Juan looked unfazed. “Holgar, you know that’s not what I meant,” he replied. “You should get some rest. I believe you and Jamie offered to continue training Marc and his people in Krav Maga techniques tomorrow morning?”

  Holgar swept a bow. “I hear, my master, and obey.” He smiled at Jenn. “Glad to see you.”

  “Tak,” she replied.

  He turned to go, then turned back, looking more serious. “Master,” he said, “you misspoke, ja?”

  “Holgar,” he said wearily, “I would hope you know me better than that.”

  The Dane stopped smiling. “Talking about sin and beasts? I’m not so sure I do.” He ran his hands through his blond hair and let them drop to his sides. “See you in the morning.”

  “We’re all on edge,” Father Juan said as they both watched him go. “You see, it’s as I’m saying. It’s hard enough on the six of you to learn to work together, but now we’re in close quarters with strangers, and there’s so much we must keep hidden.”

  She took a breath. “That’s becoming a little harder for some of us.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s my fault.”

  “No, it’s not.” He studied her. “I wish
I could tell you that it’s going to work out fine. But there’s a difference between false hope and faith.”

  “And what is that?” she asked.

  “Faith is knowing that it will work as it should.” Light seemed to fill his eyes, and she managed a flicker of a smile. That was the main quarrel she had with his religion. If things fell apart, it was God’s will. If her sister died . . .

  “Let’s get you something to eat,” he said.

  NEW ORLEANS

  HEATHER

  Heather’s inhaler had run out. She shook it, whimpering, her chest tight, her breath rattling in her throat. She shook the inhaler again, desperation coming over her. She brought it to her lips, depressed the plunger, and nothing.

  Tears of frustration cascaded down her cheeks. She shook it a third time and tried holding it upside down. Still nothing. She tossed it on the floor of her cage, a useless piece of plastic, and tried to calm herself down.

  The door to the parlor opened, and a vampire entered, carrying a bloody steak on a white china plate. Instead of moving as far away in her cage as possible, she gripped the bars tightly in her hands. “Can I have some coffee?” she asked.

  Her voice was rusty from disuse, and the only thing she recognized about it was the lilting wheeze at the end.

  The vampire looked surprised as he slid the plate into her cage. “Why?” he asked suspiciously.

  “So I can breathe. Caffeine helps with asthma.” Then, since she knew that he wouldn’t do anything that would actually help her, she added, “If I don’t get some, I’m going to stop being able to breathe soon. If I stop breathing, I die. Aurora wouldn’t like that.”

  He narrowed his eyes and looked at her for a moment. She could almost see him thinking, processing what she had said. It was true. Aurora’s plans for Heather would be completely spoiled if she died of asphyxiation now.

  “Let me check,” he said, turning and leaving the room.

  She pushed at her steak absently. No fork or knife. She knew from experience that she wouldn’t be able to swallow it down until her throat wasn’t constricting.