The Damned (36 page)

“Now we really question him,” Noah said grimly.

Holgar cocked his head as though listening to something. A few seconds later Jenn heard it too.

Two VW buses careened up the road and slid to a stop next to them. Jenn and her team readied their weapons. The driver’s door of one bus opened, and a woman stepped out and took in the scene.

It was Gramma Esther. A submachine gun was slung around her neck. With her gray hair tucked beneath an olive army cap, wearing a brown, beige, and white jacket over a pair of jeans, her grandmother was an aged echo of the radical idealist Jenn had seen in pictures from the 1960s.

With a cry Jenn ran and threw her arms around her grandmother, never so happy to see anyone in her life. Her grandmother hugged her fiercely, patting her back.

“Hey, baby,” Esther said softly. “An old friend said you could use some help, so we’ve been driving all day to get to you. Now it looks like you don’t need much help at all.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Jenn kept her arms wrapped around her grandmother. She wanted to stop time in this moment when she felt safe and rescued. And not have to face what must be done next.

“You okay?” Gramma Esther whispered.

Jenn forced herself to nod. “You?”

“Getting by. I promised your mother I’d bring you all back to our camp to say hello.”

Mom
, Jenn thought, dazed.
Oh, Mom.

As they parted, Gramma Esther gestured to the sack. “What’s in there?”

She hesitated. “Do you remember when I told you about Antonio?” But all she had told her grandmother was that she liked a boy back in Spain, named Antonio.

“Yes.” She gazed levelly at Jenn. “Greg told me the truth about him. You didn’t.”

Jenn swallowed hard, but before she could say anything, her grandmother continued. “Is there a reason he’s still alive?”

Jenn felt the world shifting and tilting again.

“There is,” Skye spoke up. “We need him, and I think I can reach him. I—”

Esther raised a hand to stop her. “You had me at ‘there is.’” She looked at Jenn. “You’re the leader of your team, and I’m the leader of the Defender outpost. If you need him alive, we’ll keep him alive. You can tell me all about it later. For now we’d better get going back home.”

Home.
With her grandmother and her mother together, it would almost seem like it. Almost.

Gramma Esther took in the rest of the team. “Seems you’ve been collecting some allies,” she said.

“Where is this home?” Jamie said.

Gramma Esther cocked her head. “You must be Jamie.”

“What of it?” he asked.

“I’m Eriko,” Eriko said, bowing. “And this is Holgar, Taamir, and—”

“I hate to cut this short, but we need to get out of here,” Gramma Esther said. “Home is well hidden, and better than a pickup truck in the middle of nowhere.” She raised a brow at Jamie. “Okay with you?”

They ditched the pickup and split up between the two VW buses. It was a tight squeeze, but they got everyone in. Skye went with Antonio to keep watch and make sure he stayed unconscious. Holgar and Eriko stayed with them. Jamie, Taamir, and Noah rode in the bus with Jenn and her grandmother.

As Jenn climbed into the front seat next to Esther, she gave her grandmother a weary smile. “Next time you talk to Greg, please thank him for me.”

Esther patted Jenn’s check. “Already done, sweetheart.”

L
OS
A
NGELES
S
OLOMON

Solomon rang for his new assistant, Marti. He tapped his fingers on his glass desk, impatient for his call to go through. Sure, it was the president of the United States, a busy man indeed. But
he
was Solomon. And he was Solomon with all Dantalion’s research at his disposal. Solomon, who was ready to push the war to the next level.

“Yes, Solomon?” The president sounded wary.

“Jack, how’s it going?” he asked jovially. “Listen, I had this crazy idea. You want to hear it?”

There was a pause. “Of course I do.”

S
ALAMANCA
F
ATHER
J
UAN

Juan sensed the live-wire tension of crisis, both at the academy and with his team in America. Three days had passed since Antonio’s capture, and his condition showed no improvement. Jenn’s team was not as welcome as they would have been had they shown up without Antonio. Half of Esther Leitner’s band of freedom fighters wanted the Cursed One dead. The other half agreed that Antonio needed to be kept alive, but only until they found out exactly what he had told Aurora. The opposing viewpoints had split the group, and Jenn had implored Father Juan to come to Montana.

He had accepted that his hunters weren’t going to be able to bring Antonio back to his senses without his help. Given his lack of success with Heather, he wondered if his presence would actually do any good. But he could try. He must try. He would pray over Antonio and cast magicks with Skye.

But how could he leave his small group of rebels alone in Salamanca after the mass exodus? He had no doubt that the students would listen to Giovanni and the four instructors. But would they be well protected? Father Juan was needed in two places at once. For the first time, he regretted asking Diego to leave.

“You wanted to see me,” Giovanni said, entering Father Juan’s office. Again his dark hair and eyes reminded Juan of Antonio, and he felt a terrible pang.

Composing himself, Juan told him what was going on. When he had concluded, Giovanni nodded. “You should go. We can survive a few days without you.”

“And if you can’t?” Juan asked bluntly, thinking about Giovanni’s vision of dying at the university.

“Then your being here would only get you killed as well. Please, Father, go. I have a feeling you will be able to make a difference.”

“Did you have another vision, my son?” Juan asked sharply.

Giovanni shook his head. “No, but it’s a feeling.”

“Okay then I’m going. I’ll bring the team back with me. We need to be united. Can you handle the . . . girl?”
The vampire? The ravening monster who would tear out the throats of everyone here, if she could?

The priest lifted his chin. “I believe so.”

“Good. Do whatever you have to.” Juan hesitated. He didn’t want to say what he had to say next. “If . . .”

“I will keep her alive. But I will not allow her to escape, no matter the cost.”

Juan closed his eyes. He nodded. He was about to face a similar struggle with Antonio. He prayed both he and Giovanni would have the strength to make the hardest of choices, should it come to that—to destroy Heather and Antonio.

And perhaps
, he thought fearfully,
to send them to hell.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

When I kept silence, my bones waxed old through my roaring all the day long.
For day and night thy hand was heavy upon me:
My moisture is turned into the drought of summer
Selah.
I acknowledged my sin unto thee, and mine iniquity have I not hid.
I said, I will confess my transgressions unto the LORD;
and thou forgavest the iniquity of my sin.
Selah.
—Psalms 32:3-5

M
ONTANA
T
HE
R
ESISTANCE:
F
ATHER
J
UAN,
E
STHER
L
EITNER,
T
EAM
S
ALAMANCA,
T
AAMIR, AND
N
OAH

The sacrificed of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.
It was Psalm 51, verse 17, and it had been going through Juan’s head ever since the plane touched down in America.

Juan stood with his suitcase in the run-down bus station just outside Jordan, Montana. He was the only one who had gotten off in town, and he felt conspicuous.

The sky was clear and blue; beyond the station was a rise covered with fir trees. A car was due to come for him. He closed his coat around his black turtleneck sweater. To deflect unwelcome attention, he had opted not to wear his clerical collar.

Juan believed that both God and Goddess wanted him to reach the resistance enclave in Montana. He had prayed and conjured the strongest of magicks to ease his journey and it was a miracle that he had gotten this far without incident. The number of armed humans and vampires in the airports and at checkpoints had doubled, maybe tripled, since he had last flown to the States. Everywhere there were images of Solomon posing with the governors and mayors of the towns Juan traveled through, and with the president of the United States. TV news shows featured stories about him, with carefully arranged photo opportunities in front of American flags, greeting workers at factories, and kissing babies. It was as if he were running for office. Which Juan supposed he was.

Juan’s heart was so heavy. He believed in faith. Faith could move mountains, make miracles. That was why the prayers of believers—no matter what religion—were as powerful, in his eyes, as bullets. It was also why he could justify and condone the fact that the White Witches in the world, except for a very few, continued to use their magicks for healing, and not for fighting the Cursed Ones. Such magick use was prayer.

But these were hard times, and even he found himself growing angry that the devotions of millions seemed to have no effect. Were the words of comfort he had offered others for so long, so very long, as hollow and empty as he himself felt?

“Hey, John,” a voice said casually.

He turned around to see an older woman standing just inside the bus station. Her strong features resembled Jenn’s. She was Esther Leitner, then. Her gray hair was pulled back, and in jeans, boots, and a short navy blue coat she looked like a rancher on her way to buy feed.

He nodded and picked up his small black suitcase. He followed her into the station, then out the back. A rusty blue pickup truck was idling, and she went around to the driver’s side while he placed his suitcase in the truck bed. Then he climbed in, and they took off.

“How are things?” he asked, as they drove away from the station.

“Bad, Father,” Esther said, as she checked the rearview mirror. “He’s bad. I think we may have to stake him.” She studied him in the mirror as if to gauge his reaction.

Then she asked, “Why did you really elect my granddaughter their leader?”

He was surprised. “Don’t you have faith in her leadership?”

She waited. When he didn’t answer, she said, “What told you to do it, your head or your heart?”

“My soul,” he replied.

If his response surprised her, she didn’t let on. They both fell silent, for a time, and then he asked questions, lots of them. The situation was as Jenn had told him—like a powder keg.

After two hours’ drive they reached a thick stand of trees. The truck idled, and a dozen armed men and women of all ages fanned around. Holgar and Jenn were among them, and he smiled at the sight of them. They both smiled back, though Jenn looked as if she were about to break down in tears as she approached the truck. He rolled down the window and cupped her cheek.

“Father Juan,” Jenn began. “You have to help him.”

He turned to Esther. “May I walk from here?”

She nodded, and Jenn opened the door. Jenn hugged him, then moved back quickly, as if she had overstepped.

The Defender outpost was situated on the remains of a recently deserted ranch, dotted with several outbuildings of cinder block, a large barn, and a large, once-beautiful three-story brick home that had been partially burned down. There were three skinny cows in the barn, and a flock of chickens. The group had fed them, and now there were eggs and fresh milk. Spray-painted on an exterior barn wall was
U SUK CO’S!
and a wealth of profanity. A handmade pennant tacked over some of the spray paint proclaimed the camp Defender Territory. The Salamanca Hunter’s pennant was affixed below it.

Counting the Salamancans, there were thirty people in the camp. Juan made thirty-one. The majority of them were living in olive-drab tents. Esther and six of Che’s and her old compatriots from the underground made up the core group and governing body of the Defenders. All of them had been at Charles Leitner’s funeral. Jenn’s mother, Leslie, had joined them, and they had gathered fourteen more Defenders. The Defenders ranged from a thirteen-year-old who had seen his entire family slaughtered by the Cursed Ones to a woman in her seventies whose husband of fifty years had denounced her to the vampiric overlord of their town in Wyoming. She had had to run for her life.

Father Juan noted the life-size photograph of Solomon riddled with bullet holes out in a fallow field. A vampire hung in effigy.

Many smiled at Juan. Others just looked. The thirteen-year-old stomped up to him and said, “Man, if you can’t fix that sucker, I’m taking him out myself.”

“If I can’t fix him,
I’ll
take him out,” Juan replied, to the boy’s surprise. The priest reached in his pocket and handed the kid a vial of holy water and a cross. Such things were permitted, if one was a priest.

The boy folded his arms over his chest. “That shit didn’t help my parents. You probably know we’ve got a wolf guy here, too.”

“Sí
, but he will not hurt you. I’ll say Mass in an hour,” Father Juan told him and Jenn. “Will you come?”

“No,” the kid said. “Just get all these weirdos out of here.”

He turned and stomped away, then picked up speed and traced a wide half circle as Holgar approached. Holgar purred low in his throat upon seeing Father Juan.

“Goddag,”
Holgar said, greeting him. “It’s good to see you.”