The Damned (48 page)

That night they rested. The next day and night they made forays onto the grounds. They took turns entering the ruins, finding treasures—some apples, a dozen protein bars, Sade’s salve. Father Juan’s statue of St. Teresa of Avila, who swooned in religious ecstasy while a little cupid speared her. Jenn was relieved that her diary—the Hunter’s Manual—was safe under the charred remains of her bed. Holgar, by far the most practical at the moment, returned with changes of clothes for all of them.

Jamie asked Noah to retrieve a box from under his bed and then clutched it like a drowning man. Jenn suspected it was the gun he was building, the one that used silver bullets. She grimaced, but they could have used those bullets against the werewolves.

Father Juan used his cell phone to make some calls. A priest in Toledo offered them sanctuary, even though Rome had forbidden anyone to aid and abet any hunters.

They got into two university vans that still ran, and drove the four hours to Toledo. It was a beautiful, ancient city, though that beauty was marred by the presence of armed Spanish troops everywhere. Nervous Spaniards skirted around them. Vampires swaggered like arrogant noblemen.

“Toledo has a violent past,” Father Juan said. “The Grand Inquisitor, Torquemada, burned heretics and Jews in the central square. He targeted our patron saint, Saint John of the Cross.” Father Juan patted the statue of Teresa of Avila on his lap. “And Saint Teresa as well.”

“Nice,” Holgar said. “A violent past, and a violent present.”

The priest, Father Sebastian, offered them sanctuary in the gothic monastery. With the help of Father Sebastian’s housekeeper, the group arranged bedding. Jenn and Sade would stay together in another room. The poor girl was shell-shocked. She didn’t want to wash off her garlic, but Jenn pointed out that they were in a church, and vampires couldn’t enter.

“Except for him,” Sade said, pointing at Antonio, as the priest’s housekeeper led Sade away to take a good hot shower.

Except for Antonio. That gave Jenn hope that he really was coming back to them.

The Salamancans met in the
sala
for a meal of simple omelets and tea. Everyone was quiet, dejected. Then Jenn spoke up.

“Holgar,” she said, “I thought werewolves only changed during the full moon.”

Cutlery clanked against plates as everyone waited to hear his answer.

Holgar shook his head slowly. “We are forced to change then, but more mature wolves learn how to do it at will.”

“How mature?” Jenn pressed.

Holgar shrugged. “It varies from wolf to wolf. Sometimes when you reach your thirties, but it can happen much older than that.”

Jenn was disappointed. She’d hoped Holgar would be able to do it sooner. It would be a huge help to them in battle.

“How about younger?” Jamie asked, his voice hoarse.

Holgar shrugged. “It has been known to happen, though it is uncommon. Like I said, it varies, different for each wolf.”

“Like puberty?” Father Juan asked.

“Something like that.” Holgar sounded uncomfortable, as if it were too personal a topic to discuss.

“And you don’t have the ability to change at will?” Jenn asked.

“Not yet,” he said.

“That’s too bad,” she said grimly. “That could have been useful.”

“I know,” he replied softly.

“And the silver thing. That’s only when you’re wolfed,” Jamie said. “Otherwise, when you look like us, you can be killed like us.”

This would be the place where Eriko would tell Jamie to be quiet
, Jenn thought sorrowfully.
Or Skye would yell at him to leave off.
She could almost hear them.

“Yes. When I am in human form, I can be killed like a human,” Holgar replied, as if he needed to punish himself by saying it aloud.

“Thought so,” Jamie said.

“I’d like to say Mass,” Father Juan told them. “I know you’re very tired, and not all of you are Catholics, but we need to mourn and acknowledge our losses.” Father Juan looked at Antonio. “Will you assist me?”

“With pleasure,” Antonio said, inclining his head.

Jenn swallowed. Antonio had told her that he was rededicating himself to God. Maybe that would help him stay true to his path. But she felt a terrible, wrenching loss as she, Holgar, Jamie, Noah, and Sade sat in a pew, while Antonio put on a stole and knelt with Father Juan before the altar.

Noah conducted himself with quiet dignity, and when Father Juan invited them all to pray, he knelt on the prayer bench beside Jenn and lowered his head. She felt tears welling. Noah placed his hand over hers, warm and strong.

Antonio moved through the ritual easily, bowing, crossing himself, holding a large missal for Father Juan. Jamie took communion. So did Father Juan. And after a long hesitation Antonio put the communion wafer in his mouth and crossed himself.

“Go in peace. The Mass is ended,” Father Juan said.

Noah lifted his head. “That was beautiful,” he told Jenn. She nodded, wondering if Antonio had seen Noah’s hand on hers.

“I suggest we all get some sleep,” Father Juan said.

“Agreed,” Jenn said.

“May I talk to you, Father?” Sade asked. “I’m so scared.”

“Of course,” Father Juan replied, although he looked exhausted. “Let’s sit here awhile, shall we?”

Both Noah and Antonio gazed at Jenn as she rose swiftly from the chapel and entered the room she would be sharing with Sade.

She was overwhelmed with sorrow. Eriko was dead, and Skye and her own little sister might be joining her soon. If she had known there was a chance of never seeing them again, she would have told Heather how much she loved her, and she would have thanked her teammates, told them how much she valued their friendship.

She had never thought of them as friends, but that was what they were. You couldn’t live and fight and risk your life for years with someone without forming a bond. Her heart ached for them, and for Heather.

So much pain.

She curled up on the narrow bed and opened the Hunter’s Manual.

She picked up a pen.

They had to keep the Cursed Ones from killing any others.

She took a deep breath and began to write.

I know who I am now. I am Jenn Leitner. I am the leader of Team Salamanca. We are this world’s crusaders, and this is our quest. We stand where others fall. We fight where others run. We triumph where others cower in defeat. And I lead the way. Together we will save the world, because we have to. Even in the darkest night, there is hope. I will save the world, because I am Jenn.

And I wouldn’t want to be anybody else.

Clouds undulated against the moon, then drifted away. Silvery beams hit the pages of her diary, transforming her tears to silver fdigree. Outside, a wolf howled in deep mourning. A hardened Israeli solder patrolled.

And ruby eyes beyond her window burned with longing.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

NANCY HOLDER has published more than seventy-eight books and more than two hundred short stories. She has received four Bram Stoker awards for her supernatural fiction and is the coauthor of the
New York Times
bestselling Wicked series. She lives in San Diego with her daughter, Belle, their two cats, and their two Corgis. Visit her at nancyholder.com.

DEBBIE VIGUIÉ is the coauthor of the
New York Times
bestselling Wicked series and several additional Simon Pulse books, including the Once upon a Time novels
Violet Eyes
and
Midnight Pearls
. She lives in Florida with her husband, Scott, and their cat Schrödinger. Visit her at debbieviguie.com.

CHAPTER ONE

For thousands of years the Cursed Ones hid in the shadows, fooling mankind into thinking they didn’t exist. Then one day they just . . . stopped. Skeptics turned into believers one fateful dawn. And no one was ever safe again.

No one knows why they made themselves known. Why they chose a Valentine’s Day in the early twenty-first century to reveal their presence. Some say it had something to do with the end of the world. Others that they simply grew tired of hiding.

I was twelve when Solomon, the leader of the vampires, first appeared on TV and lied through his fangs to all of us. Thirteen when the war broke out. Fifteen when the United States declared a truce . . . when, in reality, we surrendered, and the nightmare really began.

Even after that, many of us couldn’t bring ourselves to actually say the word “vampire.” It was as if once we admitted it, then we’d have to believe in extraterrestrials or government conspiracies, too. Or in witches and werewolves . . . in anything and everything that could destroy us. Because we could be destroyed. We lost something so precious—our faith that eventually everything would be all right. Because it wasn’t all right . . . and few believed it ever would be again.

So among those of us who swore not to abandon all hope, vampires came to be called the Cursed Ones. We learned that it was the name given to them long ago by those few groups who knew of their existence yet never shared the knowledge. But the vampires weren’t the cursed ones—we were. They had seduced us with their hypnotic smiles and talk of peaceful coexistence and immortality even as they had mounted a war against us. Then they sought to turn us into their slaves, and drink from rivers of our blood.

I’m nearly eighteen now, and I have learned something about myself I might never have known, if I’d been able to live an ordinary life.

But there is nothing ordinary about my life.

Nothing.

Including me.

—from the diary of Jenn Leitner
,
discovered in the ashes

T
HE VILLAGE OF
C
UEVAS,
S
PAIN
T
EAM
S
ALAMANCA:
J
ENN AND
A
NTONIO,
S
KYE AND
H
OLGAR, AND
E
RIKO AND
J
AMIE

Barely sunset, and death exploded all around Jenn Leitner.

It was a trap
, she thought.

The sky crackled with flames; oily smoke choked the air and burned her lungs. Jenn struggled not to cough, fearing that the sound would expose her. On her elbows and knees, her dark auburn hair loose and falling into her eyes, she crawled from beneath the red-tiled roof of the medieval church as it collapsed in a crash of orange sparks. Fragments of tile, stone, and burning wood ricocheted toward the blood-colored moon, plummeting back down to the earth like bombs. She dug in her elbows and pushed forward with the toes of her boots, grunting as a large, fiery chunk of wood landed on her back with a sizzle. She fought to stay silent as the pain seared through her. Biting her lip hard, she tasted coppery blood as she rolled to extinguish the flames.

Next to her, Antonio de la Cruz hissed a warning. The scent of her blood would fill the night air, attracting the vampires they’d been sent to hunt—but who were hunting them instead. When Jenn was little, her grandmother had told her that sharks could smell a drop of blood in the water half a mile away. She hadn’t gone in the ocean since. Cursed Ones could smell blood more than a mile away. With sharks you could choose to stay out of the water. With Cursed Ones it was different. You couldn’t leave the planet. You were trapped.

Like we are now.

Antonio studied her with his deep-set Spanish eyes. Jenn gave her head a shake to let him know she was all right; she could keep going. She had no time to search through her jacket for the garlic-infused salve that would block the odor of her blood. She prayed that the stench of the burning buildings—and burning bodies—would cloak the scent long enough to allow them to escape.