The Damned (33 page)

They didn’t see Father Juan, and he lingered for a moment.

“They could excommunicate us,” Maria said.

“But Father Juan is a priest. He can absolve us,” Marta answered.

“Not if they excommunicate him, too. Then he’s not a real priest anymore.”

“Some things are worth fighting for. And if we survive, if we win, surely we will be forgiven,” Marta said.

“I’m leaving. Please come with me,” Maria said.

“I can’t leave,” Marta replied.

The two girls embraced, and Juan’s heart broke for them. That was the hell of this war, the way it rendered families asunder. And now the actions of the Church were doing the same. Anger burned in his breast, and he fought to maintain control of himself.

Finally he stepped forward, startling the girls. He dropped to his knees next to them and embraced them both. They clung to him and to each other and cried as he prayed for them both, for their souls, and for their lives.

He stayed with them for nearly half an hour. Then he retraced his steps back to his office, still not entirely prepared to deal with the aftermath of his announcement. When he neared the door, his heart sank slightly as he saw someone waiting for him.

Master Molina stood, bag in hand, and Father Juan wasn’t surprised. Their martial arts expert was also a member of the Spanish military. If Master Molina didn’t leave, he would be disobeying orders.

“I understand, but I am very sorry to lose you,” Juan said, reaching out to clasp the other man on the shoulder.

The warrior shook his head. “You’re not losing me. I think we need to consolidate our forces; we’re too far-flung, too vulnerable to attack.”

Father Juan cocked his head to the side. “What are you saying?”

“I think we need to move the teachers, hunters, and priests to the student dormitory so that we’re all together.”

Father Juan felt a wave of emotion nearly overcome him, and he blinked back tears of gratitude. “Thank you, my friend. And you are, as always, right.”

Master Molina nodded. “I’m going to go find an empty room.”

Father Juan nodded. “I’ll have the others who are staying do the same.”

Master Molina nodded and turned to go. It was nothing short of a miracle, that Molina had answered a call that put him at odds with everything he believed in. He prayed they had several more such miracles. They would need them to have any chance of survival.

L
AS
V
EGAS
T
EAM
S
ALAMANCA
M
INUS
A
NTONIO;
T
AAMIR AND
N
OAH

Noah had to admit that Jamie’s knowledge of alcoholic beverages and their flammabiliry was impressive. They had managed to blow out the glass in all the windows on the floor immediately below the one where Eriko was with the Cursed Ones. At least two vampire guards had been caught in the blast and had burned to ash. The vampire prostitute Noah had convinced to lead them up there got a stake in the heart for her troubles. No charge. It was a good start, but there was a roomful of vampires overhead who still needed to be dealt with.

Jenn led the charge up the stairwell, and Noah followed on her heels, proud of her for pulling herself together. The seven hunters burst into the room they had seen in the scrying stone. Eriko’s shirt hung off her in tatters, and she drove a stake into Shell Ghost Shogun, who disintegrated nicely upon impact. The drinks girl, Staci, was screaming her head off in a corner.

Noah turned to the vampire on his right. He had clearly believed himself above the rabble of humanity here in Aurora’s Palace, and now he found himself the dirt beneath Noah’s boots. The hunter smiled, savoring the irony.

Noah found himself facing off against a massive vampire, probably a bodyguard. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the vampire leader, Aurora, saunter right through all the chaos and out the front door.

L
AS
V
EGAS
A
NTONIO

Antonio heard fighting as he returned from his hunt. The elevator was out of order, and he’d climbed the stairs, practically flying up them, he went with such speed. At last he set foot into Aurora’s audience chamber, only to find her vampires locked in combat with humans.

He frowned, not seeing Aurora. There was something he wanted, needed to tell her, but he couldn’t remember what it was.

He thought about joining the fight, but there was no one there he cared to protect or kill. The vampires could take care of themselves, and if not, they deserved to die for being weak.

He turned and left, to look for Aurora. He heard someone call his name, but it wasn’t she, so he didn’t turn around.

His left earlobe was beginning to itch. Antonio reached up to touch it, and hissed as his finger brushed his cross earring. Lightning fast, he forced himself to yank out the ruby-studded earring and drop it in the stairwell. The itching stopped.

He charged back into the desert air. It smelled of human sweat, fear, lust. Perfumes and exhaust entwined with desert sand in the dry night heat.

Antonio looked up and down the Strip, squinting against all the lights. Where would she be? If she was out hunting, maybe she had gone somewhere quieter, with fewer distractions for feeding.

He made his way down several streets, putting distance between himself and the Strip, until finally the lights and noises took on a more reasonable character.

The scents, too, were different, subtler and yet somehow richer. He stopped and cocked his head. Antonio could smell a mixture of incense, candle smoke, and something intangible. He followed the scent for nearly a block until he found a small whitewashed building. In a city known for its ostentatious flamboyance, the building was austere in contrast, with only a single stained-glass window visible from the street. It had a sign that read
SINNERS WELCOME
.

An invitation if ever there was one.

Antonio smiled and went inside. He counted thirty beating hearts, people gathered, praying. He recognized the words of a Catholic novena. Apparently, their special concern was for the city itself. He smirked as he half listened to their pathetic mumbling.

An elderly couple held a baby at the front of the small sanctuary, facing a priest in a chasuble and stole. The trio exchanged a few whispered words, which Antonio could hear from where he stood. They were grandparents, presenting their grandchild for baptism, hoping that the little girl would help bring new hope to the city.

They couldn’t have been more wrong.

In the back pew a young woman sat, arms wrapped around herself, rocking back and forth. She was dressed in a short pirate skirt and tunic, seemingly just off work at one of the casinos. Antonio killed her before she knew he was even there. He laid her limp body down on the pew and wiped her blood from his lips.

No one even turned around, so intent were they on their prayers. It was fantastic. He killed three more, silently. Then it got more complicated. People saw him, screamed, “Cursed One!” They scattered, running, screaming. He caught one teenage boy when he was halfway out the door to freedom.

The old couple died defending their grandchild.

Antonio slaughtered everyone, saving the priest for next to last. The man died with his god’s name on his lips and Antonio’s fangs in his neck. That left the very best for last. Antonio picked up the squalling infant and smiled at her, imagining how she would taste. He bared his teeth. Her tiny fists balled, and she let out a loud wail. He was charmed. She smelled clean and fresh. A delight, like dessert.

Then something crashed to the floor behind the altar. He jumped, startled. It was a crucifix. Why hadn’t it troubled him? Simply because he hadn’t noticed it?

First he averted his eyes, but then he gazed at it. He couldn’t stop staring at the crown of thorns, the sad eyes of Jesus, the plain brown boards, fascinated and repulsed.

Shouts outside reached his ears. He put the baby on the floor and spun to face the back of the church. Humans burst through the door, stakes and crosses thrust before them, bearding the lion in his den. He must have missed a parishioner, who’d run out and gotten help. It hurt to look at these crosses, but he couldn’t look away with humans racing at him. A tattooed man with a nearly shaven head led the rush.

Hunters
, he thought, judging by the skilled, organized way they advanced. Trained assassins.

Antonio waited for the tattooed hunter to come to him. Then at the last moment Antonio stepped to the side and snaked out an arm, grabbing the man around the throat and yanking him backward until he was helpless in Antonio’s arms.

He smelled rage on the man. No fear. Just deep, hot anger.

Antonio dropped his head and sank his fangs into the man’s neck. There was a strangled scream followed by kicking and flailing, but Antonio knew every move, every tactic, and he easily subdued his prey.

His blood tasted like smoke, and metal. It made Antonio shiver with delight. He fed quickly.

But something stabbed him, and he released the man, blood flowing from the twin wounds on the tattooed throat. Antonio turned to see a Japanese girl standing in short, stiff skirts caked in blood, her face contorted in fury. He twisted his arm behind himself, yanked out the stake she had put in his back, narrowly missing his heart, and drove it through her shoulder. He snarled. It was not a death-dealing blow.

He put his hand around it to pull it back out, then spun just as a tall blond guy slammed into him, bearing them both to the ground. Antonio kicked up at him, hard, and bit the man on the arm. The man rolled away for a moment to retrieve a stake on the ground, and Antonio sprang to his feet.

He was getting bored.

There were too many of them to kill quickly, particularly in a church, which afforded them so many additional weapons—now that he looked at the fallen crucifix, he cringed.

He smiled at the auburn-haired girl who seemed to be in charge. She looked so very, very familiar to him. He blew her a kiss and laughed when her eyes bugged out of her head. Then he raced out the side door, running into the night.

The cool air kissed his cheeks, and he kept running, enjoying the speed and chuckling at the sounds of their footfalls in pursuit of him. If they were fools, they would send their fastest on ahead to be killed quickly, leaving the rest of them that much more vulnerable.

He was only mildly disappointed when the sounds of pursuit faded, but he didn’t consider turning back to fight them. The night was calling. The night, and the horizon. He wanted to kill more people at prayer. It had felt so nice, and they tasted better somehow, more flavorful, the little slaughtered sheep.

He frowned. Where was he going to find enough of them to meet his needs?

Utah. Utah was the next state over, and hadn’t he heard that Utah was Mormon country? Delicious. More innocence.

Aurora would understand. He would be back soon, once he had drunk his fill.

Jenn dropped to her knees next to Jamie even as Holgar, Noah, and Taamir went after Antonio. Skye had already pulled the stake out of Eriko and was doing what she could for her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” she asked Jamie, trying to block out the image of evil Antonio blowing a kiss at her.

“No,” he said, looking up at her, eyes wide and face pale.

She was taken aback. This wasn’t Jamie. Where was the snark, the profanity, the accusations? He was seriously hurt. How much blood had Antonio taken? How much blood loss could a human being survive?

“Skye! We need to get Jamie to a hospital, somewhere where we can get him a transfusion,” Jenn said, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.

Skye turned, still working on Eriko. “There’s no way we’ll be able to pull that off without getting caught.”

“There has to be a way,” Jenn said, struggling to keep her voice even despite the fact that Jamie was slumping back onto the ground. She twisted so she could put Jamie’s head in her lap, and something scratched her thigh through her pocket. Antonio’s ruby earring. She had found it back in the hotel stairwell and retrieved it.

Jamie, Eriko, and now she had bled for Antonio.

No more.

She had seen his glowing red eyes. The solemn, cautious guy she knew was gone, and a monster capered in his place.

Gone.
Her heart shattered.

“Jamie, hang on,” she ordered him.

Jamie tried to nod his head, but even that effort seemed too much for him.

“We have to figure out how we’re getting out of here,” Eriko said, grimacing. “Aurora’s seen us. The airport is not an option.”

“There’s only one road in and out of this place; that’s what you told us,” Skye reminded Jenn.

“Then we’ll find a way through the desert,” Jenn said, setting her jaw. “First we have to get help for Jamie. And then we have to . . . we have to kill Antonio.” She took a deep, long breath. “We can’t leave Vegas until that’s done.”

Oh, God, please, no.
Her stomach lurched, and the room began to spin. She tried to ignore the fact that Jamie’s pulse seemed to be slowing.

“Actually, I think we have to leave Vegas to get that done,” Skye said.

“What do you mean?” Jenn asked.

She hesitated. “I think, right before he left, he was thinking about Utah.”

Jenn stared at her. “How do you know?”

“I’m not sure. I just heard him in my head.” Skye started crying. “He couldn’t have done this. I
know
him. He’s not a killer. This is not him, Jenn.”

Jenn’s throat tightened, but she didn’t respond.

As Skye wept, she pressed a hand to Eriko’s forehead and murmured an incantation. Then she got up and sat beside Jamie. She cried harder as she began to work magicks.

“He needs blood,” Skye whispered, herself growing pale.

“I’m a universal donor,” Jenn said. “If we can just find someplace, someone who has the equipment, I could donate my blood.”