Part 26 (2/2)

”But there is hope.”

Esther saw as everyone around the computer actually leaned forward, as though that would help them hear about the hope he offered.

”There are those who are still fighting. They have not given up. They are your heroes. There are fighters all over the world. And one group has done more than all the rest to strike back at the vampires who have been terrorizing your families and destroying your homes. Team Salamanca, we salute you and we pray you G.o.dspeed.”

A look of surprise rippled across each face. Esther smiled grimly. These young people didn't truly realize how special or how important they were, not just as a symbol but also as a fighting force to be reckoned with.

That was something she could help with. That was something she could teach them. And suddenly she knew why she was there instead of with her own group back in Montana. Her people were all seasoned fighters and could carry on without her. But here she was needed.

”This is Kent, the Voice of the Resistance, wis.h.i.+ng you all a better future.”

And the voice was gone. Looking around, she could see the impact it had had on each of them. Hearing that one voice crying out in the wilderness did give them some hope, strength, resolve. She wondered if Kent, whoever he really was, realized that he was vital.

The clatter of pots and pans echoed down the halls, and she was brought back sharply to the present. The smells of food wafted from the kitchen. It was time for dinner.

The brown-robed brothers of the monastery appeared in ones and twos, casting side glances at Antonio. Their nigh-incessant chanting had ended, and now there was only silence from them. Father Wadim had explained that their order observed the vigil of contemplation when they were ”home,” in the monastery. They had raised their voices in chanting so that Antonio could hear them, and know that he wasn't alone.

Jenn's mom arrived, supported by Sade. And last, escorted by two monks, Paul appeared in his handcuffs. Esther looked at the cuffs and felt another rush of shame. This was her son.

Paul saw Jenn's mom and headed straight for her, a determined look in his eyes. Jenn's mom hadn't yet noticed him. Esther took a deep breath. This was going to go badly.

When Paul was four feet away from Leslie, Sade looked up, and the two stared at each other. Both sets of eyes widened.

”You!” they both cried simultaneously, loudly enough to be heard by all.

All other sound ceased instantly as attention focused on them. Leslie jerked and looked up at her husband.

But his gaze remained riveted on Sade. And hers on him.

”Hail, my lord Dantalion,” Paul said, in an eerie singsong. Esther s.h.i.+vered at the bizarre, unworldly sound of his voice-and of his words.

”Dantalion,” Sade echoed in that same voice. ”May he feast on us forever.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

I can't believe how much I hate my father. It's a part of me I've never seen before, and it's freaking me out. I want to say I'm ashamed of it, or that I'm trying to stop it, but I'm not. It's freeing, but I feel like a prisoner. I feel powerful, yet terribly weak. And the weird thing is, I hate myself for hating him like this-but I also love it. I love it, and I never want to stop. It's like a magick spell, or a curse. Is this how the cursed part of Antonio feels? Because if it is . . . how can he be good? Because I don't think I'm good anymore. I think I'm dark, and twisted. And unlovable.

-From the diary of Jenn Leitner,

retrieved from the ruins

THE MONASTERY OF THE BROTHERHOOD OF ST. ANDREW.

FATHER JUAN, JENN, FATHER WADIM, ANTONIO, ESTHER, SOLOMON, PAUL LEITNER, AND SADE.

Father Wadim's breath billowed as he led the way down frigid stone stairs to the lower depths of the monastery, deeper even than Antonio's vampire cell. In addition to Father Wadim and Father Juan, Jenn was accompanying the prisoners.

The steps had been swept clean, and monks were still getting rid of cobwebs and dust at the bottom of the staircase. The abbot had explained that the Brotherhood of St. Andrew had no wish to behave vindictively toward any soul ”afflicted with darkness.” Jenn wondered what he would think of her if he knew how much darkness seemed to have filled her.

”Dantalion, Dantalion, I am here.” Her father's whispers echoed off the walls.

”May he feast upon us,” Sade added fervently.

They couldn't help it. They didn't know, she thought, but her anger only grew. Barely able to contain her rage, she balled her fists and bit down hard on her lower lip.

No one was sure how Sade and Jenn's father had recognized each other as Dantalion's minions. Not even Antonio understood exactly how the mesmerism worked-if Dantalion made them check in with him on occasion, or if he could see directly through their eyes. Jenn thought back to the Battle of Salamanca, when Dantalion had been able to convince Antonio that he had been set on fire. Had he watched the fighting through Antonio's eyes?

Now they knew that Sade had been the spy in their midst, revealing whatever she knew to Dantalion and, through him, Jenn a.s.sumed, to Solomon. Had Sade known she was? Is that why she had come to the academy in the first place? Jenn figured that Aurora and her sire had planted spies in Solomon's camp as well. Secrets and mistrust ran everywhere.

Jamie will be disappointed that the spy wasn't one of the original Salamancans, Jenn thought. Maybe it was small-minded and unfair of her, but she'd put up with Jamie's sour att.i.tude for a long, long time. Even though she was worried about Skye and him, she found that with him gone she was no longer bracing herself for some kind of snarky retort every time she said two words aloud. Just thinking about dealing with him again made her tired . . . and so very, very angry. It was as if her hatred of her father were spilling into every other part of her life.

All this personal stuff . . . it's too much on top of everything else. I don't know how to deal with it.

”Jenn?” Antonio asked softly. She remembered his hand around hers, squeezing it in comfort.

She didn't remember his fangs on her throat.

I've been mesmerized too, she reminded herself. I know how impossible it is to fight against it.

”Jenn?” Father Juan said, and she jerked herself back to attention. She looked into the cell-a small square that had been cut into the rock. There was a cot, a small desk, and in a sort of antechamber what appeared to be a portable toilet and washbasin. Her heart clutched. Her father was their prisoner. He had betrayed her in return for safety, and what had happened to him instead? He had become a complete and total victim, a puppet, a dupe.

”Please, Mr. Leitner,” Father Juan said gently, ”go inside.”

Ducking his head, Jenn's father turned to obey, then turned back and grabbed Jenn's hand. She caught her breath. Father Juan stood poised to intervene.

Her father blinked at her in deliberate rhythm. Morse code. When Solomon had paraded him on TV, he'd tapped his leg, sending out a secret message to Jenn. Don't come. I love you, he'd said. But Jenn didn't know Morse code, and she didn't know what he was saying now.

Somewhere inside his mind, her father struggled to be a father.

Twin tears streamed down her cheeks as she jerked her hand out of his grasp. She wouldn't forgive him, ever. She couldn't.

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