Part 28 (1/2)
ST. JOHN OF THE CROSS.
St. John of the Cross lay on a pallet in a plain and simple room in December 1591, and everyone had given him up for dead. He held his beads, and made a prayer: The soul takes flight, to repair the world. Oh, my soul, make good out of this long journey, so that I will achieve my true purpose and end my days in bliss.
Prayers are like magick, moving through the ethers of time and s.p.a.ce. Like finds like, need finds need.
Fate finds destiny.
A prayer found the vampire Antonio de la Cruz. In 1942.
A prayer found Jenn Leitner when the vampire war broke out.
And in the snowfall in the mountains of Transylvania, Father Juan's prayer found the mystical essence of St. Edmund, the patron saint of wolves, who had himself prayed many times for the protection of all species of canines, including those enchanted by moonblood.
The strands of their prayerful selves wrapped around each other, and Father Juan reeled, feeling himself changed as he prayed for Holgar. He tingled, and then he burned, and he knew that when the prayer was over, he would be different forever.
But such a thing had happened to Father Juan over and over again. For had not G.o.d Himself said, ”Behold, I make all things new”?
TRANSYLVANIA.
FATHER JUAN AND HOLGAR.
Whatever needs to happen, let it happen, Father Juan prayed.
He had prayed many times for the will of G.o.d to manifest through himself. It was G.o.d's grace, and no special quality of his own, that made it possible. But it was not a thing to be undertaken lightly-because it did change him, and it was a changed Father Juan who would make the next prayer for the next battle. And so down through time had his prayers changed his essence and the world's, until he was no longer sure where he ended and Mother Earth began.
Amen.
And of course one so blessed, so deeply blessed, knew that the Earth was as alive and as real as G.o.d-and so Father Juan wors.h.i.+pped Her, in Her incarnation of the G.o.ddess.
So mote it be.
When he opened his eyes, a black wolf and a large silver one loped toward the waiting pack. Howls stretched toward the stars, toward heaven and the moon.
”Arrouuoo.”
The silver wolf looked over his shoulder at Father Juan, and howled.
”Arrouuoo.”
The pack answered Holgar, as the black wolf pranced around him.
Then the pack disappeared over the rise. Tired but happy, Father Juan started working his way through the snow in the same direction.
”Arrouuoo.”
And the howls became a chant that in Father Juan's mind became a prayer for another: Antonio.
And so little by little the world changed, because those who prayed changed.
A man who had prayed on his deathbed in 1591 wished for his soul to take flight, to repair the world.
Across the moon a bat flew, small and fierce and beautiful. Father Juan crossed himself, and prayed to G.o.d for strength.
DOVER, ENGLAND.
JAMIE AND SKYE.
”b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l!” Jamie shouted from the snowy forest, planting his feet as winds blew hard at his duster, buffeting him like a kite. Through the waving tree branches, lightning illuminated the burning inn as the roof and timbers collapsed, crus.h.i.+ng everything inside. Jamie swore, and swore again.
Surrounded by flickering ebony shadows, a man appeared in front of the inn. He strode toward the forest in a blurred, slow motion. Magick. Flames danced over him, then extinguished, then danced again. His eyes burned like coals.
Vampire, Jamie thought; then, Estefan.
”Skye!” he screamed. ”Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Get the h.e.l.l out!”
Jamie tried to step forward, but the wind knocked him down and sent him tumbling. Digging his hands into the dirt, he latched on to a root and held tight as the wind blasted at him. He saw the man walking, then saw nothing; then the man closer, and always his burning eyes.
Jamie hurt everywhere. He didn't care. He smelled the stench of the dead in the fire.
The man seemed to move in unison with a heartbeat that thrummed through the ground. The root Jamie clutched pulsed like an artery.
Lightning burst in all directions from Estefan, crackling and smacking into trees. They sizzled and exploded, one after another, to the heartbeat rhythm. Cras.h.i.+ng, bursting apart.
Estefan kept coming. He was staring with his burning eyes at something on the ground, and his smile cracked open his face. Teeth shot out in all directions like double, triple sets of fangs. Smoke poured from around his head and shoulders.
”No, you don't, you soddin' b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” Jamie cried, struggling to get up. Estefan had hold of something. An arm.
Skye's arm.
”Are you seeing this?” he shouted into the night. ”You witches, you standing over a cauldron in your safe little hidey-hole? Cacklin' away because you're not hurting a fly?”
Estefan's mouth opened wide, fangs gleaming.
”You going to let this happen?”
”No,” said a familiar voice behind him.
”No,” said another.