Part 29 (1/2)

FATHER JUAN.

Father Juan knelt in the gloomy chapel of the monastery and gave thanks for the heaps of Transit of Venus beside him. The leaves of the herb glowed like moonstone. By the light of the G.o.ddess the werewolves had found a large patch of it, and they had transformed into human form to harvest it for Father Juan.

Afterward, when Holgar had slid behind the wheel of their SUV, Viorica had raised her slender arm in farewell. He'd rolled down the window, and she'd said something in Russian. He had replied very softly under his breath. Softly, and tenderly.

In the chapel Father Juan's cell phone rang. Crossing himself, he answered it. When he heard Bishop Diego's voice on the other end, he couldn't help but smile.

”How's it going, old friend?” he asked by way of greeting.

”Better, I think, than for you,” Diego said, sounding skeptical.

”Any luck on turning the tide in Rome in our favor?”

”I'm afraid not. But courage, Juan. There are many here who would help if they were only shown the way.”

”Isn't that what I sent you there for, to show the way?” Juan teased gently.

”Si, and I'd rather you had sent yourself.”

Juan laughed, and it felt so good.

Then Diego's tone grew more somber. ”Tell me, old friend, is it true you're trying to gather the ingredients to make the Hunter elixir?”

Juan sobered quickly. ”Yes. I want to make enough for all of them.”

”Do you have a priest a.s.sisting you?” Diego asked, more somber still.

”No,” he admitted.

”Father, you mustn't,” Diego cried, reverting, as was his habit when he was stressed, to a deferential tone toward Juan.

Father Juan smiled gently, grateful that he had such a friend. ”I must. Don't be sorry, my old friend. All things end some time.”

”Not all things, in my experience,” Diego said pointedly.

”But they should.”

”An argument for another time,” Diego said. ”Now let me pray.”

SOMEWHERE IN THE UNITED STATES.

KENT WALLACE.

In his sleeping bag in the abandoned Pizza Hut, Kent woke with a shout. Sweat was pouring down his body, and he was shaking. The imagery of the dream faded, but not its meaning. He pressed his hands to his eyes. It was time. Years of watching, waiting, guiding, praying had come to an end. All the players were on the board, all the pieces in motion. It was now or never. It was time to gather all the allies together from the corners of the world.

Time to take the fight to the Cursed Ones.

He nodded to himself and got up.

Time to let everyone know just what time it was.

BOOK THREE.

ERESHKIGAL.

All ceased and I abandoned myself.

Leaving my cares forgotten among the lilies.

-St. John of the Cross.

sixteenth-century mystic of Salamanca.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

Salamanca Hunter's Manual: Your Vows.

The calling to become the Hunter of Salamanca is like any other summons to serve G.o.d. To be free from earthly distractions, to walk alone, and to place your sacred duty above all other concerns. You are married to destruction.

(translated from the Spanish) THE MONASTERY OF THE BROTHERHOOD OF ST. ANDREW.

ANTONIO, JENN, FATHER JUAN, AND ESTHER.

There was a soft knock on the door of the little bedroom Jenn had made her sanctuary, and Jenn rose to open it. Her grandmother stood there, a wry smile twisting her features.

”What is it?” Jenn asked, dread settling in the pit of her stomach.

”Father Juan wants to see you in the chapel.”

”Oh,” Jenn said, searching her grandmother's face for a clue as to what it might be about.

If Esther knew, though, she was good at hiding it. Jenn followed her out into the hallway.