Part 30 (1/2)
Father Juan was silent for a moment. Then he said, ”Before I was a priest, I served the G.o.ddess. And Her teaching is this: that we are lovable, and She is completely in love with us. Two paths, perhaps? Or is it that you haven't understood the teachings of our Mother Church?”
”Ay,” Antonio murmured, crossing himself with his free hand.
”Do you dare to see yourself as worthy of Holy Love?” Father Juan demanded. ”Do you have that much courage?”
Antonio kept his head bowed, but she could feel him trembling beside her.
”And Jenn,” Father Juan said.
She jumped when Father Juan said her name.
”You have a shadow in your heart as well,” Father Juan said. ”Yours is also hatred.”
She looked at him in surprise. He was standing in front of the candles, and the gauzy yellow light seemed to give him a halo and to make him seem timeless, ageless.
”Of course I hate the vampires,” she said. ”Don't ask me not to.”
”I'm speaking of something else. Someone else,” Father Juan said. His expression was so patient, and kind. ”The man who betrayed you. Your father.”
Jenn's mouth dropped open. ”He gave me to Aurora. Heather's a vampire because of him!”
”I'm not talking about his sins. I'm talking about you. Your hatred of him is a shadow in your heart. And while the shadow is there, love cannot grow.”
Jenn felt even more anger rus.h.i.+ng in, over her. Filling her to overflowing. ”But what he did-he betrayed me, nearly got me killed.”
”Can't the same be said of Antonio?” Father Juan asked.
Jenn reeled as though he had just slapped her.
”And yet you don't hate him,” Father Juan said.
”It wasn't his fault.”
”Yes, it was,” Antonio said roughly.
She turned to look at him, her heart beginning to beat faster. She could tell by the way his lips pursed that he could hear. Suddenly his eyes flashed red, but before she could jerk away, they were back to brown.
”I wasn't strong enough,” he explained. ”I couldn't overcome my fear and my evil and my l.u.s.t. I was weak. And for that I am truly sorry.”
Jenn swallowed hard.
Father Juan gestured to her hand on top of Antonio's. ”I believe that G.o.d has put you two together for a very specific reason. Jenn, you're as broken as Antonio. You've lost the warmth that brought you to me, to learn how to save your fellow man. You've shut down. You need a full heart to be a good warrior.”
”No,” she began, but Antonio stopped her with a finger pressed against her lips. Then he drew back, and averted his face.
Dumbfounded, Jenn stared at him-the blue-black curls, the ruby cross in his ear. Her heart pounded. She felt confused, breathless.
”I hear it,” Antonio whispered. ”I hear you wanting. That's your heart. That's life. That's being alive.”
”You must turn wanting into giving, both of you,” Father Juan said. ”Listen to me, Antonio, you are not a Cursed One. No one who is loved is cursed.”
”Ay, Padre,” Antonio murmured. ”How can that be?”
”My children,” Father Juan said, ”these times weigh heavily on all of us. Your hearts are longing and your souls are yearning. But you won't be able to love until each of you steps out of the shadow and walks in the sun cast by the beloved. That is the way to give love. And giving love is the greatest act of faith there is. Do you believe me?”
Antonio dipped his head. ”I have faith, Father. But belief . . .” He tipped back his head and gazed into the darkness of the chapel ceiling. ”I'm working on that.”
And I don't have faith, Jenn thought miserably. I've tried to, but I don't.
”Jenn, my poor child,” Father Juan said, ”I can almost read your thoughts. Tell me, what can you place your faith in? Think of something that you can believe in. Search. Hard.”
She was silent. Empty.
Antonio spoke softly. ”Remember when you used to call yourself just Jenn? You thought you didn't belong on the team. You didn't understand why I . . .” His voice broke. ”Why I loved you.”
She swallowed down horrible grief as she nodded. Antonio reached over and took a tendril of her hair between his fingertips and stared at it.
”I . . . I have faith in you, Antonio,” she blurted. ”I have faith that you're trying to be the man you want to be.”
Cautiously, yet deliberately, Antonio put his arms around her. They were strong . . . and cold.
”Then you love me in the same way that G.o.d loves me.”
”No,” Father Juan said. ”G.o.d is sure of you. As each of you must become sure of yourself. And then the gift of your love will give us victory over the Vampire Kingdom. That's what the runes have been trying to tell me. I understand that now.”
Father Juan turned and gazed at the statue of St. Andrew. ”Here beginneth the lesson.”
DOVER, ENGLAND.
SKY, JAMIE, LUNE, SOLEIL, AND THE COVEN.
We look like a freakin' parade, Jamie thought as he glanced back at the line of witches following him and Skye.
Well, mostly Skye.
He glanced at her again. Her face was hard, jaw set: one determined witch. She'd have to be. The motley a.s.sortment trailing behind them was doing so because of her force of will. It remained to be seen how many of them would actually fight when it came down to it. Would be an interesting thing to see if they did, though. That'd take the Cursers down a notch or two.
He touched his gun with the wooden bullets, which he had tucked into his waistband. He'd run his final test that morning. It worked. After months of blood, sweat, and tears, it finally worked. He had that and the one with silver bullets as well. His granda would be right proud of the work he'd done on her.
He'd risked a call that morning to Father Juan. Sounded like the whole bleedin' war was about to be centered in Transylvania. It was fitting when he thought about it. There was a kind of poetry to it, if you liked that kind of thing. Himself, he preferred less drama, less irony, and more killin'.
He felt the weight of the gun on his waist. Steady, old girl, you'll get your chance soon enough.
Skye walked quietly beside Jamie, far too busy wrestling with her own demons to even try and begin to take on his as well. He kept fidgeting with a gun holster, and unzipping the leather satchel over his shoulder and glancing inside. She had relived the fight with Estefan a thousand times. She kept picturing his face as he died, and it sickened her every time.