Part 38 (1/2)

As Dantalion reached the landing to the dungeon stairs, Rasputin, his Russian wolfhound, greeted him with slathering kisses. Rasputin's eyes glowed brilliant red, and his vampiric canine teeth were a sight to behold.

Dantalion gave him a few pats, then took in the sight of the gathering of Lucifer's thirteen vampiric sorcerers. They'd done a wonderful job creating the magickal potion that had burned Solomon to death. It had been a simple matter to slip it to Katalin. Solomon's organization wasn't as secure as that arrogant vampire liked to imagine.

The great hall was still decorated from the welcoming celebration, except that heavy black curtains s.h.i.+elded the vampires from the daylight. And the cages containing their human captives sat empty. Eat the rich, wasn't that what they used to say? The rich were often a bit stringy. So were the famous.

Surrounded by tall black tapers in golden candle-holders, the sorcerers stood in a ring. Their robes were black, decorated with red bats, beautifully setting off their eyes, which weren't the normal glowing rubies of bloodl.u.s.t but deep, s.h.i.+ny black. Enormous ebony leather books with maroon bindings sat on ornate golden stands before the vampires, and in the center of the room they had erected a primitive-looking stone altar. Gagged with a black silk scarf and swathed in a matching robe, a familiar-looking human girl was bound to it.

”Hey, Flavia,” Lucifer's new companion, Heather Leitner, trilled, as if delighted to see someone she knew about to serve as a human sacrifice. ”We should sacrifice Antonio, too,” Heather said to Lucifer.

”I would still like to study him,” Dantalion said.

”I'm not convinced he's told us everything he knows about this virus,” Lucifer countered.

As Lucifer surveyed the circle of sorcerers, they bowed low. Black energy ticked off them like static electricity ”My lord Lucifer,” said the chief sorcerer, a tall, gaunt vampire distinguished by a black diadem decorated with ruby bats.

”Have you heard about a virus created to harm us?” Lucifer asked.

The vampiric sorcerer consulted his fellows. Everyone shook their heads. ”Nothing, my lord.”

”Hmm.” He approached the sacrifice and smiled down on her. ”Heather, I hope you don't mind the loss of Aurora's maid. I thought it prudent to get rid of anyone who might still be loyal to her.”

”You're so thoughtful,” Heather simpered.

”We've confirmed the auguries,” the head sorcerer said. ”Tonight. Midnight would be auspicious.”

”No,” Lucifer said. ”There's a time that's even more auspicious.” He clapped his hands, and the wolfhound trotted over to him. He smiled at Dantalion, who smiled back. ”Now, perform your ritual quickly. I have a race to wipe out.”

THE MONASTERY OF THE BROTHERHOOD OF ST. ANDREW.

FATHER JUAN, ESTHER, AND NOAH.

Into the already fermenting elixir Father Juan added cloves and cinnamon. Next, holy water. Saint John's wort, aptly named. Shepherds' Club. Rosemary and tarragon. Oak and rowan leaves. Ginkgo biloba. Pa.s.sionflower. A dozen other herbs. Then another dozen. And then the special ones: the Tears of Christ. The Transit of Venus.

He put them all in the simple wooden communion cup he had taken from the chapel. It was consecrated, holy. Into the mixture he dipped a ritual boline-a White-magick knife used for collecting herbs-then pa.s.sed it through a white candle flame six times.

As he did so, he uttered the incantation that in Father Juan's tradition had to be spoken by a Catholic priest: ”Greater love hath no man than that he lay his life down for his friends.”'

He said it first in Latin, for G.o.d. Then in Spanish, for himself. Then in Hebrew, for Noah. Then in English, for Esther.

Then he laid the knife across the top of the cup.

”And now for the last,” he said, his voice shaky to his ears.

”Are you sure about this?” Esther asked.

He nodded. ”I can't ask any of the brothers here to do it. It must be a priest, one who has set himself up as a conduit between G.o.d and man, and a priest who gives himself willingly. For generations the priests of Salamanca have been willingly making the sacrifice without the Hunter ever knowing. Father Pedro gave his life for Eriko's elixir. It is right and fitting that I should give mine for the others.”

Esther looked at him with misty eyes and laid a warm hand on his arm. ”We'll miss you, Padre.”

”I hope so,” he said, feeling a bit wistful. They could only miss him if he were well and truly dead.

He turned and began praying over the concoction. He couldn't do the deed himself, as suicide was forbidden by the Church. In the end he had been the one to kill Father Pedro.

And now Noah would kill him.

Finished, he took a deep breath. ”Now,” he whispered.

Noah put his hand over Father Juan's mouth and held his nose. Father Juan knew that he would fight for air. He remembered his part in the ritual: to know that his body's struggles to breathe were only birth pangs as he slid from this plane of existence into the next, fighting like a newborn for the first gasp of life. The next breath he took would be from G.o.d's mouth, in Heaven.

Still, the instinct to save himself was overwhelming, as it had been for Pedro. Death throes overtook him. He struggled, but all life was struggle.

Oh, my soul, take flight, and repair the world.

He could see the golden glow of his soul radiating out, entering the cup; he could see the elixir bubble and gleam. Through the steam he could see the room bathed in gold. See the faces of Noah and Esther, gleaming like saints.

Into Thy hands I commend my spirit.

And then he saw nothing.

Noah caught the dead priest in his arms. He gazed down with pity at the man, then carried him to a pallet made with fresh white linen. Noah laid him down.

Esther took a steadying breath. She locked eyes with Noah and nodded. Father Juan's choice of ”deliverer” had been one of the two of them, and she was grateful that Noah had volunteered for the duty. She would never have been able to do it.

”Rest in peace at last, Saint John of the Cross,” she said, bending down and kissing Father Juan's forehead.

On the eve of his death he had finally admitted the truth to her, though she had guessed it long before. Esther knew it had brought him some comfort, knowing that there was another who shared his secret and who would mourn for him as he really was.

Holding the cup, Esther walked back into the main room with Noah trailing behind her. The others looked up, then past them, clearly expecting Father Juan to be rejoining them.

”Where's Father Juan?” Jenn asked.

”He's gone into seclusion to pray for victory,” Esther said. By agreement she and Noah weren't going to speak of his death until they could no longer stave off questions.

She handed the cup to Jenn. Jenn was the leader; it was right that she went first.

Her granddaughter took the cup with a steady hand.

”Only a small sip. There has to be enough for everybody,” Esther reminded her.

Jenn nodded and raised the cup to her lips. Then she handed it to Holgar.