Part 39 (1/2)

She squeezed back. ”We're the heart of the battle, but it's going to be happening all over the world.”

”When this is over, one of the things at the top of my list is to meet Kent Wallace,” Noah said. ”Without the Voice of the Resistance, we'd still be one group in a sea of apathy.”

”Agreed,” she said. ”We owe him.”

”Ready to review the troops?” Noah asked her.

She nodded, still unable to believe that she, Jenn Leitner, was the commander in chief of their ground forces. Noah let go of her hand, and together they began to walk toward the soldiers, who were already a.s.sembling into neat rows for her inspection. Monstrous hybrids loped up behind them.

Another plane landed with a roar.

And another.

Then Jenn spotted Jamie emerging from the trees. He held the hand of a very small girl dressed in camouflage, her hair in pigtails. Together they were leading a throng of about forty people, all brandis.h.i.+ng Uzis and rocket launchers.

From the opposite side of the clearing at least sixty witches appeared with Skye. They wore camouflage as well, and carried weaponry. Many of them wore crowns of evergreens. Skye wore a sort of crown decorated with shards of mirrors on her head.

”I wonder what that's about,” Noah said. ”Something magick?”

”Yes, she told me about it,” Jenn said. ”They're going to cast spells so that if the vampires look into the mirrors they will get disoriented. She said she got the idea from something Estefan did.”

Noah nodded appreciatively. He looked up at the sky, watching the light snowfall. ”I can still see the sun very well. Remind everyone that even though the vampires can't come out of the shadows, they can still shoot weapons and use their hybrids and werewolf forces.”

Then he put a hand on Jenn's forearm and pointed.

”Look.”

About four dozen men and women, most of them young, marched behind an older man holding a bishop's crook. Though they were dressed like soldiers, each bore the original Crusader's cross across their chest-over a s.h.i.+eld of white a black cross, with each of the four arms the same length. At the end of each, a smaller line lay perpendicular. They were chanting, their voices rising and falling. As they neared the throng of witches, the witches began to cheer. Then a few broke out into the same chant.

”Familiar?” Noah asked her.

Jenn shook her head. ”Maybe it's some religious thing.” She peered at the men. ”I recognize that man. He's Bishop Diego. He is friends with Father Juan.”

”It's nice that the Catholics and the witches have something in common. Shared faith,” he said. Then Noah smiled at her. ”My faith's in us.”

She wasn't sure which ”us” he was referring to, but she smiled up at him. Then his smile faded, and he put both his hands on her shoulders.

”We're going to live through this,” he said. ”Go tell them that.”

Jenn spent the next half hour conferring with the leader of each of her armies. Though she was unused to strategizing on a large scale, she quickly determined that their a.s.sault was actually made up of a number of missions that would be conducted by each group-what she had taken to calling her ”squadrons.” Once she and the other leaders-her Joint Chiefs-had decided on a plan of action, each chief took their mission back to their squadron and briefed them. It took far less time to plan the attack than she would have believed possible.

”This is worth dying for,” Jenn said through the portable microphone that one of Gramma Esther's freedom fighters had brought from Montana. A dozen of them had flown in on a private plane.

Jenn was disappointed to see that Father Juan had stayed away. But he'd probably known that the priests and nuns were coming so he could devote his attention elsewhere. They were deeply religious people that Bishop Diego had met in Rome, and all of them were willing to put their lives on the line for the sake of humanity-including a half-crazy, Uzi-packing nun named Sister Toni.

About fifty of the Pamplonans Jenn and company had saved from the Cursed Ones' bullfight ma.s.sacre had also arrived, and since they lacked a leader, Jenn had put Kenji Sakamoto in charge of them. Everyone was accounted for.

And everyone was ready.

”On my signal we'll march out and attack Castle Bran. We have the element of surprise and the advantage of daylight if we move fast.”

She looked over at Solomon's vast army: at least two hundred strong, each wearing the symbol of the Vampire Nation-a heart clutched in the talons of a bat. Jenn wondered why she hadn't heard from him personally. Given who he was, Jenn wouldn't have been surprised if he'd been a.s.sa.s.sinated. She couldn't find it in her heart to hope he was all right-except that she wasn't sure what his troops would do if they found out their leader was gone.

They began to march; Jenn would hitch a ride in the monastery's SUV this time so she could stay at the head of the charge. Father Wadim was driving, and when she opened the door, she saw two pa.s.sengers in the back seat-her mother and her father. They weren't holding hands, but they were sitting close together. And both of them looked at her with pleading expressions.

”What's he doing here?” Jenn asked coldly.

Father Wadim handed Jenn a note. She read it quickly.

Dear Jenn, My coven-the People's Coven-believe we have succeeded in lifting the mesmerism from your father. We are as sure as we can be. I'm sorry to spring this on you before the big battle, but there might not be another time for him and you. It will take a miracle of good-heartedness on your part to forgive him, but we need that miracle, Jenn. Even though we have sworn to kill our enemies, my coven's magicks are still based in love. The more you can open your heart to love, the better it will be for us. Lives may be saved if you can find a way to stop hating him. Please remember that.

The G.o.ddess protect you from all harm.

With love, Skye, High Priestess, the People's Coven Jenn put the letter down on the seat. Her hands shook, and she had to contain her anger. Maybe Skye wasn't trying to manipulate her into a reconciliation, but it felt that way. Her ”open” heart was an icy, closed fist in her chest. She felt as though she didn't even have a pulse.

Still, she said to Father Wadim, ”I'll ride in the back with them.”

Her mother and father moved to give her room. She wanted to sit as far away from her father as possible, but given no choice, she sat down beside him. It took an act of will not to vomit . . . or beat him to a pulp.

”Jenn,” Paul Leitner said, as Father Wadim began to drive. ”There is absolutely nothing I can say in my defense.”

You're right, she thought.

Jenn didn't trust herself to speak, so she remained silent. Her fury was directed at her mother, for always wanting to believe in him, wanting her to mount rescue missions for him . . . sacrifice the lives of good people for him.

”He tried to tell you to stay away from Solomon,” her mother reminded her. ”With his Morse code. If Solomon had realized, he would have tortured your father to death.”

Too bad he didn't.

Then she thought of Skye's letter. White magick was based in love. It wasn't fair to ask her to love him. But what about the last three years-the last seven, since Solomon had appeared on TV for the first time-what had been fair in any of that?

But we make choices, she thought. And he made bad ones. Evil ones.

”I don't know what to say to you,” she said finally, as the vehicle trundled through the forest, bouncing along in the snow.