Part 44 (1/2)

Jamie looked at Holgar, whose face was somber. Everyone was pretty b.l.o.o.d.y glad to be alive, and there had been moments of heroism among them. But Holgar and Viorica had saved the world.

And that's why I didn't shoot him, Jamie thought.

Jamie had had two excellent chances to do so: The first was when Holgar and the werewolf queen had come bounding away from the fray-deserting the losing side, or so Jamie had thought at first. Then Noah had shown up, all Mossad defending them, and then Holgar and Viorica had begun pouring one cylinder of liquid into another, and the closest vamps had collapsed and burst into dust. That's when Jamie had realized what was happening. The virus, that was what. So he'd kept the gun with the silver bullets down at his side. Then, after Noah had died in his arms, so out of his head that he'd thought Jamie was his dead wife, and with the virus doing the killing for them, Jamie had had another clear shot at Holgar. But he hadn't taken it. When all was said and done, he knew that he would never take it.

Jamie had dropped the bullet marked with an H in Father Juan's coffin.

Now, during the Ma.s.s, Jamie thought of Skye in a werewolf's arms, and he was repulsed down to his boots. But maybe Holgar would go for the new wolf, Viorica.

You're the right b.a.s.t.a.r.d, O'Leary, he thought, crossing himself after His Eminence the cardinal, Father Wadim, and Antonio all crossed themselves first. Wolfie saved the world, and Skye loves him. Leave it lie. Let it go. Be happy for them.

Kate caught Jamie's eyes and smiled faintly. She'd made it through, and so had Skye's little Autumn, who kept tugging on Skye's hand, asking what was happening. The child had never been to a Christian funeral. All kinds of firsts she had in store, and a whole new life. Skye had adopted her. Kate was heading back to Dublin after the funerals.

He could finally go where he wanted. For years he'd dreamed of returning to Ireland to kill the werewolves who'd ma.s.sacred his family and the vampires who'd let it happen. The priest who'd forced Jamie to stand on the sidelines (and by so doing had probably saved his life) had been gunned down, but Jamie had never felt any need to blame the Church entire for the destruction of his family.

Curious, that, he thought.

In the monastery the faithful were called to take communion, and Jamie found himself standing in front of Antonio, who held out a wafer to him. Jamie stubbornly set his jaw, and Antonio gazed at him steadily, the wafer extended.

It was the good father himself turned him into a real boy, he thought.

After communion Father Wadim and the cardinal sprinkled holy water on, and wafted incense around, the coffins of Heather and Father Juan. At the rabbi's nod conveying permission, they did the same to Noah's casket.

”Go in peace. The Ma.s.s is ended,” Cardinal Gutierrez, Father Juan's dearest friend, said with a melancholy tone.

Then, as had been planned, Jamie, Antonio, Holgar, Skye, Jenn, and Esther served as Noah's pallbearers. They carried his simple wooden coffin outside to the monastery graveyard, where other soldiers had dug a hole for it. As the Salamancans looked on, Noah's coffin was lowered, and the rabbi showed them how to rend their clothes. Only seven types of relative were expected to tear their clothes to show their grief: sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, and spouses.

The Salamancans told the rabbi they were all brothers and sisters of the fallen warrior, and so they rent their garments by slicing a vertical cut in their clothing over the right side of their chests. For parents and children it was directly over the heart. But that was where Jamie's real cuts lay-in his heart. In the end he had found a kindred soul in Noah, and the bonds of battle had made them true brothers. Losing him felt like losing his little sister all over again.

Together they recited the Twenty-third Psalm: The Lord is my shepherd . . .

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

But not dust like the Cursed Ones. They were gone. Reports were coming in from all over the world. The vampires were dead, but those who had profited from helping them were putting up a fight as governments tried to seize back the power they'd lost. Through it all, Kent Wallace, the Voice of the Resistance, kept broadcasting, but he had fallen silent the night before, and the Salamancans were worried about him.

”Amen,” said a very familiar voice.

Jamie looked across the grave at a dark-skinned man who walked slowly up to the edge. He had a limp, and when he came to a stop, he stood slightly crooked.

”Kent Wallace,” Jamie murmured. And after the rabbi completed the service, everyone gathered around Kent, slapping him on the back, hugging him, thanking him. Word swept through the campgrounds that the Voice of the Resistance was among them, and an impromptu celebration began to take shape. The monks brought out brandy and provisions. The werewolves brought game. Local Transylvanians arrived in droves, bringing more food and drink and inviting the overflow of fighters to stay with them in their villages.

”You kept the resistance alive,” Jenn said to Kent over buoyant Gypsy music. Many were dancing in crazy circles, toasting and laughing. ”Then you coordinated all our efforts.”

”But I didn't know about the virus,” Kent said. ”That was pure black crosses.”

”And Salamanca and friends,” Jamie said. His smile took in Viorica, who was performing a belly dance for an appreciative audience of soldiers and werewolves in their human form. Eriko's brother, Kenji, was trying unsuccessfully to imitate her movements, to the delight of the spectators.

”What do you think will happen now?” Skye asked Kent, as she settled down beside him on a wooden bench brought outside for the festivities.

Kent stretched out his leg and rapped on it. It sounded like plastic. ”I lost my leg to a werewolf bite,” he said, then smiled at Holgar as he came up behind Skye and put his arms around her. ”Not that I'm faulting all werewolves. My point is, only vampires died from the virus. Just because the good guys won, doesn't mean there are no bad guys left . . . some werewolves, some human. Vampires weren't alone in subjugating the human race.”

”That's true,” Jenn said, as Antonio brought her something to drink. Antonio, in the sunlight. Jamie was floored. He'd never dreamed he'd see such a thing. He couldn't help his lopsided grin. It was hard to stay sour when there was so much happiness in the air.

”We have an organization now,” Kent continued. ”Worldwide. We can do a lot of good.”

”We'll help,” Antonio said, and Jenn nodded.

After a time Jamie went back down to the graves. Noah was buried. Heather's ashes, or at least someone's ashes, had been given to her parents. In two days, after more had arrived to pay their respects, Father Juan would be buried in the monastery tomb, where the monks went to their rest.

Jamie stood gazing down at Noah's grave, and thought of Eriko. Her grave was a mound of rocks at Salamanca. He'd go back and bury her proper.

Then he went into the monastery, down to the room where Sade was keeping to herself. The poor girl was so ashamed of acting the spy, even though she'd been mesmerized with no way to fight it, that she didn't want to show her face.

”Hey,” Jamie said, knocking on her door. ”I've come to visit.”

He pushed the door open to find Jenn's parents sitting with Sade. The outcasts.

He c.o.c.ked his head. ”You know Jenn's forgiven you,” he said to Paul Leitner.

”How can I ever forgive myself?” the stricken man asked.

”You don't need to. G.o.d handles them kind of things,” Jamie replied. Then he walked over to Sade and crouched down beside her. ”They don't blame you,” he said. ”h.e.l.l, Antonio's got more to answer for than you, and he's up there dancing a jig.”

Then Jamie had an idea. ”You know Kent, the Voice of the Resistance? He's here.”

”Really?” Sade cried, sounding like an excited young girl for the first time.

”And truly,” he replied. ”Go on up.” When she hesitated, he jerked his head toward the door. ”He's cute,” he added.

”Come with me?” she asked Jamie.

So with a nod at the Leitners, Jamie escorted Sade upstairs. Then he wandered back into the chapel, and sat in a pew. He was exhausted. And he wanted a cigarette.

”My son,” said the cardinal from the back of the chapel. He had asked them to call him Father Diego, which Jamie was having a little trouble with.

His Eminence sat beside Jamie.

”Buenos dias, Father,” Jamie replied.

”You're not celebrating,” the priest observed.

”I'm thinking it's too important a thing to throw a party over,” Jamie replied. Then he flushed, because that sounded priggish. ”But sure and I'll be drinking a pint later. Better yet a gallon.”

Father Diego chuckled. He gazed at Father Juan's closed casket, candlelight flickering on the polished wood.

”Father Juan was my dearest and oldest friend.”