Jenn swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Eriko,” she said. “I didn’t back you up.”
Eriko shrugged. “You don’t have the power I do, Jenn. You did fine.”
But Jenn knew she hadn’t. She had panicked. She’d been more worried about Antonio than anyone else, including herself.
Eriko looked past her to Antonio. “Antonio, on the other hand . . .”
“He was burned,” Jenn said, angry and defensive at the implication. “Look at his hands.”
“Bloody hell, that was all arseways,” a familiar voice fumed. Jenn turned as two figures approached. One was tall, with a nearly shaved head and heavy tattoos on his arms and neck, which made him look like a demon in the firelight. The turtleneck he had been wearing was gone, and only an undershirt remained. That was Jamie O’Leary.
For once the girl at his side didn’t disagree. From her black battle clothes—padded jacket, leggings, thigh-high boots—to her white-blond rasta braids, to the silver crescent-moon ring on her thumb, Skye York was covered with soot except where tears had cut paths down her pale cheeks.
Skye made circles in the air with her hand while muttering an incantation with the Latin refrain “desino.” Cease. One by one the fires in her vicinity were extinguished.
“Cursers all dead?” Jamie asked, gazing around. He looked at Antonio. “The ones we’re allowed to kill?” he added pointedly.
“There’s one more,” Eriko said. “I got one, Antonio got one, and that leaves—”
“None,” Jamie interrupted. “I got one on my way out of the church.” He showed them his singed palms. “Staked him through the back with a piece of burning timber. It was good and long and caught him in the heart.”
“That’s great; we’re done, then,” Eriko said, grinning at her fighting partner. Jamie grinned back, clearly relishing that both of them had managed kills. They hadn’t been near each other when the church went up in flame, but they had still caused the most damage. Energy practically sizzled between the two. They did seem to belong together, somehow.
After fasting, praying, and working magicks, Father Juan had matched them into fighting pairs, insisting that each fulfilled some complicated balance of yin and yang, light and dark.
Strength and weakness.
Jenn was paired with Antonio, much to her relief. Eriko and Jamie were matched, and they pushed each other hard and themselves harder. Skye and Holgar were the third pair, and they had a quiet closeness with each other that was enviable.
Like Jenn, Jamie had no special gifts or powers. But his ferocity and the fighting skills drilled into him by his family during his childhood in Belfast more than made up for it.
Finished with her incantation for the fires, Skye gendy touched Jamie’s palms, and his skin began to heal. Her delicate face nearly glowed as she infused him with her nurturing energy. Jamie sighed with pleasure but said nothing.
Skye turned next to Antonio. Moving into position while the sun was still up had weakened his system. He held out his hands, palms up, and Skye moved her hands over them and whispered in ancient Latin. Jenn felt herself relax slightly She hated it when Antonio came close to fire. Fire was one of the few things that could kill a vampire. Vampires could also be killed by sunlight, a wooden stake through the heart, and decapitation.
“How many dead, brujita?” Antonio asked softly, calling Skye “little witch,” as he flexed his fingers. “Villagers?”
Skye shook her head, her rasta braids swaying down her back. “At least fifty. When the fires started, the vampires killed the first few people who tried to escape the burning buildings. The rest were so afraid . . .” Her voice broke.
“Some of them stayed inside their homes and burned to death,” Jenn bitterly finished for her, sick knots twisting her stomach. “Then we failed.”
Eriko shook her head. “No one would be alive if we hadn’t come.”
“And about that,” Jamie said, spitting into the dirt. “How the bloody hell did they know—”
“Where’s Holgar?” Skye asked, glancing around for her fighting partner.
“Fried, extra crispy if we’re lucky,” Jamie muttered.
“Sorry to say it, Irish, but my ears weren’t burned off,” Holgar quipped, limping toward the group. His clothes hung in tatters from his body. Gaping wounds on his chest and legs had already begun to scab over. Holgar’s hands were bloodied, though whether it was his or someone else’s, Jenn couldn’t tell.
Jamie swore under his breath, but Jenn only could make out “. . . bloody werewolf.”
Table of Contents
Half-title page
Also by Nancy Holder and Debbie Viguié
Title page
Dedication page
Contents
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
BOOK ONE: APIS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
BOOK TWO: VELES
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BOOK THREE: SEKER
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
THE CURSED ONES