Free Vanquished by Nancy Holder, Debbie Viguié Page A

must use our magick to fight shoulder to shoulder with humanity,” said a third.
    “An thou harm none,” a fourth argued.
    Skye flared with irritation. “I’m sorry, but this is a war. The only way to win against the vampires is to kill them. There can be no peace.”
    “A truce,” someone said. “A truce with Solomon, and then—”
    “Crikey, are you mad?” Skye cried. “The vampires want to destroy us, and we cannot let that happen. You’ve been working behind the scenes, but the time for that is past.”
    “Perhaps. Perhaps not,” the High Priestess said. “The Cursed Ones wage war against the nonmagickal, not us.”
    And there it was, the arrogance, the denial, and the fear that allowed people to stand by and do nothing while others were slaughtered. It doesn’t concern me.
    Skye had spoken to Antonio many times about his experiences during World War II. Millions had been murdered because people thought Adolf Hitler could be reasoned with, bargained with. But bombs had fallen on Britain, and still nation upon nation stood by, because their countries hadn’t been attacked. Let Hitler kill the Jews and the Gypsies; what concern was it to them? And now Skye’s people, the witches, were willing to sacrifice nonwitch humanity because they believed that the Cursed Ones wouldn’t come after them.
    “It won’t end with ordinary humans,” Skye said. “The vampires fear us and our powers. But that won’t stop them from wiping us out too.”
    “Not everyone believes that,” the High Priestess replied.
    Raw fury coursed through Skye’s veins like blood. “Then believe this. Even if the vampires kill every mundane man, woman, and child, they’ll still need to feed. And we, and the werewolves, will be the only ones left. Everyone knows that werewolves fight back, so who do you think they’re going to look to for blood?”
    The High Priestess nodded. Her face was grim, her lips pursed tightly. “Well said, Sister York. You are young, passionate, and eloquent. You must persuade us all to join this war.”
    Moments later, blurry images of men and women began to appear in the room, some wearing robes, some ordinary street clothes. They were pale, ghostlike in their transparency.
    “Circuit members,” the High Priestess explained. “Those who can’t be with us in body are traveling here in spirit so that we all might decide on our course of action together.”
    Around the room, hundreds of astral projections appeared. Witches from every corner of the globe stared at Skye, waiting to hear her argument for war.
    Skye’s palms began to sweat. The fate of the world hung on what she said next.
D OVER , E NGLAND
E STEFAN AND H IS C OVEN B ROTHERS FROM C ADIZ
    Estefan’s three coven brothers arrived in a thunderstorm. Platinum-colored lightning struck the ground as they stepped from the ferry. Other travelers dodged the rain. But Estefan welcomed the icy downpour. It cooled his superheated anger and the burns Skye had left like the mark of a slap on his face. He wore a glamour to hide the injuries. As his coven brothers embraced him and kissed his cheek, none of them saw the damage a mere girl—and a White Witch at that—had inflicted on him.
    “Hermanos,” he said. Brothers. “Thank you for coming.” Then he snapped his fingers, and the rains parted in their path.
    They walked through the storm, dry as bones. Dark magick—Black magick—sizzled around them, colliding with the lightning and shaking the gray sky like a box of broken mirrors. Estefan’s mind kept turning to Skye. It was not long ago that he had imprisoned her in a fun house of her memories. Such joy he’d felt watching her flail in mindless terror like a little sparrow struggling to escape a cage.
    And now, days ago, she had escaped .
    I didn’t realize how much she’d grown since she left me, he thought. How strong she’s become.
    His brothers trailing slightly behind him, Estefan allowedthe glamour to drop away completely. He knew