Lucien’s glance shifted away from his brother and toward her.
And when their gazes met, Meena felt something like an explosive charge go off inside her head.
She could see in his eyes how much he loved her.
And how hard it was for him not to kill his brother then and there, with his bare hands, for what Dimitri had done to her.
But he couldn’t.
Not while Dimitri stood so close to her, with one arm still wrapped around her, a dagger at her neck, his fangs within such easy snapping distance.
Meena nodded. She understood. It was all right. The important thing was that she had to keep Dimitri and the Dracul from doing what they were there to do:
Kill the one impediment to their master plan. Lucien.
It was right then that a stake went whizzing from a crossbow somewhere near the doors of the church and plunged directly into the center of Lucien’s back.
“Yes!” Meena heard her brother scream. “Did you see that? I got him!”
Chapter Fifty-seven
12:00 A.M. EST, Sunday, April 18
St. George’s Cathedral
180 East Seventy-eighth Street
New York, New York
Meena was never exactly sure what happened after that, because it all seemed to take place in a sort of blur, like it was underwater or in a nightmare.
Or at least, that’s how it seemed to her.
Lucien fell to his knees.
That she knew for certain, because she was standing only a foot or two away from him. She tried to catch him as he swayed, to keep him from pitching to the hard marble floor of the dais.
But Dimitri yanked her back.
She thought she heard someone say, “No,” softly.
Then realized that someone was herself.
Then something whizzed past her head. Dracul and humans began screaming. Dimitri yanked her sore arm very hard again and shouted in her ear, “Get down!”
Then he shoved her roughly to the floor of the dais.
Meena could hear someone-it sounded like Alaric-shouting something. It sounded like, “Stop, you fool! What are you doing?”
Meena knew she should feel frightened. She knew she should feel something, anyway.
But she felt nothing. Nothing at all. She just lay with her cheek pressed to the cool marble, staring in the direction where she’d last seen Lucien.
She could see nothing there at all now. Not even the dust he must have crumbled into.
He’s dead, she thought in the part of her brain that was still working. He’s dead, and I never got the chance to warn him that he was going to die…because I never got the chance to know him when he was alive in the first place. I only knew him when he was already dead.
And now he’s really, really dead.
Then she thought, Why did I ever think that he was going to kill Alaric and Jon? He would never do something like that. He’s the sweetest, most wonderful person I’ve ever known.
And now he’s dead.
Then she thought, I wish I were dead, too.
And then she was wrenched abruptly to her feet by Dimitri Antonescu.
And Meena realized that her wish was about to be granted.
“You’re coming with me,” Dimitri said. His face was a twisted mask of greed and hatred and something else. Something Meena had never seen before.
Evil, she thought in that part of her brain that had taken over for the rest of her mind, which seemed to have stopped working since she’d seen Lucien die.
Why, Lucien’s brother is nothing but pure evil.
And then Dimitri scooped her up over his shoulder by the hips, as easily as if she were made of straw.
Now the world was suddenly turned upside down.
Not that Meena particularly cared.
But she found it interesting, as she dangled there like a limp doll, to observe that Father Bernard and Sister Gertrude and the rest of the people she’d known from St. Clare’s were suddenly there among the Dracul in the apse of St. George’s, fighting them with stakes and crucifixes and holy water…and, in the case of Abraham Holtzman, with a crossbow and a gleaming Star of David.
Interesting, but not much beyond that. Meena hoped no one would die.
But she knew they would. She’d tried to warn them that they would. They all would.
But none of them had listened. No one ever listened.
And now look at what was happening.
Oh, well. Everyone was going to die eventually. Even her.
It might as well be tonight.
“Meena!”
She heard someone call her name through all the smoke and chaos. She thought it might be Alaric.
She didn’t care.
Dimitri was taking her somewhere. She didn’t know where. He was probably going to bite her-and not in a pleasant way, like Lucien had-and then suck out all her blood.
Then he’d be the one to know when everyone was going to die.
Better him than her.
“Meena!”
Why wouldn’t Alaric leave her alone? He really was the most annoying person on earth.
Dimitri appeared to be taking her up the steps to the choir loft. He was probably going to rape her, too, when they got up there. Wouldn’t that just be the perfect end to a perfect day?
“Meena!”
Alaric was so irritating. He had never let her alone when she was alive, and now he wouldn’t leave her alone when she was about to die.
Reluctantly, she lifted her head. Alaric was struggling to reach them-no doubt in order to stop Dimitri, not realizing that Meena wanted this to happen; she wanted to die. What did she have to live for? No job. No apartment. No Lucien-but Alaric had a vampire hanging off either arm, holding him back. It actually looked a bit comical, the way the Dracul were trying to snap at Alaric’s throat.
Warding off their hissing mouths and pointed, saliva-dripping fangs, Alaric had a hand wrapped around the neck of each of them. He threw Meena a furious glance. He looked enraged with her.
“Stop being an idiot,” he roared at her. “He’s not dead. Look.”
Meena looked in the direction Alaric had tipped his head. The sanctuary.
And then she saw it.
It was true.
Lucien wasn’t dead. He was getting up.
Slowly. Painfully.
But he was getting up.
Meena saw more than just that in her glance, though.
She saw that the warriors from the Shrine of St. Clare were getting soundly beaten by the Dracul, who outnumbered them almost three to one. Jon may have gotten off a single lucky shot into the back of the prince of darkness, but the rest of his shots wouldn’t have hit the side of a barn if he were standing next to it. Gregory Bane was giving her brother’s face a pummeling, and seeming to enjoy it, if the movie-star grin he was wearing was any indication. Stefan Dominic had Sister Gertrude in a head-lock. And Emil Antonescu had three or four men-who were dressed, oddly, like the kind of guys Jon had used to work with at Webber and Stern-shredding his suit jacket with their fangs, while Mary Lou tried to hold them off with a wrought iron candle sconce.
Meena flung out both arms-even the sore one-against the sides of the stairwell up which Dimitri was carrying her, grabbing the stone walls.
Dimitri wasn’t expecting his formerly semicomatose victim to suddenly come to life. That was the only way Meena managed to propel herself out of his powerful grip and down from his broad shoulders, a physical maneuver that required both the element of surprise and a complete lack of fear of pain on her part…especially since it ended with her falling down the last few steps and landing on her tailbone.
Dimitri spun around, looking flabbergasted. She’d gone from completely limp to human projectile in a matter of seconds.
“Get away from me,” Meena warned him, crab-walking as fast as she could from the bottom of the steps.
But Dimitri was already thundering down the stairs after her, his eyes glowing red as twin stoplights. Meena scrambled to her feet and whirled around to make a run for it…