Rises the Night gvc-2

by Колин Глисон

  It was no wonder those two races of creatures were rivals for the powers of Hell. One had been with Lucifer for an eternity; the other had been created by him, wooed from the side of Jesus Christ by thirty pieces of silver and the promise of protection from the wrath of God. Apparently these detestable beings were no different from their human counterparts in their zest for power and recognition.

  "Victoria?" Aunt Eustacia looked at her as though a new thought had placed itself forefront in her mind. "I must ask you—and think on it before you answer—after you had killed the vampire, did you sense the presence of another one? Was the back of your neck cool? Do you recall?"

  Victoria stilled and took herself back, reviewed the conversation she'd had with him and tried to remember… had her neck been cold? At last she had to shake her head. "No… it wasn't like I was sensing a vampire, but there was something. I smelled something… odd. Off. Strange, but I cannot say it was as discernible a sensation as when I am near a vampire."

  Aunt Eustacia smiled. "Well, that is quite interesting. Most Venators cannot sense the presence of a demon like they can a vampire; in fact, most cannot sense the presence at all. If you felt something, anything, that is unusual for a Venator." Her smile faded. "I shall contact Wayren and show her this. Perhaps she will have an idea what would bring a vampire and demon together." Aunt Eustacia looked down at the bronze disk Victoria had found where the creature's body had sunk into the floor. "Whatever it is, it cannot bode well."

  The disk was perhaps the size of a large man's thumbnail, stamped or engraved with a sinuous doglike animal. Although she couldn't be sure it had come from the creature she'd decapitated, Victoria's instinct told her that it was important. When she'd touched it to pick it up, an uneasy sensation skittered along her arms, flowing over the back of her shoulders so that she'd whipped around as though someone had come up behind her. Or something.

  "Where is Wayren?" Victoria asked, wondering about the serene, yet mysterious woman Eustacia often consulted when research needed to be done. Her attention darted to the small bookcase of aging, fraying manuscripts. They looked like something Wayren would have loaned to Aunt Eustacia—old, important, sacred. Perhaps they were part of Wayren's library, which she managed and studied… somewhere. Victoria had never learned exactly where Wayren lived.

  Her aunt placed the amulet on the mahogany piecrust table next to her favorite chair. "She was with Max, in Roma, but she will come if I send for her. She was helping him with a problem."

  "Max has a problem?" The sarcastic words slipped out before Victoria could catch them. "I would never have guessed it. In truth, I'm flabbergasted to hear that all things are not splendid in his world. So how does Max fare, back in your homeland?"

  "He has not been in contact for several months." Her aunt kept her eyes downcast; perhaps she didn't wish Victoria to see the expression therein. "Victoria, I realize it seemed rather callous that Max returned to Italy so immediately after the events last year with Lilith… and what followed, but he had been called back by the Consilium—the council of Venators—weeks earlier, and had chosen to stay until we could stop the threat of Lilith here in London."

  "Callous? No, that thought never crossed my mind," Victoria said. "It was past time for Max to return to Italy, indeed. You and I are well able to handle any vampire threats here in London. Until tonight, I hadn't even seen a vampire since Lilith left."

  Aunt Eustacia reached over and patted Victoria's hand. Her gnarled fingers were warm, and their pads were soft and smooth. "It's been a difficult year, cara, I know, and the last few months especially, as you've begun to receive some of your family's close friends and think about your return to Society. With all the questions about Phillip, and—"

  "The most difficult part has been that I've had nothing to do!" Victoria heard her voice spiraling up into a wail, and she stopped. If Max were here, he'd make some sardonic comment about how good Venators couldn't let their emotions get in their way, citing himself as the perfect example of one who did not.

  But… perhaps not. The last time she'd seen him, Max had said something that was high praise coming from him. He'd called her a Venator. As if he'd accepted her as his equal.

  "It may be that you haven't had much to do in the last months," her aunt said, "but what you did in your first months as a Venator far surpasses what anyone could have expected. And after what happened… Victoria, you needed a rest. You need to let yourself heal."

  "I need to stake vampires. Not just one. More. I need to get back to work." Victoria was on her feet, her heavy ink-colored skirt swaying. "You cannot imagine how it is, Aunt! I sit in my black gowns, drab as a scarecrow, and do nothing all the day, unless Mother or her two friends come to visit. And then we speak of inane things. Of gowns, and jewels, of who's marrying whom, and who's fornicating with whose spouse. Apparently now that I am a respectable widow, I can be privy to these conversations.

  "But outside of that, and a few other visitors like my friend Gwendolyn Starcasset, I hardly leave the estate. And I do not know when I will be asked to leave Phillip's home. The new marquess is in America, of all places, and has not responded to any of the letters sent by the solicitors. We do not know when, or if, he will be coming to claim the title and estate. I'm fortunate that Phillip had the foresight to settle quite a bit on me, or I would be forced to move back in with my mother." She had paced over to the streetside window and looked out at the dreary, rainy streets. July was supposed to be green and pretty, not drab and gray.

  "That might not be such a travesty, Victoria. At least you would not be alone."

  Victoria let the curtains fall back into place. "Aunt Eustacia, how could I live with my mother—especially after what happened? Endanger her again? She knows nothing about my life as a Venator. She and the rest of London have no concept that vampires and demons actually exist! Besides, she will try to find me a husband again as soon as I am out of these widow's weeds. And after what happened with Phillip… well, of course I cannot marry again."

  "It seems to me that you could have been in half-mourning gray for months now, Victoria," her aunt replied gently. "A lovely pearl gray that will make your complexion look rosy and your dark eyes brighter. You are well past the year's mark of mourning. I think you are still wearing black only to keep your mother at bay."

  "Please, Aunt! You are beginning to sound like my mother. Let us talk about stakes and amulets and… and stopping the evil in this world—instead of gowns and fashions. I do not care if skirts are beginning to grow wider."

  "Victoria… you must have a care for yourself. You still grieve. Ignoring your loss will only make it worse."

  "Aunt Eustacia, I am not ignoring my loss. I want to avenge it. But there are no vampires here in London… at least, until last night." She'd been so upset about the vampire who would not die that she'd missed the implication of last evening's events.

  Perhaps the undead were returning.

  And if the vampires returned, then she could learn where Lilith was… and how to get to her.

  Rest? No, Victoria would not take her ease until she plunged her own stake into the fiery-haired vampire queen's heart. Or died trying.

  Eustacia drew in a long, deep breath… then expelled it, slow, easy. She opened her eyes to find Kritanu watching her.

  He sat on the floor, as she did. One of his ankles was behind his neck, the other leg stretched out in front of him. As she watched, he lifted the foot from his nape and brought it gently to the thin mat on which he sat, raised his wiry, ropy arms, and drew in a deep breath.

  Eustacia straightened her own legs, dismayed to hear the soft click of muscle and tendon that hadn't been there only a year ago, and lifted her arms for a deep breath.

  They did not speak until they were finished.

  "Yoga should be relaxing and meditative," he said, padding over in bare feet to sit next to her. "Yet the worry did not leave your eyes." His short, loose pants rose up to expose two muscular calves covered with blue-b
lack hair. Not one white or gray strand stood out over his tea-colored skin anywhere, despite the fact that he had recently turned seventy-three. He could still position himself in the most difficult of asanas when they practiced yoga ... ones that Eustacia had long ago lost the flexibility for.

  She still stretched and breathed, as Kritanu had taught her when they'd first begun to train together… oh, well more than fifty-five years ago. But she could no longer put her ankles behind her head, nor could she hold her folded body up on one flat palm, fingers splayed, as he could.

  "It did not? And how would you know, if you were meditating as you should have been?"

  "I was meditating upon the familiar face of mere humsafar, and I was dismayed by what I saw there."

  She smiled at him, and in the old way, as she had done when they were much younger, Eustacia drew his head into her cross-legged lap so she could look down at his face. Never mind that her knees did not touch the ground as they once had, and that her arthritic ankles throbbed with the weight of his head. It was familiar, and it was a comfort to touch him.

  She replied, "It is true. I have been able to concentrate on little else since Victoria's visit this morning. It cannot bode well that she found a vampire and a demon together, yet I fear I haven't the energy to determine what it means. The demon spoke of someone named Nedas as well: a familiar name, but one that I cannot place. Wayren will know."

  "At least it is not Beauregard who is making mischief."

  "Unfortunately, there is no reason to believe that. Nedas could be one of his followers, or even one of his rivals. If I were not cursed with the mind of a Strega, I should be able to recall who he is. And then there is the amulet that Victoria found… it fairly reeks of evil when I touch it."

  "I have been thinking on that as well as the worry in your face," Kritanu said, looking up at her. "The hound on it makes me think of the hantu saburos of the Indus Valley."

  Eustacia smoothed her hands along his wide jaw in an automatic gesture. "The vampires who lived in caves and fed on animal blood?"

  "No, mere sanam. The saburos in the stories I heard supposedly trained dogs to hunt humans and bring them back for them to feed upon. I do not know if there is any truth to the legend, but… the hound figure on the amulet reminded me of it. I do not know if it is worth mentioning to Wayren in your correspondence… but then, you have already sent it, haven't you?" He drew himself from her lap and smiled into her face. "Of course you have. With the swiftest of pigeons, haven't you?"

  "Wayren should have the letter in four days or less. I will send her another letter with your thoughts, however, as I have learned never to discount your impressions."

  "At least you have learned something in more than fifty years."

  They laughed together, a comfortable, close chuckle, their breaths mingling and their noses brushing.

  When the humor faded from her face, Kritanu picked up her hand. "And you are worried about Victoria."

  "Vero. She is like my daughter. The pain is still so fresh for her. And there has been all the gossip, all the pity for the new bride of the Marquess of Rockley, so shortly married, so soon a widow."

  "The story told is that he died at sea. A reasonable one."

  "Si, although there have been more than a few comments about why he left for the Continent without his new bride, if they were so much in love… Even the servants do not know what truly happened. And certainly not her mother. And Victoria has held her head up bravely during it all… but she is only just twenty—so young to have this sort of burden and grief. Our life is difficult enough as it is."

  "It is not your fault, Eustacia. What happened was not your fault."

  A sudden sting burned her eyes. He knew her so well. "I know that… yet, I cannot relieve myself of the blame. If she had not become a Venator… if I had not pushed her…"

  "You did not push her. She was meant to be… just as you were. As I recall, you were none too shy about taking on the task… and not demure in the least when a younger man came to teach you to fight using kalaripayattu and to meditate using yoga. You wanted nothing to do with me, as I was so much younger than your twenty-four years." He smoothed his fingers over the ugly, knobby knuckles of her old woman's hand. "And see what a difference you have made in the world, sanam. Without you… without your gift and your bravery, the mortal world would be very different than it is now. Remember that Christmas Eve in Venice? Eustacia… if you had not stopped those Guardians, the whole city would have been lost."

  "And Lilith would have had the Gold Clasp in her hands." A tug of a smile caught her mouth. "We have thwarted her more than once, have we not, amore mio?"

  "We have. You have." His eyes, pupil and iris the same black color, glittered with seriousness. "You and Max and the others… but you, most of all. And now it is Victoria's turn. She is destined for greatness. You know it, because she carries two generations of Venator skills, from both your brother and her flighty mother. You must let her achieve it."

  "I think in the end it was best that Victoria's mother didn't accept her calling as Venator. I don't believe Melly could have given up her love for Society in favor of hunting vampires." The last bit of levity and comfort seeped away. "Kritanu, it's Max I am most worried about."

  "You have no word from him?"

  She shook her head slowly. "Not in more than ten months. I was not completely truthful with Victoria when I told her Wayren was with him. She was in Spain, and then Paris, until a month ago, when she learned I had not heard from Max since last August, shortly after he arrived in Venezia. Wayren went back to Italia to see if she could find him… but she has not. No one seems to know where he is." Lifting her eyes, she looked at her sanam, her beloved. "She writes that the Tutela is rising again. I am afraid it is the doing of this vampire called Nedas."

  "They have risen before, and we have stopped them."

  "There is something different this time, Kritanu. And I fear I do not have the energy, nor the clarity of mind, to know what it is… what to do. I am old and slow. And I ache."

  "It is Victoria's turn, pyar. You will do what you can, but you cannot do it all. And do not worry for Max. He wears the vis bulla, though he was not born to it. He is one of the few who passed the life-and-death test to do so. There is a reason for it."

  "I know that. But I fear for him still."

  Chapter 3

  An Encounter with a Most Discreet Gentleman

  Victoria had walked the night many times since she had taken on her duty as a Venator. The freedom of wearing trousers and going where she wished to go had been a joyful adventure, despite the danger of stalking the undead. Knowing that no other woman from the ton would desire—or be able—to walk empty, dangerous streets alone fueled her excitement.

  Knowing that even a man would be in more danger, traveling Great St. Andrews or Little White Lion of St. Giles alone, on foot, made her feel invincible.

  But tonight she was uneasy. Her nerves felt like her hair did after her maid, Verbena, brushed it too much—buzzing with static and energy. She waited for the back of her neck to chill or tingle. She gripped her stake, holding it ready in the folds of her man's jacket, when before she would leave it sagging in her pocket until she needed it.

  She could have remained at St. Heath's Row, safe behind its cross-studded gates and stone walls. She could have given herself another night or two, after her experience at the Silver Chalice. She could even have waited until Aunt Eustacia heard from Wayren about the amulet she'd found. She could have spent the evening poring over the limited selection of manuscripts and scrolls that her aunt kept at her home, looking for some clue as to whether the amulet had been left by the demon she'd beheaded, or whether it was, perhaps, something Sebastian had lost months ago.

  But she had not. If the vampires were indeed back, it was her duty to hunt and kill them. She could not hide in her husband's home and wonder how she would kill a demon if she faced one again tonight.

  Her duty was to keep the inn
ocent, the unwitting, safe from the immortals who would feed on their very life. If the residents of London—indeed, of all of England—had any concept how easily evil walked along with them, there would be mass hysteria.

  So instead of attending dinner parties, or visiting clothiers and millineries, Victoria trained and planned and hunted.

  A shadow detaching itself from the corner of an alley caught her attention as she walked by. She felt it step into her wake and pad quietly behind her, silent, oh, so silent.

  The back of her neck did not cool. She didn't sense anything else prickling at her nerves, either. This, then, was a mortal who stalked her tonight, and Victoria waited for him to move on her, releasing the stake into the depths of her pocket. Despite her wariness, she was ready to fight something she knew how to fight.

  Rounding a corner, Victoria took two steps before she saw the other figure coming at her from the left. She tipped with a graceful swoop and slid out the knife she wore strapped to her trousered thigh, letting it glint dully in the dim light. Her fingers trembled, but she kept her mind clear.

  If she needed to use the knife, she would keep her mind clear and steady. She would not go berserk tonight.

  "No need fer that, sirrah," growled a cockney burr just behind her. Something sharp pushed into the back of her coat.

  The second figure blocked the walkway, legs spread and strong, something silver in his hand. His face was shadowed, his bulk generous. The bigger they were…

  Victoria stopped, calm, her hand holding the knife dangling at her side. She did not turn to see the man behind, but kept her eyes on the one in front while listening, and feeling, what was behind. Her heart zipped along at a steady pace, her muscles tightened in anticipation, and energy swelled inside her.