Rises the Night gvc-2

by Колин Глисон

  "More dangerous too," Victoria added, and succumbed to her maid's ministrations. She was quite certain that half of the reason Verbena insisted on dressing and coiffing her so particularly even when the event didn't call for it was because her sister was the lady's maid for the daughter of a duchess… and they were always comparing notes about their mistresses' gowns and jewels.

  When Victoria came down the stairs a half hour after receiving the note from Alvisi, two stakes in her hair and another one affixed to the garter under her skirt, salted holy water in her reticule and in a small vessel attached to her other garter, along with a sheathed dagger, and a large crucifix tucked deep down betwixt her breasts where it would not be seen unless she wished it to, she interrupted a fierce, whispered conversation between Verbena and Oliver in the front parlor.

  It was comic: The maid barely reached to his collarbones, but she appeared to be doing the talking, with him nodding silently but energetically down at her. Her carrot-red hair, frizzy and bushy, bobbed with her every movement, his darker, more auburn hair following in a slower rhythm. Her hands slapped together in some sort of emphasis, back hand into her palm with a loud crack; then she shifted into a single pointing finger.

  "Has the count arrived?" Victoria asked innocently.

  "Not yet, my lady," Verbena responded, stepping away from her counterpart with one last glare. Perhaps she'd been lecturing him on using a crucifix instead of garlic for the best vampire repellent. "But Oliver here will, I'm certain, be pleased to look out for you."

  Just then, the Italian servant who acted as a sort of butler for the small house they were renting slipped into the room and announced, "The Count Alvisi, signora."

  It was apparent as soon as the count stepped into the small parlor that he had not brushed too close to a woman who had bathed in lavender the other night, but that he had been the one to douse himself. And as though he were trying to extend the scent in some sort of stylistic pattern, his silk shirtwaist was a lavender color… and the cravat tied neatly, if blandly, at his throat was lavender. And the gem that glittered in the center of it was… yes… a clear, pale amethyst.

  "You look lovely this evening, Mrs. Withers," the count told her, honest appreciation beaming in his dark eyes. "In fact, you look lovely enough to eat!" He winked and gave a loud guffaw as he stepped forward to take her hand.

  Victoria remembered herself, and that she had to play the role of a bold, crass woman—instead of a fiercesome Venator or a perfect Society woman—and managed a hearty enough laugh that her mother would have been mortified. She would remember that for the evening: If she did something that would cause her mother's jaw to drop askance or her lips to purse in annoyance, she would be acting just as she should—just as she imagined a woman who would be interested in meeting vampires because she found them fascinating and attractive would act.

  "Shall we go?" asked Victoria.

  "Indeed, signora. The carriage awaits." He took her arm and they swept out of the room, shoulder-to-shoulder, elbow-to-elbow.

  "I cannot believe I shall meet a real vampire tonight," Victoria said once they were settled in the carriage. No sooner had the door closed than she wished fervently to crack a window in order to allow some of the lavender to escape.

  Alvisi sat across from her, not as Sebastian would have, relaxing in the corner with an arm extended along the back of the seat, but on the edge of the bench, stiffly upright, hands clasped in his lap. He looked as though he might be ready to bolt at any moment. "Er… si, signora. We may not see an actual vampire tonight. I have seen one myself only one time."

  Victoria sagged back, stifling her disappointment and budding annoyance. Was this simply a ploy to get her in a carriage alone?

  If it were Sebastian, she would believe it without a doubt. But this man did not send ripples of apprehension through her. He seemed harmless and easily managed—except for the powerful weapon of his cologne. "Where are we going if not to see a vampire?"

  "We are to attend the meeting of a secret society, the Tutela, whose purpose is to protect and care for vampires. But I do not know if we shall be graced with the presence of the immortals." That glitter she had seen in his eyes at Byron's villa was back, accompanied by a slight sheen on his rounded forehead. "They do not attend every meeting at this level."

  "Level?" Victoria looked around; the carriage had stopped. "Have we arrived?"

  "No, no. We must cross a canal. Come, signora, hurry, or we shall arrive too late and the doors will be barred. It is already after half past ten."

  They climbed out of the carriage and hustled quickly into a waiting gondola that dipped and pitched when he tried to find a comfortable seat. Victoria did not recognize the part of the city in which they had stopped, but she was not all that familiar with Venice as yet. As the gondolier eased them across the canal with his long pole, she glanced back at the shore they were leaving behind. Something in the shadows moved next to the carriage, and then it was gone.

  She continued to stare as the gray outline of shore, lit only by random lanterns hung from poles and a smattering of stars in a moonless sky, melded into the darkness that now surrounded them on the wide canal. Someone or something had been there. Following them?

  As they poled along the canal, away from either shore, Victoria could hear the excitement growing in Alvisi's breaths. They were coming faster and more shallowly, a bit raspier, often with a little catch, like a tiny gasp, at the end. The single lantern of punctured tin that hung from the back of the gondola gave enough light for her to see his hands clasped onto the sides of the vessel, and a shinier sheen on his forehead. Either he didn't like water and boats, or he was becoming very excited about the meeting of the Tutela.

  They went on for a long while, traveling away from the city, silently moving atop the water. There had been a few other gondolas in the vicinity when they started out, but as the distance from town and their carriage increased, the number of other vessels decreased until there were none other about. Even the lights from homes along the canals, and the squares of buildings silhouetted against the shore, eased into darkness and the jaggedness of tumbledown structures and rocky terrain, illuminated only by chance when their gondola lantern swayed in a lucky direction.

  Victoria began to feel a bit apprehensive as she realized they'd left Venice behind. This was so very different from London, where she at least had a sense of direction and knew where she was. And where a hackney could be hired to take her home from most any place in the city, even St. Giles. She realized she should have paid much better attention to where they were going in the carriage, and watched for landmarks along the canal.

  She wasn't frightened, but she should have made better preparations. Having Oliver follow along might have been a prudent choice. Perhaps Kritanu as well.

  But she had been so confident of her ability to take care of herself, with her vis bulla and other weapons, and so focused on her goal of gaining entrance to the Tutela, that she had planned poorly.

  Of course, she could be worrying about nothing. But her uneasiness was beginning to grow as steadily as the moisture on Alvisi's forehead. He spoke little during the voyage, and Victoria, who was trying to watch for landmarks in order to remember their route, didn't attempt conversation.

  And then, at last, after what must have been more than an hour of navigating along the dark canal, they arrived.

  At least, that was what Victoria assumed when the gondola eased up to a dark shore.

  "Come, come," Alvisi said, his voice strained. He scrambled out of the boat and pulled her after him with none of the gentlemanly aplomb he'd served up earlier at her villa. Once on the rocky shore, Victoria pulled firmly away from his grip—no difficult task, and if he noticed her unusual strength, he made no comment. He was already hurrying along some pathway that she was hardly able to see. Looking back toward the water, she saw that the gondola and its small lantern had shoved away from the shore and it was easing back up along the canal.

 
She would have paused longer, to take measure of the darkness and its occupants, but Alvisi had come back for her. "Mrs. Withers, come; we must hurry or they will bar the doors!"

  This was what she'd come for.

  She turned and followed him down the dark path, between bushes and trees that brushed into her and snagged at her light pelisse.

  At last they came to a wooden door attached to a tall stone building closely surrounded by trees. It appeared that they'd approached it from the rear; there were no other buildings in sight, nor anything that hinted of civilization. It was a building alone in the dark woods. Victoria could see the outlines of the gray, black, and tan stones that made up the wall, thanks to the small lantern that hung from a short iron stem. It sat only knee-height, and was half-hidden by a bush until one came nearly upon it. Clearly, the Tutela took no chances in having its meeting place found.

  Alvisi pulled on the long iron latch of the door and, to his obvious relief it swung open on silent hinges. A red glow from inside colored the sandy, trampled ground next to the low lantern outside, and tinged the door and stones with a warm hue.

  With one quick glance up at the sky, which had cleared to show the moon, Victoria noted that it was approximately midnight already. She followed Alvisi in and, once inside, a tall man dressed as though he were ready to attend the opera closed the door behind her.

  "Good evening, madam, and welcome," he said in Italian. He seemed to be waiting for something, and then Victoria remembered. She opened her hand to show him the Tutela amulet, and he nodded admittance.

  She followed Alvisi down the hall, confirming that, according to the back of her neck, there were no vampires in the vicinity.

  The half-lit room they entered at the end of the hall contained several dozen people conversing, and was large enough in size to be a ballroom, but not appropriate in decor. Victoria hadn't been able to determine what kind of building they were in, but it did not appear to be a villa or home. The interior walls were the same stone as the exterior. There were no windows—not surprising, as the vampires wouldn't be receptive to having sunlight come flooding in—and as far as she could tell, only one other door. The floor was covered with rugs, and between them, she could see the primitive dirt and stone.

  There were, however, chairs and benches throughout the room. And at the far end from where she and Alvisi had entered, a small, high dais had been positioned. It was just large enough to hold a long table and five chairs. It reminded her of a theater, or perhaps a church… although that would be an odd place for vampire protectors to meet.

  Curious, Victoria slipped away from her escort and toward the front of the room, for she was too far away to see what was on the table other than two large, shallow bowls that held small fires, one on each end.

  The room's red glow came from a roaring fire on one wall near the dais, in a fireplace that could easily hold eight grown men. Candles and sconces flickered throughout the room, and as she passed among the other attendees, Victoria noted that the vast majority were men of all ages and that they were as well dressed as the man who'd asked to see her amulet.

  In fact, she saw only three other women, and they did not appear to be ones who would normally be accepted in high society, based on the ludicrously low-cut gowns and pretentious jewels they wore. Perhaps she should speak with them. Since that was the kind of thing that would make her mother's eyes roll up into her head just before she swooned, it would be a fitting action for Mrs. Withers to undertake.

  The room smelled of smoke and sweat, along with the horrid mingle of Alvisi's lavender, and the rosewaters, minty perfumes, and vetiver colognes that clung to other persons. But underlying all of the sweet floral and musky herbal scents, Victoria smelled blood and darkness and evil, and a faint pungent smell she'd sensed only once before: at the Silver Chalice.

  It was nothing she recognized, nothing she could name or even compare it to; it was faint, but it was rancid and rank. It made her belly want to seize. She hadn't remembered even smelling it until now, but the memory came back as she inhaled it once again. The only other time she'd experienced it was when she was fighting the demon.

  Was this the scent of a demon? Or was it something else entirely?

  She looked around and realized that everyone seemed to be selecting a seat. Alvisi was gesturing to her from one of the rows in the back of the room, and Victoria decided it would be in her best interest to remain with him. She had no desire to be singled out until she had a better idea of what was to happen here. In addition, sitting in the back of the room would give her a better view of the entire chamber and perhaps an opportunity to determine whether there was indeed a demon present. So far, there were no vampires.

  No sooner had she been seated next to her escort than three men stepped up onto the dais. She recognized one of them as a guest at Byron's villa. Signore Zinnani.

  "Good evening," he said, gesturing widely to the room as the attendees gave him their attention. "Welcome to the Tutela. You are all here only because you have been invited by one of our members."

  Victoria looked at Alvisi, who gave a small shrug and nodded.

  "Let us begin."

  Zinnani opened what appeared to be a square black box that gleamed when it was moved. He reached in with his hand, then sprinkled whatever had been in the box onto each of the small bowls of fire that sat on the table in front of him. Each fire in turn gave a tiny poof, like a huff of breath, and the flames burned blue, then purple, then back to red again. Almost immediately a faint but enduring sweet scent reached Victoria's sensitive Venator nose.

  She didn't like it. The smell made her want to escape from the room even as it rushed through the air, silently and invisibly, like a web.

  She didn't like it at all. It was too sweet and too thick, like honey or molasses, and Victoria felt it clogging her nostrils as though a piece of heavy cloth had been tossed over her, pulled tight, and stuffed into her nose. She looked around, next to her, and along the rows in front of her. No one appeared to be bothered by the smell but her. In fact, Alvisi looked as though he wanted to sniff the entire room into his nostrils, the way he lifted his face and closed his eyes and sucked in long, deep breaths.

  Victoria was feeling hazy and light-headed. Alvisi swayed next to her, and when she turned to look at him, she saw that his eyes were darker and glassy. Others in the rows in front of her, all the way to the dais, were moving, restless, tipping as though having difficulty keeping their balance as well.

  She became aware of a low murmur. She could not understand the words, but they sounded like a chant. It started with the men at the dais and swelled to fill the room, deep and low, as though needing to stay near the ground so that its meaning would not be discerned. Alvisi's mouth was moving and the words were coming out, but they were not recognizable to her.

  The sense of muzziness had not left her; Victoria placed her hand on her abdomen, slipping her fingers into a small hole where several stitches had been removed at the seam of her bodice and skirt. This way she could feel under her stays and beneath her chemise to her vis bulla, the solid, blessed silver of comfort and strength. When her fingers touched it, she closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and let its power flow through her.

  The haziness ebbed. It did not disappear completely, but it relaxed its grip.

  The chanting stopped, and for a moment the only sound came from the sizzle and pop of the fire in its large stone enclosure.

  Then Zinnani spoke again. His voice was low and mellow. "We have been called, those of us here. We are chosen from among the mortals to protect those who cannot walk in the sun as we do. To protect those who cannot live in ease, those who have been cursed to darkness."

  As he spoke, murmurs punctuated his words, the beneficient list of the tasks and rewards of the Tutela. "Protect them!"

  "Those of us here who can stand the test and who shall prove themselves will be granted safety."

  "Safety!"

  "By serving the Immortals, we will
remain safe from harm. We will not be hunted or ravaged as the unbelievers will. We will not be their targets when the Immortals rise to rule."

  "Rise, Immortals! Rise!"

  "We will be granted pleasure such as we have never known."

  "Pleasure!" This response a soft gasp, nearly a whisper.

  "The partaking and giving of life force is the most erotic and pleasurable event ever experienced. This will be ours at will and without cessation! We shall feel as we have never felt before! We shall feel and we shall live for the first time! And we shall be granted the gift of immortal life."

  "Immortal life!"

  "Immortal life!"

  "Immortal life!"

  The words filled her ears, slipping into them, spiraling into her consciousness. Immortal life. The prize sought by men for centuries from alchemists to, if legend was to be believed, the knights of the Round Table who hunted for the Holy Grail.

  Was it any wonder that some men would even align with evil in order to attain life everlasting?

  Immortal life, the gift of the Tutela. Immortal life until they were staked or beheaded… and then eternal damnation. She shuddered, for she knew it was true.

  Victoria turned to Alvisi, wanting to say something to him, to try to penetrate the fog that had hold of him, but even when she tugged at his arm with all of her strength, he merely stumbled into her, righted himself, and then returned his attention to Zinnani.

  And then she felt it: the cool wisps across the back of her neck, growing burning cold. Her fingers still pinching her vis bulla, Victoria let her gaze scan the room without turning her head, looking for new arrivals. They either needed to enter through the door near the dais, or from the doorway through which she and Alvisi had come. She could not see that door unless she turned around, and she dared not do that for fear of drawing attention to herself.

  The cold itch became biting. There must be five or six vampires here.