by Колин Глисон
And then they pushed past her, thrusting themselves through the messy rows of chairs, one by one, six of them, striding toward the dais. Victoria felt cold rush over her entire body. She had never been so close to a vampire that she had not been fighting, that had not been on the attack.
Fingering her vis amulet, she thanked God that vampires could not sense the presence of a Venator.
Five of the six vampires had not fed. She saw that from the moment they stepped onto the dais and turned to face the room. Their eyes, pure bloodred, had the hunger in them that would drive them to find nourishment at any cost. The sixth vampire, whose eyes were also red, turned to speak with Zinnani.
Zinnani, who had the same unblinking expression on his face as Alvisi, made room for the vampire guests next to him. Even from her position in the back, Victoria could see him vibrating with emotion and pleasure at the proximity of the creatures he so obviously worshiped. His eyes glistened with what must have been tears, and his mouth was stretched in a wide, wet smile that made him look as though he were about to partake of some rich and sinful pastry.
The sixth vampire turned from him and spoke to the room. "We have come to receive your commitment and promise to the Immortals. Who of the First Trial shall be the first to receive this honor?"
There was a hesitation; then a man stood near the front of the room. "I shall."
"Come forward."
The man, who was little more than a youth touching adulthood, maneuvered himself between the chairs until he stood at the dais. The vampire leader, the one Victoria had come to think of as the Sixth, effortlessly pulled the young man up onto the stage.
She could see the pulse pounding in a distended vein on the man's forehead, and the way his Adam's apple jerked and jumped. He faced the room, and the Sixth opened his mouth, extending his lethal fangs, and pulled the man's head to the side.
He bent and, as Victoria watched, sank his teeth slowly into the exposed neck. The young man started, his shoulders snapping back, but he did not fight. His eyes closed; his mouth opened; he would have sagged to the floor had the Sixth not held him upright. He moaned, twitching, his fingers convulsing at his sides as though reaching for something, his chest moving rapidly as though he were running. He seemed to welcome the sensation.
Behind them, the other five vampires, the ones who had not fed and were susceptible to the scent of blood, stood and watched avidly. Their noses twitched as though the scent of fresh blood called to them. Victoria could feel their hunger; she could nearly smell their obsession; and she waited with trepidation to see whether they would succumb to the temptation and the need.
But though their eyes burned like the hottest coals of Hell, they did not, and the Sixth did nothing to alleviate their agony. Instead, after he had fed from the young man for a few moments, he turned to face him, swiping a tiny trickle of blood from his lips. "You have now entered the Second Trial. When you have completed what is required of you in the next two trials, and have proven your service, you shall be brought into the Center."
The man, shaking but glowing with a sort of accomplishment, hurried back to his seat and received the congratulations of the men sitting beside him.
"Who shall be next?"
Another man stood and came forward, and the same process ensued. The Sixth fed from him as he had from the other, ignoring the increasing depravity and impatience of the five other vampires. This time when the man was being fed upon, Victoria, who now knew what to expect, felt herself becoming enraptured along with the man. His cries were not of agony but of ecstasy, his eyes closed in pleasure rather than pain. His hands reached back behind the vampire, who fed from his neck and fondled his shoulder-length coils of hair.
When he moaned, she felt it rumble through her veins. She felt his shivers and the waves of pleasure, felt her own body begin to awaken. What should have been grotesque and frightening became inviting.
She realized then that the sweet, cloying scent had become stronger and noticed Zinnani moving back behind the stage. Reaching beneath her gown, she felt again for her vis bulla and closed her eyes.
This went on for a time; Victoria felt as though hours had elapsed since she and Alvisi had arrived: the Sixth feeding for a short time with each of the men who volunteered to come forward. None of the three other women that Victoria had seen stood and asked to complete their First Trial, and she began to wonder if only men were given the opportunity to get to the Center.
She must find out, for the Center must be where Nedas was.
To her surprise, Alvisi did not volunteer to go forward, and she remembered through her haze (for she still held her vis bulla) that he had said something about a "level." Perhaps the trials were the levels of which he'd spoken. That brought her to wonder what level or trial he had attained. He'd shown her his bite marks, so he must have passed at least the First Trial.
When all of the volunteers from the First Trial had come forward, the Sixth stood with his hands on his hips. He'd forgotten to wipe away the last vestiges of blood from his last feed, and a small trickle curled down his chin. His lips were full and moist and red, and his matching eyes glowed a complacent blood color. "Now we have finished the First Trial. We have brought sixteen new members into the Tutela, sixteen new men who shall help to protect and serve the Immortals!"
A cheer rose in the room, followed by that same chanting she had heard at the beginning of the meeting. As before, it started off low and deep, undulating throughout the room, catching her up in its rhythm. She could not fathom the words, but this time the volume swelled and peaked and reached a froth of emotion that sent cold, curling shivers down her back. It was uncontrollable; it was loud, its ebb and flow of syllable and breath rumbling into and around her combined with yet another increase of the sweet, hypnotic scent in the air.
The men about her shouted, punched their fists high. Everywhere about her, she saw eyes lit with fanaticism and fervor.
The chanting continued, rolling into a soft accompaniment to the Sixth's next words. "The Second Trial! Who shall begin the Second?"
The chanting built, the scent sweetened, the fervor escalated. Someone stood, a man near the front, not one who had been fed upon this night. "I shall!" he shouted joyously.
And then, instead of stepping forward, as Victoria had expected him to do, he bent to the side and grabbed the arm of the woman who sat next to him. Muscling her to her feet—for by now, she was trying to pull away, obviously apprehensive of what was to happen next—the man shoved her forward.
She stumbled and would have fallen, but the man grabbed her arm again and manhandled her in front of him toward the dais.
"I offer my commitment and promise to the Immortals," the man said, shouting to be heard above the rising chanting. And he pushed the girl hard.
The Sixth reached down from the dais and easily plucked her up before she fell, sweeping her up onto the platform. Her creamy white gown swept along with her, spilling over the edge of the stage as she tripped again.
"Your commitment is accepted!" shouted the Sixth above the room's frenzy, effortlessly holding the woman's wrists behind her back. He then released her to two of the unfed vampires.
They fell upon her, one at each side, tearing their fangs into her white flesh, one at the side of her neck, one at the juncture where neck met shoulder. The woman screamed, kicked, bucked; but a third vampire came behind her and pulled her arms back, holding her steady while his companions fed.
Victoria watched in abject horror, her mouth drying and her heart pounding. This was so different from the scenes before. The unwilling victim at the mercy of the two vampires who ravaged her neck and shoulders, made crazed by their need to feed, by the smell of blood, and by the agony of having watched sixteen others being fed upon.
But what could she do? One against a room of men, against six vampires. Her mind was still foggy; her limbs didn't want to move. The instant she was discovered to be a Venator, she would be killed before she could take her next b
reath.
She looked back up at the stage and saw that the woman's bodice had been torn away and one white breast, streaked with blood, bounced and swayed as she twisted and fought. These vampires did not bite delicately; they were starved, so they gouged and tore and destroyed. The woman's moans were choked, her cries fading. The stench of blood filled the air, just as the chanting continued.
And then Victoria noticed that another woman was on the other end of the stage. Two more vampires were sharing her, but she did not fight with the same vehemence as the other. Her flesh was torn, and blood streamed from her neck and bosom, and she cried, and suddenly Victoria felt a great, hard jerk on her own arm.
She pulled away from Alvisi, whose face had become determined and fanatic, whirling from his grip, but she slammed into another man, who shoved her forward. Victoria sidestepped him, swinging out with her fists, but she faced another one. Everywhere she turned, another man stood, blocking her, shoving her forward toward the stage.
The chanting continued as Victoria was spun around, trying to fight her way through the wall of men, but there were too many. She was pushed and prodded, pulled and tripped. She kicked and fought, her head swam, the sweet smell built back in her nose again. She could not touch her vis bulla; she could not stand straight; she could not see where she was. She couldn't breathe.
Suddenly hands, many hands, grabbed her—too many to fight off. She felt herself being lifted, and the roaring fire to her left tipped in front of her, then around to her other side as she kicked and bit and bucked. Then she felt herself launched through the air, and landed on her hip and shoulder on something hard, her cheek smashing onto the floor. The smell of fresh blood filled her nose.
The sea of chanting, bright-eyed faces was at her eye level for only a moment before she was dragged to her feet. Victoria had an instant to grope for her vis before she swung out at the vampires who came at her. She kicked and dodged and punched, had the satisfaction of meeting one of them in the face, and was reaching back to yank a stake from her hair when her arms were grabbed and pulled down to her sides. Dimly aware that it had taken two vampires, one at each arm, to do so, she ducked and tried to twist free.
The grip was too strong; she couldn't break it. She couldn't get to her stakes, her holy water, her crucifix… Hands were on her everywhere, pulling at her dress, her arms, her legs, her breasts. She felt her head being jerked to one side by the hair, felt her coiffure loosen and her neck bare to the sweet-smelling room. The dull, pasty smell of blood on the breath of the vampire nearest her filled her nose, pushing away even the hypnotic scent of the incense.
When his teeth sank into her neck, it was almost a relief.
Chapter 11
Two Fortuitous Doors
Teeth sank into her once, twice, three times. Victoria felt the warm ooze of blood seeping along the crease of her neck, trickling into the cleft between her breasts, and the soft lull of relief… the easy haze that tempted her to let go.
She couldn't stop fighting; her body shifted and tilted as they pawed at her, nibbled on her. She felt something heavy shift and slide under her bodice, and then fall free with a gentle weight tugging at the back of her neck.
There were cries of surprise and fear, and the hands clawing her fell away, and she felt herself falling, tumbling, and then smacking onto the ground again.
Her crucifix thudded against her chest, and she reached for it automatically, her ears filled with shouts and cries, and held it up like a small shield as her other hand slammed palm-first onto the wooden stage.
Though its sudden appearance had surprised them, the crucifix would not keep them back for long; it would not prevent a mortal from tearing it out of her hands and returning her over to the hungry vampires.
Victoria's fingers scrabbled at the floor, trying to find purchase so she could haul herself upright, and they felt something other than polished wood. Metal. Set into the floor.
The haziness still gripped her mind, but since the vampires had stopped feeding on her, she was more in control, and some of her strength and clarity were coming back. She had the presence of mind to close her fingers around the metal object, and through the dizziness recognized it as hinges. In the floor.
Where there were hinges, there was—please God—a door.
Hands were grabbing at her now, pulling her fingers away from the crucifix so they could tear it from her throat and give her back to the vampires. Victoria twisted, bucking away from the puny strength of the mortal man—Zinnani—who had taken the place of the Immortals and bent over her.
She stopped fighting his hands and kept twisting until she was on her face toward the ground, putting what was above and behind her out of her mind as she felt around, trying to find a door handle. Where did the door open? She felt someone—or something—pulling at the chain around her neck, and she kicked out and back, her foot connecting with something quite soft and squishy, and she had enough presence of mind to hope it was some man's private parts. Zinnani's, if she were lucky.
She was on the door; now that the shadows above and behind her shifted away, she could see the faint outline of the door in the floor and that her weight kept it from opening. If it were old and stuck or locked, or was not a door after all, she would have no other chance. Her fingers found what they sought at her waist, and she tensed herself up, ready.
She felt the chain of her crucifix snap, scoring into her throat in that last instant before it fell away, and the roar of delight as the air surged above her with the vampires swooping back down for the kill.
Victoria was ready for them, and she rolled away, off the door, knocking into the feet of the vampires as she splashed the vial of salted holy water at them. They screamed and fell away, and she yanked on the handle in the floor.
It stuck for an instant, then whumped up next to where she crouched, and Victoria rolled through the opening.
She felt her gown catch on the rough edge of the door, but it didn't stop her from going through and falling. The rectangle of light above disappeared as the door closed after her, and she hit the ground.
The door above opened again immediately, spilling dull yellow light into the space in which she'd landed. Pulling to her feet, she brushed against a rough wall just as one of the vampires vaulted through the opening and landed next to her.
His red eyes glowed in the dim light, and he lunged for her.
Victoria was ready. The stake solid in her hand, she thrust it into his heart with considerable satisfaction.
Before his ashes filtered to the ground she was dodging into the darkness, hoping it was a passage that led somewhere. Behind her there were the sounds of feet thumping on the ground; but she did not stop to check whether it was a red-eyed vampire or a brave mortal who'd come after her this time.
Victoria found the wall and, moving as silently as she could, felt along it, praying that it wouldn't end in a corner that signaled a dead end.
At least down here she had the advantage of limited space, as she had when fighting the vampires at Claythorne. If they all came after her, she would have a better chance of fighting them off one by one than if they all leaped on her at once.
Whoever was behind was gaining; a quick glance back confirmed the red eyes of a vampire. He had night vision, which gave him a decided advantage when traversing through a pitch-black tunnel.
Victoria picked up her pace, keeping her stake at the ready. If she had a moment to pause, she might be able get the other vial of holy water from her garter; yet if she escaped, she would need it to pour over her bite wounds.
They throbbed and oozed blood; she could feel it trickling down her throat and arms. It was chilly on her skin, no longer that velvety release she'd experienced when the vampires were feeding.
She put one hand out in front of her and ran as fast as she could, but she was blind and the vampire was not. He was close enough to grab at her clothing, but she jerked free and dodged to the side and back again, trying to keep him off balance.
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br /> There were other footsteps behind them; at least one other was coming closer. She could not continue to outrun the vampire; sooner or later she was going to come upon a wall or door or something that ended, and he would have seen that long before she would feel it.
Getting away from the hypnotic incense in the Tutela meeting room had helped to clear her mind a little, and Victoria decided she had to do something drastic. And she also noticed that there was a faint line of light far ahead of her.
Where there was light, there was a door and possibly sunlight. Was it late enough? She'd been here for hours… but was it close enough to dawn?
She put on her last burst of speed, dodged to one side, and dove to the ground, tumbling head over heels. The vampire didn't move in time and he tripped, falling palms-flat onto the ground. Victoria leaped toward him, felt for his nape, and slammed the stake down through the center of his back. He disintegrated under her.
But a third vampire was there, coming at her, grabbing at her hair to pull her to her feet. Victoria couldn't hold back a soft cry at the unexpected pain. His red eyes burned furiously as he closed his fingers around her throat, his grasp slipping in blood. They lit the small area with an evil glow, casting enough illumination that she could see part of his face. Enough to recognize him. The Sixth. Not one of the starving, depraved vampires, but their leader.
"Who are you?" he growled, giving her a little shake.
She would have raised her stake, but he caught her hand in midair and shoved her up against the wall. It was cold, and she felt the grit of dirt and stone on her bare shoulders.
"Who are you that you have killed two of mine?" He moved closer, and she smelled the blood on his breath, old blood, and the stench of the damned.
Her other hand was free, and she tried to dig under her skirts to get the vial of holy water, but he was too quick and seized that wrist as well. Imprisoning both hands, pressing them back into the damp stone wall, he moved closer. His grip was vicious, and she dropped her stake. "A Venator, of course. I have never tasted a Venator."