by Колин Глисон
He looked up from the man on whom he'd been feeding and saw her.
The flash of recognition was instant. It was the one Imperial vampire who'd escaped after murdering Polidori.
"You!" he cried, blood streaming messily from his mouth. "I thought you were dead!" He dropped his victim and leaped from the small balcony to the one next to it, clambering along its edge so he could position himself to launch up to her level.
Victoria saw the flames snake up the curtains an arm's length away, saw that it would take the vampire two more inhuman leaps to get to her own box, and made the decision: She had to face him.
He recognized her; if he got away, he would expose her to the Tutela. She had to fight him.
Dipping to pull the stake from under her skirts, she did not feel the movement behind her until she was snatched back from the balcony. A hand clamped over her mouth and strong arms pulled her back, into the darkness of the box.
"Don't," Max snarled in her ear, "fight."
She heard the vampire coming closer, struggled to tell him, but he was strong and relentless, and pulled her swiftly and smoothly out of the box.
The smoke was thicker in the hallway, but Max charged along the hall, pulling her behind him. It stung her eyes and made her cough, but it was not at a dangerous level yet. She could still breathe, still see. The flames were far away.
Max shoved her down a flight of stairs and into a small room, following her in and closing the door silently behind them. He pushed her up against the wall, face-first, sliding a hand over her mouth and holding it there much too tightly. She struggled to force him away, but he did not move except for the rhythm of his labored breathing against her back.
"Go home. Back to London. You cannot do anything here. Nedas is too strong. He is going to win." His lips brushed her ear as he spoke.
She struggled anew, tried her favorite move of slamming her head back into his face, which he easily evaded.
"Do you understand? Nod."
She nodded, then shook her head as much as she could under his hand. His other fingers were clasped around both of her wrists, holding them at the base of her back.
"Of course you aren't going to listen to me, are you? You're too damned naive. And headstrong. Be quiet or I will hurt you," he said fiercely in her ear, then released her. Victoria spun around and faced him.
There was a small window in the room that allowed enough moonlight in to illuminate his face. She saw nothing there that gave her comfort. It was harsh and angry and determined; his eyes, barely discernible, were flat.
"Perhaps this will convince you that I mean what I say." He was pulling at his unbuttoned shirt, yanking it back from his muscular shoulder and turning away from her so that she could see the mark there.
It was dark and heavy, there on the back of his shoulder, just above his scapula, and she recognized it. A T entwined with serpents.
"You see. I'm a member of the Tutela, and I adhere to their strictures. Does that convince you?" He was breathing harshly now, and turned back around to face her. "I'm bound to assassinate Venators. I am one of theirs."
"I don't believe you." But something inside her was turning. They were alone. No one could hear. Why would he lie? "If it's true, you must tell me why."
He drew in a deep breath and took her by the shoulders. His fingers were strong but not painful, and he positioned her so that his unbuttoned shirt brushed against her bosom as he looked down at her. "I made a bargain with Lilith. She promised to release me from her thrall if I joined the Tutela." His fingers dug into her skin and she twisted away. To her surprise, he allowed it.
"Is Lilith here, in Rome, then? Is that where you've been—with her?"
"No." His voice was strangled, as though he could barely force the word out. "She has been in her mountain hideaway far from here. I've seen her only once, when she offered to release me from her influence if I came back to the Tutela."
"So why do you not kill me now if you are bound to assassinate Venators?"
"I am giving you the chance to get away. This is your last chance. If I see you again, I will betray you to Regalado and the others. If I do not, then they will have no reason to trust me any longer."
Victoria laughed, short and bitter. "You've done nothing to protect me, then. That vampire I saw in the theater, the one you took me from when I would have fought him, recognized me. He knows I am a Venator and he will expose me. So the decision has been taken from you."
"So it would seem." He looked at her, stepped away. "All the more reason for you to go back to London. You will be needed after this is all over."
"After what?"
"Go back home, Victoria."
Then he reached over and smashed the window next to her. Before she could react, he picked her up and shoved her out, and she found herself tumbling to the ground below. It was not a long fall, and she landed on a small bush.
Struggling to her feet, she looked up, but Max did not follow.
Max made his way out of the opera house, leaving behind a smoke-filled cave and who knew how many victims of fire and vampire.
He had one thing left to do this evening, and it would not take long.
Indeed, he found Bertrand strolling along toward the place the Tutela and the vampires were all to meet. It was just up one more block and down a narrow alley—Fettuch's Locanda, a place not so very different from the Silver Chalice Vioget had owned.
Max greeted him. "Pleasurable evening, was it?" he asked the vampire.
"In some ways," Bertrand replied. "I did not finish what I set out to do, but I have some glad tidings to bring to Nedas this evening. The woman Venator I thought I'd killed in England is here."
"Indeed? He will be greatly pleased." He made a show of pausing to look into a long, narrow shadow. It was the last alley before the one they must turn down. "What, say? What is this?"
When Bertrand followed him into the darkness, Max spun around, slamming the stake into the vampire's heart before he drew another breath.
Pocketing the stake, Max brushed off the last bit of vampire dust and continued on his way.
Chapter 19
Santo Quirinus's Secret
The morning after her experience at the opera, Victoria received a message from her aunt, requesting her attendance at a small church located across the Tiber River from the most populous area of Rome. The message came by way of a peddler delivering milk at the back entrance of the villa, and was brought to Victoria as she ate breakfast.
Thus it was shortly thereafter that she entered the small church, Santo Quirinus, and found her aunt, swathed in black veils and holding prayer beads, kneeling in a pew near the altar. Unlike many of Rome's other churches, Santo Quirinus was not overwhelming in its splendor. Its windows were few and plain. No marble floors or painted murals. It smelled of age and holiness, and wisps of long-used incense hung in the air.
The decor was stark and simple: brick swaddled with mortar in thick bands down the walls, leaving wide, naked brick stripes separated by the cream-colored mortar. Fourteen tarnished silver crosses, numbered in the Roman style, hung on the walls, seven on each side of the small nave, on the mortared sections. The pews were stained dark and uncushioned. The altar itself was little more than a stone table on a dais one step up from the congregation. The ceiling of the little church rose into a small round dome with three circular windows that allowed matching beams of afternoon light to shine down through their wrought-iron filigree. There were no stained-glass windows in sight.
As she walked through the church, which was empty with the exception of one other man sitting in the shadows, also kneeling to pray, Victoria felt her vis bulla sway against her navel, something she had not noticed it doing since she had become accustomed to wearing it.
But today she felt particularly aware of it, and the strength that it gave her sizzled through her belly and out into her limbs. She felt warm and confident, almost like a renewal of the intent she'd had when she had first accepted the stren
gth amulet.
Not wishing to interrupt Aunt Eustacia, Victoria knelt next to her to pray, and waited until she finished her rosary. At that time, without speaking, her aunt stood and beckoned for her to follow.
Instead of leaving the church, Aunt Eustacia walked toward the altar, past the iron railing that separated the priest from the congregation, and up two steps on the left side.
When Aunt Eustacia opened the small door of a confessional at the edge of the altar, Victoria hung back in confusion. But her aunt gestured her to follow, so Victoria joined her in the small room, the door closing after her.
She watched in wonder as Aunt Eustacia reached behind the small screen that would separate the penitent from the priest—if there were one in attendance—and flip a latch. A well-hidden door popped ajar, and the older woman led the way into the opening.
"Have a care, and do not tread on the middle stair," Aunt Eustacia told Victoria, gesturing to the three steps that led from the hidden door into a narrow hallway stretching approximately fifty paces before it ended in a stone wall. The passage was lit by sconces, and icons painted on wood hung all the way to the end, where a life-size statue of Saint Quirinus stood holding a sword.
Victoria closed the door behind her and, taking care not to step on the middle stair, followed her aunt as she paced down the hall. At the end, Aunt Eustacia shifted aside a small icon of Jesus with the two Archangels, Gabriel and Michael, to expose the brick wall behind it. "Step here," her aunt commanded, gesturing for Victoria to move next to her.
As Victoria watched, her aunt pushed on the intricate brickwork that had been hidden by the painting, and suddenly, the floor on which she'd been standing only moments before slid away to reveal a set of spiral stairs that led down into darkness.
"The Consilium is below," Aunt Eustacia told her, haltingly leading the way down, one of the lanterns bobbing in her hand.
The Consilium? A jolt of excitement ran through her at the realization that she was to be introduced to it. Victoria knew very little about the Consilium, other than that it was the formal entity that oversaw the Venators.
When Aunt Eustacia had mentioned it once more than a year ago, Victoria had been surprised that there even was such a group. But her aunt had explained that someone needed to report to the pope, and that there had to be a way to manage and pass on the knowledge of the Venators over the ages. There had to be some way for them to share what they learned, and to band together if necessary.
Now, as she descended in her aunt's wake, Victoria felt that same renewal of energy she'd felt upon entering the church, and she thought she understood why. This was the center of the Venator world, the place where decisions were made, where the vis bullae were forged and blessed, where the leaders met and prayed and discussed.
"Anyone could come in here," Victoria whispered to her aunt, somehow feeling as though a normal-toned voice would be blasphemous. "The door wasn't locked."
Aunt Eustacia stepped from the last stair onto the stone floor and turned to look back at her. Her eyes were dark and lively in the glow from the lantern. "Indeed not. Did you not see the others in the church? They are our trainers, our Comitators, every one of them."
"I saw only a man praying."
"Si, and two beyond him near the door through which you entered. And another in the apse across from the statue at the top of these stairs. You did not see them, for they were meant not to be seen, but they were there." She smiled, her elegant face creasing in slender lines next to her mouth. "Wayren and Santo Quirinus have ensured that we are well protected here. Even if the vampires or Tutela learned that this tiny, simple church led to our Consilium, they would not be able to cross the threshold. The doors are lined with silver and covered with crucifixes; holy water is sprinkled throughout several times a day. And our Comitators, though not Venators, are well equipped to deal with any intruders."
Victoria nodded in understanding and anticipation. Her palms tingled as her aunt drew off the dark veil she'd huddled under. She smoothed her sleek black hair, which was caught into an intricate, curling coiffure studded with pearls and emeralds, giving her a queenlike look. When she slipped off the heavy black cloak, she showed a magnificent green gown under a tight-sleeved, long pelisse of brocaded forest green so dark it was nearly black.
In a matter of moments Aunt Eustacia had gone from the image of a hunched, prayerful crone to an elegant, powerful lady.
It made Victoria glance at her own attire in rueful dismay. Certainly her hair was done, the thick, dark curls pinned up in their own pretty mass; but not studded with jewels or pearls. Not even a ribbon, come to think of it. Although Verbena had slipped in one slender stake, just in case. Nor was Victoria's gown anything more than a simple afternoon calling dress, made of pale yellow silk with a basic cream lace overlay.
She felt like a little girl still in pinafores.
Aunt Eustacia bundled up her veil and cloak and rested them on a small table near the door at the bottom of the stairs. Tall and regal, she opened the door and walked through.
Victoria followed.
She found herself in a vast chamber that brought to mind how a cathedral would look if it were circular. The walls and floor were marble; heavy, shining, black- and gray-threaded marble. Around the entire room were columns of the same marble, and between them pointed arches that gave way to smaller alcoves or doorways. It was through one of these arches that Victoria and her aunt entered the room.
The chamber was large, and the center of it was broken up by a large round pool, with water cascading down a fountain in the center of it. The space was so cavernous, Victoria could not see what was on the other side. There were chairs and tables, benches and desks scattered throughout the room, which, though it was underground, was exceedingly well lit by torches and lamps. The tables held books and papers, inkwells and pens, even some stakes and other weaponry. Except for the fountain and the churchlike arches, it felt rather like the gentleman's club in which she'd had to stop a vampire raid last year.
And there were Venators. Or, at least, men who looked as though they belonged there, and Victoria presumed they were either Venators or Comitators. As they became aware of the presence of the two women—for there were no other females that Victoria could see—the occupants of the room put aside what they were doing—reading, writing, talking, fondling stakes—and rose if they were sitting, and turned if they were not, and looked at them.
There were perhaps a dozen in all, and, Victoria noted, none of them any older than forty, perhaps fifty at the outside. The youngest was likely about her age. Some of the men had the swarthy skin of Italians; others had even darker skin, perhaps from India or Egypt; whilst there were others who were fair enough to be Celtic or English.
Wondering if they were all from the far-reaching branches of the Gardella family, or if they were Venators who chose their profession, as Max had, Victoria watched as her aunt greeted each of them by name and in various languages. They were deferent to her, kissing her hand, making little bows, as though she were some kind of royalty.
Victoria had always known that since her aunt was the most direct living descendant of the first Gardella, she was special in the world of Venators; but this display of affection and respect toward her elderly aunt made her heart swell.
"Signora Gardella!" A voice carried from around the other side of the pool, over the rushing noise of the fountain, and drew Victoria's attention, thankfully, from the others who stood watching.
"Ilias," Aunt Eustacia said, a warm smile stretching her lips, even as she clasped the hand of a man who had approached her in welcome. "How wonderful to see you again!"
The man was nearer her age than any others there, but she still had him beat by a generation. He was perhaps sixty to her eighty, and he looked distinguished enough to be someone of importance.
Victoria watched as he came to her and they embraced. "And this is your niece? The new Gardella?" he said, turning from Aunt Eustacia to face Victoria. "The one w
ho sent Lilith back to the scourge of her mountains?"
"The very one. Victoria, may I present to you Ilias de Gusto. He is the keeper of the Consilium, and has been for many years. Ilias, please meet Victoria Gardella Grantworth de Lacy."
Victoria made a curtsy, and found herself looking into twinkling gray-blue eyes. His brows, bushy gray-and-brown spiders, lifted and arched as he looked upon her with pleasure. "We are honored to have you here today, Signorina Gardella." He smiled wider as she began to correct him. "No, no, to us you will always be a Gardella, signorina. And someday, you will be Ilia Gardella."
The Gardella. The most direct connection to the original Venator. A leader, a decision maker, a figurehead for all the other Venators, regardless of where they fell in the worldwide family tree. The one around whom they rallied when great threats descended.
There was a blur of introductions as Victoria met the others; and she'd been correct—most of them were Venators, visiting the Consilium for training or other reasons. Three others were studying and training to be Comitators. Kritanu was a Comitator, of course, and his nephew, Briyani, was Max's. Or, at least, had been. Victoria had been working with Kritanu, but eventually she would be assigned her own trainer.
Victoria had rather expected to be met with suspicion or condescension by the others, as she had been upon first meeting Max last year. He'd believed she would be more interested in dance cards and gowns and beaux than hunting and killing vampires—and he'd been wrong. At last, he'd finally come to accept the fact that she was a real Venator.
She wasn't even going to contemplate what had happened, what had changed Max in the last year since he'd come back to Italy… especially after last night. There would be time for that later. In fact, she suspected that was part of the reason she and Aunt Eustacia were here today. If indeed Max had defected, the other Venators would have to be told.