Nightshade (17 tales of Urban Fantasy, Magic, Mayhem, Demons, Fae, Witches, Ghosts, and more)

by Annie Bellet

And since a vampire couldn’t enter a home uninvited, Victoria presumed he or she had arrived under a mask of some sort, pretending to be one of the invitees. Which would make it even more difficult to identify the villain.

  She’d pushed her way between a milkmaid juggling two, thankfully empty, pails and a doublet-garbed Romeo when she suddenly came face to face with the golden-haired lute player.

  “Why, my dear Victoria,” he murmured, slipping his hand around her arm in the crowd, “how delighted I am that you should have followed me so quickly. Shall we slip away to finish the…discussion…we began at the Chalice?”

  “Sebastian,” she replied, tugging her arm discreetly away so as not to draw attention. If her mother saw her in tête-à-tête with a man who not only wasn’t the Marquess of Rockley, but was also without a title at all, she’d come barreling over to separate them immediately. “What are you doing here?”

  She didn’t know much about Sebastian—particularly whether or not he should be trusted—but one thing she did know was that he wasn’t the vampire she sought.

  “Why, I’m attending a masquerade ball…the same as you, I presume. What a delight to see you here, ma chér, although I must admit that your costume could be considered in poor taste…considering the fact that her majesty met a most unpleasant end. According to my Grandfather Beauregard, it was rather a bloody incident.”

  She drew back a bit. Was that some sort of warning? A renewed prickle lifted the hair at the back of her neck, reminding her that she had other business to attend to. “Why are you here?” she asked again.

  Those sensual lips smiled knowingly, lifting his mask a bit. “Perhaps I came simply because I knew that you would be here…and I find that masks, though obscuring, can also be quite…freeing.” His hand slid through the crook of her arm, easing her flush against his side—or at least as flush as he could, with inches of skirts, crinolines, and panniers between them. “I noticed that you extricated yourself from Lord Rockley quite directly, as soon as you recognized me.”

  She realized he’d begun to guide them through the crowd, away from the dance floor, and toward the rest of the house. Since that was the direction she wished to go anyway, she allowed him to think he was in charge.

  After all, with her vis bulla strength, she could snap his grip and stop him in his tracks at any given moment, as the lascivious Mr. Bendleworth had discovered a week ago when he tried to lure her into a dark corner.

  Aside from that, since she didn’t trust Sebastian as far as she could throw the well-padded Duchess of Farnham, Victoria felt it might be best to keep an eye on him for a bit. Especially if there was a vampire about.

  As they pulled free of the party-goers and found themselves moving into the house’s grand entrance, Victoria’s neck grew colder, confirming that she was heading in the right direction.

  Suddenly, she heard a low cry from one of the rooms beyond, and she pulled free of Sebastian’s grip. Heart beating, she slipped the stake from its little loop beneath a flounce and began to move quickly down the corridor. Her gown rustled, causing her to curse the fact that she’d listened to her mother’s costume suggestion instead of dressing the way she wished: as Diana, in a flimsy, light gown. She would have even been able to put stakes in a bow quiver and wear it over her shoulder.

  Victoria reached the only door that was closed tightly, certain this was where the soft cry had come from. Her neck was still cold, but there was silence. A quick glance behind told her that Sebastian had disappeared, blast it, but she couldn’t worry about him now.

  The stake gripped hard in her hand, she listened again, and closed her fingers around the cool door knob. Then, she heard it again. A low, pained cry from the other side of the door.

  Victoria twisted the knob and eased it open quickly and quietly. Inside, the room was dark, lit only by a fire needed more for its illumination than warmth. Shadows danced, black and red, and she darted her gaze around quickly.

  There. In the corner, the shapes of a man and woman, entwined.

  Entwined?

  Victoria paused, her stake poised, and forever after, she would be grateful for that hesitation. For as she looked more closely, she saw that not only were there no burning red eyes or long white fangs on either of the two figures, but that one of them was dressed in the long white gown of Circe.

  Mother?

  And the other was the tall, slender figure of Lord Jellington, Lady Melly’s erstwhile beau.

  Victoria sucked in her breath and fairly stumbled back out of the room, deliriously grateful that they’d been much too engaged in…whatever they were doing…to have noticed her presence.

  Her mother.

  No wonder she wanted Victoria married off. Then she would no longer have a daughter to chaperone and could go about her own business.

  Victoria hurried back down the hall and then paused, waiting to feel the temperature at the back of her neck. Yes, the chill was still there.

  A broad, curving staircase rose out of the foyer in front of her. Perhaps….

  Victoria gathered up her bothersome skirts and hurried up the steps, stake gripped in one hand and slippers silent on the treads. As she rose, her neck became slightly more chilled and she smiled in pleasure. Hopefully, she was on the right path and would soon dispatch the nuisance of the undead…and then be able to return to Phillip, lemonade, and the moonlight.

  Once at the top of the stairs, she hesitated for a moment, then moved smoothly along to the left. Most of the doors were closed, for they led to bedchambers, but she paused next to each one to listen and feel.

  The third one door on the left was slightly ajar, but she was certain the prickling chill at her nape had become colder. One hand on the door, she eased it open slightly and peered inside.

  A dark figure moved within the shadows of the room, and Victoria caught her breath. Smiling to herself, she levered the door open further, started to move in and then realized her skirts were too wide. The light from the hallway would soon spill in enough to warn the vampire that someone was there, but he would likely think she was simply an innocent, helpless girl.

  Victoria hid her stake behind the width of her gown and pushed the door open.

  The man turned, and light fell on his face.

  “Sebastian!” Victoria stalked into the room. “What are you after?”

  “So you’ve followed me again, have you, my dear Venator?” he asked, moving away from a chest of drawers. He looked as though he was withdrawing his hand from beneath his tunic, and she suspected he’d just placed something—likely whatever he’d been searching for—somewhere inside. “A bit more private than the library downstairs. Did you find your vampire?”

  “No,” she replied. “What do you have in your pocket?”

  His smile flashed hot in the low light. “Why do you not come and look for yourself?”

  Victoria was too annoyed to be flustered by his blatant comment, and she moved into the room with an angry swish of silk. “I would be delighted to do so,” she said, approaching him fearlessly.

  “My, you are full of courage tonight, aren’t you?”

  “No, indeed,” she said, fully aware that the back of her neck was still cold, and that somewhere, an undead was on the prowl. “I’m simply in a hurry, and you keep distracting me.”

  “I distract you, do I?” He stepped closer to her, so close that her crinolines brushed his cross-gartered hose. “What a welcome bit of information, Victoria Gardella.”

  Before she could react, he reached out and slid a hand under her chin. He was ungloved, and the feel of his warm skin on the delicate flesh of her neck had her pulse spiking high. “I’ve always wanted to distract a Venator.” His voice had dropped to a murmur, and Victoria felt her breath catch in her throat.

  Nevertheless, she stood firm. “You’ll not keep me from my purpose, Sebastian. Turn out your pocket so I can see what it is you’ve taken.”

  “Don’t you wish to look for yourself?” he replied. Even behind the obs
curity of the mask, and the low light from the hall lamps, she could see the beauty of his face. From the first time she met him, she thought he looked like a golden angel.

  A nefarious golden angel.

  “Turn out your pockets,” she said again.

  “You’d best do what the girl says, Vioget,” came a bored voice, “or we’ll be here all night waiting for her to get to the task at hand.”

  Victoria whirled, stepping back from Sebastian. Just inside the doorway stood a tall, dark-haired man. He wore a mask that covered the top of his face, but his dark hair and square chin were exposed…as was the annoyed expression twisting his mouth. The mask was his only concession to costume; the rest of his garb consisted of a white shirt, and black coat and breeches. Max Pesaro, of course. Her colleague and nemesis—and the most dangerous vampire hunter she knew.

  “Nice costume, Max,” Victoria responded. “Let me guess…a villain. No? A vampire perhaps? Indeed, I do believe you have the look of Lord Ruthven to you.”

  “Definitely not Lord Ruthven,” Sebastian put in. “That fictional vampire was known for a much better grasp on fashionable attire than Maximilian Pesaro.”

  “What are you after, Vioget?” Max asked, ignoring the comments and moving into the room with his long, graceful strides. He passed Victoria as though she was no more than a nuisance of a gnat and stopped in front of the other man, cutting between her and Sebastian.

  “I have the matter well in hand, Max,” Victoria said, smarting from his reaction. “Perhaps you ought to go and slay the vampire that’s lurking about here. Somewhere.”

  Max barely deigned to glance at her. “I’ve already attended to that.”

  Victoria looked at him, and realized with a sudden surge of annoyance that he was telling the truth. The chill at the back of her neck had evaporated in the last few moments, since she’d come into the chamber with Sebastian.

  Which meant that the vampire had to have been nearby for Max to have arrived at this room so expediently. Which meant that it had been merely by accident that he came upon her and Sebastian.

  Firming her lips, she pushed herself and her gown between the two men and faced Sebastian. “I’ll check your pocket, then, if you won’t show me yourself.”

  Sebastian’s mouth twitched. “Be my guest.”

  But before she could slide her hand into that deep pocket in his undertunic, the waft of a chill breeze skittered over the back of her neck again. In spite of herself, she turned to look at Max, to see if he registered the presence of another undead…and he gave a brief, annoyed nod. His lips moved in a silent oath—but whether it was directed at her, or the new vampire presence, she wasn’t certain.

  “Vioget. What are they after?” he said sharply.

  The lower half of Sebastian’s face turned crafty. “A particularly well-thought member of the ton has become…shall we say…enamoured of the undead. When he—or she—” he glanced at Victoria, “please note that I do keep my clients’ confidences—last visited the Silver Chalice, a personal item was left behind. One that could identify him—or her.”

  He stepped back, his hand beneath his tunic. “I was merely returning the item to its rightful owner, and I suspect that this person’s…enemies, shall we say? Wished to stop me. Apparently, this individual is rather prominent, and a cause for blackmail. The undead have many friends here in London. Perhaps more than you would imagine, my dear Victoria.”

  “Now that you’ve entertained us with your fantasy, Vioget, you might just as well get out of here,” Max said, turning toward the door. “You’ll be no help now.”

  Victoria felt his gaze pass over her, and got the impression that he had the same impression about her. Blasted man.

  “Why, I do believe I shall,” Sebastian replied, moving quickly toward a window.

  In a trice, he was gone.

  Having nothing further to say to Max, Victoria swished past him, her stake at the ready. The new undead presence implied that the vampire had just recently arrived nearby, and it led Victoria to hope that the creature hadn’t yet been able to find and isolate a potential victim.

  Out in the hall, she paused for a moment and noted that the back of her neck had grown still chillier. That boded no good, implying that either there were more than one undead, or that the creature was very close by. So, putting thoughts of golden-haired lute players and arrogant vampire hunters out of her mind, she gave herself over to her instincts.

  Down. Something told her to go down.

  The cold prickle grew stronger as she swept down the curling staircase, unaware—and uncaring—whether Max had deigned to follow her. She didn’t need him.

  At the foyer, Victoria pushed through a small group of costumed party-goers clustered near the entrance to the ballroom, and was just about to slip off down the corridor when she caught sight of Phillip. He was just coming out of the ballroom, and carried a small cup of lemonade.

  Blast.

  With her tall hair, she hadn’t a chance of getting away without him seeing her, and so Victoria had to rush toward Phillip in an effort to head off an uncomfortable situation.

  “Oh, thank you so much,” she cried, perhaps a bit more fervently than necessary. She took the cup with enthusiasm as she kept her stake hand tucked behind her.

  “Are you mended and such?” he asked, edging toward her as if to take her arm. Perfect.

  Victoria smiled up with genuine delight, and jostled against him just as he reached for her. The lemonade splashed everywhere, even up onto her chin.

  “Oh dear,” she said, real regret in her voice. She hated that she had to do this, but, truly, it was for his own good. And that of whoever the vampire might be stalking. The last thing she needed was for a curious beau to follow her. “How clumsy of me!”

  “No, it was I, perhaps being a bit too enthusiastic over seeing the moon with you.” He smiled apologetically. Phillip would have linked her arm closer, ignoring the spill, she was certain. So she continued, “I’ll just be a moment, my lord. So the stain doesn’t set. Perhaps….” Victoria gave him an apologetic smile.

  “Of course,” he replied. “And I’m certain you’ll still have a thirst, so I shall occupy myself by obtaining a replacement. Do hurry,” he said breathlessly into her ear before releasing her arm. “Please.”

  Victoria smiled up at him, warmth flushing over her face beneath the mask. “I will, Phillip. Most assuredly.”

  He took himself off, and she turned and nearly barreled into Max.

  “I trust you’ve gotten your affairs in order? Dance card filled? Beaus lined up in order of title and wealth?” he said blandly. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, perhaps you could—”

  She didn’t hear the rest of his obnoxious comment, for she’d sailed off down the corridor, following the sensation at the back of her neck. When she came to the same door behind which she’d nearly interrupted her mother and Lord Jellington, Victoria stopped.

  She did not want to open this door again.

  But before she could, a soft cry—much more frightened than the one she’d followed earlier—reached her ears. It came from further down the hall, near the back of the house and the servants’ area.

  Victoria hesitated no longer and took herself off so quickly that she lost a slipper, and her heavy coif bounced threateningly. The chill grew colder, and she heard another cry that led her to another closed door.

  This time she didn’t wait. The back of her neck frigid, Victoria yanked off her mask and flung the door open.

  In an instant, she saw three vampires, and four petrified maids. An impression of red eyes and gleaming white fangs drew her first, and Victoria lunged as well as she could in heavy skirts. She had the element of surprise, as well as that of her gender, as an advantage.

  She shoved a goggle-eyed maid away from the vampire bending to her blood-streaked throat, and he bared his fangs as he came at her. He must not have seen the stake in her hand, for he left his chest unprotected and she slammed the point
into his heart.

  The vampire froze, then poofed into smelly, undead ash. Victoria whirled and found that the other two undead had released their victims and now started toward her. Her skirts caught up with her spin, then rocketed back in the opposite direction as she faced the undead.

  One of them leapt toward her, fast and strong. But she was ready and kicked out from under layers of silk—rather more awkwardly than usual, but with enough force to catch one of the undead unawares. He stumbled back, crashing into the wall as Victoria spun to launch herself at his companion.

  He was quicker than she’d expected, and he caught her arm, slamming her against the back of a chair. The hard wood edge caught her in the belly and she lost her breath, spots flickering before her eyes. Victoria gasped and flailed behind her with the stake, then struck out backward with one of her feet.

  She smashed into something soft, and the grip on her arm released. Dragging in a ragged breath, she turned to find glowing red eyes behind her, and white fangs. Strong arms whipped out and grabbed her shoulders, squeezing hard into her flesh as he yanked her toward him. Her neck was bare, and the heavy tower of hair made it difficult for her to keep her head from lolling back.

  Victoria kicked out again, but missed, and her foot got wrapped up in the layers of her costume. But her stake was still in her hand, and with all her effort, she slammed her face forward, bringing all the force of her jewel-strewn hair with her forehead into the vampire’s face.

  He cried out in surprise and she wasted no time, her arm whipping around to shove the stake home. Poof. He was gone.

  And then there was one.

  The vampire scrambled to his feet from where she’d shoved him against the wall moments earlier, and Victoria stumbled after him, turning to chase him toward the door.

  But Max was standing there, and before the vampire took two steps, Max’s arm moved. Casually. Poof.

  Victoria fought her breathing into a regular rhythm; the last thing she wanted was for Max to see her panting while he stood there as if he’d just arrived for tea.

  He’d also disposed of his mask, and the expression on his rugged face was one of bald annoyance. “Whatever possessed you to wear such a ridiculous gown?” he asked. “How in the bloody hell did you think you’d be able to fight a vampire in that? Or did you think they might stay home tonight, merely because you wished to attend a masquerade ball?”