Bleeding Dusk gvc-3

by Колин Глисон

  “This is the first day she’s not dragged me about shopping, viewing the sights, parading around the city,” Victoria hissed as she slipped back down through the servants’ hall to the exit. “Pray God she has the headache all afternoon and misses dinner as well.”

  “Now, milady, ye shouldn’t wish such stuff on yer mama,” Verbena cautioned. “She can’ help it if she jus’ wants t’ show ye off and dress ye pretty.”

  “Marry me off is rather more accurate,” Victoria mumbled, tamping away the guilty feeling. She paused with her hand on the back door. “And for someone so concerned with propriety, the fact that it’s been only three months since Aunt Eustacia died and we’re not expected to be in mourning is surprising.”

  “’T might be so, milady, but close as ye were to her, she was still jus’ yer great-aunt. Not so long fer mournin’, even back in Lunnon, but ye’re in Rome now. An’ if Lady Melly was in mournin’ she wouldn’t be able t’ go to Carnivale this week.” Verbena looked up at her, and Victoria saw sympathy in her cornflower eyes. “Ye’re still so young and pretty, milady. Yer mama jus’ wants ye to find happiness. She wants t’ erase that sadness in yer eyes.”

  Happiness. Victoria wasn’t sure it was possible.

  Perhaps not happiness, then, but contentment. Or at least satisfaction that her place on earth was as more than merely one half of a marriage, a womb to bear an heir, or a showpiece for her mother to flaunt.

  Victoria had a more important, more difficult role than most women—or men—could imagine. If she could find the same satisfaction and peace her aunt had as Illa Gardella, Victoria could ask for little more.

  Because her mother delayed her, Victoria was late meeting Ylito at what was left of the Villa Palombara. Despite the early February chill and dampness, she had Oliver drive a circuitous route in the city in order to make certain no one was following her from Aunt Eustacia’s villa. When the barouche stopped in front of the crumbling wall shaded by the old oak that had grown through it, Oliver turned to look at her.

  “This the meeting place?” He looked at her questioningly. Not only was his driving gentler than that of Barth back in London, but his care for her safety was as well. Unlike Barth, Oliver wasn’t as keen on leaving a woman alone on the streets, particularly in areas that could be considered dangerous.

  Of course, unlike Barth, Oliver had never seen Victoria fight vampires.

  “Yes, you may let me off here and return to the villa.”

  She’d never seen a person with such dark skin as Ylito. Even Kritanu, who had the mahogany skin and sleek dark hair of his Indian heritage, had lighter coloring than the hermetist.

  “So, you are the new Illa Gardella,” he said, looking at her soberly. Victoria was surprised at his low, smooth voice; for some reason she’d expected him to sound as exotic as he looked, with his walnut skin and hair that spun out in tight, finger-length coils all over his head. His family was originally from Egypt, Wayren had told her, but Ylito’s grandfather had left the land of the pyramids and come to study with the Venators in Rome nearly a century ago.

  “And you are the mysterious Ylito,” she replied, and felt compelled to make a brief bow to him. “I am delighted to meet you, particularly since I understand you rarely venture out.”

  He looked as if he was at least two decades, or more, older than her own twenty-one years. He was dressed in boots and breeches and a coat and shirtwaist, as any other man of the times would be, but with his dark skin and regal bearing, he still looked exotic. He gave her a formal bow in return. “Come, let us look at this strange door.”

  Now, in the daylight, Victoria could really see the deep split in the wall. It was caused by a low branch of the large oak growing through what had likely been a small crack at one time, but as the oak’s branch and trunk filled out, it had opened the wall. The shadow of the large tree, along with a mess of leafless vines, had helped to camouflage the opening.

  With Ylito’s help, Victoria climbed through the crack, turning sideways so she could slip through the wet stone. She couldn’t help but think it was best that Zavier wasn’t there, for he would never have fit his bulky muscles through the slender opening. As soon as Ylito stepped both feet on the ground, they started off, Victoria leading the way.

  The ground was wet and muddy, seeping into Victoria’s slippers, and the budding leaves had begun to shoot into green furls that would soon thicken the view even more.

  Ylito made a disgusted comment under his breath as he paused to wipe mud from the side of his boot, but then he followed behind Victoria as they traipsed through thigh-high grass toward an awkward-looking gray-brick building. What must have been the main part of the villa loomed high behind it, and was made of the yellowish stone most common in Rome.

  As Victoria trudged along, she turned her mind from the chill of her cold, wet gown to something nearly as uncomfortable: how to find Sebastian.

  In London she had been able to go to his pub, the Silver Chalice, to contact him, but it had been destroyed. The last time she’d seen him was here in Rome, when, with his usual talent, he’d simply shown up when she didn’t necessarily want him to. Short of putting a notice in the newspaper, there was little she could do to find him.

  But then a thought struck her. Sebastian had introduced her to two young women, twins named Portiera and Placidia. Perhaps if she called on them she might be able to learn how to find Sebastian in this city.

  Not to mention the fact that her mother would love to see her interested in making social calls.

  Since Lady Melly had arrived, Victoria had spent the last two nights at home with her aunt and friends, playing whist, catching up on gossip, and generally doing the things she thought she’d left behind when she married and moved from her mother’s home. Even as a marchioness she was expected to have social obligations—but at least they would be under her own terms.

  “There it is,” Victoria said, gesturing to the wall made of slim gray stones stacked atop one another as she and Ylito passed through the same gate that the vampires had used two nights before. Off to the right was the smooth white lintel framing a solid stone door.

  “La Porta Alchemica,” said Ylito, stepping toward it.

  Victoria’s sodden skirt brushed against him as she too moved toward the door. It was not a particularly large one, now that she saw it in full daylight. Just an average size, low enough that someone as tall as Max might have to duck to cross the threshold.

  She watched as Ylito smoothed his dark hand over the white marble as though reading with his fingertips the symbols carved there. Above the door was a large circle carving, within which were two triangles superimposed on each other, one pointing up and the other pointing down, and a cross stamped on top of them.

  “Jupiter…tin…diameter sphaerae thau…circli…non orbis prosunt… Venus…copper…” murmured Ylito, moving his hand down the right side of the doorway.

  “What does it say?”

  “Alchemical symbols—this is for the planet Jupiter,” he said, showing her the top carving that looked like a cross with an arrow pointing to the right, “and represents the metal tin. Below it, the symbol of feminity, or Venus, the circle with the cross below it. There is Mercury and Mars…” he added, gesturing to the other side.

  “What does it all mean?”

  Again Ylito flashed his white teeth. “I do not know, and apparently neither did Palombara. As the story goes, he found the papers of an alchemist who came to Rome searching for a mysterious herb. After the alchemist disappeared, Palombara studied his journals and had some of the content engraved on the door. For example, under the Jupiter symbol it says, ‘the sphere’s diameter, the circle’s tau, and the globe’s cross are of no use to the blind.’ It simply means one might have the tools, but if one doesn’t know how to put them to use, they’re worthless.”

  Victoria, looking at the odd symbols, couldn’t agree more.

  A large dial was set into the stone of the portal, covering about the center hal
f of the entrance. The round disk, which was flush with its setting, was formed of a different color stone and had the shape of a triangle carved into its face. At each of the three corners was a small rectangular notch, no more than two fingers wide and one thumb-length long. Victoria could see that the dirt and moss had been scraped away from the bottom right-hand notch, as though someone had recently slipped something into the hole.

  She pushed her fingers in, examining the stone around the opening of what must be one of the keyholes, though it looked nothing like any keyhole she’d ever seen. Which made her realize that the key was perhaps not a long metal one with notches carved on one side, but something different. More of a small tab that would slide into the small opening. “Ylito, look at this.”

  He crouched next to her with a faint pop in one of his knees and thrust his fingers sideways into the notch. They disappeared up to his second knuckles, and his dark eyes lit up with interest. “The key. One of the keys has been found.” He looked up at her, more animation in his face than she’d seen yet today. Obviously this was a fascination to him. “Si, that slot has the key slid in, unable to be retrieved until the door is opened. It has been fitted into place, and there it will stay. Each key fits in its slot and lifts the insides of the lock, and thus allows the disk to turn. That will open the door.”

  Victoria nodded, her heart filling her chest. Was the missing key the one that had been given to Augmentin Gardella and then passed down to Aunt Eustacia? How could they know? Had the others been found?

  Then she noticed that the moss and dirt had been cleaned off just above the notch, and that there was a faint carving on it.

  Ylito was already looking at the etched lettering, his quick, dark hands passing over it as if it would help him to read it. “That is the name of the key. ‘Deus et homo,’ God and man. And see, there: its symbol—a large circle with rays like the sun, with a smaller circle inside it, resting at the bottom. It will be carved on the key itself, so that the user knows where it fits.”

  “And the other two?” Victoria crouched so she could look at the bottom left corner of the triangle, using her nails to scrape away the moss, feeling the grit of moist dirt. “They’re named as well?”

  “They are all noted here, in this symbol above the door,” Ylito said, drawing her attention to the large circle above the door. “See, it names the keys—‘tri sunt mirabilia: Deus et homo, mater et virgo, trinus et unus,’ that means ‘three are the wonders: God and man, mother and virgin, the one and three.’ The wonders are represented by the three keys that will give access to this secret laboratory.”

  Victoria saw the words carved around the circle, and bent back down to the lower left key slot, scraping the dirt away. She uncovered enough to see that it was the “mater et virgo”—mother and virgin—key, and then sat back on her heels, heedless of the wet grass bleeding into her thighs and rump, her heart thumping hard in her chest. “And this?” she asked, relief beginning to creep through her muscles.

  “This is the slot for the ‘mater et virgo’ key,” he said easily, tracing the symbols. “A slender crescent moon to the left, representing the virgin, curving away from and touching the full, ripe circle of the mother.” He looked up. “It’s two parts of a common ancient symbol of the three goddesses: virgin, mother, crone.”

  “Aunt Eustacia’s armband is marked with that very same symbol of mother and virgin. They haven’t found her key yet.”

  Ylito’s face settled into a smooth mask. “But we see here evidence that someone is looking for it now.”

  Four

  In Which Victoria Develops an Acute Dislike of Sugarplums

  “So how do you find your first Roman Carnivale?” asked Zavier, looking down at Victoria as he was jolted into her side by an overzealous celebrant.

  Since it was at least the dozenth time he’d bumped into her, or she into him, Victoria hardly noticed the shove; she was concentrating on keeping her papier-mâché mask in place. “It is like nothing I’ve ever experienced,” she replied with abject honesty. “The people seem to have gone insane!” While she could fully understand why it was important for the Venators to be out in the streets during the eight nights of Carnivale, she wasn’t as convinced of the necessity of wearing a mask.

  If the jostled eyeholes weren’t obstructing her view, the long beak of her bird-face was bumping into the person in front of her, or being knocked to the side by someone throwing a plaster sugarplum.

  Or being hit by one, which had happened more than once, as evidenced by the white marks on her mask and clothing.

  Zavier laughed easily, but she noticed his attention didn’t falter from the activity going on around them. With all of the revelry and masquerading on the wide street of Corso spilling into the smaller, darker side streets, the night was rife with the possibility of vampire attacks—or worse, kidnappings by members of the Tutela for their vampire masters. And now the new threat of being taken off and beheaded, for some inexplicable reason. So far neither of them had encountered any undead, but it was barely midnight, and dawn was a long way off on this February night.

  Although Carnivale had been going on for almost a week, this was the first night Victoria and Zavier had gone out patrolling for undead together. It was also the first time she’d gone hunting since her mother arrived, and since she and Ylito had visited the Magic Door…other than the time she’d surreptitiously slipped a stake into the chest of a vampire who’d dared to sneak up on Lady Nilly when they were going home after a late Carnivale party.

  To Lady Melly’s great joy, Victoria had put her secret plan to find Sebastian into action by looking up the Tarruscelli twins, Portiera and Placidia. Unfortunately an afternoon of tea with them had turned into a series of invitations to Carnivale parties, races, and the sharing of their balcony overlooking the Corso, where all of the festivities took place. Victoria felt odd being thrust back into a world of society and parties after turning her attention—and her life—to her Venator duties. It felt foreign to her in a way it hadn’t even after she’d rejoined Society following Phillip’s death.

  Perhaps she really had left all of that behind.

  In return for having to sit and make conversation, while chafing about the other things that needed to be tended to, Victoria had had no luck in turning the conversation with the twins to Sebastian or learning of his whereabouts.

  Perhaps he wasn’t even in Rome anymore.

  At any rate, tonight Victoria had managed to dislodge her mother’s manipulative fingers (“But the Barone Zacardi is ever so smitten with you!”) and plead exhaustion so that she could stay home. Ilias had explained that tonight was Rose Monday, the second-to-last night of Carnivale, and the fever pitch of excitement—and danger—would continue to grow until it reached its peak tomorrow night.

  Lady Melly and the others planned to join the Tarruscellis, along with some other new acquaintances—including the bound-to-be-disappointed Barone Zacardi—in their red-draped balcony, so they could watch the street below. Victoria was relieved to be out on the street with her stake—masked or otherwise—and doing her job. Plus, she had another idea about how to contact Sebastian, and she was going to attempt it tonight.

  The smell of roasting chestnuts tinged the air, drawing her from her thoughts, and Victoria felt a sudden pang of hunger. The fragrant nuts reminded her of Christmases spent at her family’s estate of Prewitt Shore with her mother and her two friends, long before any of their husbands had died. At that house at least one of her meals during the holidays would be made up only of hot nut meats and warm milk.

  “Zavier.” She turned to look at him, but her mask was knocked askew again. She reached up and pushed the long, narrow bird-beak back into place, and when her eyeholes were realigned, she saw that Zavier was nowhere in sight.

  If she were a normal woman, with normal strength and no capability to defend herself, she might be terrified at being separated from her male companion in the middle of the boisterous festival at midnight. But i
nstead Victoria directed herself to the side of the broad, thronged Corso, where a man and his wife were selling hot chestnuts. Her stake was safely in the deep pocket of her loose costume, and Verbena had made certain that Victoria’s other pocket included a pistol, along with a few écus for such an occasion as this.

  She pulled out one of the coins to pay for the chestnuts, and just as she turned back to look toward the wide thoroughfare, Victoria felt another sugarplum slam into the back of her shoulder. This one was harder than any of the others; as if it had been thrown from close proximity.

  She whipped around, her hand going automatically to her stake even though the back of her neck wasn’t any colder than it had been moments before…and even though this was all supposed to be in the name of revelry. This time, miraculously, her mask stayed in place, and she turned to see a slight figure twisting away to slip through the crowd.

  She started after the figure, a sense of recognition niggling deep in her mind with an impression of dark eyes behind a peacock mask, and a certain familiarity of movement.

  Suddenly something grabbed her arm from behind, and Victoria pivoted back, hand groping for her pistol. “Zavier.”

  “Where were you going?” he asked. “I lost ye for a moment there.”

  “I…went to get some chestnuts, but I couldn’t find you, and then someone threw a sugarplum at me. Again.”

  He laughed and turned her away. “I see it. Another powdery white spot on your shoulder.” He slipped an arm around hers, as naturally as if he’d always done so. “I’ve seen not one vampire here tonight, nor felt—”

  His voice trailed off as the hair lifted at the back of her neck in a definite chill. They looked at each other. “This way,” Victoria said, starting off in the direction the figure had gone.

  Whether it was a coincidence or not, she didn’t know. But they went off through the crowds, pushing through the revelers, on the trail of the first vampire they’d sensed all night.