Bleeding Dusk gvc-3

by Колин Глисон

  She almost smiled, but her growing disappointment and anger held it back. There were so many thoughts barreling through her mind, so many things that suddenly made sense. But she seized on one. “That was why you never undressed when I…when we—”

  “I didn’t want you to know,” he said simply. The fingers of his left hand closed and opened, closed and opened as he looked down at her, still unsure, still caught.

  Why? Why would he hide such a thing from her? Then she thought maybe she knew. “Beauregard. He doesn’t know either.”

  But Sebastian shook his head, still sober. “He does know, and, as you might imagine, he appreciates the irony of it—the grandson of one of the most powerful undead in Italy is a vampire hunter.”

  “You don’t hunt vampires because of him, even though you’re a born Venator?”

  “It’s not that simple.” Then, as if shaking off the discomfort of the moment, he bent toward her, resting one hand on each of the chair arms to bring his face closer to hers, a provocative grin lifting his lips. The charmer had returned. “But you need not fear, Victoria, that we’re too closely related by blood to carry on with our…previous activities. The Gardella name hasn’t been part of my mother’s family for centuries, if not longer.” He shifted to one hand, lifting the other to brush it over her cheek. “You and I are only distantly related. And for that I am immensely thankful.”

  Victoria jerked her face away, anger spiking through her again. He acted as if that were the most important issue at hand. “If you find it necessary to hide your calling, why do you bother to wear a vis bulla?” That was perhaps what incensed her the most—that he wore it, but didn’t use it. It was blasphemy.

  And it also explained, perhaps, the contempt in which Max seemed to hold Sebastian.

  Max had handed his vis to her when he walked away from the Venators, and Victoria herself had removed hers when she took a year to grieve for Phillip, knowing that she didn’t trust herself to wear it. She’d almost killed a man—a mortal—because she’d been overcome with grief and anger about Phillip, and the vis was a convenient weapon. It had been much too easy to let her fury get away from her and take over her actions. But once she regained control of herself, she’d worn it again, just as Max had done.

  “I move among vampires, and among them it’s known that I’m of Gardella blood, and also that I’ve been Chosen. Beauregard, as I said, appreciates the irony, and the others respect me. I’ve taken great pains to keep it a secret from everyone else.”

  “That was why you were so comfortable being around the undead when you owned the Silver Chalice. It was a way for you to protect your grandfather’s friends.”

  He must have read the abhorrence in her face, the confusion in her eyes, for he took her reluctant hands and tugged her out of the chair with ease.

  And this was why, she realized now, he’d always seemed unusually strong. Even from the beginning.

  Anger shot through her, sparking her emotions so that her cheeks burned hot. He’d taken care not to appear too strong or too capable as they’d faced vampires last year when Dr. Polidori was killed by the undead after writing a novel that told too many of the vampires’ secrets. He’d done just enough to let her think she’d saved them both, that she’d been the one to protect them all. She’d almost died, and so had he. And he’d never told her.

  And last autumn, at the theater where Akvan’s Obelisk was being kept and when Aunt Eustacia was killed, he didn’t tell her then.

  He’d even made self-deprecating remarks about himself in comparison to her, the Venator, the warrior. Now that she thought about it, she remembered bitterness in his voice when he spoke of her skill, and her assumption that he had none.

  Anyone can stake a vampire, he’d told her once.

  If they can get close enough, she’d replied flippantly, clearly implying that he hadn’t a prayer of doing so.

  “You stood by and watched my aunt die last fall,” she said, anger bursting forth. “You watched it all happen, and you did nothing!”

  His hands were tight on her upper arms, and this time he didn’t bother to hide his strength. “What could I have done? What could you have done? It was two of us—three, with Pesaro—there was nothing that could have stopped those events. You know it.”

  She knew he was right, but the anger didn’t slide away. “That night—when Polidori died…Sebastian, if I’d known you were a Venator—”

  His sharp bark of a laugh cut her off. “You wouldn’t have disparaged my skill with a sword? You would have expected more from me? Victoria, it was I who held back the Imperial while you were nearly mauled by that Guardian vampire. If you’d been less self-absorbed you would have realized you could never have matched against a Guardian and two Imperial vampires on your own, and wondered how a fop such as I could have matched swords with an Imperial.”

  While the pink-eyed Guardians were powerful in their own right, Imperials were even more fearsome. With blazing purple-red irises, Imperials were the strongest, fastest, and most powerful beings in the vampire race. They were often centuries, even millennia old, and not only glided through the air, but also wielded deadly swords as their weapons.

  “I was the one who’d been charged with protecting Polidori, until you waltzed into the picture and insisted on taking charge,” Sebastian continued.

  “And you were only too eager to let me! If there was someone else to do the dirty work, you’d step back and let them. If you hadn’t disappeared—run away—from the Silver Chalice when Lilith sent the Guardians after you, Phillip might still be alive! You might have been able to help him!”

  “Perhaps. But likely not. There were eight Imperials, along with a myriad of other vampire patrons who would have leaped to their defense, and only Pesaro and myself. I am sorry, Victoria. I’ve told you before that I wholly regret what happened to your husband. I would not have wished that on anyone. Believe me.”

  Her face was wet with tears, and she’d stopped trying to pull free from his arms. But though her muscles eased, her fury and disappointment did not. “And that night in the carriage in London…you tried to seduce me and then delivered me to those vampires. You let them take me away!” Once finding herself alone with Sebastian, she’d nearly allowed him to make love to her—until they were interrupted by an angry group of vampires. She’d always suspected he’d delivered her to them on purpose.

  Sebastian was shaking his head. “As lovely as that distraction was, do you truly think I’d allow my attempt to seduce you to be interrupted by something as unpleasant as the undead? I realized they were present just when you did. I tried to keep them from taking you, but I wasn’t able to. It was I who found your driver and told him where you were so that Pesaro could extricate you from Lilith’s minions. She was too angry at me for helping you, and was watching me too closely to allow me to do any such thing.”

  “You mean you wished not to tip your hand to her that you were playing both sides of the game. What is it, Sebastian? Whoever is winning is the side you choose?”

  He looked as though she’d slammed him in the stomach with all of the force of her two vis bullae. “Victoria, you cannot—”

  “I certainly—”

  A noise behind her had Victoria whirling to see Zavier come to a stunned halt from what must have been a run from the back of the Consilium. “How could you!” His face was tight with accusation, and he was breathing heavily. “Victoria, do ye know what ye’ve done? You may be Illa Gardella, but this is wrong.”

  His ruddy face flushed with anger as he strode toward her and Sebastian, his arms bunched in a threatening manner. In his hand he held a stake. “First ye kiss the man; then ye bring him into our sanctuary. And now we are found!”

  “Stop yourself there, Zavier,” Victoria snapped, still reeling from the maelstrom of disappointment and fury Sebastian had raised in her. Stepping between the bristling Scot and her lover—former lover—she faced the redhead. “You do not know of what you speak.”

&
nbsp; Looking in his eyes, she saw mostly pain, and she realized how it must appear to him: a tryst being held in the most secret of places. As if Victoria were compromising security and secrets in exchange for a bit of a tup, as Verbena would say.

  She had difficulty not being furious that Zavier assumed the worst of her, but Victoria managed to tuck that emotion away—for the time being. Her voice gentled, but still kept a hint of steel in it. “It is not what it appears.”

  And then she smelled the blood and noticed the stain on Zavier’s torso.

  Before she could speak, a low, rolling sound, like the tolling of a bell, clanged. The sound filled the room, dull and ominous, and Victoria turned to look at a large bell high in one of the corners. She’d hardly noticed it before, but now it seemed to swell inside the whole chamber. The deep sound reverberated through her limbs, and she saw the vibration in the feather of an old-fashioned quill that sat on one of the tables. Then more running feet grabbed her attention. Ilias hurried into the room from the opposite direction Zavier had come, Wayren close behind him, her gown billowing behind her.

  “What is it?”

  “The warning bell. Someone has tripped the alarm above in Santo Quirinus,” Wayren said, hurrying toward them. “There are trespassers near.”

  Victoria drew back as if she’d been slapped, whirling to face Sebastian in horror. “You!”

  “I swear it was not me, Victoria! I swear it!” He looked as disconcerted as she, his attention flashing to Wayren, who did not appear at all surprised to see him. “It was—”

  Wayren reached for him, her fingers closing over the juncture of neck and shoulder. “Later, Sebastian. We will talk later.” She twitched her hand, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he crumpled to the floor. Obviously Wayren didn’t trust him either.

  Victoria looked sharply at her—she’d known all along about Sebastian! Why had she never told her?

  “The vampires haven’t found us yet, but there are undead and mortals above, in the streets and buildings nearby. Something has brought them here.” It was Zavier, speaking to Ilias as though Victoria were not present. His normally jovial face bore darkness and accusation when he finally looked at her. “We must drive them away.”

  He started off toward the alcove that led to the spiral staircase Victoria had descended only thirty minutes earlier, but she called him back.

  “No, Zavier, wait. We cannot go that way, for if we suddenly appear from the church they will know our secret.”

  Ilias kept hidden guardsmen within the small church and in the areas surrounding it: one Venator along with two Comitators, who were martial-arts experts like Kritanu who taught the Venators their fighting skills. If there were vampires about, threatening their security—which Victoria had no reason to doubt—presumably the guards were already engaged. Still, it would be rash to come from the church and confirm to the undead where the entrance to the Consilium was.

  “This way,” Ilias ordered with a sharp gesture. Victoria and Zavier followed the older man, who obviously knew more about the secrets of the Consilium than anyone else, back down the steps and through one of the pointed archways that led to a chamber Victoria had seen only once before. It was bare and dusty. Trunks and several wooden crates were stacked against one of the walls, but Ilias hurried past them toward the back corner. He reached up to one of the iron sconces that were studded throughout the entire Consilium and lifted the torch from its place. Fumbling around with his fingers inside the empty sconce, he grunted in satisfaction, then withdrew his hand.

  Victoria watched with increasing tension, impatience nearly sending her back to the top of the spiral stairs. At least there she could hear if the threat was coming closer.

  But when Ilias removed his hand from the inside of the sconce, he also pulled back on the iron cup, and it fell away from the wall. A dull grating sound drew her attention, and she saw the wall behind the trunks shift.

  Zavier was there before she was, only, Victoria knew, because he’d somehow been looking in that direction. He shoved the wall so that it opened wide enough to get through, and he dashed into the darkness beyond.

  She would have followed him, but Ilias caught her arm. “You cannot come back in this way, so take care. It is only an exit.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and ran after Zavier, noticing the splatter of blood he’d left on the floor. She didn’t know how badly he was injured, but she must rely on him. It was the two of them and the three guards who watched the church above; Ilias and Wayren would stay below as a last shield in the Consilium.

  The secret door had closed behind her, leaving no illumination, yet Victoria did not slow her pace.

  Her huntress blood was ready, her instincts on edge, when she saw gray relief ahead. Stake steady in her hand, Victoria slowed as she came around a corner and found herself at the bottom of a set of stone stairs. Up she climbed, the heels of Zavier in front of her becoming more visible as they ascended, and the pungent smell from the nearby umbrella makers more evident.

  Then she followed him through a stone doorway that led to the street in front of Santo Quirinus church. The cobblestones were covered by moonglow. The sun had been set for some time.

  As Victoria burst across the borghi and up the five steps onto the brick street, she noticed two things: first, the bloody heap of what had been a Comitator, and second, the dank, musty death-smell she’d smelled only last night.

  A demon.

  Sebastian had brought demons to the Consilium!

  This fact was confirmed when Victoria saw Michalas, who must have been with Zavier before he came to sound the alarm, slam his stake into the chest of a red-eyed being. When he withdrew it and stepped back the creature leaped toward him, unharmed. Victoria vaulted herself at them and kicked into the demon, sending him off balance and slamming into the side of a building.

  She rolled to her feet and looked around for something to use as a blade; demons had to be beheaded. A great force slammed into her from behind, and Victoria went sprawling onto the dirt, her knee twisting as she stumbled onto a large rock. She rolled away, kicking out with all the strength of her legs and painful knee as the demon with the vampire eyes lunged toward her again.

  The shouts and blows around her ebbed into the distance as she fought hand-to-hand with the demon, who matched her in strength.

  This one appeared human, except for the red eyes of the undead and his foul, dank smell. Her arms ached where he grabbed them; her stomach burned when he jabbed her with an elbow. His head snapped back as she whipped her arm up under his chin, and he tumbled to the ground when she followed that up with a sharp kick behind his knee. She shoved him into a small bush and whirled around, again looking for something to use as a blade.

  “Victoria!” She heard her name and shifted her attention for the barest of moments. Something flew through the night toward her, something long and gleaming. She caught Zavier’s eye with a quick thanks and snatched the sword out of the air, barely feeling the blade as it sliced into her palm.

  It was in her other hand a breath later, her fingers safely behind the guard, and Victoria leaped toward the demon with a great swipe toward the creature’s throat.

  The blade cut through, and blood from her own wound splattered as she kept her momentum going. She didn’t see the demon freeze and then shrivel into a dark mass before it bubbled into the dirt and old grass; she was already turning toward another creature bearing down on her.

  A kick, a shove, a whirl and a slice, and she severed the ogre-faced demon’s head from his doglike body. By the time she whirled back around, everything had stilled but for the ratcheting breathing of her companions. Michalas panted near the threshold of a building, sweat dripping from his tight curls.

  “Bloody hell…” Zavier’s barrel chest heaved as he crouched against the corner of a small building that looked as though it might tumble over from his powerful weight.

  “It is Stanislaus on the steps in the Icon Hall,” came a voice. Ilias ste
pped from the small doorway of the church, his face stern and weary. “He is dead. But the door was closed behind him, preserving the secret door in the confessional. From the looks of the blood streaking the tile, he crawled in there to die…and to loose the alarm bell.”

  “They nearly found the kirk!” exploded Zavier, staring around with furious eyes. “If we had not been here they could have found it.” He rose to his feet, the man never seeming so large and ferocious as he did then.

  Sudden comprehension welled inside Victoria, and she moved toward Zavier. That was when she saw there on the ground at his feet another body. This one had long dark hair in a crumpled braid, and his mahogany-colored face was turned to one side.

  “Zavier, I’m sorry,” she said, bending to kneel next to the man. There was nothing that could be done; the blood and the awkward angle of his head told her that in an instant. Mansur had been a Comitator recently assigned as a permanent guardian of Santo Quirinus, but prior to that he’d worked with Zavier. She rose and placed her hand on the Scot’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”

  A sick feeling rose in her stomach. Could they have prevented Mansur’s death? And that of the other Venator, Stanislaus? Had she made the wrong decision by delaying their arrival, taking the long way out?

  They brought the bodies of the mortals into a nearby building, still taking care to stay away from the church. Their losses were one Comitator and one Venator, two-thirds of the guardians of the church. Victoria finalized the count of two demons dead, two vampires, and three mortals she didn’t recognize, but suspected they might be Tutela. All were slain on the deserted street.

  “You are correct. The mark of the Tutela is on the three men,” Wayren said to Victoria after Ilias examined the bodies. There was worry in the older woman’s pale blue eyes.

  “Mansur and Stanislaus realized too late that they were fighting demons,” Victoria said, her mind back on the loss of her comrades. While all Venators and some Comitators could sense the presence of a vampire, not many also had the ability to identify demons, many of which could take any shape. “And Stanislaus warned us the only way he could.”