Bleeding Dusk gvc-3

by Колин Глисон

  Victoria looked directly at him, her veins singing and her mind working furiously, and pushed the numbing worry back. She could fret later. It was getting darker by the moment. She made her decision in that instant.

  “You’ll have to take that back to…back,” she finished firmly, looking at the bundle of papers he still had. “I’ll see to my mother.”

  He looked as though he might argue, but it was only for a moment. Then he nodded. “It’s important that we get this safely to Wayren,” he said.

  “Take them with you,” Victoria added, gesturing to the ladies, feeling the brittleness in her movements. “I don’t need them—”

  “I ain’t leavin’ ye alone, milady,” Verbena said, stepping toward her.

  “I daresay, you cannot think to order me about,” said Lady Winnie, looking down her humped nose at Victoria. “Melly could be in danger! I shall not rest until—”

  “Shh!” Victoria snapped to attention as the rush of a chill moved over the back of her neck. She and Max exchanged glances; he felt it too. “Go,” she told him, gesturing toward the rear of the estate grounds, where the darkness seemed to be growing even faster. He would go out the way he and Victoria had come in.

  With a last, steady look, followed by a sharp nod, he disappeared soundlessly into the overgrowth, leaving Victoria with three ill-prepared would-be vampire hunters.

  Seventeen

  Wherein the Merits of Italian Desserts Are Discussed After an Eventful Evening

  Pulling the stake out of her pocket, Victoria edged along the wall in the direction of the villa.

  The chill on the back of her neck wasn’t alarming in its intensity; she guessed there were no more than three undead in the vicinity. Whether one of them was Regalado, with Lady Melly, she would soon find out. She prayed, firmly keeping her thoughts from worrying that one of them was…and terrified that it wouldn’t be.

  Stake gripped comfortably, she slipped between some sort of prickly bush and the old stone wall, peering around its corner. The light had grown very dim, so she could see little more than shapes of blue and black and gray. But then she noticed a faint red glow in the distance: vampire eyes.

  They disappeared. Either the creature had turned away or was now hiding. In either case, Victoria was not about to let the undead get away. She moved quickly and as quietly as the sagging branches and soggy grass would allow, peering into the darkness and wishing, once again, that one of the Venator powers was night vision.

  A woman screamed in the distance—or tried to, before it was quickly muffled—and that set Victoria off more rapidly and carelessly through the brush. It didn’t sound like Melly…but, then again, Victoria had heard her mother scream only once, when a mouse had the audacity to scamper across her dressing room table.

  She moved toward the sounds of struggles ahead, refusing to let herself contemplate what she might—or might not—find.

  One step at a time. One battle at a time.

  She ran along the side of the sprawling villa, between it and the tall enclosing wall that ran around the entire estate, toward the front, along overgrown paths and beneath unpruned trees. More screams and shouts from beyond gave her a burst of speed, and when she came near the front of the building, Victoria nearly ran into a bench that had been hidden in the lengthening shadows.

  Swerving just in time to avoid cracking her leg against it, she paused, breathing heavily, and saw the cluster of moving shadows ahead. They were anonymous; she couldn’t tell if one of the struggling figures was her mother. She could see six of them: three pairs of red eyes—pure red, none of them the pink of Guardians or the magenta of Imperials, fortunately—and the three pale, frightened faces of their victims, thrashing about as they were dragged toward the front entrance of the villa as if they’d just arrived.

  Victoria burst from the darkness and rushed one of the red-eyed vampires. The undead looked up in surprise, then delight, then shock as she saw the stake in Victoria’s hand. The female undead released her victim and roared forward, blocking the stake’s downward stroke with her forearm and grasping Victoria’s wrist.

  Cursing herself for getting stopped by such an unoriginal move, Victoria lobbed the stake to her free hand, jerked forcefully with her other, and yanked the vampire toward her as she reached around to stab the undead’s heart through the back.

  The vampire poofed, blasting dust over Victoria’s arm, and she spun slickly in the mud to face the others. Her foot slipped, but she caught herself in time to duck a blow from a male undead and again swiveled around to come at her target from behind, slamming the stake into the center of his back.

  Just as he disintegrated into dust, the third vampire released his victim, shoving the sobbing woman to the side so hard that she tumbled to the ground. He faced Victoria, and she saw that he had a large, broken branch in his hand. With a mighty swipe he flung it whistling through the air, and it slammed into her shoulder hard enough to send her staggering back.

  But she wasn’t down, and Victoria caught herself against a wet, prickly bush just as Verbena and Lady Winnie burst onto the scene. What came next happened so rapidly that Victoria wasn’t certain exactly how the events unfolded…but the next thing she knew, her target was blocked by the wide skirts covering the behind of the Duchess of Farnham…there was a sudden shriek of pain from the vampire…a flurry of activity, a splash, and then…suddenly…the satisfying poof! of the undead imploding into dust and ash.

  And then there was nothing but the quiet sobbing of the woman—who, horribly, wasn’t Lady Melly—and the gasping of breaths from the other would-be victims, a man and a second woman, who, from the looks of their clothing, were returning from an evening out.

  Victoria stalked over to the scene of the last vampire’s death and found Lady Winnie clutching the hand-size cross to her pillowlike bosom. “I…he…” She wheezed, her little pig eyes goggling like shiny marbles.

  “I tol’ ye, ye got to stab ’em in the heart, not the eye!” Verbena was lecturing the duchess, hands on her hips, chin raised high in the air. “Was a good thin’ ’e saw your cross an’ I had the chance t’ throw this on ’im!” She produced a small bottle Victoria knew had held holy water.

  A convenient substance, of course, and one that Victoria tended to forget to take with her more often than not, unless her maid reminded her of it.

  “Now you must go,” Victoria said firmly. “I have to find Lady Melly if she’s here, and you can finish your good deeds”—she looked reproachfully at Verbena—“and help these poor people get home safely.”

  “But you cannot stay here alone,” Lady Winnie argued. She had regained control of her breathing and, along with it, her stubbornness. “It’s much too dangerous! And although it really isn’t difficult at all to stake the monsters, I cannot in good conscience leave you here alone.”

  Victoria’s annoyance was growing by the moment, along with the rising frantic need to get away from the babbling women and search for her mother.

  She wished for her aunt Eustacia’s special golden disk, which helped to remove unwanted memories from people who shouldn’t have them—such as would-be vampire hunters or near victims of the undead. Such an item would have come in handy now, although it would have taken time that she didn’t have.

  No time. She had no time to waste.

  “You must go,” Victoria insisted, much more harshly than she’d ever spoken to the ladies. “Take these people and go before you get hurt yourself.”

  “Victoria!” Winnie sounded perfectly righteous and angry. “How dare you speak—”

  “I dare because I must!” A blaze of frustration, fear, and anger blew through her, and she rounded on the plump duchess, her entire mind focused on where her mother was and what Regalado was doing to her. The back of her neck was no longer cold—which meant nothing good, in her mind, for that meant there were no vampires in the vicinity—so Regalado was either not at the villa, or was so deeply inside it that she couldn’t sense his presence.


  Victoria started to tell her again that they had to leave, when she suddenly realized Lady Nilly wasn’t there. Anywhere. She whirled away from the slack-jawed duchess, scanning the area and seeing nothing of the stick-figured Lady Petronilla.

  “Lady Nilly!” she said, streaking back into the darkness. Her neck wasn’t cold, so she couldn’t be…

  Lady Winnie and Verbena crashed along behind Victoria, sounding like an entire coach and four tearing through a forest. Victoria was thankful she didn’t have to go far, for several yards into the brush back toward the Door of Alchemy she found Lady Nilly walking toward her. The older woman was glowing, thin and pale, like a moon in the darkness, for by now the air was charcoal gray decorated with black shadows everywhere.

  “Nilly!” shrieked Winnie, barreling past Victoria, stake in hand. “How dare you frighten us like that!”

  But there was something wrong. Victoria’s hands went cold as she came closer to Nilly and saw the dark streaks on her neck.

  “She’s been bitten,” Verbena exclaimed before Victoria had a chance to say anything.

  Nilly’s eyes were wide and glassy, and a faint smile curved her mouth. Her hair, which was normally kept in a strictly smooth bun at the back of her crown, with two precise curls hanging from her temples, was loose and full and falling about her shoulders and past them.

  “Nilly!” Before Victoria could get to her, Lady Winnie took her friend by the arms and gave her a rough shake, and to the relief of everyone, Lady Nilly’s eyes fluttered.

  Her lips parted, lifted at the corners, and she sighed. “Yes.” She smiled. “I’m sorry, Winnie,” she added, reaching for her friend.

  “Don’t,” Victoria said sharply. A mortal couldn’t be turned to a vampire that quickly…as far as she knew. The vampire had to drain most of the victim’s blood, and then offer their tainted blood for the victim to drink to replace the loss of her own. And then the victim would fall into unconsciousness and awaken as an undead. Clearly not enough time had elapsed for that to have occurred with Lady Nilly.

  Nevertheless, Victoria was taking no chances. And before she could speak, Verbena had already pulled out another vial of holy water. If, when she poured it on Lady Nilly’s flesh, she screamed in agony, Victoria knew it was too late for her mother’s friend.

  Her mother. Dear God.

  Victoria snatched the holy water from Verbena and splashed it over the older woman’s wounded neck. She shrieked in surprise and indignance, but not in pain. Not in pain.

  Thank Heaven.

  “Take her home. Now.” She looked at Verbena and then at Lady Winnie, and they both seemed to realize there would be no arguing. “Is Oliver here?”

  “I told ’im t’wait in th’ carriage,” Verbena replied as they started walking back toward the house. “He wanted to come wi’us, but I told him someone had to wait there—’ specially if we ’ad to leave quick.”

  Fortunately Victoria’s neck still wasn’t cold when they approached the front of the deserted villa. The three others she’d rescued from the vampires were huddled against the gate, backed into a corner. One of the women gasped as Victoria and her companions came into view, but Victoria ignored her.

  “The gate’s locked,” said Verbena, stopping there.

  “Move.” Victoria realized she’d begun to sound like Max, with her blunt, terse commands—ironic, but she had no time for gentle manners. She got to the gate, saw the metal lock that had obviously been secured after her mother’s companions had come through, and she started to pull on it.

  That was when she heard the sound of an approaching carriage, and at the same moment her neck chilled.

  Victoria froze for an instant; then with a jerk of her hand she sent the others scuttling into the shadows. Maybe…just maybe…

  She adjusted the grip on her stake, eased herself into the darkness, and waited.

  The carriage rumbled to a halt in front of the gates, bringing with it the faintest bit of light from its lantern, filtering through the iron bars. Victoria’s heart began to pump harder. It was possible.

  Her fingers tightened, her breath quickened, and she waited.

  The sound of someone alighting from the barouche—a woman, she was certain, based on the faint rustle and swish—spiked Victoria’s hope. If it was her mother, and she was still…

  A titter, a coy one that Victoria would never have attributed to Lady Melly, tinkled over the night air, and a surge of relief swept over her. Odd as it sounded, it was definitely her mother.

  The metal lock clinked at the gate, and Victoria eased flatter against the damp wall, realizing suddenly that her toes were like tiny pieces of ice inside her soggy slippers…but she didn’t care. Her mother was here.

  Only a moment more…

  The chain fell away and the gates swung open. Lady Melly came into view, her arm slipped through the elbow crook of none other than the Conte Regalado, she looking like a fresh young woman strolling along with her beau, he with his bare head shining in the dim light.

  Before Victoria could make a move, something—someone—pushed past her in a froth of skirts and lace and with an unwieldy stake.

  “Let her go!” pronounced Lady Winnie, as though she were a patroness at Almack’s, refusing to let a debutante dance a third dance with the same man.

  Regalado turned to the duchess, his even white teeth suddenly gleaming in a charming smile. “Why, if it isn’t your friend, my dear Melly. Have you come to join us?”

  Her mother had given him permission to call her by her Christian name? Already?

  Victoria gave herself a little shake of the head at the absurdity of her thought; perhaps it was the sense of relief that her mother was alive and well that had sent her mind scuttling to such a thing. Well, they were no longer in London, and they certainly had other things to concern themselves with besides the codes of propriety.

  “Winnie! My heavens! What on earth are you doing here?”

  “Well, now, my dear, we had a bit of a fright, ’tis all,” replied the duchess in a calm voice. She surreptitiously tucked the stake behind her skirts.

  Victoria saw no reason to wait for them to politely discuss the situation, as they were wont to, so she stepped out of the shadows. When Regalado saw her, the menacing edge to his smile slipped.

  “Good evening, Conte,” Victoria said. “Mother.”

  “Victoria!” Her mother’s voice was understandably shrill and horrified. “What is the meaning of all this?”

  Victoria had no choice but to ignore her, although she knew she would pay for it later. Her ears began to ring in preparation. Unless she could get Wayren to use Aunt Eustacia’s golden disk, what she was about to say and do would shock her mother far more than her unexpected—and unladylike—appearance.

  But brevity was necessary, for she had neither the wish nor the patience to spend several minutes churning through an explanation and its unavoidable discussion. “Regalado, because you’ve managed to keep your fangs off my mother thus far, and obviously she’s had a lovely evening in your company, I’ll allow you a choice: Release her, or I’ll turn you into a pile of dust.”

  Regalado nearly leaped from Melly’s side in his haste to comply. “Of course, my dear. Of course. I meant no harm. Your mother is a charming and handsome woman, I must say. I meant no harm a’tall.”

  Victoria’s eyes narrowed. That was a bit too easy. But…her neck was still only a bit chilled—just enough to account for Regalado’s presence—and she didn’t smell the horrible, dank death-smell of any demons. Perhaps the man was just the same repulsive, superficial coward he’d been before being turned into a vampire.

  Apparently, though the soul became mutated and malevolent in its undead form, the personality attached to it didn’t undergo any great change.

  “Victoria, how dare you,” said Lady Melly, grabbing at Regalado’s arm as if to pull it back into her possession. “I do not know what has befallen you, but since you arrived here in Rome, you have been not at all
yourself. I cannot begin to imagine what you think you are going to accomplish by interfering—”

  As her mother continued to lecture, Victoria wished desperately for Aunt Eustacia’s golden disk.

  The irony of the situation was that many years ago, Lady Melly herself had been called to be a Venator. She had declined the task, opting instead to marry Victoria’s father, and thus not only had her mind been wiped clean of information about vampires and Venators, but all of her innate skills and Venatorial powers had been passed on to her daughter.

  Regalado himself, as creepy and slimy as he seemed, also appeared to be quite disconcerted by Lady Melly’s leech-like propensity. He tried to extricate himself from the woman, all the while watching Victoria with trepidation.

  It was, in the end, a blessing that two more vampires arrived at that very moment; for if things had continued as they’d begun, Victoria wasn’t at all certain how she would have pried her mother away from the most inappropriate of all candidates for a second husband.

  But the appearance of two more undead—apparently the coachman from Regalado’s barouche and a female acting, ironically, as a chaperone, perhaps?—set the next events in motion.

  Unaware of the situation into which they’d entered, the newcomers bared their fangs, let their eyes light up with a red glow, and dove into the melee. Moments later, after a flurry of lace and silk and damp feathers (from Lady Melly’s bonnet, after she was shoved face-first into a bush), stakes of all sizes and efficacy, along with much poofing and grunting and thunking of bulky silver crosses, there were two piles of vampire dust, three would-be victims still cowering against the wall, an indignant widow being ushered off to Oliver and his carriage, and the flapping coattails of the Conte Regalado as he dashed up the front steps of the villa.

  Victoria wasn’t even breathing hard, but she was flush with satisfaction and a feeling of well-being. Verbena wore a smug smile, and somehow her mistress had a feeling that poor Oliver was never going to hear the end of the adventure, even though he’d been relegated to stay in the carriage.