The Rest Falls Away gvc-1

by Колин Глисон

  "Theoretically, yes."

  They fell silent, waiting, watching, breathing steadily and smoothly at last.

  And then… Victoria started when Max's hand appeared in her periphery, a finger, pointing silently.

  Three of them, walking toward the house, in the center of the street as if they owned it. Broad, tall, long hair gusting with each stride. Even from where she was, Victoria saw the whiteness of their skin, the deep, violet-red glow of narrowed eyes. And the long glint of metal swords drooping from their hands.

  Her neck felt as if a wedge of ice were pressed against it.

  Her stomach tightened and she surreptitiously rubbed her damp palm against the rough bark of the tree.

  "Imperial vampires." Max's voice was in her ear, barely audible.

  But she hadn't needed to be told; Victoria already knew. The vampires closest to Lilith, closer than her elite retinue of Guardians, and so powerful they could pull the life energy from their victims without using their fangs—just their eyes.

  Lilith was indeed taking no chances.

  They didn't move as the Imperials approached Redfield Manor. It was fortunate they were downwind from the vampires, and that there was a gentle breeze. It might keep the three from scenting her and Max. Victoria watched them, her neck burning with chill. They were still a distance away, but even now she could feel the power, the hate… the evil. She stifled a shiver.

  For the first time she was truly glad Max was there.

  The Book of Antwartha was still inside the house, and would need to be removed by one of the undead, for Sebastian would not have been able to take it.

  But why was he here?

  Lilith knew that she and Max would do anything to stop her from getting' the book. Perhaps there were even more surprises awaiting them tonight. Victoria had an uneasy feeling that although they were prepared, the queen of the vampires was one step ahead of them.

  If she had gone to Aunt Eustacia or Max to share what she knew, they might have been better able to plan their strategy. After all, Max had some experience with Imperials. But Victoria had gone solo, and so had Max, and now they were at the mercy of Lilith's determination.

  How did one fight an Imperial? Her heart seemed to pound through her whole body. Surely the vampires must sense it!

  As if reading her thoughts, one of the Imperials paused at the stoop of Redfield Manor, turning toward them and sniffing the air. Victoria held her breath and felt Max tense against her.

  Then the vampire turned back to his companions, and they separated. Two went up the steps, and the one who'd faced them remained at the bottom, standing near the street. The length of his sword was a third leg, stretching from hip to ground.

  The door of Redfield Manor opened and the two Imperials went in. The third was alone.

  She nearly jumped when Max's fingers closed around her arm and he breathed into the vicinity of her ear, "Me first. Wait; then you follow." Without waiting for her response, he stepped from the shadow of the tree and began to walk boldly toward the Imperial.

  He had no sword, no weapon but the ash stakes and a long, slender branch that had a jagged end.

  Victoria watched as the Imperial turned to face Max striding across the grass that had somehow become damp. His burning eyes no more than slits, the vampire stood ready. Even from her distance, in the glance of light from the moon, Victoria could see the smirk of readiness, the indolent stance that said he was ready for a fight.

  When Max came within two arms' breadth, the Imperial lifted his sword. Yes, he had brutal strength that matched Max's, but to fight a Venator, who carried a pike of wood that held death, Lilith took no chances. She armed her vampires with metal pikes, swords. Thus they were evenly matched. Wood to metal. Holy strength to inhuman might.

  Victoria understood Max's plan, and though her heart picked up speed as she saw the two tall, broad figures face each other, she waited. The Imperial would have scented their presence; by Max announcing himself and approaching the vampire, it was obvious he hoped Victoria would remain unnoticed.

  Metal glinted in the light, and Victoria saw that they were engaged, fighting for life. Or undeath.

  She'd been wrong. They were not evenly matched.

  Max had the disadvantage. The skin of her palms dampened. While his weapon would kill only if he got a clear slice through the chest, the sword wielded by the Imperial was lethal in any manner.

  And if he drew blood, its smell would attract the other Imperials and Guardians from inside Redfield Manor… and any that lurked on the streets.

  They moved as if choreographed, seeming to leap and almost glide through the air at times, blocking and thrusting, each with their staff of death, spinning, leaping, banking off a nearby tree one time; gliding up the side of the house and down another time. Almost as if they were puppets on strings, lifting into the air and careening back toward each other in lethal ballet movements.

  She watched, amazed, as Max seemed to skim and glide on the air in the graceful movements of an art form she had not yet learned. She kept her eyes trained on them, praying she would know when to step from the shadows and come to his aid. Praying she would be quick enough.

  And then the constant ice at the back of her neck changed, pulling her attention from the battle. She felt something behind her and turned just in time, her stake at waist height. With a quick thrust she jabbed it up and into the chest of the very ordinary vampire who'd had the foolishness to come up behind a tense Venator, a woman who he'd thought would be easy pickings.

  That would be his last street hunt.

  Victoria turned back around, realizing that her movement would have alerted the Imperial to her presence, just in time to see his long metal blade arc through the air and tumble to the ground. In a move that took her breath away, Max vaulted from the vampire and snatched up the blade. Straightening, he turned and, with one clean swipe, cleaved the Imperial's head from his neck.

  The vampire poofed.

  All was still.

  Except for Victoria's ramming heart and dragging breaths.

  Max turned as she came across the grass toward him.

  "One down. Two to go," he said, meeting her halfway. To her great annoyance, he was barely out of breath. "We're better matched now. You take that side. I'll take this one." He gestured to the boxwoods that flanked the stoop of the house.

  "You were flying."

  He looked at her, eyebrows raised. "In a manner of speaking, yes. As much as you might think you know, you still have much to learn, Victoria. Now take your place."

  "Wait." She grabbed his arm, her breathing steadier now. Something shiny dampened his sleeve, and she saw that it had been sliced open and blood spilled. "He got you."

  "Of course he did," Max snapped, pulling his arm back to his side and stepping into the protective shadow of another tree. "How else was I to distract him to twist the sword from his grip? One quick flip of my stake at that angle and he had to drop it." Under his annoyance there was an air of satisfaction and smugness.

  "Congratulations," Victoria replied just as briskly. "But if we don't bind it up and stanch the bleeding, it'll attract every other undead in the vicinity… not to mention the ones inside with Sebastian."

  She could have bitten her tongue, but that would have meant more blood scent on the air. And Max wasn't about to allow it to slip by.

  "How do you know his name?" He rounded on her.

  Victoria refused to be cowed. "Later, Max. First, let's take care of—"

  But she never finished her sentence. The door beyond them opened and two Imperial vampires stood at the top of the stoop.

  The vampires had to step out of the house, carrying the book, before it would be safe for Victoria and Max to take it from them.

  They exchanged looks under shadow of the boxwoods, satisfying themselves that the other understood this.

  Although the first Imperial paused at the door's threshold, he did not wait long; the one behind him appeared just at his sho
ulder and they both stepped out. Their hands were empty but for the swords they still carried.

  They looked around as if searching for their missing colleague; since he'd popped into ash, they would see no sign of him. But perhaps they would smell the lingering dust in the air.

  The Imperials strode down the steps, only feet away from Max and Victoria—they must smell them, Max's blood, too, for certain—looking around, the nostrils of one flaring as if testing the air for scent.

  Just as one turned toward the bushy, shoulder-high boxwood that sheltered them, Max leaped from behind it, brandishing the sword, and beheaded the vampire in another clean stroke.

  As the third and last Imperial whirled about, holding his own silver blade, another face peered around the doorway. Victoria saw him and crashed from behind the shrub, dashing up the steps before he could close the door.

  He came out onto the stoop to meet her, and she saw that he was not carrying the book himself; but that did not matter, as now she had to fight him to his death. Or hers.

  Dimly, through her own battle with the Guardian vampire, she was aware of the fierce clashing of swords below as Max and the Imperial faced off. A shout, and the one moment of distraction caused her to glance away. The next thing she knew, her opponent had her by the waist. He lifted and threw her so she half stumbled and half flew down the steps, landing in a breathless heap on the ground near Max and the other vampire.

  She scrambled to her feet just as Max shouted her name; this time it was clear, and she looked over in time to see him point behind her; then he was back into the throes of defending himself.

  Victoria turned and saw the figure of a man dropping from an open window of the house, carrying something large and bulky under his arm. She turned, and before she could lift her foot to take a step, she was knocked to the ground, facedown on the grass.

  Groping hands, colder than the chill at the back of her neck, curled around her hair and pulled it from her nape. She whipped her hand around behind her and stabbed at the vampire.

  Instead of plunging into his heart, the point of her stake popped into his eye like a stick into a plump grape. He cried out and she slipped from under him, staggering to her feet.

  With only the briefest of glances at the embattled Max, she took off running.

  Victoria ran faster than she had ever imagined a human could run; the vis bulla had to be helping her. Or perhaps it was Divine Providence.

  Whatever it was, she managed to keep the running vampire in her sight. He wasn't too far ahead of her; when they reached the corner of a mews he took a sharp turn, and she followed, plunging into a dark, narrow alley lined with thick bushes and shrubs that blocked what little illumination the partial moon offered.

  Her night vision wasn't as powerful as that of a vampire, nor did she have the sense of smell… but she pushed her way blindly down the passageway. She couldn't stop—if she lost him, the book was lost. It was Lilith's.

  She could not let that happen.

  When she got to the end of the mews, Victoria had to pause. Which way had he gone? Nowhere to be seen… then the ever-present chill at the back of her neck heightened, and she felt him behind her. He'd ducked into the brush to wait for her to pass.

  His mistake.

  She turned and started back slowly. He wouldn't be able to squeeze all the way through the bushes; they were too dense, and on one side was the wall of a garden. She was thankful he was only a Guardian, and not an Imperial, some of whom could shape-shift. Guardians were fierce fighters and had strong pulls of energy, but they were more easily bested than an Imperial.

  There he was.

  She turned, thrust into the brush, and felt something solid. Not his chest—he leaped out and they were suddenly grappling on the ground, rolling across the pebbled pathway and into the brush. He had his hands around her neck; he wasn't wasting his time going for a bite, she thought as they tightened.

  Her breathing became more difficult, and the edges of her already dark vision clouded more. She grasped the stake. One shot… Her fingers felt soft and wobbly. She clasped them, ordering them to tighten even as her mind fizzled.

  Wham!

  She struck as she had earlier, and got him in the eye. Two blinded vampires to her credit tonight; but that wasn't enough. Victoria rolled to her feet as he pulled himself up, one hand over the injured eye, struck… and then he was gone. Poof.

  Panting, Victoria stood for a moment to catch her breath. Drawing the oxygen back into her lungs, she thought nothing had ever felt so good. And she listened.

  Nothing.

  Silence.

  Only the faint rumble of a horse clopping on a distant street.

  The book.

  He had to have dropped it. Victoria grappled through the brush until she found it. She reached, hesitated, then, holding her breath, picked it up. Nothing happened.

  With a sigh of relief, she hitched up the bulky bag and tucked it under her arm.

  Now what?

  Should she go back and see if Max needed help?

  What if he didn't? What if he'd been…

  No, she'd best get the book safely home, and then she would find out what happened to Max. If he was all right.

  God, she hoped he was all right.

  If he wasn't, it had been a noble sacrifice.

  If he wasn't, she was on her own.

  Victoria stepped from the mews and into the open night.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Marquess Makes an Unwelcome Announcement

  A hired hackney—not Barth's—took her home. Victoria kept the Book of Antwartha on the seat next to her in the carriage and tried not to think about Max. As he'd taken great pains to impress upon her, he was more than capable of taking care of himself.

  And she knew he would rather she take care of the book, now that it was in their possession, than take a chance on losing it while coming to his aid.

  When the hackney reached Grantworth House, Victoria alighted quickly, carrying the heavy bag under one arm and slamming the door of the carriage behind her. The windows of the house were dark except for the one lamp burning in the front parlor window. It was nearly four o'clock; her mother should have arrived home from the ball she'd attended by now and likely was snoring in her bed. Victoria slapped a coin in the hand of the driver and turned to start up the steps to her house.

  And felt a blast of chill over the back of her neck.

  Bloody hell.

  Again?

  She groped for the stake she hadn't thought she'd need again this night and turned to look up the street. Now her entire body went cold.

  Her mother was home, indeed. But she wasn't in her bed sleeping.

  No. The Grantworth carriage sat gleaming green and gold under the street lamp, where it should not be. And the man sitting in the driver's seat, holding the reins of the abnormally still horses, was not the Grantworth groom.

  Victoria glanced reflexively down at the bundle she held, then immediately back at the carriage. How many were there? How could she fight them with one hand holding the book? She couldn't put it down.

  "Venator!" shouted a voice.

  Victoria turned and saw four vampires—Guardians, she judged, based on the fact that their eyes were more ruby than garnet—stepping from behind the carriage. One of them, a tall, crimson-haired woman, had spoken.

  "I hope I haven't kept you from your nightly excursions," Victoria replied with a calmness she did not feel. "It took a bit longer than I planned to finish this evening's task." As she spoke, she was looking around, her mind calculating even as she straggled to comprehend that her mother was in the custody of five vampires.

  How many of the damned creatures were there in London?

  The absurd thought was a testament to her weariness and frustration; but Victoria could not indulge it now. Mother was in the carriage and Victoria had to save her.

  The crimson-haired vampire now stood close enough that Victoria could smell her dusky, dusty, dry scent. Taking
care not to look her directly in the burning eyes, Victoria readied herself for any sudden moves. The other vampires flanked behind her in a vee arrangement.

  "We provided your mother with an escort home this evening," the leader said in an unhurried tone that matched Victoria's. "She is well; we've resisted the urge to feed on her until now, Venator, because we knew that if you succeeded in your task and obtained the Book of Antwartha, you'd need a compelling reason to turn it over to us."

  With a flick of her chin she gestured, and the carriage door opened. Lady Melly stumbled out, tangled skirts and all, tripping as she tried to descend the steps. But she was well, unharmed except for the bruises she would likely have on her knees and elbows from the fall.

  "I can't give you the book," she said simply. "But I can give you your life… such as it is. If you prefer to keep it, and not to go the way of… oh, a dozen of your colleagues, you'll just toddle off into the night and find another tired Venator to harass." If there were any other Venators in London… tired or not.

  In the back of her mind, she heard Big Ben strike four. In sixty minutes or a bit more, the sun would begin to rise…

  Could Victoria stall them long enough?

  And then a hackney cab turned the corner, bumbling along at an unusually fast clip. Victoria recognized its driver. What was Barth doing here?

  But before she could form the question, the cab dashed by without pause, and a splash of water burst from its open window, catching four of the vampires.

  Suddenly they were screaming and clawing at themselves wherever the water had touched them. Almost before she grasped the fact that someone—Verbena, perhaps—had dashed a bucket of holy water on them, she flew into motion with her stake.

  By the time she'd stabbed two of the undead, the hackney had turned around and come back. Another splash of water drenched the vampire sitting in the driver's seat, and a smaller wave fell onto the last two companions standing in the street.

  They were in such agony, it was easy—too easy—to take care of them; but Victoria didn't have the energy even to feel grateful for the simple, satisfying ending to a busy night.