The Bleeding Dusk

Page 18

There was the gold clasp that Eustacia and Kritanu had seized one Christmas Eve in Venice, thereby saving the city from horrific destruction at the hands of a powerful vampire. The golden anklet that had belonged to Dahhak, one of the divs of long-ago Persia. A twining copper ring, one of the five that had been given by Lilith to her most trusted Guardians centuries ago. An odd-shaped box made of jade that Victoria had never had occasion to see opened sat next to the egg. And, there on one of the tables, a long, obsidian object.
A shard from Akvan’s Obelisk.
Victoria walked over and looked down. The piece of shiny blue-black stone was no longer than her forearm from wrist to elbow, and perhaps as thick as three fingers. It was splintered to a lethal point at one end and a wider, jagged edge at the other. One side was smooth and curved; the opposite was fragmented and ridged.
It had been a part of a large obelisk that had contained a great, primitive evil harnessed by the demon Akvan. When the obelisk had been destroyed, it had shattered and disintegrated in a great explosion. Victoria had found the piece of obsidian during her escape with Sebastian from the aftermath of its destruction, and she had brought it here for safekeeping.
The gleam of her candle flame flickering on the shiny object reminded her of the blue and black flames that had erupted from the obelisk when it was still whole. As she looked at it, Victoria felt the shimmer of evil that had once been contained therein and placed her hand over her belly, where the vis bullae dangled, protecting her.
Stepping closer, Victoria smoothed her hand over the length of the shard and felt the prickle of evil present. She wondered, belatedly, if it was safe to leave it here, in the deepest, most remote part of the Consilium.
“What are you doing?”
Max’s voice caused her to jerk her hand away and whirl around. “Stop sneaking up on me,” she snapped, hating that he’d surprised her. She stepped away from the table, refusing to look at the shard behind her. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t sure if you were back. And now you are everywhere, as if you had never left. As if you have the right.”
He’d stepped into the doorway, filling it, casting a long, dark shadow from the brighter hallway behind him. “I’m back for now,” he said. “Are you looking for something?”
“Just making certain Aunt Eustacia didn’t leave her armband here before going…that night. It was a possibility,” she said defensively as he raised a brow. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for my meeting with Wayren.”
Brushing past him, forcing him to back out of the entrance, she went into the small vestibule, closing the storage chamber door behind her. But to her surprise, when she turned to enter the library Max was right there in her wake. “What are you doing here?” she asked rudely.
“As an adviser to the previous Illa Gardella,” he said smoothly, “I was invited to attend. Ilias felt that it was appropriate for me to be here.”
Wayren interrupted any response she might have made. “Please sit down, Victoria, and Max, perhaps you will take that seat.” If the mild-mannered woman was surprised or upset by the barbed comments of the Venators, she gave no sign of it. “Now, tell us what has happened.”
With a glare at Max, Victoria had no choice but to speak. “My mother and her friends have been invited to a gathering at none other than the Palombara villa tonight for a treasure hunt.”
“Perhaps they’re searching for the missing key,” Max said. He was settled back in his chair, nearly lounging, with his long legs crossed before him and his wrists resting on the arms of his seat. Almost as if he knew that the more relaxed he looked, the more irritated Victoria would be.
And she was.
“Yes, of course, that was what I thought—that the missing key is likely somewhere in the villa. I’ll be attending tonight as well, however, to make certain all goes well…and to perhaps find the key myself—”
“On the capable arm of Zavier,” Max interrupted. “A good plan, indeed, to have someone to watch over your mother. But not the best plan.”
Victoria took a deep breath, forcing her bubbling annoyance to simmer and settle. She was Illa Gardella now…no longer the naive amateur Venator that Max had had the ability to pique so easily a year ago. She was the one; she’d proven herself; she had the blood, the skills…the two vis bullae.
This was her life now.
He might have more experience than she, and it was valuable. But she still had her own merit and could listen to his suggestions without feeling challenged.
Even if it irked her. But as she released her breath slowly and evenly, as Kritanu had taught her, she merely lifted her eyebrows—both of them, in direct contrast to Max’s single eyebrow lifting—and waited for him to continue.
“We know that Sara Regalado attempted to kidnap you, so it’s likely that she and her father are interested in the key, or something else related to the villa. There are no Palombaras in Roma, yet there are vampires—we presume—who are attempting to find the keys and open the Door of Alchemy. It is possible, do you not think, that someone is pretending to be the Palombaras, and opening the deserted villa up to this…party tonight in the hopes of finding the key?”
“And that they might indeed be vampires or Tutela members?” Victoria added. “Yes. Which is why I have asked Zavier to attend…as my mother’s escort.”
Now it was her turn to settle back in the chair. “I will be attending, Max, but anonymously. I don’t particularly wish to be recognized by any vampires who might be at the treasure hunt tonight. And especially since my mother was invited by the Tarruscelli twins, whom I already know to be acquaintances of the Regalados, I was well aware of the dangers of promenading up to the villa unsuspectingly.”
“So you plan to sneak into the villa yourself?”
Victoria nodded. “I’ll make up some excuse in the carriage on the way to the party that will allow me to leave Zavier as escort for my mother and the others while I pretend to return home.”
“Brilliant, Victoria. You’ve thought the whole thing through.” Max nodded as if bestowing a great favor on her. “I’ll meet you there and we can find our way in together.”
She didn’t say anything. It would have given him too much satisfaction.
Besides, she’d expected nothing less from him.
Eight
In Which Our Heroine Is Forced into a Gown and Its Accoutrements
Victoria slipped her hand through Zavier’s arm after they alighted from the carriage at the entrance to the Villa Palombara.
She was dressed as if she were attending a ball at Almack’s, attired more formally and finely than she’d been in months. Despite the inconvenience of wearing a gown in a situation that could become anything but sedate, deep in the most feminine part of her it had been worth it to see the expression on Zavier’s face when she came into the sitting room, ready to leave. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to dress for an evening out.That part of her life was so far behind her now, so submerged, it was like a dream.
Lady Winnie had indeed spoken to her maid, Rudgers, who had unfairly taken poor Verbena to task. That had given Verbena at last an excuse to dress her mistress as befitted the marchioness she was. Her gown was a pink pearl hue, made of silk and trimmed with dark pink rosettes in two rows along the flounced hemline. More rosettes clustered at the tops of her sleeves in small red-and-white bouquets with long, grass-green ribbons dangling to brush her arms. The sleeves were short caps, but Victoria had pink gloves that reached from fingertip to past her elbow, so despite the fact that her wrap was little more than a cobweb of white lace, her arms were not chilled.
Rather than the simple plait she’d taken to wearing, Victoria’s coiffure was an intricate gathering of tiny braids, spiraling curls, and pink pearls at the back of her crown. It left her long white neck bare except for pale rubies that dangled from her ears, and the silver cross that sat at the base of her throat.
Into the coiffure, Verbena had slid one of the decorated stakes she and Oliver had taken to creating for their vampire hunter mistress. This particular one was long and slender—but thick enough to be deadly to a vampire—with roses carved on the handle and the whole stake painted pink. Victoria had been able to convince Verbena to leave off the feathers this time, although two pearls had found their way into the centers of the roses.
Beneath all these accoutrements of feminity was Miro’s latest creation in the battle against the undead: a special corset. The idea had come from Verbena initially. Not only did she take her mistress’s fashion seriously, but she was also the only maid in London who fussed over weapons and tools.
Flimsy slippers allowed every little stone to poke through to her soles as she and Zavier, with Lady Nilly on his other arm, walked up to the entrance of the villa. They followed in the wake of the ladies Melly and Winnie.
“It isn’t very festive,” Lady Winnie said, her comment loud enough for Victoria to hear from behind, and obviously forgetting that they weren’t attending a party. “It’s as if there’s hardly anyone here. Not even a footman to help us down from the carriage! I know the family hasn’t lived here for decades, but one would think they would have cleaned up a bit before having us.”
“It’s a treasure hunt,” Lady Nilly trilled, edging closer to Zavier. “It’s the atmosphere! Intriguing, foreboding, haunting…”
“And it isn’t as if it’s to be a crush of a ball,” Lady Melly added, glancing back at her daughter. “It was made very clear that tonight is not a celebration of any kind, and only very few were invited. We were lucky enough to be asked. If it weren’t for Barone Tarruscelli, who gave us their own invitation, we shouldn’t have been included at all.”
It was indeed an eerie, strange atmosphere. The mansion itself was hidden by the same tall wall Victoria and Ylito had climbed through to get to the Door of Alchemy, which was at the opposite end of the vast grounds of the estate, set away from the main building of the villa. Behind the crumbling wall, the manor house was gloomy and dark.