Bleeding Dusk gvc-3

by Колин Глисон

  “Beauregard’s mark.”

  He looked at her steadily, and she understood. Her stomach soured, sending a nasty taste into the back of her mouth. He might wear the amulet of the Venators, but he also wore the mark of the vampires. And he would not choose between them.

  Before she could stop him, he pushed past Ilias and strode down the passageway, leaving Victoria to gather up her shoes.

  “Why didn’t you send for me?” Max growled, trying to shake off the grogginess. “And what in the bloody hell did you give me last night?” He hadn’t slept so hard and dreamlessly for more than a year.

  Wayren, as quiet and calm as she always was, merely looked at him. Her face was a bit more drawn than usual, and instead of flowing in long strands over her shoulders, her pale blond hair was pulled back into a wrist-thick braid.

  Max didn’t ache as much as he’d suspected he would, after two bullet wounds and innumerable punches and cuts. Perhaps whatever she’d given him to help him sleep had also leached away the pain. Regardless, as a Venator, he’d be completely healed within a matter of days.

  Still. “I should have been there. So close to Santo Quirinus? And the Consilium? You could have sent Myza for me.”

  “She’s a pigeon, Max. Myza wouldn’t have been able to wake you, even by tapping her beak on the window.”

  “You made damned certain of that.” He sat up and gulped down a mug of watered wine. “You said there was something else.”

  Wayren didn’t blink. “Sebastian Vioget was in the Consilium with Victoria.”

  Max stopped the mental barrage of thoughts and questions that image brought and focused on the important one. “Beauregard?”

  She shook her head. “No, he didn’t bring him. He—”

  But Max didn’t want to hear her platitudes about Vioget. “If he betrayed us, I’ll kill him.”

  “He’s a Venator—”

  “Then I need say no more.”

  Wayren pursed her lips in a sign of annoyance, but didn’t comment further on his interruption. Instead she continued, “He had Eustacia’s armband, Max. We have the last key to the Door of Alchemy.”

  “Bloody nice of him to return it.”

  “He could have given it to Beauregard,” she replied with just a bit of archness in her tone.

  Max gritted his teeth but said nothing.

  “Victoria will want you to go with them to attempt to open the door, most likely later tonight, when it’s still dark but nearing dawn. You’ll be less noticeable, and the undead will be seeking shelter from the sun.”

  Ah, yes, he’d be one of the contingency: Zavier, Vioget, Michalas, Ylito, himself. Was that what Victoria thought?

  Max realized he must have grimaced when Wayren asked, “Do her bites pain you?”

  “Of course they do. You know that.” His hand went involuntarily to the never-healing scars on his neck. There were new ones, too, only a month old, on the tender part of his shoulder.

  “How often do you feel her pull, Max? Tell me the truth.”

  Unreasoning rage bubbled in him. “I don’t want to discuss it.”

  “I’m not asking, Max. I’m demanding to know. We have to rid you of it.” Now she was beginning to sound like Eustacia.

  “She doesn’t control me. She’d like to; she finds it amusing to play at it.” Bitterness sat in his mouth. “She’s not made me do anything against my will.” At least, not to anyone else’s knowledge.

  “Akvan is back, Max. You know she must have realized that when you destroyed his obelisk, Akvan would be called back to earth.”

  The grogginess had completely slid away, leaving his mind sharp again. “At one time I would have disagreed…but now I know better. She would rather battle a demon than her own son. Her son, who tried to unleash the powers of the obelisk, could have taken over Lilith’s reign—or at least weakened it. Whereas a demon would cause all of the vampires to unite behind her.”

  “Indeed. I believe you are absolutely correct. All of the vampires would unite with Lilith except those few who have allied themselves with Regalado since the downfall of Nedas. Even Beauregard and his minions would join Lilith; he’s no fool.”

  “True. There are few vampires who will join the ranks of a demon, or support one in any way, unless they have some grief or complaint with their own vampire leader. Regalado has managed to convince only a relatively small number to join him. Then, too, there are some members of the Tutela, those who are still mortals and who were led by Regalado, who are still loyal to him.”

  “Indeed,” Wayren agreed again. “The battle for Hell rages between the demons and the undead, and there are few who cross from one side to the other.”

  “Thus the threat from Akvan must be great enough to convince at least some undead—and Regalado himself—to join his ranks.”

  “His power is very great. When he was still ensconced in Hell and only his obelisk was here, there was the chance that the obelisk could be roused to imbue its possessor with great power—the power to raise the souls of the dead into an immortal army. Of course, that was Nedas’s plan, which you foiled by destroying the obelisk—at Lilith’s request. Now Akvan is here, and his presence brings that same power, but it’s already inherent in his being. It doesn’t need to be activated.”

  “Then why, if he’s been back for more than three months, have we seen no sign of him?”

  “He is still weak. He’s gathering his strength, likely with the help of the Tutela and Regalado and his followers.”

  “Hence the reason for the event at the villa. He needed to feed.”

  “We cannot wait for the vampires to come together to fight him. He must be slain before he reaches his full power.”

  “I called him back. I’ll do it.”

  “It will be no easy task, Max.” Wayren looked at him so long and seriously—almost sorrowfully—that Max felt the urge to twitch.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s written—”

  “That I’ll die doing it? I’ve no fear of that. You know that, Wayren.” It was true. He’d be free, and he’d willingly give his life, as Eustacia had, as countless others had, for the mortal world’s safety. “I’m bound as a Venator to give my life in the fight.”

  “It is written…in a prophecy translated from the Persian by our own Lady Rosamunde Gardella…‘Neither Venator nor undead immortal shall slay Akvan; ’tis only a mortal man shall send him permanently to the bowels of Hell, using his own strength against him.’”

  Max’s mouth dried and he felt energy drain from him. Who else would be equipped, trained, prepared enough to slay a demon? Surely not any mortal man. Only a Venator would know how, would be brave enough. Would have the skills.

  Only a Venator who was not a Venator.

  Wayren leaned forward to touch his hand, but he pulled away from her slender fingers, reaching for his black stake. “You knew it would come to this. You knew it when I first brought you the salve.” Though he tried, he couldn’t summon the anger. It was what it was. His path would be thus.

  He lifted his eyes and met her blue-gray ones and gave a short nod. “Tomorrow.”

  Fifteen

  In Which Our Heroine Becomes Quite Provoking

  Once she considered it, Victoria was relieved that Sebastian had slipped away from the Consilium and was no longer around when it was time for her to leave.

  They had so much unfinished business between them, so many things she wanted to say and to demand…but until she figured out how she felt about everything she’d learned in the last half day, Victoria didn’t want to try to confront him. Her body still sizzled and hummed from the release of their lovemaking—if one could call it that.

  And that was one path on which she wasn’t ready to tread. Was it love that drew her to Sebastian? That caused her to open up to him, to share that part of herself?

  How could it be, if she didn’t trust him?

  She might not trust him, but despite that and his predisposition to taking the easy
way out of any situation, she found she could be happy, even relaxed, when she was with him.

  It had been so much easier with Phillip. He was handsome and charming, wealthy and trustworthy. He obviously loved her, even adored her. He wanted to marry her—and at that time she foolishly thought she could agree, that she could have it all, that both sides of her life would remain intact, safely separate.

  So she fell in love with him. Married him.

  And destroyed him.

  Victoria blinked back the tears. This wasn’t the time to berate herself for her mistakes; God knew she’d done enough of that. All she could do now was continue on. And not make the same mistake again.

  Which was why, if she were going to have any kind of relationship with a man, someone like Sebastian—one who knew her world, who understood it, who accepted it—would be a ripe candidate. Someday she might have to stop taking the potion that kept her from getting with child, and consider having one of her own. There was no other Gardella that she knew of to continue their lineage. But now she couldn’t even contemplate how she could do so.

  All of these thoughts rambled through her mind as she left the main area of the deserted Consilium. It was late afternoon. She’d slept for a few hours after Sebastian left, and she’d met with Wayren and Ilias. The others had also gone home to sleep until later that night.

  She passed Wayren, who was in her library quietly studying some ancient manuscript and didn’t appear to notice her slinking by, and continued to the storage room. Victoria had one more thing to see to at the Consilium, although everyone else thought she, too, had already gone. They all planned to meet at dawn to go with her to open the Door of Alchemy—Zavier, who would still barely look at her, Michalas, Brim. Perhaps Max, whom she hadn’t seen since they parted ways at the Palombara villa early yesterday morning, but who Wayren said would be there.

  Victoria had already retrieved the silver armband that belonged to Aunt Eustacia. It was just where Sebastian had told her he’d put it, behind the portrait of Catherine Gardella and her boxy emerald ring. Loved her jewelry, indeed.

  The thought brought a wavering smile to her lips, and a tangent on which she was happy to travel. In her portrait the woman was as bedecked in jewels as her liege, old Queen Bess. How she ever fought vampires in that massive gown and neck ruff, Victoria couldn’t imagine.

  The heavy armband was already on Victoria’s upper left arm. As she closed the storage room door behind her, she felt its cold grip finally ease to match her body’s warmth. The key was safely inside, and now all she had to do was to retrieve the pieces of Akvan’s Obelisk and remove them from the Consilium.

  Victoria quickly pulled the stake-size shard from its hiding place. She felt a sizzle of warmth as she did so, and its malevolence seemed to filter into the air. Victoria quickly slipped it into the large pocket of the long coat she wore over her split-skirted gown. The coat was too masculine-looking to pass muster with Lady Melly, but the gown, if Victoria was careful, might fool her into thinking her daughter was properly dressed.

  Of course, the best course of action would be to keep Lady Melly from seeing her garbed in such a manner, and that was Victoria’s intent. If all went well she would be returning to the Gardella villa much later tonight or early in the morning, and likely the ladies would be sleeping.

  The little leather strip and its pendant of obsidian went into a small breast pocket on her coat. Victoria didn’t want to chance the two pieces rubbing against each other again; nor did she want to put it in a pocket with her other weapons. It would be too easy for it to get lost if she suddenly had to yank out a stake, for example.

  Closing the door behind her, she left the storage room, but instead of turning left to return to the fountain room of the Consilium and leave through Santo Quirinus, Victoria went to the right to exit through the other hidden passage that released her several blocks from the small church.

  The late afternoon was dark and gloomy, the sun blanketed by heavy clouds, and the air damp with a cold drizzle. The obelisk shard clunked against her thigh, heavy in her pocket as she hurried along transporting a piece of evil in the midst of the few pilgrims and shopkeepers who were out on such a dank day.

  Victoria had a pistol and several stakes as well: one hastily shoved in her hair in a manner that would have sent Verbena into fits, and the other in a small loop at the waist of her skirt. The heavy silver cross she favored sat directly on the bodice of her high-necked walking gown, and she also had three vials of holy water in various locations on her clothing.

  And underneath it all she wore her special corset.

  Victoria felt confident and prepared to face whatever she might as she made her way from the Borga across the Tiber River to the Esquiline District, where Villa Palombara sat. She could have ordered Oliver to pick her up and take her in the hack, but someone might have seen him waiting and asked…and this was a job Victoria wanted to do alone.

  She’d brought the danger of the shards to the Consilium all on her own, and she would draw that danger away while safely securing the pieces of the obelisk. Moving quickly through the streets, passing among shopkeepers who’d begun to close for lack of customers on such a day, staying away from the carriages that rumbled along carrying more affluent Romans, splashing through chilly, dirty puddles, Victoria waited to feel the shift of cold air over the back of her neck, or the prickling awareness that someone—or something—followed her. Even though it was daytime, the sun was hidden, and some vampires could make their way about during cloudy days such as this.

  But nothing stirred the air, tipping off her senses. She kept her head down but her eyes wary, scanning ahead and to the sides as she hurried along. Her fingers were a bit cold, as were her ears, for the collar of the coat wasn’t tall enough to cover them, and her hair had been pinned up quickly and haphazardly and didn’t provide any protection either. Victoria preferred not to wear gloves when she might be fighting, for they made her grip too slippery to handle the stakes.

  She didn’t know how fast or how easily Akvan could trace the location of the shard, but based on the speed with which the Consilium had been attacked after the shard had touched the splinter, she didn’t think there was much time to spare.

  If she could have waited until dawn, she would have. But to give the vampires and demons the cover of another night to track and come after the shard would be foolish. If she hurried she would have the task complete before the sun went down.

  At last she reached the ragged part of the wall of Villa Palombara, at the backside of the elongated pentagonal estate. Far on the other end of the property, beyond the tops of the heavy thicket of trees, was the roofline of the villa itself.

  She would have to traipse through the overgrowth again, and, just her luck, it was on another wet day. But the Magic Door was situated approximately in the center of the property, its crumbling stone wall a short perimeter around a smaller yard that belonged to the villa. Still, getting wet was better than trying to approach from the front, where someone in the villa might see her.

  Climbing over the stone wall was rather difficult, even with the tree to assist, but Victoria managed it after nearly falling on her face when the heel of her boot caught in the back of her hem. As it was, she landed in wet grass on her knees, palms slamming one onto a branch and the other into a small thrush of weeds. Unfortunately, her wrenched knee landed on the corner of a sharp rock and sent a stab of pain blazing through her.

  Swearing under her breath, she started to scramble to her feet when a pair of scuffed black boots stepped into view.

  “I expected you hours ago.”

  Why did it always have to be Max to witness when grace deserted her?

  “Well, foolish you, waiting in the damp for so long. What are you doing here?” she asked, standing gingerly on her weak knee and wiping her dirty, damp palms on her coat. At least the drizzle had stopped coming down, and now the moisture just hung in the air enough to keep it gray and dark and heavy.

&nb
sp; “Waiting for you.”

  She looked up at him, pushing away a lock of hair that had fallen in her eyes with the tumble, and saw that he was staring at her from under the brim of his dripping hat. It made her skin tingle, the way his dark eyes scored over her as if he’d never seen her before. “What is it? A smudge on my face?”

  “Right there.” He reached toward her, his large, rough thumb brushing the side of her cheek before she could blink. “You’ve got the piece of the obelisk with you?”

  She shouldn’t be surprised. She wasn’t surprised. “And the last key.” She bumped into a tall sapling with a few leaves still clinging to it, and a light shower sprinkled over her arm and onto the ground.

  Max was nodding. “A good strategy. Use the last key to open the Magic Door, retrieve whatever is inside that we want, and then lock the obelisk piece safely in. Not only can it not be removed without the keys, but Akvan’s own proximity will not allow him to sense the additional source of power from the pieces.”

  “Or the power from any other splinters or shards he might have will mask the presence of this one.” She realized they were still standing next to the large oak, the wall behind them and a trickle of wind sending its branches dripping old rain down on them. It was utterly quiet, and there among the gray and brown bushes they were well hidden from any prying eyes in the villa. “How did you know what I planned to do?”

  “It was the logical thing, of course. You found the last key and you realized the danger of the obelisk. Very simple to put the two together.” Normally he’d sound arrogant in such a discussion, but today he seemed rather subdued.

  She thought she understood why. “You spoke to Wayren about the attack.”

  He nodded again. “Earlier today.” Then he made an impatient Max gesture. “Well, let’s be on with it. Unless you’re waiting for someone else? Zavier, perhaps? Or…no…it must be Vioget who has you hesitating.” Now the familiar edge was back in his voice.