Bleeding Dusk gvc-3

by Колин Глисон

  And then opened his eyes. They were bleak. “Nothing. I feel nothing.”

  Wayren nodded. “But you remember.”

  “Yes.” He swung his feet off the bed. “What time is it? I must go.”

  “It’s midday. But you cannot go hurrying off, Max.”

  He’d half risen, but at her words he sat back heavily. “Of course not. I’m the shell of a Venator now. I have the knowledge and the skills, but not the strength or the powers. A shell.”

  “You’ll not go alone.”

  His beautiful lips snarled. “I may not be a Venator any longer, but I’m not helpless. I killed vampires and at least one demon before I earned the vis bulla, Wayren. You know that.”

  “Do you remember what you told me to tell Victoria, just before you went to sleep?”

  He stilled, his face blank. “You didn’t bring her here.”

  Wayren shook her head. He’d made her promise not to let anyone see him—anyone, especially Victoria. “Only Ylito.”

  “What did I say? Did you tell her?”

  She felt his tension; it was as if it hung in the air over them like a heavy blanket. She knew much, but now she knew even more. “You wanted me to tell her you were sorry.”

  Because they were bare, she could see the slight shift in his square shoulders, the bit of ease that came over him. “I can only imagine how she received that bit of information.”

  Wayren couldn’t hold back a smile. It wasn’t amusing, not at all, not in these moments, not ever. But the look on his face…it was the Max she knew. Thank God. “She had a few choice words.”

  He stood again, energy simmering below his muscles so that she could feel his need to move, to do, to get out of there—almost as if she were inside his skin. “One person to go with me,” he said, reaching for the clothing that lay folded on a chair. “White? It’s too easily seen at night,” he said, frowning at the shirt. “It glows. Zavier. I’ll take Zavier with me.”

  “Briyani and Michalas will go with you.”

  He must have read the expression on her face, for he didn’t pursue it. There would be time to tell him about it all later. But for now…“When you’ve finished dressing we will make our final plans—not to worry, Max. You’ll leave soon enough.”

  “This afternoon. I want this done and over with.”

  So that he could get on with his life. Get away and get on with life.

  He didn’t say it, but he didn’t need to. She understood.

  Max hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the companionship of Briyani, who was not only the nephew of Kritanu, but also Max’s own Comitator. Kritanu had trained both of them together, enhancing his nephew’s fighting skills as he taught Max, eventually turning over the training to Briyani when he himself became older and less flexible.

  He’d certainly not stinted in his training of Victoria, despite his age and proclaimed lack of flexibility, but Max didn’t begrudge her that. It made sense that he should personally teach Eustacia’s niece and the future Illa Gardella.

  Having Briyani back with him reminded Max of those early years, when he’d been much more of a loner and kept away from the Consilium while fighting his battles with the undead—and within himself. Not quite thirty, Kritanu’s nephew was a bit younger than Max, and had the same wiry build and wide-jawed, tea-colored face as his uncle. He wore his straight black hair in a single braid that reached to the middle of his back, and he was wickedly talented with a kadhara sword. Now, as the two of them crept along through the back of Villa Palombara’s grounds, for Max’s third time in the last four days, they needed no words to communicate.

  Michalas brought up the rear. He was as silent as fog, and thin and tall and quick. Wayren had chosen well for the team, but it was all up to Max. He led the way through the brush and between the unpruned trees, hurrying with nary a glance past the wall against which he’d kissed Victoria.

  They reached the Door of Alchemy without incident, and with much dryer clothing and boots than last night. Max had the door open quickly and easily. When he was here with Victoria he’d found the traces of an opening that led to the cell in which they’d been imprisoned. Although he hadn’t opened it, he decided it was the best way to gain unnoticed access to the place where Akvan lived.

  Akvan. Thanks to Wayren’s studies, and assistance from Ylito and Miro, Max felt as prepared as he could be.

  “The trick with Akvan,” Wayren had told him, “is to remember his great weakness: He will always do the exact opposite of what he thinks you want him to do. Use this against him, and you will outsmart him.”

  Ylito had added, “But you must make certain that there are no remnants of the obelisk left. They must be destroyed in order for Akvan to be destroyed. Remember the prophecy.”

  The prophecy. “…’tis only a mortal man shall send him permanently to the bowels of Hell, using his own strength against him.”

  A mortal man.

  Closing the Door of Alchemy behind them, Max and his companions worked quickly to locate the mechanism that opened the door to the cell. Either the marchese hadn’t known about it—which was absurd, since it was his laboratory—or he hadn’t had the opportunity to use it that night he’d disappeared.

  Briyani had excellent hearing and nimble fingers, and he was the one who located the lever behind one of the stones. Max was at his side in an instant, and they peered through the narrow opening and saw only darkness.

  Michalas brought one of the sconces over, which illuminated the cell in which he, Victoria, and Sebastian had been imprisoned. And when he looked at the floor, he saw the same telltale splotches of melted gold spattered on the stones beneath his feet.

  This had been the simplest part; now he had to move forward.

  But before he did, Max slipped quickly back into the laboratory and retrieved the long shard from Akvan’s Obelisk that Victoria had found. His hands were gloved for protection from its power, and he slid it into a hidden pocket Miro had sewn inside the leg of his trousers. When he lifted it, he saw the leather thong with a small splinter of the obelisk he’d seen fall from Victoria’s coat yesterday. He’d placed it in there for safekeeping as well, but now he snatched it up and stuffed it in his pocket.

  Max had had two reasons for accompanying Victoria when she came yesterday afternoon to open the Door of Alchemy. First, to confirm that there was a way into the villa, and second, to ensure that she left the shard there, for it was crucial to his plan for destroying Akvan.

  “Come,” he said, and led the way into the cell.

  After testing to make certain they could reopen the door back into the laboratory—the process of which wasn’t at all instinctive—they closed it behind them and made their way across the small cell.

  Max had explained the first part of his plan to Briyani and Michalas, and so when they stepped out of the unlocked chamber into the corridor they paused for a moment. Max looked at Michalas, who shook his head that he didn’t sense the nearby presence of any undead.

  But as he took a few steps, Michalas tilted his head, closed his eyes, and pointed. Silent, they moved along the passageway in the direction he’d indicated, Max taking the lead. As they approached a corner, he felt Michalas touch his sleeve. When he looked back, the Venator gave him a nod.

  Max continued around the corner, filled with sudden anger. His neck felt the same—no prickling or tingling to announce the presence of the undead that Michalas could sense as easily as taking a breath. It was true: His abilities were gone.

  Lilith had succeeded in taking everything from him.

  The vampire was there, probably meant to be guarding the hallway in which she stood, leaning nonchalantly against the wall. But when Max came into view she straightened, her eyes gleaming red with interest.

  He remained relaxed. He’d been bitten both before and after becoming a Venator…and he’d slain undead both before and after as well. Still, it nagged at him that he’d had to bring Briyani and Michalas as support. Doing so was smart and log
ical—and by God if he hadn’t told Victoria more than once that their duty was to do what was right, not what they wanted.

  So, when he faced the vampire, he let her come toward him, let her grab at his shoulders, let her eyes attempt to enthrall him. She wasn’t very powerful, which was not surprising, since Regalado’s followers were young and inexperienced. Her breath was clean—she’d not fed recently—which made it easier for him to entice her to bite his neck by tipping his head and baring it suggestively, pretending to be completely under her power.

  Perhaps the vampire guards were supposed to bring any potential victims to Akvan or Regalado, but since she hadn’t fed, and since he’d offered his flesh to her so openly, the female undead didn’t hesitate.

  Her fangs ripped into his neck with none of the easy, seductive slide of Lilith’s, and Max jerked a little in surprise. Or perhaps it was because he was weaker now. Weak and lost. He was weak, and the world was dimming.

  He fumbled for his stake, feeling the familiar weight in his hand, and pulled it out from under his coat as the blood pulsed from him. She sucked roughly, greedily, and if he didn’t act soon he’d lose consciousness or, worse, need to be saved by the others.

  It wasn’t the most powerful thrust, nor the smoothest, but Max felt the echo of satisfaction slam through him as he staked the vampire, driving the ash pike into her back.

  The world was spinning, and his neck ached and dripped, but he was still on his feet when he blinked back the darkness and found Briyani there, stake in hand, as if he’d just come around the corner. Michalas was right behind, his stake at the ready as well.

  Max bristled at the concern in their faces, and he turned to start off somewhere—in any direction, he didn’t bloody care—but Briyani stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “Wait.”

  The gentleness in his voice and touch caused Max to tighten his jaw in annoyance, but Briyani was right.

  The flush of salted holy water over the open wounds was a painful but necessary shock, and Max was glad his friend had acted. It would slow the bleeding and, once the initial pain had eased, would help to stop the wound’s incessant throbbing.

  “Now,” Max said, ignoring the lingering pain, “you must go back and wait for me. It will do me no good if you are found, so hide as we discussed, and I will return. Or I won’t.”

  “I will attend you,” said Briyani, his face determined. “You cannot go alone.”

  “I can and I will. That was our agreement.” Max fixed his sharpest glare on him, willing him to understand.

  Briyani’s brilliant white teeth flashed in a humorless smile. “You agreed; I did not. Michalas and I have discussed it, and he will wait. I will come with you. Either with you or behind you—but you can be certain I will be there.”

  “I am no child in leading strings.”

  “And I am no dog to be ordered about.”

  As Max glowered at him, once again damning Lilith for driving him to this, and cursing Wayren for giving him back his bloody memories but nothing else, Michalas stepped forward. “They’re coming. Now is not the time for arguments. I will be in the chamber as planned, and if you do not return in two hours I will search for you.” He fixed bright blue eyes on Max and said, “I fully intend to walk out of here alive, so you’d best return, Pesaro.”

  He pointed to the left, and then took off on silent feet in the opposite direction.

  With a murderous glance at Briyani, Max stalked off down the hall Michalas had indicated. His fingers closed tightly into his palms, the stake still clutched in one hand, and he felt the tension all the way up his arms.

  And then he forced himself to relax. There was a time when he would have easily accepted Briyani’s presence, and now was an instance when he might need it more than ever. As much as it made him furious to admit that he was weak, the truth was that he was.

  He was no longer the man he’d been.

  Yet, when they came face-to-face with the cluster of four vampires, Max greeted them with great boldness and confidence, Briyani at his side.

  “I am Maximilian Pesaro,” he announced, looking at the undead with all the haughtiness of the Venator he no longer was. “Take me to Akvan.”

  Twenty

  Wherein Our Heroine Finds Herself in Yet Another Dark Tunnel

  Victoria moved silently down the stairs, staying well out of Sebastian’s sight as he descended into the cool cellar beneath a slender three-story house. The plaster-walled building that overlooked a small courtyard was unexpectedly familiar to her, for it was the same place he’d imprisoned her last autumn when he and Max tried to keep her away from Nedas, the vampire who’d planned to activate Akvan’s Obelisk. Fortunately Sebastian’s attempt had failed, and she’d freed herself by climbing out a window, and had thus been able to witness not only the destruction of the obelisk, but also to slay Nedas.

  Perhaps he’d been staying here all along, all these months, and Victoria could have contacted Sebastian if she’d been able to find this building again…but it was a moot point now.

  She was here, and vengeance was on her mind. Blood pounded in her temples and reverberated in her chest as she moved along, flush with the wall, gun and stake within easy reach. The back of her neck had been chilled for quite some time, and she guessed there were a good number of undead nearby, doubtless fawning at the feet of Beauregard.

  The passageway was cold and dark and very narrow. It occurred to her as she stayed far behind Sebastian that she had spent an inordinate amount of time sneaking, running, or being chased through deep, dank tunnels since she’d become a Venator. That was one of the hazards of hunting the undead, but it was becoming rather predictable. Stalking a vampire? Follow him underground. Searching for the undead? Look in a dark, damp cave. Seeking a potentially evil artifact? Follow a tunnel to find it.

  These absurd thoughts served to distract Victoria and tame her urge to barrel ahead and confront Sebastian. If she showed herself, or was discovered too early, it would make things much more difficult. When outnumbered, as she surely was, Victoria preferred to have the element of surprise on her side.

  It also occurred to her as she paused at a corner that, for as powerful a vampire as Beauregard was, his accommodations were rather primitive. She discovered close, dark corridors, rough walls, scattered stones underfoot, and more than one swath of clinging cobwebs that brushed her face and hair.

  A rat scuttled near her foot; no, there were two of them; but Victoria didn’t react even when she felt the brush of a small furry body against the hem of her skirt. Rats coexisted with Beauregard? She couldn’t imagine Lilith—or even Regalado—putting up with such an affront.

  But when she finally heard voices ahead and slunk her way along the dirty wall to peer around the last corner, Victoria had to revise her private thoughts. The wall that she came upon ended in a neat doorway that appeared to be covered by some kind of tapestry; it wafted back into place, indicating that Sebastian had just slipped through there. So she sneaked forward and pushed away just a corner of the cloth in order to peer in.

  Beauregard’s lair, instead of being simple and inelegant, was as nicely apportioned as Lady Winnie’s parlor—albeit a bit less lacy. Rugs covered the floor. Candles and lamps shimmered from sconces and tables and shoulder-height candelabra. The ceiling was surprisingly high, nearly as tall as men of Max’s height. The furnishings included a harpsichord, and were of fine dark wood and plump brocaded upholstery. A large wooden door on the opposite side of the chamber told Victoria that Sebastian had led her to the hidden rear entrance to the room. Based on the size and strength of the other door—not to mention the frigidness on the back of her neck—she presumed Beauregard had friends located on the other side of that main entrance.

  Inside the room two fair heads, one the color of wheat, the other more of a lion’s-mane shade, but both with the same thick curls, were bent over a table examining what looked like a single piece of paper.

  Victoria chose that moment to step
fully into the room. “It appears that I have yet another grievance to air with you, Beauregard.”

  To her immense satisfaction, both of their heads snapped up in surprise. Sebastian’s face wore a frozen, chagrined look, rather like the one he’d had when she’d found him in the Consilium. But Beauregard…after the initial shock evaporated, his was replaced by a sly, pleased expression that made the hair on Victoria’s scalp lift.

  “Welcome, my dear, welcome to my humble abode.” Beauregard made a sweeping gesture, inviting her in.

  Victoria moved past the tapestry door, taking care to keep her back to the wall so there wouldn’t be any nasty surprises creeping up behind her. She remained calm and focused, reining in the fury that vibrated through her muscles and veins. One step at a time.

  “How did you get here?”

  Sebastian’s voice drew Victoria’s attention to him. He was all too appealing in the flattering candlelight, with a boyish curl falling on his forehead and that guilty expression on his face. But before she could speak, Beauregard interrupted. “I presume she found her way here the same way in which her paramour—Zander, Zavier, what was his name?—did. Surely he gave her the direction.” He smiled, now looking directly at her. His eyes were still a normal shade of blue, and his fangs were out of sight, but Victoria was properly wary. “Or perhaps you recalled your stay here last autumn, before all of that unpleasantness occurred.”

  “Unpleasantness?” Victoria said, refusing to look at Sebastian. She couldn’t afford to be distracted. “I rather thought you welcomed the destruction of Nedas and the thwarting of his plan to activate Akvan’s Obelisk. After all, it put you in a much greater position of power.”

  Beauregard bowed his head in acquiescence. “Indeed it did.”

  “If this is a battle of wits, you shall find yourself overmatched. In fact, I rather think you might find yourself overmatched on all counts.” She allowed him to see the stake in the hand at her side.