by Колин Глисон
"Is Max a Gardella? Is he a real Venator?"
Eustacia speared her with her eyes so sharp that Victoria nearly stepped backward. She had never seen such a fierce expression on her aunt's face. "Max is more of a Venator than you are, Victoria. He chose this path at great peril, and he is at this time the most powerful of the Venators… after myself. Yes, I am called Ilia Gardella, and you will be too someday when I am gone. But I… my arthritis and age keep me slow. It is only his lack of Gardella blood that keeps him from being the Chosen one, the head of the Venators—the most powerful one of us all. Someday it will fall to you, Victoria."
Her face gentled. "Now, my dear, if you have had enough of your curiosity assuaged, perhaps you would bring me the book from the cabinet." Her perpetually curling finger, the one part of her body that visibly betrayed its age, jabbed toward the mahogany cabinet standing against one wall in her private salon.
Victoria went to the slick breakfront and carefully fit in the tiny key that her aunt usually wore on a strong gold chain about her neck. Click, click, clunk… the key turned and the lock tumbled open.
She had never gone to the cabinet on her own before, and had certainly never been given the key to unlock it. She realized she was holding her breath when she pulled both doors open as if she were the butler, sweeping a clique of guests through a set of French doors into the dining room for dinner.
Inside the cabinet, on its gently inclining display, rested an old book. The Holy Bible.
It was heavy, with gilt-edged pages that shone stubbornly despite its age. The leather corners were creased and bumped, but the spine was true, and three faded silk bookmarks fell lifelessly from their places.
Victoria brought it to Aunt Eustacia and placed it on her lap so that the older woman could read it.
"If you fulfill your destiny, Victoria, you will be victorious for us all." She laughed softly. "You are aptly named, my dear. Perhaps that is yet another sign."
She opened the front cover and pointed to the words written in ink of varying shades of black, brown, and sepia. "These are the names of the Gardellas who have accepted the Legacy," she said, tracing across the lines with her curling fingers. "The original pages of this Bible were given to the family during the Middle Ages. Six hundred years ago." She looked up, her dark eyes sharp. "You understand, there have been Venators in the Gardella family since Judas Iscariot hanged himself and was brought back to earth by Satan. But we had no place to record our history until a Gardella monk scribed this book in the twelfth century. The pages have been bound and rebound, and we have added more pages as the decades have gone by."
As her aunt carefully turned the crisp brown sheets, they crackled like a gentle fire. Victoria saw images on some of them; and on others fading script, line after line. Ornate lettering, patterns, and illustrations in faded colors decorated the first letters of each book of the Bible. She saw the way hers and Aunt Eustacia's lines in the family tree fell directly beneath that of the first Gardella, and how other Venators appeared randomly throughout other branches.
"This book holds not only the word of God, but also the secrets of the Gardella family, including the prayers and incantations that will empower your vis bulla. So now, my dear, are you ready to begin?"
Victoria's heart pounded, but she nodded without hesitation.
"Good," Eustacia said. "I will call the others." At Victoria's look of surprise, she continued, "The power behind your vis is not one that can be conducted only through me. Others who know of this matter and who, though not Venators, are nevertheless skilled and knowledgeable, await in the parlor. Victoria, you must lie on that lounge there. You are already garbed appropriately. Come, lie down. I will call the others."
Victoria did as she was told, and settled herself on the long half chair that propped her back at a low angle and allowed her to extend her legs. She looked down at the training gown she wore. It was loose-fitting and buttoned from neckline to ankle.
After that, things happened both quickly and infinitesimally slowly. Aunt Eustacia moved about the room, which had suddenly become much dimmer; lit only by candlelight. The other participants stayed in the shadows, but Victoria recognized Kritanu and Maximilian, as well as Briyani, Kritanu's nephew, who also remained near the perimeter. Something sweet burned in the air, and Victoria felt relaxed and expectant.
"Now we will begin by calling to mind the purpose for which we gather." Eustacia began to speak in some language that it took Victoria a moment to identify. Latin. The others joined in and it continued. The smells in the room became stronger, and then Eustacia moved to stand next to Victoria.
Her stomach shrank back toward her spine when she felt Eustacia's warm, curling hands touch it. Then there was coolness as one, then another button was undone. The cloth of her gown was pulled apart just over her belly, and from her angle Victoria could see the oblong patch of skin that included part of her abdomen and exposed her navel.
"Forged from silver in the land of the most holy of places," said Eustacia, "this vis bulla will provide you uncommon strength and healing, Victoria Gardella. It will give you clarity and power when you need them the most, as you fight against the forces of evil that threaten our world."
Victoria watched as Kritanu pushed a small table next to her aunt, and she took a small jar filled with a clear liquid. Something glinted in the bottom of the jar. "This holy article, stored in holy water from the Vatican, taken from the Holy Land, will be your strength." Dipping her fingers in, she pulled out the small silver item: the vis bulla.
Though the light was low, Victoria could easily see the small silver cross that dangled from a thin silver hoop. The hoop was narrower than the size of a ring she might wear on her smallest finger.
As Victoria watched, Kritanu picked up a thin silver wand, perhaps the length of one's palm and as slender as a needle. It curved gently, making a semicircle. Kritanu's hands were warm on her abdomen, and Victoria felt her breath become more ragged. He was gentle and quick, and with one swift, neat movement, he dipped the needle into and through the top lip of skin at her navel. Eustacia handed him the vis bulla and, with a quick pinch, he slipped it into place.
The silver cross felt cold resting in her navel, but the pain from the piercing was already waning. Aunt Eustacia made the sign of the cross over Victoria's belly, and then she buttoned up her gown. The other participants said one more prayer, and then they filed out of the room, silent, leaving Eustacia and Victoria alone.
"There," her aunt said. "This gift is given you in recompense for your life of dedication and the sacrifices you will make. As long as this amulet of strength touches your skin, you will be physically strong and quick to heal. Your movements will be swift and powerful; your mind will be sharp and clear. It does not make you invincible, nor does it make you immortal."
She helped Victoria to sit up and drew her into her arms, embracing her with surprising strength. "Wear it well, Victoria, and go with God as you do this work."
Chapter Three
Miss Grantworth Miscalculates
"Our lovely debutante has scored the attention of the most elusive bachelor in London!" squealed the Duchess of Farnham in a decidedly unduchesslike tone as she poked over the tray of tea treats. "Rockley could not take his eyes off her all night at the Roweford dinner party!"
"He was on her card a second time, but Victoria disappeared for some ridiculous reason and he could not claim the dance," Melisande complained. She lifted her favorite, a blackberry scone, and scooped clotted cream over it. "He appeared quite disappointed. I could not find her anywhere, and when she came back, she told me some foolish story about helping one of the other girls look for her cloak." Tsking, she took a genteel bite of the scone, dabbing at the cream that stuck to the corner of her mouth. "I reminded her that her only concern ought to be landing a good husband… and these other girls are nothing but competition!"
"Was that not the night that Mr. Beresford-Gellingham disappeared?" asked Petronilla, eyeing the p
late of tea cakes and biscuits mistrustfully, as if one were about to leap into her hands and force its way down her slender throat. "That is the third incident in less than a month!"
Winifred, the duchess, had forgone Melly's technique of nibbling in favor of the one-step process; thus her mouth was full of lemon-basil biscuit, and she resorted to nodding vehemently. When she swallowed and washed the last dry crumb down her throat with tea, she said, "He disappeared and has not been heard of since! No one seems to have a clue as to where he has gone off to."
"And those horribly disfigured people with the Xs on their chests!" Melly gasped. "Left to die near the wharves! I cannot imagine what might be causing such devastation."
Petronilla leaned forward, her blue eyes sparkling and her voice low. "There is only one thing that can cause that kind of destruction. Vampires!"
Winnie jerked back in her seat and inhaled a mouthful of biscuit crumbs that set her to coughing. Her chins and jowls wobbled and trembled as she stared bug-eyed over the rim of her teacup.
"Don't be ridiculous, Nilly," Melly told her. "Despite my mad aunt's propensity for carrying holy water and pressing garlic on anyone who will take it, there is no such thing as vampires. You have been reading too many gothic novels."
"Surely the Runners would stop them if there were vampires," Winnie managed to choke out. "Perhaps I ought to consider wearing my cross again."
"The Runners couldn't stop them," Petronilla told her calmly. "Vampires have superhuman powers. They are stronger than the strongest man, and they have an allure that cannot be resisted." She smiled complacently and copped a dreamy look. "According to Polidori's book—and everyone knows he is the expert on vampires—a vampire can seduce a woman with a mere look. From across the room."
"Nilly, have you been into the sherry this afternoon? There are no such things as vampires!" Melly exclaimed. "You are frightening Winnie, and the servants will think you daft if they hear you fantasizing about evil creatures that don't even exist. We have much more important things to worry about—such as how to push Rockley's interest in Victoria. I don't expect that he will darken the door of Almack's, but perhaps we will see him at another event this week."
Winifred eagerly seized upon the change of subject. "He will be attending the Dunsteads' ball tomorrow night. If you haven't been invited, I can arrange for that."
"We have been invited and plan to attend. And this time I will not let Victoria out of my sight until she has danced two dances with the marquess!" Melly said with determination.
"We will help you," Winnie said, sipping her unsweetened tea. Sugar tended to add unwanted pounds to one's hips if one didn't take care. "If there are vampires lurking in the darkness, the last thing we want is Victoria coming face-to-face with one!"
"Miss Grantworth… at last the opportunity to collect my lost dance."
Victoria turned at the sound of the warm, mellow voice and found herself face-to-face with the Marquess of Rockley. He wore a gently flirtatious smile, and his blue, heavy-lidded eyes glinted with satisfaction.
"My lord," she replied, returning his smile, "how kind of you to remind me of my abominable manners from the other night."
He must have appreciated her sense of humor, for he offered his arm and responded, "How else would I goad you into seeking my forgiveness? After all, begging off merely because your elderly aunt was feeling unwell… well, one might believe it was only a handy reason for abdicating your dance."
"Hmmm," said Victoria, slipping her fingers around his arm, "I didn't realize my excuses were so transparent. Perhaps next time I'll be forced to invent a fatal disease or something of that nature!"
"It is my hope, Miss Grantworth, that you won't be inventing any further excuses for missing a dance with me, as I assure you that I am not about to tread on your toes, despite the fact that my feet are thrice the size of your own."
"Ah, you have found me out… 'twas for that very reason I made certain I was not available when your dance came up. The rumors of black-and-blue marks on the feet of the other debutantes… well, they are quite frightening. Alas, I shall have to chance the tenderness of my toes, as you have caught me dead to rights." Laughing, she tightened her fingers around his arm, surprised at how solid and warm it felt, even through her gloves and his fine woven jacket. Looking up at him, she again felt a hint of familiarity, as if she had known him another time.
"It appears to be a waltz, Miss Grantworth… Lady Melisande, do you permit your daughter to waltz?" He was looking over her shoulder.
Victoria turned back to her mother and Duchess Winnie, who'd both been watching her banter with Rockley whilst wearing complacent smiles.
"Of course, Lord Rockley, of course," trilled Lady Melly. "My lord, I hope you will enjoy your dance!" Her eyes gleamed.
"She certainly does," muttered Victoria as Rockley swept her away.
She bumped gently against his tall form as they turned, and he looked down at her with a knowing smile. "She certainly does what, Miss Grantworth?"
"Hopes that you will enjoy your dance with me; but I am certain that you are no more hard of hearing than I am. It must be difficult for you, now that you, the elusive Marquess of Rockley, have announced you are seeking a bride. All of the matchmaking mamas have lined up, conniving and scheming to bring you into their fold."
They stepped onto the dance floor in the ballroom of the Duke and Duchess of Dunstead's home. With a fluid, practiced motion, Rockley slipped the arm she clung to around and behind her, pivoting her to face him. "You cannot imagine being in such a predicament?" He grasped her fingers, and they stepped into the time of the music.
"No, I truly cannot." She looked up and found his eyes fastened quite quizzically on her.
"But are you not in the very same position? Being put on display for all of the young… and not so young bucks," he added with a rueful smile, "looking to wed and father an heir? Surely you must feel the same pressures our society imposes on all of us who are gentrified and also unwed."
The dull ache of the ring through her navel was a reminder of the biggest pressure of all. She'd executed two vampires since receiving her vis bulla: one at the Roweford ball (causing her to miss Rockley's second dance, to her dismay) and one during an intermission at the Drury Lane Theatre. Both stakings had been frightening and exhilarating at the same time. The most difficult aspect, however, had been creating a reason to slip away and do her duty. Fortunately, Aunt Eustacia had been in attendance at both events and had been able to help her make her escape.
Victoria returned the marquess's smile. "I may feel the pressure, but I have no intention of succumbing to it."
He looked startled. "You do not wish to wed? Does your mother know this?"
"It isn't that I do not want to marry; that I definitely intend to do," she explained truthfully as he twirled her around the floor. "It's that I have no intention of being rushed into making a decision that will affect me for the rest of my life." Especially since she'd just made such a decision in accepting the Gardella Legacy.
But that was different.
It wasn't as if any other woman—or man—crowding the ball tonight would have such a choice to make.
The surprise in his face evaporated. "I can certainly understand that sentiment, Miss Grantworth. I'm not certain that your mother, who is, at this moment, watching us with a definitely plotting expression on her face, would agree with you, but I can fully relate."
Victoria smiled up at him, a burst of pleasure trilling through her at the joy of being spun gently across the floor by the Marquess of Rockley, no less. Surely Rockley was the handsomest, most charming, and wealthiest unattached man at the ball. And he was looking down at her with quite obvious interest.
"Miss Grantworth, I have a confession to make."
"Oh?" she asked, raising her eyebrows delicately.
Every time she looked at him, she felt a gentle churning in her stomach—an expectant, pleasant churning.
"We once met long ago… a
nd I have not been able to forget you."
"It does feel as though we've met," she replied. "I have been wondering on that myself… but I must confess that I do not recall when or where it was."
"Your forthrightness pains me, Miss Grantworth, but I must tell you the story. Perhaps it will stir your memory. Some of my father's holdings abutted Prewitt Shore, your family estate, I believe. And one summer many years ago—I was perhaps sixteen—I was riding one of the stallions from the stable. One that I was not, of course, supposed to ride," he added with the hint of a proud smile, "but, of course, I was a daredevil and I did. I came barreling across a meadow, not realizing I had strayed onto the lands of our neighbor, and—Ah, but you do remember now, don't you?"
Victoria's face had lightened with a smile. "Phillip! I knew you only as Phillip; you did not tell me you were the marquess's son!" The image was with her; it had been buried in the recesses of her mind, that summer when she was but twelve, but now it came back as though it were yesterday: a sturdy, dark-haired young man flying across the fields on a hot summer day. "You jumped over the fence and your mount landed, and so did you—on the ground in a tumble!"
He laughed ruefully, his square jaw softened by the movement. "Indeed, and I suffered for my boldness. But I met you, the pretty, dark-haired girl who rushed to my aid and made certain I was cared for. And you even chased down Ranger, the stallion, so that he would not return to the stables without me and tell the tale of my deceit. If I recall… once you were sure that I wasn't gravely injured, you spent the next ten minutes chastising me for my foolishness. The image of you standing above me, calmly holding the reins of that large chestnut gelding, and flaying me with your tongue, has stayed with me always."
Victoria looked away demurely. "I must have been quite bold to speak so to a man I did not know."
"Indeed, and it was your boldness and your fearlessness that intrigued me. I have not forgotten you, Miss Grantworth, for you made quite a lasting impression on that young man. And," he added as the dance music came to a close, "it has become clear that you have lost none of your boldness, nor your opinions, nor your originality… for I am quite certain that there is not another debutante in this room, or in the ton, that is as unconcerned about finding a husband as you are."
