by Колин Глисон
Amelie, the platinum-haired pianist who'd sat with Verbena the last time, was at her place to the left. She bore the same melancholy look Victoria remembered from before, and played the same sad, drawn-out music. Max was not here, and neither, as far as she could see, was Sebastian.
Drawing back the hood of her cloak, Victoria stepped from the shadows near the stairs and started toward a table. Berthy, the rude serving woman, remembered her, even though Victoria had been dressed in man's clothing the last time. Apparently Sebastian had been right about its not hiding her gender. Berthy sloshed by with two hands full of tankards and gave Victoria a nudge that resulted in a splash on her cloak. "He said to come to the back rooms."
Victoria didn't waste the energy wondering how Sebastian knew she'd arrived; perhaps he'd told Berthy to give her those instructions regardless of when she came. She started toward the brick wall where the door was, then changed her mind and selected a seat at an empty table with three chairs.
On her way back to the bar, Berthy paused by Victoria's table just long enough to ask, "Wot's it to be?"
"Cider," replied Victoria to the back of her head; but Berthy nodded, and she knew she'd heard her.
Letting her attention wander the room, Victoria amused herself by identifying which patrons were undead and which were mortal. To her surprise it was fairly evenly split, and there were even tables at which the two kinds mixed. Why a mortal would willingly interact with an undead was something she couldn't comprehend. It was rather like the fly sitting down for tea with the spider: likely to be dangerous and messy.
When Berthy swooped back by, her hands full again, Victoria watched as she slammed down two tankards at a table with vampires. Something too opaque to be red wine slopped over the sides and ran down onto the table. Victoria felt the hair on the back of her arms rise, and she looked away as one of the undead drank eagerly.
Placing the cider in front of Victoria, Berthy gave her what appeared to be a smile and leaned close enough to say, "Makin' him come to ye, eh? 'At's the way to teach 'em." And then she was gone.
Hiding her smile in the wide metal mug, Victoria took a sip of the fermented drink. Not bad. She'd remembered her coins this time, and pulled out a farthing to leave on the table for Berthy.
Just then Max—dressed in black, of course—appeared from around the corner of the descending stairs. As Victoria had done, he looked around the room, and, recognizing the inevitable, she raised her hand to draw his attention.
He didn't appear surprised to see her; in fact, the speed with which he made his way to her small round table betrayed the fact that he'd been searching for her. Eustacia must have told him.
"Good evening, Max," Victoria said as he slid into the chair next to her. "Shall I ask Berthy to bring you an ale? Or would you prefer what they're drinking?" She gestured to the vampires next to them. "It looks a bit thick to be a chianti."
He leaned toward her, his elbows on the table next to hers, his eyes scanning the room even as he spoke. "I cannot believe you came here alone, Victoria."
"I'm a Venator, Max, same as you."
"I don't know what Eustacia has put into your head, but Sebastian Vioget—"
"—is delighted to welcome you to his establishment."
Max's intensity evaporated. Victoria literally felt it ooze out of him; he was sitting close enough that she felt the ease in his taut muscles, the gentle, deep breath he took. "Vioget. What impeccable timing, as always."
Victoria glanced at Max. His body relaxed, lean and long, in the chair next to hers; he looked as though his best friend had just wandered up and mentioned that the sun was beaming. His smile showed even white teeth and a gentle dent in the skin next to the corner of his mouth… but she recognized the edge to that innocuous smile.
"And who is your lovely companion?" Sebastian slid into the third seat at the table, to the left of Victoria. The three of them sat in a wide vee, with Victoria at the apex, facing the open room.
Before Max could reply, she had to save the moment. "I must have the advantage, then, Mr. Vioget. I am Victoria Grantworth, and I must confess I am aware that you are the owner of this establishment. I saw you the last time I was here." None of which, strictly speaking, was a lie.
Approval glinting in his eyes, Sebastian reached over and took her gloved hand. "I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Grantworth." He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it, watching her with his golden eyes. It brought to mind the last time she'd visited the Silver Chalice—when she'd been dressed as a man, and they'd shaken hands, her slender one in his wide-palmed one.
And then she had a flash of memory of that same bronze hand, fingers splayed, brushing over the warm skin of her ivory belly. Her stomach tightened involuntarily, as if he were reaching to touch it again, and their eyes met as he released her fingers. His expression had changed to amber, and she knew he remembered too.
"How about some of that whiskey you keep in the back," Max said, his voice still low and smooth. But Victoria could feel him scanning her as if trying to read between and under and around the polite words they'd spoken. His unruffled manner merely underscored the power she knew was hidden. The question was whether Sebastian was aware of it.
Sebastian caught Berthy's attention, and somehow she knew what he wanted, for moments later she slammed down the whiskey bottle and two small glasses. This time she did not slosh on his lace cuffs.
"So you have retrieved the Book of Antwartha," said Sebastian after he tipped his glass back. Light from the wall sconce behind him glowed at the edges of his curling hair, giving him an oddly angelic appearance. "I must offer you my congratulations. It was a bit of a moment, there, Pesaro, when you might not have succeeded."
Max's arm brushed hers as he tossed back a healthy swallow of the golden liquid. Placing the glass with deliberate care, he watched Sebastian closely, yet his words sounded nonchalant. "Did you know of the protection on the book? That a mortal must not steal it from its rightful owner?"
Sebastian's response was equally as cool. "I had heard something of that nature." Their gazes met steadily, neither willing to give way.
"Kind of you to have mentioned it."
Suddenly Victoria's attention was drawn to a cluster of movement near the bottom of the staircase entrance. She glanced over and her heart stuttered to a halt.
No.
No! Impossible! Still staring at the entrance, she could barely get the words out. "It's Phillip! Rockley! He's here!" Victoria grabbed blindly at Max's wrist. "My God, he's here!"
Max had been focused on Vioget; now he turned to look at her, then toward the entrance, where she was still watching in shock. She felt her nails bite into his warm skin.
The marquess was standing just at the bottom of the staircase. He appeared to be holding a pistol at his side. And he had drawn the attention of more than one of the Silver Chalice's occupants.
How could this be? She had to get him out of here… but she couldn't let him see her! Victoria dragged the hood of her cloak up over her hair and shifted back into the shadows, realizing that she was going to have to ask Max for help. Her fingers were icy. She felt ill. How had he come here? How could it be?
"Someone you know?" asked Sebastian lightly in his French accent. He was watching them closely, as if feeling his disconnection from the two of them. "I do hope he is not planning to cause trouble."
"Miss Grantworth's fiance," Victoria dimly heard Max explain as her brain fumbled for a solution. "She must leave before he sees her."
Thank goodness he understood. And he was right—she had to leave before he saw her! The shock began to wane, replaced by focus and determination.
Sebastian looked at Victoria in surprise. "Sneaking around on your betrothed? Tsk, tsk, my dear Miss Grantworth." Lifting his eyes, he caught Max's. "I will show her another way out, so she'll not be seen." Apparently Sebastian understood too.
Max appeared ready to argue, but Victoria took his arm again, looking a
t him from under the hood of her cloak. "Max, you must see to him. Please. Make certain he gets out of here, and home safely. He doesn't belong here."
Sebastian stood, pulling Victoria to her feet without waiting for Max's agreement. "Come with me, Miss Grantworth," he murmured, closing his fingers firmly around her arm.
Victoria sent Max one last pleading look—much as she hated the fact that she had to ask for his help—and allowed Sebastian to lead her two paces from their table and through the door to the hidden hallway.
Max would make sure Phillip was safe.
Max watched Vioget whisk Victoria from the main room. Damnation. What the hell did Rockley think he was doing?
It didn't matter how or why… now the only concern was getting the fop out of here before the vampires decided to take offense at the pistol he was holding.
During their murmured conversation, Rockley had only scanned the room and taken three uncertain steps farther into the pub. If he'd seen Victoria, it had been only as a shadowed figure.
"Rockley," Max said as he approached the man, who still stood at the entrance, looking around and gathering the attention of every undead in the room. Fresh blood was always better than the kegged stuff Vioget kept in the back. "May I offer some advice? Put the weapon away. You won't need it here."
The fop looked at him, and Max was gratified to see that there was no fear in his eyes, nor was there the jumpiness that often accompanied men who waved pistols around in the form of courage. His look was not only steady, but unsurprised at seeing a face that he recognized.
"It was necessary to get from my coach to the door to this place," Rockley replied, tucking the pistol into his pocket. "And I'll use it if I need to in order to find Victoria and get her to safety."
Here was where Max had to show his skill as an actor—better, he thought snidely, than Victoria and Vioget had done earlier with their demonstration of a first meeting. "Victoria? What in the bloody hell are you talking about, Rockley?"
"She's here somewhere. I followed her, and I cannot imagine what she is doing here! In a place like this." Even as he spoke, his sharp eyes darted around the room again, as if to assure himself she hadn't reappeared. "What are you doing here?"
"I haven't seen Victoria," Max said unequivocally. "I've been in this seat for well over an hour, and if she were anywhere around, I would have seen her. I won't even ask the question why you think she would come to a place like this, in the middle of the night. You must have some reason for thinking so, ridiculous as it is."
"I followed her from her house. I saw her get out of a hired hackney, for God's sake. A hackney! Your cousin got out of the hackney and came down here."
That was right; he couldn't forget that Victoria had told him they were cousins. "How long ago was this?" asked Max, knowing that there had been a lapse of time between his arrival and Rockley's; and Victoria had already been here when he came back into the Chalice after a quick patrol through the neighborhood. Max had been waiting for her since eleven o'clock.
"Some little bit of time," he replied. "I fell into an altercation when I first came out of my carriage, and had to persuade a few gentlemen that I was coming down here, either with their permission or without."
That explained the pistol.
"As I have said, Rockley, she is not here. Indeed, if I had seen my cousin come into an establishment such as this, I would have escorted her home immediately. This is no place for a woman, nor for most men either."
"I followed her from her house," Rockley said stubbornly. "She said she was feeling ill, so I brought her home after the theater. But she left her wrap in my carriage, and I came back to return it and saw her come out the front entrance and climb into a hackney."
"You must be mistaken. It must have been her maid you saw, or someone else leaving her house. It's ludicrous, Rockley, simply ludicrous to think Victoria came to a place such as this."
Max noticed that one of the larger vampires had been eyeing Rockley with more than curiosity. He needed to get the man out of here before he found himself in the middle of a brawl. The truce the undead and mortals shared here at the Silver Chalice was tenuous; once strained or stretched, it quickly disintegrated into a melee. He'd seen it happen.
In spite of the fact that it would be more than an inconvenience to Sebastian Vioget, Max couldn't let that occur. He looked at Rockley, who, for all his every-hair-in-place appearance and perfectly folded cravat, appeared ready and able to protect himself.
Acting the hero was all well and good, and it certainly must be attractive to the ladies… but the Marquess of Rockley was not the least bit equipped to deal with the particular dangers here. Max had plenty of experience and little patience with such naive do-gooders.
The only thing to do in a situation like this was buy some time, get the man a drink, and put salvi in his whiskey. That would make him much easier to manage.
"You did not tell me you were engaged," murmured Sebastian in the flickering light.
Victoria felt the cold stone wall of the passageway behind her, and the warmth of his words on her face. He'd closed the door behind them, and they were alone in the curved-ceilinged hall. His fingers still held her gloved arm betwixt her wrist and elbow; she could easily snap his grip with one tug.
"And you did not tell Max about the protection on the Book of Antwartha," she replied. "We all have our secrets."
He smiled. "Is it a secret that you are engaged to a rich dandy? One who must be rescued from the darkness like a debutante fending off an overzealous suitor?"
At that, Victoria did yank her arm away, breaking his grip. "Rockley is no secret, and he is not the weak fool you make him out to be. You needn't stand so close to me."
"Has he seen your vis bulla?" He had not moved away, and his hand had shifted between them, below her breasts, to press flat over her shirtwaist against the trembling muscles of her stomach. "Does he know what it means?"
She shoved against his shoulders and pushed him away. He moved, but barely stumbled backward. He was stronger than she realized.
"Does he know that it means his love walks the streets at night? That she must mingle with those from the dark side to learn their secrets?" Unruffled, nonplussed by her violent reaction, he spoke, his voice low and hypnotic. "That she kills every time she raises her weapon? That she has a strength he cannot hope to possess?"
"He knows nothing." Victoria spoke from between clenched teeth. Sebastian had moved in toward her again, crowding her back against the wall, but he did not touch her.
"Has he seen it, Victoria?" The gentle roll of her name's last syllables caused an odd wave in her middle. "Has he?"
She could not look away from his tigerish eyes, could barely move her lungs to breathe. The damp, rough wall jutted into her cloak and through the cloth of her flimsy gown, just as the pressure of his hand had come through the front of her skirt. She felt a trickle of sweat from the stones seeping into the back of her head. It was cold and musty.
"No," she whispered.
Satisfaction glowed in his expression. "I see."
He stepped away suddenly, as if he'd been yanked back. As if her proximity had suddenly become too much. Victoria was able to breathe and to move, and she leveraged herself from the wall, shifting away from him.
"Come. Let us go before your Venator comes back to check on us."
He turned and strode down the passageway, leaving Victoria to follow; so different from the first time, when he'd led her by the arm. She hesitated, as she had then. The choice between Scylla and Charybdis: solid Phillip and the maelstrom of Sebastian. Which was the lesser of the two challenges?
In the end, she followed Sebastian. Phillip was a bigger part of her life, one she would not risk jeopardizing. Sebastian was merely a man.
Chapter Sixteen
The Marquess Wins the Shell Game and Makes a Grave Error
Phillip de Lacy was no fool. Not a bit.
He knew something was amiss; what he did not know was whethe
r Victoria's brooding cousin Maximilian Pesaro was the cause or the cure.
The man seemed capable and intelligent; he did not appear sly or devious. By firmly suggesting that Phillip put away his pistol, he had likely saved him from causing an altercation here in this filthy place—something that Phillip had missed in his concern for Victoria. He had to give him credit for that, if nothing else.
The way some of the patrons here were looking at him, as if he were a young hare ready for the spit, made Phillip more than a bit uneasy. He was no light-footed jackrabbit, skittering off at the slightest hint of danger. But there was something wrong about this place. Something that made his blood run cold.
He'd seen Victoria leave her house; despite Pesaro's arguments, he was certain it was she. The way she walked, her height, even her movement as she closed the door behind her… he would recognize Victoria anywhere, in any disguise. And that garnet-colored cloak was fine wool; surely she would not loan it to her maid.
Thus he'd followed the hackney, at first with a jealous twisting in his heart—was she going to meet someone? A lover? This was not the first time she'd left an evening early or cut short her visit. Uncertainty borne of his need for her, and worry for her safety, drove him to follow her. He did love her; he could not bear it if there were someone else who possessed her heart.
When the hackney took a turn to the worst part of London and finally rolled to a stop in this dark, dingy place, Phillip no longer worried that she was meeting a lover. Instead he realized that whatever called her to this part of town went much deeper than lust or passion.
Whatever she was involved in she could not, should not handle alone. She must be frightened out of her mind to travel to such a place; and it could be only the worst of circumstances for her to be unwilling to confide in him. But he would take her home and convince her to tell him… for they were to be married, and he to be her husband. He would take care of her. He would fix whatever needed to be fixed.
