The Bleeding Dusk (14 page)

“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
Summa
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. She definitely didn't discount it. But she still had her own merit and must 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 Sara Regalado attempted to abduct you, so it's likely 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 femininity 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 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 the 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 his daughters' 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.

Instead of the great light spilling from numerous windows that would accompany most fetes or dinner parties or soirees, the building had only a small yellow glow from the front entrance. The door opened, giving just a brief glimpse of a butler, and then closed behind a cluster of people, as though loath to waste its illumination on the night.

Indeed, the line of carriages dropping off guests was hardly a line at all, for there weren't so very many guests. This was a fact that had not escaped Victoria, and as they approached the door and it opened again she paused, edging into the welcome shadows so that no one inside could see her. She wondered not for the first time whether it had been by accident or design that the mother of a Venator had been invited to attend.

Zavier stopped, urging Lady Melly to go on ahead as Victoria pretended to adjust her loose slipper. The older woman, thrilled by the same environment that set her daughter's instincts on edge, did not hesitate and gladly entered the door opened by a butler who barely stepped far enough away for them to enter. She was followed by Lady Nilly and Lady Winnie.

The door closed without the butler even looking about, and Victoria and Zavier were alone in the darkness together.

“Ye'll take care now,” Zavier said, capturing Victoria's gloved hand as she straightened from pretending to fix her slipper, a task meant to keep her from being recognized by anyone inside the villa.

“Of course. Thank you again for coming, Zavier. I know my mother will be safe in your care, and I'll be able to slip into the building without being noticed. If you see anything—”

“Aye, I'll tend to her. And I'll keep watch for anything odd, though I don't ken what it is we might find. I canna believe the key is hidden in this house any longer.”

“I begin to wonder myself. It could be a perfectly harmless, foolish little event meant to slip under the notice of the priests during Lent…but I do not believe it. However, I don't sense any undead nearby. So perhaps all will be well.”

She would have turned away to melt back into the shadows so Zavier could enter the house, but his hand, rough from the calluses on his palm, stopped her, brushing over her cheek. “Your lip's nearly healed. Best take care not to run into more door corners,” he said, reminding her of the lie she'd given to excuse the nip Beauregard had given her the night before.

“It was very clumsy of me,” she replied, thinking of how she'd bumped her forehead into Max that same evening…and then she realized Zavier's intention.

He was going to kiss her. She tensed in anticipation.

Zavier moved closer and brushed her mouth with his, leaving a gentle scrape of whiskers and the musty smell of tobacco in the wake of the kiss. When he pulled back to look at her, their eyes were nearly level. Though it was too dark to see his expression, she could feel the faint tremble in his fingers against her chin. “Och, now,” he said, a smile in his voice, “how does that feel?”

“I think it feels much better,” she replied lightly, smiling back, hoping Max wouldn't appear from the shadows and ruin the moment. It would be just like him.

“Victoria,” Zavier said so softly his brogue was hardly noticeable, and then leaned forward to kiss her again. This time it was more than a brush of lips, yet there was still gentleness about it—as if he still wasn't certain she'd allow it, or as if he wasn't sure it was real.

The kiss was brief, as kisses went—certainly not as long or involved as others she'd experienced. When Victoria realized her hand had somehow made its way to the front of his massive shoulder and felt the slamming pounding of his heart all the way up in his neck, she drew back.

He pulled in a breath as if to speak, but she forestalled anything he might have said. “My mother will be wondering what's keeping us. Perhaps you'd best make your way inside. Give her the excuse that the strap on my slipper has broken and I've returned home to get a new one.”

He nodded, his shaggy hair falling forward. With a sweep of his hand he brushed it back over his brow and stepped away. “Ye have a care,” he said, and turned to walk back toward the main entrance, which had, during this interlude, remained closed and deserted.

Victoria watched him go and waited for Max to emerge from the shadows as she stripped off her gloves. She didn't like to wear them when there was the possibility of a fight.

The world remained silent, however—silent and empty, filled with shadows and looming walls. Since Zavier had entered the villa there was no further activity. A few more lights had winked on in various windows, accompanied by moving shadows.

Victoria's neck was warm, but she was beginning to feel a little chilled everywhere else. It was, after all, February, and though milder than it would be in London, it was still cool after sundown. Dressed as she was in flimsy evening clothing, she knew she couldn't wait much longer, when a tussle in the overgrown bushes caught her attention.

Max emerged, coming from the opposite direction she'd expected—not from the drive, but from behind the villa.

“Another key has been inserted,” he said without preamble, stepping like a long black shadow into the circle of light cast by a lone lantern.

“Do you mean to say you looked at the Door of Alchemy and there are two keys now?” Victoria said, stepping toward him.

“That is what I said, yes. I've just come from there. I wanted to see it for myself.” His sharp nod indicated the direction behind the villa, off to the right and toward the back of the estate. “There's an old servants' entrance into the building back here.”

“Which keys?” Victoria asked, starting off after him into the darkness along the wall of the house. “Which ones were turned?”

“Eustacia's wasn't one of them.”

She felt a wave of relief. Something wet seeped through her slipper as she made her way along. Pursing her lips in irritation, she continued on, not altogether certain it had been an accident that Max had led her this way.

At last he stopped in front of a door much less grand than the main entrance. A few sharp movements, the sound of splintering, one powerful angling of his shoulders—and the door opened into a dark room.

“I'll go first,” Victoria said, stepping past Max into a musty entryway. At least part of the information about the party wasn't a lie: The villa had obviously not been opened for years. If anyone had inhabited the place, the servants' entrance, at least, would have been well used.

“Be my guest.”

It was dark, and Victoria paused for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the unfamiliar environment. Then, without a word to Max, she began to walk quickly, silently, but cautiously down the hallway toward the main part of the house.

She'd taken no more than three steps in her soggy slippers when a strong grip pulled her back. “Where are you going?” he asked.

Shaking off his hand, she looked up at him. “Blast it, Max, where do you think?” She managed to keep her voice low, although it was hard. “To the parlor or ballroom, where they've likely all gathered.”

“Then perhaps you might wish to follow me. That direction”—he pointed where she'd been going, his hand boldly in her face— “leads to the servants' quarters.”