The Bleeding Dusk (7 page)

Victoria saw the words carved around the circle, and bent back down to the lower left key slot, scraping the dirt away. She uncovered enough to see that it was the “
mater et virgo
”—mother and virgin—key, and then sat back on her heels, heedless of the wet grass bleeding into her thighs and rump, her heart thumping hard in her chest. “And this?” she asked, relief beginning to creep through her muscles.

“This is the slot for the
mater et virgo
key,” he said easily, tracing the symbols. “A slender crescent moon to the left, representing the virgin, curving away from and touching the full, ripe circle of the mother.” He looked up. “It's two parts of a common ancient symbol of the three goddesses: virgin, mother, crone.”

“Aunt Eustacia's armband is marked with that very same symbol of mother and virgin.” A wave of relief swept over Victoria. “They haven't found her key yet.”

Ylito's face settled into a smooth mask. “But we see here evidence that someone is looking for it now.”

+ Four +

In Which Victoria Develops an Acute Dislike of Sugarplums

“So how do you find
your first Roman Carnivale?” asked Zavier, looking down at Victoria as he was jolted into her side by an overzealous celebrant.

Since it was at least the dozenth time he'd bumped into her, or she into him, Victoria hardly noticed the shove; she was concentrating on keeping her papier-mâché mask in place. “It is like nothing I've ever experienced,” she replied with abject honesty. “The people seem to have gone insane!” While she could fully understand why it was important for the Venators to be out in the streets during the eight nights of Carnivale, she wasn't as convinced of the necessity of wearing a mask.

If the jostled eyeholes weren't obstructing her view, the long beak of her bird-face was bumping into the person in front of her, or being knocked to the side by someone throwing a plaster sugarplum.

Or being hit by one, which had happened more than once, as evidenced by the white marks on her mask and clothing.

Zavier laughed easily, but she noticed his attention didn't falter from the activity going on around them. With all of the revelry and masquerading on the wide street of Corso spilling into the smaller, darker side streets, the night was rife with the possibility of vampire attacks—or worse, kidnappings by members of the Tutela for their vampire masters. And now the new threat of being taken off and beheaded, for some inexplicable reason. So far neither of them had encountered any undead, but it was barely midnight, and dawn was a long way off on this February night.

Although Carnivale had been going on for almost a week, this was the first night Victoria and Zavier had gone out patrolling for undead together. It was also the first time she'd gone hunting since her mother arrived, and since she and Ylito had visited the Magic Door…other than the time she'd surreptitiously slipped a stake into the chest of a vampire who'd dared to sneak up on Lady Nilly when they were going home after a late Carnivale party.

To Lady Melly's great joy, Victoria had put her secret plan to find Sebastian into action by looking up the Tarruscelli twins, Portiera and Placidia. Unfortunately an afternoon of tea with them had turned into a series of invitations to Carnivale parties, races, and the sharing of their balcony overlooking the Corso, where all the festivities took place. Victoria felt odd being thrust back into a world of society and parties after turning her attention—and her life—to her Venator duties. It felt foreign to her in a way it hadn't even after she'd rejoined Society following Phillip's death.

Perhaps she really had left all that behind.

In return for having to sit and make conversation, while chafing about the other things that needed to be tended to, Victoria had had no luck in turning the conversation with the twins to Sebastian or learning of his whereabouts.

Perhaps he wasn't even in Rome anymore.

At any rate, tonight Victoria had managed to dislodge her mother's manipulative fingers (“But the Barone
Zacardi is ever so smitten with you!”) and plead exhaustion so that she could stay home. Dias had explained that tonight was Rose Monday, the second-to-last night of Carnivale, and the fever pitch of excitement—and danger—would continue to grow until it reached its peak tomorrow night.

Lady Melly and the others planned to join the Tarruscelli twins, along with some other new acquaintances—including the bound-to-be-disappointed Barone
Zacardi—in their red-draped balcony, so they could watch the street below. Victoria was relieved to be out on the street with her stake—masked or otherwise—and doing her job. Plus, she had another idea about how to contact Sebastian, and she was going to attempt it tonight.

The smell of roasting chestnuts tinged the air, drawing her from her thoughts, and Victoria felt a sudden pang of hunger. The fragrant nuts reminded her of Christmases spent at her family's estate of Prewitt Shore with her mother and her two friends, long before any of their husbands had died. At that house at least one of her meals during the holidays would be made up only of hot nut meats and warm milk.

“Zavier.” She turned to look at him, but her mask was knocked askew again. She reached up and pushed the long, narrow bird-beak back into place, and when her eyeholes were realigned, she saw Zavier was nowhere in sight.

If she were a normal woman, with normal strength and no capability to defend herself, she might be terrified at being separated from her male companion in the middle of the boisterous festival at midnight. But instead Victoria directed herself to the side of the broad, thronged Corso, where a man and his wife were selling hot chestnuts. Her stake was safely in the deep pocket of her loose costume, and Verbena had made certain that Victoria's other pocket included a pistol, along with a few
ecus
for such an occasion as this.

She pulled out one of the coins to pay for the chestnuts, and just as she turned back to look toward the wide thoroughfare, Victoria felt another sugarplum slam into the back of her shoulder. This one was harder than any of the others, as if it had been thrown from very close proximity.

She whipped around, her hand going automatically to her stake even though the back of her neck wasn't any colder than it had been moments before…and even though this was all supposed to be in the name of revelry. This time, miraculously, her mask stayed in place, and she turned to see a slight figure twisting away to slip through the crowd.

She started after the figure, a sense of recognition niggling deep in her mind with an impression of dark eyes behind a peacock mask, and a certain familiarity of movement.

Suddenly something grabbed her arm from behind, and Victoria pivoted back, hand groping for her pistol. “Zavier.”

“Where were you going?” he asked. “I lost ye for a moment there.”

“I…went to get some chestnuts, but I couldn't find you, and then someone threw a sugarplum at me. Again.”

He laughed and turned her away. “I see it. Another powdery white spot on your shoulder.” He slipped an arm around hers, as naturally as if he'd always done so. “I've seen not one vampire here tonight, nor felt—”

His voice trailed off as the hair lifted at the back of her neck in a definite chill. They looked at each other. “This way,” Victoria said, starting off in the direction the figure had gone.

Whether it was a coincidence or not, she didn't know. But they went off through the crowds, pushing through the revelers, on the trail of the first vampire they'd sensed all night.

Moving through the streets, they soon left the celebration behind them, and Victoria realized they were walking up a small hill. At the top she could see the outline of monuments and gravestones.

A cemetery. Not a bad place to find an undead.

She took off her mask and adjusted the stake she now held as they walked through the open iron gate.

“Do ye hear something?” Zavier asked, stopping next to her.

Up here, in the yard of death away from the insanity of the festival below, the night was quiet but for the occasional shout or shrill laugh far in the distance. Monuments and headstones made tall, stark shadows over the dark grass.

“No,” she replied, walking on, mask dangling from her hand. The fresh air felt good on her face, now that it was uncovered, but the back of her neck had warmed slightly, and the fine hairs there had flattened. She'd lost the scent.

“Nay many vampires during Carnivale this year,” Zavier said, walking along with her. His shoulder bumped against hers, then drew away as he kept on. “Perhaps they've all cloistered away since the death of Nedas, trying to get organized again.”

Victoria had killed Lilith's son, Nedas, at the same time Akvan's Obelisk had been destroyed. Nedas had been a powerful leader among the vampires in Rome who'd been served by the Tutela. With his destruction, the fate of his followers and the Tutela had been thrown into question, along with the issue of who would succeed him.

“I hardly think Beauregard would lose his opportunity to gain control of the vampire underworld in Rome,” Victoria replied, stepping over a low iron fence. Its spike caught at the hem of her trousers—thank heaven her mother hadn't been around to see her wearing them. “He was fairly salivating at the news of Nedas's death, and intended to execute Max that night while the vampires looked on.” Her fingers were frigid, but the air was barely cool. “We barely made it out alive.”

“Was there not another vampire who wished to succeed Nedas?”

“Indeed, the Conte Regalado, who was the leader of the Tutela, wanted it very badly. He is a newly turned vampire and young in his power, but it seems as if he may have not only the support of the Tutela, but also of some of Nedas's followers. It was partly due to Regalado's interference that Max and I were able to escape from Beauregard.”

Regalado was also the father of the woman Max had intended to marry. A woman who enjoyed being fed upon by vampires.

Victoria wondered, fleetingly, if Sarafina's father ever fed on her, now that he was a vampire. He was vulgar enough to do so.

And Sarafina was indecent enough to let him.

The truth was, Victoria wouldn't have escaped the battle between the two factions of vampires without the assistance of Sebastian Vioget. And by now, she thought she had a way of finding him.

Lost in her thoughts, Victoria didn't realize Zavier had stopped walking until something snagged her sleeve. Dropping her mask, she whirled around, stake raised, and nearly drove it into his barrel chest.

Instead of being surprised or taken aback by her offensive stance, he looked at her with a glint of humor in his expression. “Ye can put that down for a minute.”

“No, I can't,” Victoria replied, spying a movement in the shadows behind him. The hair on the back of her neck lifted, and the chill intensified again.

Stake in hand, she started off after the glowing red eyes, leaping over a gravestone and slipping a little when she landed on the damp grass.

The vampire must have thought he'd come upon two lovers strolling through the graveyard, taking a quiet moment away from Carnivale—for until Victoria landed in front of him, stake at the ready, he'd remained hovering in the bushes. When he saw how she'd fearlessly come after him, he turned and ran.

Elated, Victoria followed. She loved the feeling of letting herself go, of running, leaping over the stones and low fences, dashing around a crumbling mausoleum, and finally throwing herself at the vampire. She crashed into him, barely feeling the impact, and they tumbled to the ground. The loose legs of her costume wrapped around their calves as he rolled on top of her, fangs bared.

His eyes were red, the color of Chianti, glowing as he bent his face down toward her. She could smell blood on his breath, and she dropped her stake, reaching up to grab him by the shoulders and fling him onto his back. He was young and relatively weak, and would be perfect for the message she needed to send.

But suddenly there was a whistle of movement and the vampire jerked, then froze, then burst into a cloud of dust and musty ash. It
poofed
onto her face and into her hair and lashes, and Victoria looked up to see Zavier standing over her. He was offering a hand to help her up.

“Why did you do that?” She ignored his hand and rolled easily to her feet, barely breathing hard, stake again in hand. For a moment she wanted to plant it in that big barrel chest in front of her.
Damn and blast!
The first vampire she'd seen in a week, and he was gone before she could talk to him. Now she'd have to find another one tonight—although it shouldn't be hard, really, since they were bound to be out on the Corso.

“Why, I was helpin' ye.”

“I had things well in hand. I didn't need help. I wanted to talk to him, not kill him.” The thrill of the fight had gone out of her and left Victoria with a rumbling annoyance and the feeling of unfinished business. Not to mention covered with vampire dust.

“Ye appeared to be in danger, so I wasna going to stand by and watch him maul you.”

Victoria looked at him as she brushed the dank ash from her hair and clothes. They were nearly the same height, although he was much bulkier than she. “I am capable of staking a single vampire,” she said slowly and distinctly, her nerves still wanting to jump. “I've done it many times before. In fact,” she said, closing her eyes to finger away the dust on her lashes as much as to retain the evenness of her voice, “I've fought five at a time, and won. I purposely didn't kill him because I needed him to take a message for me.” A message to Beauregard that she was looking for his grandson.

But, of course, Zavier wouldn't have—couldn't have—known that. He didn't even know anything about the Door of Alchemy.

When she opened her eyes, Zavier was still looking at her. But instead of bafflement or chagrin or even annoyance, his expression was filled with admiration. “Of course,” he said. “Fool that I was, I forgot that you of all women dinna need protection.”