As Shadows Fade

Eight Wherein a Frothy Pink Confection Leaves Little to the Imagination

“It’s worse than we thought, isn’t it?” Victoria asked as soon as she saw Wayren’s face. She’d been summoned to her presence the moment she walked in the door of the town house. It was already late in the afternoon the day after they’d rescued Wayren from the cemetery.

So many things had happened since Victoria had left for the dinner dance in her red dress, less than twenty-four hours earlier.

The older woman nodded and gestured for Victoria to sit. “The fact that those demons had not only the power, but the insolence, to attack me… It has weighed heavily on my mind since yesterday.”

Victoria sat, regarding the taut expression on Wayren’s face. Her aura of serenity faltered, yet strength glowed in her eyes. Whatever evil they faced, it would not be simple or weak.

Not for the first time, Victoria acutely felt the loss of her aunt Eustacia, and simultaneously, a wave of relief and affection for the wise, peaceful woman in front of her.

Wayren seemed to understand, and she reached for Victoria as she often did, closing her fingers over her wrist. As always, tranquillity seeped into her and the leaping of her nerves settled. We’ll do this together.

“What have you learned?” she asked, slipping away from Wayren’s grip, unwilling to cause the woman further weariness.

“As you have remarked, the demonic activity you experienced at the cemetery is unusual, and carries a malevolence that has not often been experienced on this earth. Those demons were from true fallen angels, Victoria. Not merely creatures that have been imbued with the spirit of evil, as Akvan-and other demons you’ve previously faced. The fallen angels have great power, and are not so simpleminded as those of Akvan’s ilk.”

Wayren shifted in her chair to reach toward her ever-present satchel. “It’s my belief,” she said, pulling a crackling parchment tube from the depths of the bag, “that these demons are escaping through the Midiverse Portal.” She slipped square glasses on and unrolled the brown paper.

“The Midiverse Portal?” Victoria repeated. “Portal… like an entrance?” She frowned, yet that uneasy feeling continued to build inside. This was so different from anything she’d encountered. She felt rather like she had when she first began hunting vampires: nervous, unsettled… yet determined. “From where?”

Wayren nodded. “Yes, indeed.” She settled in her seat, her slender hands moving as she continued. “An entrance from Hell, Victoria. These demons once were angels, and roamed freely throughout the earth and heavens. When they fell from divine grace, and decided to follow Lucifer, they were banished from Heaven and Earth and sent to Hell with their new master. They cannot move easily onto this earth. They can only gain access through certain passages. Or portals. They’ve all been sealed for millennia, but it seems as though one has been opened. Or at least, the seal is broken.”

“Fallen angels,” Victoria repeated. “Why would they want to harm you?” But even as she spoke, a little shiver traveled up her spine.

“Because they know me. Because they know I am here to help you. And because once, countless aeons ago, I knew them.” She nodded at the question in Victoria’s face. “Because they fell… and I did not.”

Because she didn’t fall…?

Prickles exploded over her shoulders as Victoria looked at Wayren, aware of the shock and sudden comprehension that must be washing over her face. That simple statement explained so much about this woman, who never seemed to age. Who seemed to be able to be anywhere she was needed, whenever she wanted to be. Who knew so much about everything.

And how she could fit so blasted many books in a satchel that was too small to hold them.

Victoria wondered absurdly why an angel would wear reading glasses.

Wayren merely smiled at her, as if she knew what she was thinking, and replied, “We’re not perfect either.”

At that moment, the door to the parlor opened, and Max came in. Victoria couldn’t help but notice the weariness in his demeanor and the strain around his eyes. Doing the work of a Venator, without the blessing of a vis bulla, took a great toll on a man.

She wondered if he knew that Wayren was an angel; then she realized. Of course he did. It seemed as if Max knew everything.

He probably assumed she knew.

Max flashed a glance at her, but said nothing. Instead, he took a seat near the cabinet that housed the Gardella Bible. “Wayren,” he said by way of greeting.

She smiled at him, but by the tightening of Max’s mouth, Victoria knew that he, too, saw the cracks in her calm facade. “I was just telling Victoria that I believe the demons we’ve been encountering here, and those in Paris, are escaping into our world through the Midiverse Portal. It’s in Romania, in the mountains,” she said, tracing a half-moon fingernail over the rigid parchment. “And…” Her voice trailed off as she became absorbed in whatever she was reading.

“And their target is Wayren,” Victoria finished tightly. “Perhaps others, but Wayren for certain.”

“Did you go to the cemetery today?” he asked sharply.

Victoria shook her head. “No, I meant to, but-”

“I did. There is nothing there any longer.”

“You went alone?”

His mouth tightened. “In broad daylight, Victoria. Even I am in no danger in bloody broad daylight.”

They lapsed into silence, stress zinging in the air between them. Before now, the last words he’d spoken to her had been in anger and frustration in her bedchamber, punctuated by the slam of the door. He’d acted only as she’d expected, and, in fact, anticipated… but there was no sense in keeping her plans from him.

If he knew she was going to go after Lilith, he’d either be moved to go with her, or try to find a way to keep her in London-or at least otherwise occupied. Either way, they’d be together and she’d have the chance to wear down the resistance he’d erected.

But deep in her heart, she knew that until Lilith was gone, Max would not be wholly free.

Of course, any plans she had to find the vampire queen must be delayed until the demons were contained. Wayren’s safety was of paramount importance.

“Yes,” Wayren said, breaking into the charged silence as she looked up from her reading, “it’s as I feared. It must be. The portal has either cracked or somehow been opened, for the only way those types of demon could find their way out beyond the protections that have kept them locked in Hell is through that opening.”

“How do we close it, then?” Victoria asked.

“I believe… there is a crystal… an orb…” Again Wayren’s voice trailed off as she closed her eyes, little frown lines appearing between her fair brows. Then, reaching blindly, she slipped her hand inside the battered satchel and rummaged around, her lips moving silently. After a moment, the scrabbling stopped and she withdrew a small book, hardly larger than Max’s palm.

“It would be in here,” she murmured and flipped through brittle pages. Victoria saw scrawls from a language she didn’t recognize, as well as drawings, stains, and ink blots on the yellowed paper. “Yes, as I thought.” Wayren looked up suddenly, her eyes clear and sharp. Removing her glasses, she folded them neatly on top of the open book. “There is a crystal, Tached’s Orb, that can be used to seal the portal.”

“Do you know where it is?” Max asked.

“The orb is inside a pool at the base of Muntii Fagaras-near Lilith’s hideaway.” She cast a quick glance at Max, and Victoria recalled with a start that he had gone there voluntarily-and perhaps involuntarily as well.

“However, the pool is enchanted,” Wayren added. “So one cannot simply reach in and retrieve the orb.”

“But if we get the orb, we can lock the portal? How?”

“And there is no other way to seal the entrance?”

Max and Victoria spoke at the same time, then fell into silence, looking at Wayren.

“I know of no other way to close the portal,” she replied, “but I will continue to study it. Time is precious, for the longer the portal is cracked, the more evil will penetrate this world. And the weaker we shall be.”

“And the more you will be in danger,” Victoria said.

“So our most efficient course of action is to determine how to breach the pool at Fagaras,” Max said.

Victoria stood. “I was with George Starcasset today, and according to him, all of the vampires have fled England-even the ones who don’t love Lilith and who stayed behind when she left. They’re frightened of something, and I wonder if it has to do with this influx of demons.”

“Perhaps you ought to ask him,” Max suggested smoothly. “I’m certain George is a font of information and will be able to tell us something even Wayren doesn’t know.”

Victoria looked at him, but the surge of anger that had begun to rush to her cheeks faded. Max might be arrogant and sarcastic, but he wasn’t normally petulant. “Perhaps I shall,” was all she said, and walked, queenlike, from the room.

“The pool at Muntii Fagaras?” Sebastian repeated. He looked at Victoria, his lovely lips turning in a twisted smile. “I suppose it might have been too much to hope that you came to my rooms for something other than information.”

She almost took a step back from the doorway, but stopped herself. “It’s not the first time I’ve come to you only for information.” Indeed, she’d left Wayren and Max at the town house to come directly here to speak with Sebastian.

“To my great dismay,” he agreed. “Do come in.” He gestured into the small, spare chamber that he leased while in London.

He looked tired, nearly as tired as Max. Although his shirt was pressed, and his hair combed back in rich, tawny waves, Sebastian had an appearance of underlying rumpledness. He wore no neck cloth, nor a jacket, and his boots, though clean, didn’t shine as they normally did.

“Yes, I know about the pool. And it’s no secret, at least among the undead, how to breach it. According to Beauregard, it’s Lilith’s creation, you know,” Sebastian said, gesturing impatiently for her to sit. “And is hidden not very far from where she hides in the mountain.”

The only place available was a small wooden chair, or the bed. When Victoria chose the chair, Sebastian gave another of those wry smiles. “Of course,” he said. “The fool me.”

“Will you tell me about the pool?” she asked after a moment.

There was no question-she cared for Sebastian deeply. He’d done much for her, offered her pleasure and escape over the difficult last years. With his own particular skill, he teased her, taunted and angered her… always seeming to know what she needed in order to help her clear her head. To alleviate the stress or tension or fear she struggled with.

Why couldn’t she love him?

“I will,” he said. His voice carried low, and she looked up to find him standing in front of her chair. She’d forgotten the question, and for the moment it didn’t matter.

Something snapped in the silence, so real, it was almost audible. Sebastian took her arms and pulled Victoria to her feet, there, flush in front of him. She allowed him.

“You didn’t really think,” he said, holding her wrists down between their bodies, “that you could come to me, here, without repercussions.”

Her heart slammed in her throat. Warmth billowed between them, and Victoria pulled one of her hands away. One. The other one… He tightened his fingers around it so that she felt the pad of his thumb digging into her flesh. It would likely bruise.

“I told you,” he said, leaning forward to her cheek, “that I have no intention of being a gentleman about this.” Now there was a layer of anger in his voice.

“I came for information,” she said. Even to her own ears, she sounded breathless.

“You came for more than that, Victoria.” He was still close enough that his breath heated her temple, and his leg brushed against her gown.

Had she?

No.

No.

“You’re pining for a man who cannot be what you want. And need,” he said, and his lips brushed her cheek. She turned her face away, swallowing hard… but she didn’t step back.

Was it curiosity that had driven her here? Petulance?

Confusion?

“Sebastian,” she said just as he turned his face.

“Victoria,” he murmured, then kissed her. Roughly.

Yet her eyes sank closed, and she opened her mouth. Their tongues tangled in that hot, sleek way, reminding her how skilled Sebastian was at seduction. Very skilled. Very willing.

Then his kiss altered, becoming more coaxing, teasing, urging; she could feel the change in the way he touched her. As if he knew what this meant… could mean. He traveled to the sensitive spot on her neck, kissing and nibbling down to the curve of tendon into her shoulder. Her knees weakened.

His hands gripped her shoulders now, tightly but not painfully, and suddenly Victoria felt the nudge of a bed against the back of her leg. And as if to forestall any argument, he returned his lips to cover hers at that moment, pulling her up tightly against him, trapping her legs between his and the mattress. With one little tip, they’d be sprawled on the blanket and pillow.

She separated her mouth from his, and turned her face away.

“Sebastian, it’s not…” She drew in a deep breath, felt her breasts move against his chest and the long line of his legs against her. He’d not loosened his grip; in fact, his fingers tightened into her shoulder.

“Victoria,” he said. His voice came out rough and with a decided edge. “You came here. To me.”

“I know, Sebastian. I really… came for information.”

“You never come only for information.”

“I did this time.” She pressed her palms against his chest. His skin burned warm through the linen.

“You know I don’t give information without compensation,” he said. His voice was tight, and his eyes angry.

Victoria looked up at him and recognized the pain in his face. She hated that she was the cause of it, but it couldn’t be helped. If she had any question before, she did no longer. “I’m sorry, Sebastian.”

Now she stepped to the side, away, putting space between them. Her heart still slammed in her chest, but it wasn’t the right kind of slamming.

It just wasn’t.

A rumpled Victoria returned to the town house late that evening, tired and dejected. Despite the unpleasantness of their confrontation, she’d obtained more information than she’d hoped from Sebastian.

His knowledge had no doubt been obtained through the relationship he’d had with his grandfather Beauregard. Sebastian was able to answer several questions, and as a result gave Victoria enough to begin to formulate a plan. But the situation was not a hopeful one. It would mean long travel and danger, but worst of all, they would need Lilith’s cooperation.

Which was impossible to imagine.

To make matters worse, when she walked into the front entrance of the town house, Max was there. She had no idea what would cause him to be standing in the foyer, perhaps he was merely passing through-but he was the last person she wanted to see at that moment.

Apparently, the feeling was mutual.

His eyes scored her more sharply than usual, disdain pronounced in his expression. “Don’t expect me at supper tonight.”

Surprised at the venom in his voice, she paused in her intention to sail past him, up the stairs, to the sanctuary of her chamber. “You’re going out?” she asked, suddenly aware of the burn of moisture at the corner of her eyes. No, not now.

Not in front of Max.

She drew in a deep breath, brought herself upright, and clasped her hand over the newel post. The sting abated, but her throat felt scratchy.

“I have matters to attend to,” he replied. Still just as bitterly. His face looked as though it had been sculpted from some harsh gray stone.

“As you wish.” She turned away and started up the stairs without a backward glance. Her eyes filled with angry, furious tears, and the inside of her nose began to tingle.

Perhaps she ought to let him go.

Perhaps it would be best. For both of them.

Victoria fell asleep in her clothing on top of her bed, waking only when Verbena brought her a tray much later that night.

Amid clucking and tsking, the maid helped her mistress to remove her rumpled gown and insisted that she eat the meal of cold chicken, bread, tomatoes, and cheese. Victoria felt marginally better after her nap and a good meal, yet an angry, itchy sort of internal grumbling continued to nag at her.

Even after her bustling maid finished brushing out her hair for the night and helped her dress for bed-she had no social engagements tonight, and apparently there weren’t any vampires left in London to hunt-Victoria hadn’t relinquished her mood. Half of her wanted to curl up and sob, over what, she wasn’t certain… and the other part would have loved to come face-to-face with a pack of vampires.

She’d annihilate them.

Verbena’s twittering began to grate on her nerves, and at last Victoria sent her maid away for the night-which apparently was the right thing to do, as Verbena confessed that she and Oliver had planned for a drive to Vauxhall Gardens.

“Then be off with you,” Victoria said, noting that it was only eleven o’clock.

Perhaps all she needed was a bit more sleep.

And she did, for a time, dreaming of black-smoke demons and red-eyed vampires and dark-eyed men.

But after a while she woke to a cool moonbeam shining through her window, lighting the room as if it were a gray-and-blue-tinted day.

The thought that had been worrying, grumbling, grating in the back of her mind now came out to the fore with full force: Perhaps she ought to let Max go.

Victoria sat up, slid off her bed, walked over to her dressing table. Her face shone ghostly in the mirror, her thick dark hair falling over her shoulders, brushing past her elbows, her eyes dark almonds alongside the bridge of her nose. A faint sheen of moisture dampened her upper lip, for the heat of day still lingered.

Perhaps Sebastian was right. She was pining for a man who couldn’t give her what she wanted. Who didn’t want, or need, anyone.

She looked at herself in the mirror for a long time and at last made her decision.

If that was what he really wanted, she’d let him go. But the way he’d looked, as he stood over her in the carriage after the dinner dance, spoke otherwise.

Perhaps it was time to force his hand. One way or the other.

Rising from the stool, she whisked off her simple white night rail and pulled from the wardrobe a lacy shell pink gown. The fabric weighed little more than a whisper, and fitted her breasts like two lace hands… then fell free, in a sheer pink glaze from her bodice to the floor. Her two vis bullae glinted behind it, at her navel.

Victoria left her chamber silently and padded through the small town house to the rear, where the servants kept their rooms. Then she climbed up a flight of stairs to the next level, where the heat lingered even more heavily.

Her gown swirled around her, light as smoke, as she came to a stop outside Max’s room. The crack under the door showed no illumination, but it was well after two o’clock in the morning. He was either sleeping or out. And since there weren’t any vampires in London anymore…

Victoria opened the door and saw the same moonbeam splaying over his bed. Empty. Unslept in.

He wasn’t there.

Victoria backed out of the room, her stomach twisting uncomfortably, her palms suddenly damp.

She felt foolish.

Back down the stairs she went, and kept going down to the ground floor. She found herself near the kitchen at the back of the town house. She wasn’t hungry, but walked through to the front of the house, now wide-awake and alert. Suddenly she realized why.

The hair on the back of her arms lifted, and she slowed her careless movements into something silent. The sound had been a soft clink, or a dull scrape, perhaps.

Not a vampire-she didn’t feel a chill. It could be Kritanu or Charley or…

Victoria drew herself up tall and continued along the corridor to the sitting room. Her heart pounded.

A yellow glow shone from under the door, faint and unassuming. She turned the knob and pushed it open.

Max sat in Aunt Eustacia’s favorite chair near the piecrust table on which her stakes had lain. A short glass with liquid that glowed amber in the lamplight gave testament to the dull scrape Victoria had heard, and the fat decanter next to it, the clink. He raised his face, half of it burnished gold from the lamp, and the other melding into shadow. His white shirt, with a loose neck cloth draped around his shoulders, glowed in the dim light.

“What do you want?”

She stepped across the threshold and stood close to the wall, feeling anger… and something else… bubbling through her. Her fingers gripped the edge of the door, but she moved to stand in that beautiful, broad moonbeam from the side window. “I couldn’t sleep.”

His glance flickered over her, and she saw his mouth compress. “Go away, Victoria.”

“Max.”

Then he looked at her, straight on, and she was knocked nearly breathless by the venom in his expression. The same bitterness he’d had earlier that afternoon. That same deep, flat anger he’d had when she drugged him with salvi three weeks ago.

“You’ve settled things with Vioget. Why are you here?”

There was no use wondering how he’d known she’d visited Sebastian; she’d accepted that about him long ago. Max knew everything.

“Ye-” she began, but he didn’t wait to hear the rest of it.

“Get. Away.” His words were little more than a breath.

She took a step closer, and felt the whisper of fabric around her legs. She knew what he saw, with the white glow behind her: the froth of pink gauze outlining her from torso to toes, the heavy bundle of thick curls cascading down her back. Victoria had no illusions about the image she made.

She needed all the help she could get.

“Max, I went to your chamber, looking for you.”

“Obviously.” Those dark eyes scraped over her, somehow managing to be cold and yet arrogant. “I’ve no interest in Vioget’s leavings. Or is it that you don’t want to know your child’s patrimony?”

So he also knew that she had stopped taking the potion. Again, that was no surprise to Victoria. She’d told him it was her intention, and Max, being Max, would confirm it. But his other accusations…

“Sebastian’s leavings?” She gave a short laugh, trying not to let that cold voice penetrate too deeply. “Max, don’t be-”

“Or was that someone else’s mark on your neck?” He’d not raised his voice this whole time. It came out quiet and flat. Cold.

Victoria reached reflexively to her shoulder, where Sebastian had indeed left a small mark earlier today. Max couldn’t have seen it now, for her hair covered it. But this afternoon…

“This is the last time I’ll say it. Leave.”

His eyes looked like black pits with a faint glitter in their centers. Though the glass of whiskey sat next to him, he never lifted a hand toward it. Instead, she saw that his fingers curled around the arm of his chair.

“Or what?” she countered. “You’ll make me?”

They both knew what had happened the last time he had laid angry hands on her. Angry hands that had turned to passionate ones.

“I’m leaving London. As soon as the sun rises.”

She glanced toward the window. The sky still boasted stars and moon, but a faint essence of lighter blue could be seen in the east. Victoria gave a brief nod. So be it.

But she had something to say first.

Later, she was never certain how she managed to keep the emotion from her voice, the shock and grief that he would have left without telling her, without saying good-bye. How she kept her words steady and as cool as his. But she did.

“Sebastian and I have settled things, but not in the way you thought we should.” She looked directly at Max. “You’re mistaken on many fronts. I’ve not been with him since Rome, Max. Since… you and I… went to the Door of Alchemy.” Since Max had kissed her, flat up against that damp, rough stone wall.

Little had she realized, but that had been the defining moment.

He didn’t respond, merely sat unmoving, his gaze as flat as ever.

“But if you leave, I will be with him. And there will be no question about the paternity of my child.” There. She couldn’t keep a bit of bitterness, a hint of mockery from her voice.

Silence stretched for a moment, and at last she understood that he was Max, and that Sebastian had been right about him.

Victoria turned and walked out of the room. Head high, but stomach churning.

Her hand was on the newel post at the base of the stairs when she heard her name.

She turned and Max stood in the doorway of the parlor.

The expression on his face made the bottom drop out of her stomach and a sharp quiver snap through her, leaving her knees weak, her palms damp. A small lamp in the foyer illuminated his eyes, hot and heavy and calculating.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said quietly, a hand moving to pull the untied neck cloth away from his collar. Slowly, deliberately, his eyes moved over her. “And when we’re finished, Victoria, you won’t remember your own name… let alone Vioget’s.”