Rises the Night

Chapter 10 In Which Lady Rockley Acquires an Acute Dislike of Lavender

True to his word, four nights later Count Alvisi sent a cryptic note to Victoria.

" 'I shall call for you in one half hour,'" she read aloud. Sending the note wafting onto her dressing table, she looked up at Verbena. "It appears that I will be attending a meeting of the Tutela very shortly." She looked at the small clock on her dressing table. "At ten o'clock tonight."

"I'll have Oliver bring word 'round't' your aunt whilst we get you ready," the maid said, bustling toward the door. "The man's been frayin' each one o' my nerves for the last day, lookin' for somethin' t' do. After I 'splained they're afraid o' silver, 'e got himself so worked up he locked hisself in his room, says he's gonna make a new weapon for fightin' vampires with." She snorted, shaking her head as she slipped out of Victoria's room, then poked it back in to add, "The man's never seen a vampire, so I don' know how he's gonna invent a way to kill one. He'll take one look at those red eyes and he'll be runnin' back to Cornwall wi' wet britches, where 'e belongs."

The door closed behind her, and Victoria picked up the note again. Over the last several days she'd considered the best way to approach the invitation extended by the count. At one point she'd thought of having him followed so she could learn just where he went, and possibly discover the Tutela's meeting place on her own. She would have preferred going in on her own terms, possibly sneaking in, rather than having to wait to be escorted.

If she were escorted, she would have to play the role of the widowed Mrs. Withers and to remain with Alvisi during the entire time. If she could go alone, she might simply be able to watch unobserved.

But in the end she'd decided to wait for his invitation and go with the count. He would certainly be aware of the process, and if there were anything special one must do in order to gain entrance, he would know. Once she learned the location of the meeting, and how to get in, she could investigate on her own. After all, her goal was to find and assassinate Nedas.

Against her better judgment, she allowed Verbena to coif and dress her as though she were going to a social event. Her maid had protested when Victoria originally opted to dress in her loose split skirt and braid her hair in a simple braid.

"You should look as if you're goin' to a party," she told her. "Ye can't dress as if ye're huntin' vampires. And besides… the count prob'ly wants te show you off to the vampires! I'm sure ye'er prettier than any of the other women in the Tutela!"

"More dangerous too," Victoria added, and succumbed to her maid's ministrations. She was quite certain that half of the reason Verbena insisted on dressing and coiffing her so particularly even when the event didn't call for it was because her sister was the lady's maid for the daughter of a duchess… and they were always comparing notes about their mistresses' gowns and jewels.

When Victoria came down the stairs a half hour after receiving the note from Alvisi, two stakes in her hair and another one affixed to the garter under her skirt, salted holy water in her reticule and in a small vessel attached to her other garter, along with a sheathed dagger, and a large crucifix tucked deep down betwixt her breasts where it would not be seen unless she wished it to, she interrupted a fierce, whispered conversation between Verbena and Oliver in the front parlor.

It was comic: The maid barely reached to his collarbones, but she appeared to be doing the talking, with him nodding silently but energetically down at her. Her carrot-red hair, frizzy and bushy, bobbed with her every movement, his darker, more auburn hair following in a slower rhythm. Her hands slapped together in some sort of emphasis, back hand into her palm with a loud crack; then she shifted into a single pointing finger.

"Has the count arrived?" Victoria asked innocently.

"Not yet, my lady," Verbena responded, stepping away from her counterpart with one last glare. Perhaps she'd been lecturing him on using a crucifix instead of garlic for the best vampire repellent. "But Oliver here will, I'm certain, be pleased to look out for you."

Just then, the Italian servant who acted as a sort of butler for the small house they were renting slipped into the room and announced, "The Count Alvisi, signora."

It was apparent as soon as the count stepped into the small parlor that he had not brushed too close to a woman who had bathed in lavender the other night, but that he had been the one to douse himself. And as though he were trying to extend the scent in some sort of stylistic pattern, his silk shirtwaist was a lavender color… and the cravat tied neatly, if blandly, at his throat was lavender. And the gem that glittered in the center of it was… yes… a clear, pale amethyst.

"You look lovely this evening, Mrs. Withers," the count told her, honest appreciation beaming in his dark eyes. "In fact, you look lovely enough to eat!" He winked and gave a loud guffaw as he stepped forward to take her hand.

Victoria remembered herself, and that she had to play the role of a bold, crass woman—instead of a fiercesome Venator or a perfect Society woman—and managed a hearty enough laugh that her mother would have been mortified. She would remember that for the evening: If she did something that would cause her mother's jaw to drop askance or her lips to purse in annoyance, she would be acting just as she should—just as she imagined a woman who would be interested in meeting vampires because she found them fascinating and attractive would act.

"Shall we go?" asked Victoria.

"Indeed, signora. The carriage awaits." He took her arm and they swept out of the room, shoulder-to-shoulder, elbow-to-elbow.

"I cannot believe I shall meet a real vampire tonight," Victoria said once they were settled in the carriage. No sooner had the door closed than she wished fervently to crack a window in order to allow some of the lavender to escape.

Alvisi sat across from her, not as Sebastian would have, relaxing in the corner with an arm extended along the back of the seat, but on the edge of the bench, stiffly upright, hands clasped in his lap. He looked as though he might be ready to bolt at any moment. "Er… si, signora. We may not see an actual vampire tonight. I have seen one myself only one time."

Victoria sagged back, stifling her disappointment and budding annoyance. Was this simply a ploy to get her in a carriage alone?

If it were Sebastian, she would believe it without a doubt. But this man did not send ripples of apprehension through her. He seemed harmless and easily managed—except for the powerful weapon of his cologne. "Where are we going if not to see a vampire?"

"We are to attend the meeting of a secret society, the Tutela, whose purpose is to protect and care for vampires. But I do not know if we shall be graced with the presence of the immortals." That glitter she had seen in his eyes at Byron's villa was back, accompanied by a slight sheen on his rounded forehead. "They do not attend every meeting at this level."

"Level?" Victoria looked around; the carriage had stopped. "Have we arrived?"

"No, no. We must cross a canal. Come, signora, hurry, or we shall arrive too late and the doors will be barred. It is already after half past ten."

They climbed out of the carriage and hustled quickly into a waiting gondola that dipped and pitched when he tried to find a comfortable seat. Victoria did not recognize the part of the city in which they had stopped, but she was not all that familiar with Venice as yet. As the gondolier eased them across the canal with his long pole, she glanced back at the shore they were leaving behind. Something in the shadows moved next to the carriage, and then it was gone.

She continued to stare as the gray outline of shore, lit only by random lanterns hung from poles and a smattering of stars in a moonless sky, melded into the darkness that now surrounded them on the wide canal. Someone or something had been there. Following them?

As they poled along the canal, away from either shore, Victoria could hear the excitement growing in Alvisi's breaths. They were coming faster and more shallowly, a bit raspier, often with a little catch, like a tiny gasp, at the end. The single lantern of punctured tin that hung from the back of the gondola gave enough light for her to see his hands clasped onto the sides of the vessel, and a shinier sheen on his forehead. Either he didn't like water and boats, or he was becoming very excited about the meeting of the Tutela.

They went on for a long while, traveling away from the city, silently moving atop the water. There had been a few other gondolas in the vicinity when they started out, but as the distance from town and their carriage increased, the number of other vessels decreased until there were none other about. Even the lights from homes along the canals, and the squares of buildings silhouetted against the shore, eased into darkness and the jaggedness of tumbledown structures and rocky terrain, illuminated only by chance when their gondola lantern swayed in a lucky direction.

Victoria began to feel a bit apprehensive as she realized they'd left Venice behind. This was so very different from London, where she at least had a sense of direction and knew where she was. And where a hackney could be hired to take her home from most any place in the city, even St. Giles. She realized she should have paid much better attention to where they were going in the carriage, and watched for landmarks along the canal.

She wasn't frightened, but she should have made better preparations. Having Oliver follow along might have been a prudent choice. Perhaps Kritanu as well.

But she had been so confident of her ability to take care of herself, with her vis bulla and other weapons, and so focused on her goal of gaining entrance to the Tutela, that she had planned poorly.

Of course, she could be worrying about nothing. But her uneasiness was beginning to grow as steadily as the moisture on Alvisi's forehead. He spoke little during the voyage, and Victoria, who was trying to watch for landmarks in order to remember their route, didn't attempt conversation.

And then, at last, after what must have been more than an hour of navigating along the dark canal, they arrived.

At least, that was what Victoria assumed when the gondola eased up to a dark shore.

"Come, come," Alvisi said, his voice strained. He scrambled out of the boat and pulled her after him with none of the gentlemanly aplomb he'd served up earlier at her villa. Once on the rocky shore, Victoria pulled firmly away from his grip—no difficult task, and if he noticed her unusual strength, he made no comment. He was already hurrying along some pathway that she was hardly able to see. Looking back toward the water, she saw that the gondola and its small lantern had shoved away from the shore and it was easing back up along the canal.

She would have paused longer, to take measure of the darkness and its occupants, but Alvisi had come back for her. "Mrs. Withers, come; we must hurry or they will bar the doors!"

This was what she'd come for.

She turned and followed him down the dark path, between bushes and trees that brushed into her and snagged at her light pelisse.

At last they came to a wooden door attached to a tall stone building closely surrounded by trees. It appeared that they'd approached it from the rear; there were no other buildings in sight, nor anything that hinted of civilization. It was a building alone in the dark woods. Victoria could see the outlines of the gray, black, and tan stones that made up the wall, thanks to the small lantern that hung from a short iron stem. It sat only knee-height, and was half-hidden by a bush until one came nearly upon it. Clearly, the Tutela took no chances in having its meeting place found.

Alvisi pulled on the long iron latch of the door and, to his obvious relief it swung open on silent hinges. A red glow from inside colored the sandy, trampled ground next to the low lantern outside, and tinged the door and stones with a warm hue.

With one quick glance up at the sky, which had cleared to show the moon, Victoria noted that it was approximately midnight already. She followed Alvisi in and, once inside, a tall man dressed as though he were ready to attend the opera closed the door behind her.

"Good evening, madam, and welcome," he said in Italian. He seemed to be waiting for something, and then Victoria remembered. She opened her hand to show him the Tutela amulet, and he nodded admittance.

She followed Alvisi down the hall, confirming that, according to the back of her neck, there were no vampires in the vicinity.

The half-lit room they entered at the end of the hall contained several dozen people conversing, and was large enough in size to be a ballroom, but not appropriate in decor. Victoria hadn't been able to determine what kind of building they were in, but it did not appear to be a villa or home. The interior walls were the same stone as the exterior. There were no windows—not surprising, as the vampires wouldn't be receptive to having sunlight come flooding in—and as far as she could tell, only one other door. The floor was covered with rugs, and between them, she could see the primitive dirt and stone.

There were, however, chairs and benches throughout the room. And at the far end from where she and Alvisi had entered, a small, high dais had been positioned. It was just large enough to hold a long table and five chairs. It reminded her of a theater, or perhaps a church… although that would be an odd place for vampire protectors to meet.

Curious, Victoria slipped away from her escort and toward the front of the room, for she was too far away to see what was on the table other than two large, shallow bowls that held small fires, one on each end.

The room's red glow came from a roaring fire on one wall near the dais, in a fireplace that could easily hold eight grown men. Candles and sconces flickered throughout the room, and as she passed among the other attendees, Victoria noted that the vast majority were men of all ages and that they were as well dressed as the man who'd asked to see her amulet.

In fact, she saw only three other women, and they did not appear to be ones who would normally be accepted in high society, based on the ludicrously low-cut gowns and pretentious jewels they wore. Perhaps she should speak with them. Since that was the kind of thing that would make her mother's eyes roll up into her head just before she swooned, it would be a fitting action for Mrs. Withers to undertake.

The room smelled of smoke and sweat, along with the horrid mingle of Alvisi's lavender, and the rosewaters, minty perfumes, and vetiver colognes that clung to other persons. But underlying all of the sweet floral and musky herbal scents, Victoria smelled blood and darkness and evil, and a faint pungent smell she'd sensed only once before: at the Silver Chalice.

It was nothing she recognized, nothing she could name or even compare it to; it was faint, but it was rancid and rank. It made her belly want to seize. She hadn't remembered even smelling it until now, but the memory came back as she inhaled it once again. The only other time she'd experienced it was when she was fighting the demon.

Was this the scent of a demon? Or was it something else entirely?

She looked around and realized that everyone seemed to be selecting a seat. Alvisi was gesturing to her from one of the rows in the back of the room, and Victoria decided it would be in her best interest to remain with him. She had no desire to be singled out until she had a better idea of what was to happen here. In addition, sitting in the back of the room would give her a better view of the entire chamber and perhaps an opportunity to determine whether there was indeed a demon present. So far, there were no vampires.

No sooner had she been seated next to her escort than three men stepped up onto the dais. She recognized one of them as a guest at Byron's villa. Signore Zinnani.

"Good evening," he said, gesturing widely to the room as the attendees gave him their attention. "Welcome to the Tutela. You are all here only because you have been invited by one of our members."

Victoria looked at Alvisi, who gave a small shrug and nodded.

"Let us begin."

Zinnani opened what appeared to be a square black box that gleamed when it was moved. He reached in with his hand, then sprinkled whatever had been in the box onto each of the small bowls of fire that sat on the table in front of him. Each fire in turn gave a tiny poof, like a huff of breath, and the flames burned blue, then purple, then back to red again. Almost immediately a faint but enduring sweet scent reached Victoria's sensitive Venator nose.

She didn't like it. The smell made her want to escape from the room even as it rushed through the air, silently and invisibly, like a web.

She didn't like it at all. It was too sweet and too thick, like honey or molasses, and Victoria felt it clogging her nostrils as though a piece of heavy cloth had been tossed over her, pulled tight, and stuffed into her nose. She looked around, next to her, and along the rows in front of her. No one appeared to be bothered by the smell but her. In fact, Alvisi looked as though he wanted to sniff the entire room into his nostrils, the way he lifted his face and closed his eyes and sucked in long, deep breaths.

Victoria was feeling hazy and light-headed. Alvisi swayed next to her, and when she turned to look at him, she saw that his eyes were darker and glassy. Others in the rows in front of her, all the way to the dais, were moving, restless, tipping as though having difficulty keeping their balance as well.

She became aware of a low murmur. She could not understand the words, but they sounded like a chant. It started with the men at the dais and swelled to fill the room, deep and low, as though needing to stay near the ground so that its meaning would not be discerned. Alvisi's mouth was moving and the words were coming out, but they were not recognizable to her.

The sense of muzziness had not left her; Victoria placed her hand on her abdomen, slipping her fingers into a small hole where several stitches had been removed at the seam of her bodice and skirt. This way she could feel under her stays and beneath her chemise to her vis bulla, the solid, blessed silver of comfort and strength. When her fingers touched it, she closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and let its power flow through her.

The haziness ebbed. It did not disappear completely, but it relaxed its grip.

The chanting stopped, and for a moment the only sound came from the sizzle and pop of the fire in its large stone enclosure.

Then Zinnani spoke again. His voice was low and mellow. "We have been called, those of us here. We are chosen from among the mortals to protect those who cannot walk in the sun as we do. To protect those who cannot live in ease, those who have been cursed to darkness."

As he spoke, murmurs punctuated his words, the beneficient list of the tasks and rewards of the Tutela. "Protect them!"

"Those of us here who can stand the test and who shall prove themselves will be granted safety."

"Safety!"

"By serving the Immortals, we will remain safe from harm. We will not be hunted or ravaged as the unbelievers will. We will not be their targets when the Immortals rise to rule."

"Rise, Immortals! Rise!"

"We will be granted pleasure such as we have never known."

"Pleasure!" This response a soft gasp, nearly a whisper.

"The partaking and giving of life force is the most erotic and pleasurable event ever experienced. This will be ours at will and without cessation! We shall feel as we have never felt before! We shall feel and we shall live for the first time! And we shall be granted the gift of immortal life."

"Immortal life!"

"Immortal life!"

"Immortal life!"

The words filled her ears, slipping into them, spiraling into her consciousness. Immortal life. The prize sought by men for centuries from alchemists to, if legend was to be believed, the knights of the Round Table who hunted for the Holy Grail.

Was it any wonder that some men would even align with evil in order to attain life everlasting?

Immortal life, the gift of the Tutela. Immortal life until they were staked or beheaded… and then eternal damnation. She shuddered, for she knew it was true.

Victoria turned to Alvisi, wanting to say something to him, to try to penetrate the fog that had hold of him, but even when she tugged at his arm with all of her strength, he merely stumbled into her, righted himself, and then returned his attention to Zinnani.

And then she felt it: the cool wisps across the back of her neck, growing burning cold. Her fingers still pinching her vis bulla, Victoria let her gaze scan the room without turning her head, looking for new arrivals. They either needed to enter through the door near the dais, or from the doorway through which she and Alvisi had come. She could not see that door unless she turned around, and she dared not do that for fear of drawing attention to herself.

The cold itch became biting. There must be five or six vampires here.

And then they pushed past her, thrusting themselves through the messy rows of chairs, one by one, six of them, striding toward the dais. Victoria felt cold rush over her entire body. She had never been so close to a vampire that she had not been fighting, that had not been on the attack.

Fingering her vis amulet, she thanked God that vampires could not sense the presence of a Venator.

Five of the six vampires had not fed. She saw that from the moment they stepped onto the dais and turned to face the room. Their eyes, pure bloodred, had the hunger in them that would drive them to find nourishment at any cost. The sixth vampire, whose eyes were also red, turned to speak with Zinnani.

Zinnani, who had the same unblinking expression on his face as Alvisi, made room for the vampire guests next to him. Even from her position in the back, Victoria could see him vibrating with emotion and pleasure at the proximity of the creatures he so obviously worshiped. His eyes glistened with what must have been tears, and his mouth was stretched in a wide, wet smile that made him look as though he were about to partake of some rich and sinful pastry.

The sixth vampire turned from him and spoke to the room. "We have come to receive your commitment and promise to the Immortals. Who of the First Trial shall be the first to receive this honor?"

There was a hesitation; then a man stood near the front of the room. "I shall."

"Come forward."

The man, who was little more than a youth touching adulthood, maneuvered himself between the chairs until he stood at the dais. The vampire leader, the one Victoria had come to think of as the Sixth, effortlessly pulled the young man up onto the stage.

She could see the pulse pounding in a distended vein on the man's forehead, and the way his Adam's apple jerked and jumped. He faced the room, and the Sixth opened his mouth, extending his lethal fangs, and pulled the man's head to the side.

He bent and, as Victoria watched, sank his teeth slowly into the exposed neck. The young man started, his shoulders snapping back, but he did not fight. His eyes closed; his mouth opened; he would have sagged to the floor had the Sixth not held him upright. He moaned, twitching, his fingers convulsing at his sides as though reaching for something, his chest moving rapidly as though he were running. He seemed to welcome the sensation.

Behind them, the other five vampires, the ones who had not fed and were susceptible to the scent of blood, stood and watched avidly. Their noses twitched as though the scent of fresh blood called to them. Victoria could feel their hunger; she could nearly smell their obsession; and she waited with trepidation to see whether they would succumb to the temptation and the need.

But though their eyes burned like the hottest coals of Hell, they did not, and the Sixth did nothing to alleviate their agony. Instead, after he had fed from the young man for a few moments, he turned to face him, swiping a tiny trickle of blood from his lips. "You have now entered the Second Trial. When you have completed what is required of you in the next two trials, and have proven your service, you shall be brought into the Center."

The man, shaking but glowing with a sort of accomplishment, hurried back to his seat and received the congratulations of the men sitting beside him.

"Who shall be next?"

Another man stood and came forward, and the same process ensued. The Sixth fed from him as he had from the other, ignoring the increasing depravity and impatience of the five other vampires. This time when the man was being fed upon, Victoria, who now knew what to expect, felt herself becoming enraptured along with the man. His cries were not of agony but of ecstasy, his eyes closed in pleasure rather than pain. His hands reached back behind the vampire, who fed from his neck and fondled his shoulder-length coils of hair.

When he moaned, she felt it rumble through her veins. She felt his shivers and the waves of pleasure, felt her own body begin to awaken. What should have been grotesque and frightening became inviting.

She realized then that the sweet, cloying scent had become stronger and noticed Zinnani moving back behind the stage. Reaching beneath her gown, she felt again for her vis bulla and closed her eyes.

This went on for a time; Victoria felt as though hours had elapsed since she and Alvisi had arrived: the Sixth feeding for a short time with each of the men who volunteered to come forward. None of the three other women that Victoria had seen stood and asked to complete their First Trial, and she began to wonder if only men were given the opportunity to get to the Center.

She must find out, for the Center must be where Nedas was.

To her surprise, Alvisi did not volunteer to go forward, and she remembered through her haze (for she still held her vis bulla) that he had said something about a "level." Perhaps the trials were the levels of which he'd spoken. That brought her to wonder what level or trial he had attained. He'd shown her his bite marks, so he must have passed at least the First Trial.

When all of the volunteers from the First Trial had come forward, the Sixth stood with his hands on his hips. He'd forgotten to wipe away the last vestiges of blood from his last feed, and a small trickle curled down his chin. His lips were full and moist and red, and his matching eyes glowed a complacent blood color. "Now we have finished the First Trial. We have brought sixteen new members into the Tutela, sixteen new men who shall help to protect and serve the Immortals!"

A cheer rose in the room, followed by that same chanting she had heard at the beginning of the meeting. As before, it started off low and deep, undulating throughout the room, catching her up in its rhythm. She could not fathom the words, but this time the volume swelled and peaked and reached a froth of emotion that sent cold, curling shivers down her back. It was uncontrollable; it was loud, its ebb and flow of syllable and breath rumbling into and around her combined with yet another increase of the sweet, hypnotic scent in the air.

The men about her shouted, punched their fists high. Everywhere about her, she saw eyes lit with fanaticism and fervor.

The chanting continued, rolling into a soft accompaniment to the Sixth's next words. "The Second Trial! Who shall begin the Second?"

The chanting built, the scent sweetened, the fervor escalated. Someone stood, a man near the front, not one who had been fed upon this night. "I shall!" he shouted joyously.

And then, instead of stepping forward, as Victoria had expected him to do, he bent to the side and grabbed the arm of the woman who sat next to him. Muscling her to her feet—for by now, she was trying to pull away, obviously apprehensive of what was to happen next—the man shoved her forward.

She stumbled and would have fallen, but the man grabbed her arm again and manhandled her in front of him toward the dais.

"I offer my commitment and promise to the Immortals," the man said, shouting to be heard above the rising chanting. And he pushed the girl hard.

The Sixth reached down from the dais and easily plucked her up before she fell, sweeping her up onto the platform. Her creamy white gown swept along with her, spilling over the edge of the stage as she tripped again.

"Your commitment is accepted!" shouted the Sixth above the room's frenzy, effortlessly holding the woman's wrists behind her back. He then released her to two of the unfed vampires.

They fell upon her, one at each side, tearing their fangs into her white flesh, one at the side of her neck, one at the juncture where neck met shoulder. The woman screamed, kicked, bucked; but a third vampire came behind her and pulled her arms back, holding her steady while his companions fed.

Victoria watched in abject horror, her mouth drying and her heart pounding. This was so different from the scenes before. The unwilling victim at the mercy of the two vampires who ravaged her neck and shoulders, made crazed by their need to feed, by the smell of blood, and by the agony of having watched sixteen others being fed upon.

But what could she do? One against a room of men, against six vampires. Her mind was still foggy; her limbs didn't want to move. The instant she was discovered to be a Venator, she would be killed before she could take her next breath.

She looked back up at the stage and saw that the woman's bodice had been torn away and one white breast, streaked with blood, bounced and swayed as she twisted and fought. These vampires did not bite delicately; they were starved, so they gouged and tore and destroyed. The woman's moans were choked, her cries fading. The stench of blood filled the air, just as the chanting continued.

And then Victoria noticed that another woman was on the other end of the stage. Two more vampires were sharing her, but she did not fight with the same vehemence as the other. Her flesh was torn, and blood streamed from her neck and bosom, and she cried, and suddenly Victoria felt a great, hard jerk on her own arm.

She pulled away from Alvisi, whose face had become determined and fanatic, whirling from his grip, but she slammed into another man, who shoved her forward. Victoria sidestepped him, swinging out with her fists, but she faced another one. Everywhere she turned, another man stood, blocking her, shoving her forward toward the stage.

The chanting continued as Victoria was spun around, trying to fight her way through the wall of men, but there were too many. She was pushed and prodded, pulled and tripped. She kicked and fought, her head swam, the sweet smell built back in her nose again. She could not touch her vis bulla; she could not stand straight; she could not see where she was. She couldn't breathe.

Suddenly hands, many hands, grabbed her—too many to fight off. She felt herself being lifted, and the roaring fire to her left tipped in front of her, then around to her other side as she kicked and bit and bucked. Then she felt herself launched through the air, and landed on her hip and shoulder on something hard, her cheek smashing onto the floor. The smell of fresh blood filled her nose.

The sea of chanting, bright-eyed faces was at her eye level for only a moment before she was dragged to her feet. Victoria had an instant to grope for her vis before she swung out at the vampires who came at her. She kicked and dodged and punched, had the satisfaction of meeting one of them in the face, and was reaching back to yank a stake from her hair when her arms were grabbed and pulled down to her sides. Dimly aware that it had taken two vampires, one at each arm, to do so, she ducked and tried to twist free.

The grip was too strong; she couldn't break it. She couldn't get to her stakes, her holy water, her crucifix… Hands were on her everywhere, pulling at her dress, her arms, her legs, her breasts. She felt her head being jerked to one side by the hair, felt her coiffure loosen and her neck bare to the sweet-smelling room. The dull, pasty smell of blood on the breath of the vampire nearest her filled her nose, pushing away even the hypnotic scent of the incense.

When his teeth sank into her neck, it was almost a relief.