Rises the Night

Chapter 11 Two Fortuitous Doors

Teeth sank into her once, twice, three times. Victoria felt the warm ooze of blood seeping along the crease of her neck, trickling into the cleft between her breasts, and the soft lull of relief… the easy haze that tempted her to let go.

She couldn't stop fighting; her body shifted and tilted as they pawed at her, nibbled on her. She felt something heavy shift and slide under her bodice, and then fall free with a gentle weight tugging at the back of her neck.

There were cries of surprise and fear, and the hands clawing her fell away, and she felt herself falling, tumbling, and then smacking onto the ground again.

Her crucifix thudded against her chest, and she reached for it automatically, her ears filled with shouts and cries, and held it up like a small shield as her other hand slammed palm-first onto the wooden stage.

Though its sudden appearance had surprised them, the crucifix would not keep them back for long; it would not prevent a mortal from tearing it out of her hands and returning her over to the hungry vampires.

Victoria's fingers scrabbled at the floor, trying to find purchase so she could haul herself upright, and they felt something other than polished wood. Metal. Set into the floor.

The haziness still gripped her mind, but since the vampires had stopped feeding on her, she was more in control, and some of her strength and clarity were coming back. She had the presence of mind to close her fingers around the metal object, and through the dizziness recognized it as hinges. In the floor.

Where there were hinges, there was—please God—a door.

Hands were grabbing at her now, pulling her fingers away from the crucifix so they could tear it from her throat and give her back to the vampires. Victoria twisted, bucking away from the puny strength of the mortal man—Zinnani—who had taken the place of the Immortals and bent over her.

She stopped fighting his hands and kept twisting until she was on her face toward the ground, putting what was above and behind her out of her mind as she felt around, trying to find a door handle. Where did the door open? She felt someone—or something—pulling at the chain around her neck, and she kicked out and back, her foot connecting with something quite soft and squishy, and she had enough presence of mind to hope it was some man's private parts. Zinnani's, if she were lucky.

She was on the door; now that the shadows above and behind her shifted away, she could see the faint outline of the door in the floor and that her weight kept it from opening. If it were old and stuck or locked, or was not a door after all, she would have no other chance. Her fingers found what they sought at her waist, and she tensed herself up, ready.

She felt the chain of her crucifix snap, scoring into her throat in that last instant before it fell away, and the roar of delight as the air surged above her with the vampires swooping back down for the kill.

Victoria was ready for them, and she rolled away, off the door, knocking into the feet of the vampires as she splashed the vial of salted holy water at them. They screamed and fell away, and she yanked on the handle in the floor.

It stuck for an instant, then whumped up next to where she crouched, and Victoria rolled through the opening.

She felt her gown catch on the rough edge of the door, but it didn't stop her from going through and falling. The rectangle of light above disappeared as the door closed after her, and she hit the ground.

The door above opened again immediately, spilling dull yellow light into the space in which she'd landed. Pulling to her feet, she brushed against a rough wall just as one of the vampires vaulted through the opening and landed next to her.

His red eyes glowed in the dim light, and he lunged for her.

Victoria was ready. The stake solid in her hand, she thrust it into his heart with considerable satisfaction.

Before his ashes filtered to the ground she was dodging into the darkness, hoping it was a passage that led somewhere. Behind her there were the sounds of feet thumping on the ground; but she did not stop to check whether it was a red-eyed vampire or a brave mortal who'd come after her this time.

Victoria found the wall and, moving as silently as she could, felt along it, praying that it wouldn't end in a corner that signaled a dead end.

At least down here she had the advantage of limited space, as she had when fighting the vampires at Claythorne. If they all came after her, she would have a better chance of fighting them off one by one than if they all leaped on her at once.

Whoever was behind was gaining; a quick glance back confirmed the red eyes of a vampire. He had night vision, which gave him a decided advantage when traversing through a pitch-black tunnel.

Victoria picked up her pace, keeping her stake at the ready. If she had a moment to pause, she might be able get the other vial of holy water from her garter; yet if she escaped, she would need it to pour over her bite wounds.

They throbbed and oozed blood; she could feel it trickling down her throat and arms. It was chilly on her skin, no longer that velvety release she'd experienced when the vampires were feeding.

She put one hand out in front of her and ran as fast as she could, but she was blind and the vampire was not. He was close enough to grab at her clothing, but she jerked free and dodged to the side and back again, trying to keep him off balance.

There were other footsteps behind them; at least one other was coming closer. She could not continue to outrun the vampire; sooner or later she was going to come upon a wall or door or something that ended, and he would have seen that long before she would feel it.

Getting away from the hypnotic incense in the Tutela meeting room had helped to clear her mind a little, and Victoria decided she had to do something drastic. And she also noticed that there was a faint line of light far ahead of her.

Where there was light, there was a door and possibly sunlight. Was it late enough? She'd been here for hours… but was it close enough to dawn?

She put on her last burst of speed, dodged to one side, and dove to the ground, tumbling head over heels. The vampire didn't move in time and he tripped, falling palms-flat onto the ground. Victoria leaped toward him, felt for his nape, and slammed the stake down through the center of his back. He disintegrated under her.

But a third vampire was there, coming at her, grabbing at her hair to pull her to her feet. Victoria couldn't hold back a soft cry at the unexpected pain. His red eyes burned furiously as he closed his fingers around her throat, his grasp slipping in blood. They lit the small area with an evil glow, casting enough illumination that she could see part of his face. Enough to recognize him. The Sixth. Not one of the starving, depraved vampires, but their leader.

"Who are you?" he growled, giving her a little shake.

She would have raised her stake, but he caught her hand in midair and shoved her up against the wall. It was cold, and she felt the grit of dirt and stone on her bare shoulders.

"Who are you that you have killed two of mine?" He moved closer, and she smelled the blood on his breath, old blood, and the stench of the damned.

Her other hand was free, and she tried to dig under her skirts to get the vial of holy water, but he was too quick and seized that wrist as well. Imprisoning both hands, pressing them back into the damp stone wall, he moved closer. His grip was vicious, and she dropped her stake. "A Venator, of course. I have never tasted a Venator."

His red eyes moved closer, and she waited until he was just about to press his lips to her skin. Then, using his hold on her for balance, she raised both legs and slammed her feet into his calves.

It surprised him enough that she was able to twist free and reach for the second stake in her hair, but it had fallen when he yanked her to her feet. Victoria lunged at the vampire, knocking him off balance, and started off toward the faint light.

He was behind her, not far, but enough that she had a lead. She tried to reach under her skirt to pull her last stake out, but it was too long and she couldn't find the slit while she was running.

Please, a door. Please.

She was close enough now; it was a crack of light. She slammed against the wall, which had to be a door, had to be, and felt him coming up behind her. Scrabbling around with her fingers, she felt for a latch again, praying for sunlight. She had no idea how much time had passed since coming to the meeting, but it had been hours…

Sunlight, please.

She slipped her fingers into a crack just as he slammed up behind her. He grabbed her by the shoulder and whipped her to the ground, hoping, obviously, to slow her down. But he'd actually given her an advantage. She flipped back and kicked her feet up into his abdomen, sending him sprawling as she rolled back around and grabbed with her nails under the bottom of the door.

Pull, pull, pull…

And it opened. Dear God, it opened!

And a low beam of light flooded into the tunnel.

The vampire screamed and rolled away and Victoria followed him, slipping the last stake from under her skirt. She drove it into his back, straight through to his heart, then turned to stumble into blessed, blessed dawn from a sun just peeking through the trees at the horizon.

She slammed the door behind her and staggered three or four steps away from the building.

She ran, her eyes smarting from the sudden brightness, blinded again, brushing through trees and bushes until she crashed into someone.

Two someones.

"My lady?"

"Lady Rockley?"

Victoria picked herself up from the grass and, still blinking away sunburst tears, said, "Verbena? Oliver? What on earth—"

"My God, she is bleeding!" Oliver's horrified voice penetrated, and she was finally able to focus on him.

"Everywhere." His voice cracked, easing into a horrified hush.

"We have a boat, my lady; come, come." Verbena was tugging on her, and although Victoria could hear the fear in her voice, she also heard her trademark bossiness.

She allowed her maid to lead her back to the same canal on which she and Alvisi had traveled hours ago.

A half a day ago.

The voyage along the canal took well over an hour, during which Victoria had the overwhelming impression of warm yellow sunlight and of little else. Later, she recalled certain moments: The agony when Verbena liberally doused her wounds with salted holy water. The sudden listing of their gondola when Oliver's pole caught on something. The snatches of hissed conversation between her two companions.

"She looks so white."

"O' course she does! She's been bit five, six times, ye oaf!" And then the splash of water followed by the excruciating sting of salt. "Can ye not row any faster?"

"I'm not rowing. Do you see an oar? A paddle? No, it is a stick, and it's not like rowing in the pond back in Cornwall."

"Watch where ye're—"

And then a great lurch, a muffled curse, and the resulting jolts as the vessel went on its way.

Then, later… "If you weren't being such a stubborn nanny goat about me going, and delayed me, we wouldn't have been so late getting there."

"Ye weren't goin' wi'out me."

"Lot of help you were, yelling and squawkin' like a hen out on the canal."

Followed by an angry huff and jerk of the boat, as though someone had spun away and folded her arms over her middle. "Ye were goin' in the wrong direction."

"So we wouldn't be followed."

"We were doin' the followin'!"

"You can't be too cautious in such matters."

Then another great jolt of the boat. She must have turned back toward him. "What d' you know about fightin' vampires?"

"More than you do, which, by the look of it, says very little."

Likely it was fortunate that Victoria drifted off at that point and didn't hear Verbena's response. She wasn't aware of anything else until more jolting and then a sudden lurch told her they'd arrived at the dock.

She could walk, she told Verbena, and proceeded to demonstrate just that. The salted holy water had already begun to do its job, and although she was weak and sore and exhausted, she knew she would feel better by the next day. Venators healed quickly and easily, even from vampire bites.

At the villa, however, Verbena insisted that Victoria repair to her chamber to be washed and changed instead of sending word over to Aunt Eustacia.

"Oliver'll take a message to 'er while we get ye cleaned up."

Victoria didn't like to admit it, but she was shaken by her experience, and although physically she knew she would feel perfectly fine in a matter of a day or so, the memory of the vampires tearing at her amidst the fog and incense and inexorable chanting made her fingers shake and her stomach ball up in an ugly knot.

She slept after Verbena's ministrations, and woke hours later, judging by the position of the sun outside her window. Victoria rolled out from under the light blanket and went to take a look at the damage.

She counted eight bite marks, and six more that were more like gouges, scoring like jagged ribbons into the skin of her neck and shoulders. The blood had been washed away, but the bruises had already begun to show dark purple and black beneath the marks. Victoria touched one of the bites and realized how close she'd come to dying.

She wondered what happened to the other women. Had they been torn apart or had they been set free after their trauma?

She couldn't have saved them; she'd barely been able to save herself. But the knowledge that they'd faced a horrifying, painful death stabbed at her. She was a Venator. Her task was to save lives by stopping the demons and vampires from taking them. She'd failed last night.

She'd seen it happen and been powerless to stop it.

She'd been too late to save Polidori; but at least she'd tried.

She hadn't tried to save the women.

Pushing away from the mirror, Victoria washed her face with a bit of water, using her damp hands to slick back the wisps of hair that had escaped from her braid while she was sleeping.

At the bottom of the stairs she met the Italian butler, a trusted member of Aunt Eustacia's household, who gave a little bow and said, "Your aunt and two gentlemen have availed themselves of the parlor, signora."

Two gentlemen?

Victoria hurried to the parlor and opened the door.

It wasn't Max. "What are you doing here?" She stopped short inside the door.

"Bloody hell, Victoria!" Sebastian stood, starting toward her, then stopped in the middle of the room. "Your maid said you'd been hurt, but this is much worse than she indicated."

"What is he doing here?" Victoria asked her aunt, ignoring Sebastian to sit down next to her on a divan. Of course she looked like hell. She'd been mauled by three vampires.

But he didn't need to sound so blasted surprised. Or repulsed. And just because he looked as handsome and well-groomed as he always did, with his artfully tousled gilt curls and perfectly folded neck cloth…

"It looks as though you had a rather close call," Aunt Eustacia told her, peering at the bites, even poking at one with her finger. "These are quite nasty, and even though you are a Venator, these kinds of wounds can have consequences, cara. Your maid said she treated you with salted holy water; and I have something else that will help the bruising disappear." She began to rummage in the small reticule she'd pulled from her wrist.

"We are very glad you didn't suffer any worse injuries," Kritanu said in his soft voice. He reached over from the chair on which he sat and patted Victoria's hand, ending with an affectionate squeeze. "And to answer your question, Monsieur Vioget arrived at your aunt's villa late last night."

Victoria turned to look at Sebastian, who had not stopped watching her since she came in the room, and raised her eyebrow in condescending query.

"I did not know where you were staying here in Venice," he explained, settling back in his seat in an obvious attempt to appear relaxed. He crossed his arms over his middle, his well-cut jacket straining gently over his broad shoulders. "But I did know how to reach your aunt and presumed she would put me in touch with you, particularly since I came with information that I believe you will welcome. It is unfortunate that I arrived a day late, or I could likely have prevented your bloody mishap last evening."

"And how is that?" Victoria asked. She was beginning to become weary of his sudden appearances and mysterious pronouncements. He always seemed to be obscuring something. Or trying to get something.

"I could have told you that Nedas is in Rome, not here in Venice. And if you wish to infiltrate the Tutela in hopes of stopping him, you will not do so here in Venezia. And certainly not on the arm of Count Benedetto Alvisi."

"And you waited until now to apprise me of this? Why did you not tell me this before I left London? In the carriage?" Her wounds throbbed along with the angry veins in her neck.

He spread his hands. "I did not know it at the time."

"Victoria, do tell us what happened last night," Aunt Eustacia interrupted. She closed arthritic fingers around her great-niece's hand. They were chilly, but strong, and her skin was soft and textured with thick weals of veins. "And here is some cream for your bites."

With relief, Victoria turned from Sebastian and gave a detailed description of the Tutela meeting.

"So you went alone, without taking any precautions should something go wrong."

Victoria skewered Sebastian with her look. "I'm a Venator and we must take chances, dangerous though they might be."

Aunt Eustacia drew in her breath as though to speak, but Victoria stepped on her words, not wishing to be reprimanded, particularly in front of Sebastian. "I will, however, acknowledge that I should have prepared for the possibility that things were not as they had seemed. Without Max, I had to act on my own; there was no one else who could have followed along and been able to assist me had things gone awry. Which, of course, things did go wrong. As it was, I was fortunate enough to make my own escape, and to come upon Verbena and Oliver, who were able to take me home. It is not"—she nodded at Kritanu and her aunt—"an experience that I would wish to repeat."

"You did not arrange for your maid to follow you, then," Aunt Eustacia said in a carefully modulated voice, which told Victoria that she was annoyed or angry.

"I did not. She did that on her own."

"You did not send a message asking for Kritanu to come with you. He could have followed you as well."

"I did not have the luxury of time to send to you; for I received the message from Alvisi less than a half hour before he was to pick me up."

"A conscious decision on his part. He has long been trying find his way into the inner workings of the Tutela," Sebastian added.

"You seem to be exceedingly well versed in the Tutela yourself, Monsieur Vioget," Victoria responded archly.

His smile was bland. "I am very pleased to be of service to you and all of the other Venators. Now, if you will permit me, I will be more than happy to assist in connecting you with the appropriate people in Roma"—he rolled his R with an authentic Italian purr—"so that you can continue your quest to find Nedas."

Victoria looked at Aunt Eustacia. She nodded. "Si, we shall all make our way to Roma. By ship. It will be safer than by land, where the Tutela might spot us or follow us."