Rises the Night

Chapter 19 Santo Quirinus's Secret

The morning after her experience at the opera, Victoria received a message from her aunt, requesting her attendance at a small church located across the Tiber River from the most populous area of Rome. The message came by way of a peddler delivering milk at the back entrance of the villa, and was brought to Victoria as she ate breakfast.

Thus it was shortly thereafter that she entered the small church, Santo Quirinus, and found her aunt, swathed in black veils and holding prayer beads, kneeling in a pew near the altar. Unlike many of Rome's other churches, Santo Quirinus was not overwhelming in its splendor. Its windows were few and plain. No marble floors or painted murals. It smelled of age and holiness, and wisps of long-used incense hung in the air.

The decor was stark and simple: brick swaddled with mortar in thick bands down the walls, leaving wide, naked brick stripes separated by the cream-colored mortar. Fourteen tarnished silver crosses, numbered in the Roman style, hung on the walls, seven on each side of the small nave, on the mortared sections. The pews were stained dark and uncushioned. The altar itself was little more than a stone table on a dais one step up from the congregation. The ceiling of the little church rose into a small round dome with three circular windows that allowed matching beams of afternoon light to shine down through their wrought-iron filigree. There were no stained-glass windows in sight.

As she walked through the church, which was empty with the exception of one other man sitting in the shadows, also kneeling to pray, Victoria felt her vis bulla sway against her navel, something she had not noticed it doing since she had become accustomed to wearing it.

But today she felt particularly aware of it, and the strength that it gave her sizzled through her belly and out into her limbs. She felt warm and confident, almost like a renewal of the intent she'd had when she had first accepted the strength amulet.

Not wishing to interrupt Aunt Eustacia, Victoria knelt next to her to pray, and waited until she finished her rosary. At that time, without speaking, her aunt stood and beckoned for her to follow.

Instead of leaving the church, Aunt Eustacia walked toward the altar, past the iron railing that separated the priest from the congregation, and up two steps on the left side.

When Aunt Eustacia opened the small door of a confessional at the edge of the altar, Victoria hung back in confusion. But her aunt gestured her to follow, so Victoria joined her in the small room, the door closing after her.

She watched in wonder as Aunt Eustacia reached behind the small screen that would separate the penitent from the priest—if there were one in attendance—and flip a latch. A well-hidden door popped ajar, and the older woman led the way into the opening.

"Have a care, and do not tread on the middle stair," Aunt Eustacia told Victoria, gesturing to the three steps that led from the hidden door into a narrow hallway stretching approximately fifty paces before it ended in a stone wall. The passage was lit by sconces, and icons painted on wood hung all the way to the end, where a life-size statue of Saint Quirinus stood holding a sword.

Victoria closed the door behind her and, taking care not to step on the middle stair, followed her aunt as she paced down the hall. At the end, Aunt Eustacia shifted aside a small icon of Jesus with the two Archangels, Gabriel and Michael, to expose the brick wall behind it. "Step here," her aunt commanded, gesturing for Victoria to move next to her.

As Victoria watched, her aunt pushed on the intricate brickwork that had been hidden by the painting, and suddenly, the floor on which she'd been standing only moments before slid away to reveal a set of spiral stairs that led down into darkness.

"The Consilium is below," Aunt Eustacia told her, haltingly leading the way down, one of the lanterns bobbing in her hand.

The Consilium? A jolt of excitement ran through her at the realization that she was to be introduced to it. Victoria knew very little about the Consilium, other than that it was the formal entity that oversaw the Venators.

When Aunt Eustacia had mentioned it once more than a year ago, Victoria had been surprised that there even was such a group. But her aunt had explained that someone needed to report to the pope, and that there had to be a way to manage and pass on the knowledge of the Venators over the ages. There had to be some way for them to share what they learned, and to band together if necessary.

Now, as she descended in her aunt's wake, Victoria felt that same renewal of energy she'd felt upon entering the church, and she thought she understood why. This was the center of the Venator world, the place where decisions were made, where the vis bullae were forged and blessed, where the leaders met and prayed and discussed.

"Anyone could come in here," Victoria whispered to her aunt, somehow feeling as though a normal-toned voice would be blasphemous. "The door wasn't locked."

Aunt Eustacia stepped from the last stair onto the stone floor and turned to look back at her. Her eyes were dark and lively in the glow from the lantern. "Indeed not. Did you not see the others in the church? They are our trainers, our Comitators, every one of them."

"I saw only a man praying."

"Si, and two beyond him near the door through which you entered. And another in the apse across from the statue at the top of these stairs. You did not see them, for they were meant not to be seen, but they were there." She smiled, her elegant face creasing in slender lines next to her mouth. "Wayren and Santo Quirinus have ensured that we are well protected here. Even if the vampires or Tutela learned that this tiny, simple church led to our Consilium, they would not be able to cross the threshold. The doors are lined with silver and covered with crucifixes; holy water is sprinkled throughout several times a day. And our Comitators, though not Venators, are well equipped to deal with any intruders."

Victoria nodded in understanding and anticipation. Her palms tingled as her aunt drew off the dark veil she'd huddled under. She smoothed her sleek black hair, which was caught into an intricate, curling coiffure studded with pearls and emeralds, giving her a queenlike look. When she slipped off the heavy black cloak, she showed a magnificent green gown under a tight-sleeved, long pelisse of brocaded forest green so dark it was nearly black.

In a matter of moments Aunt Eustacia had gone from the image of a hunched, prayerful crone to an elegant, powerful lady.

It made Victoria glance at her own attire in rueful dismay. Certainly her hair was done, the thick, dark curls pinned up in their own pretty mass; but not studded with jewels or pearls. Not even a ribbon, come to think of it. Although Verbena had slipped in one slender stake, just in case. Nor was Victoria's gown anything more than a simple afternoon calling dress, made of pale yellow silk with a basic cream lace overlay.

She felt like a little girl still in pinafores.

Aunt Eustacia bundled up her veil and cloak and rested them on a small table near the door at the bottom of the stairs. Tall and regal, she opened the door and walked through.

Victoria followed.

She found herself in a vast chamber that brought to mind how a cathedral would look if it were circular. The walls and floor were marble; heavy, shining, black- and gray-threaded marble. Around the entire room were columns of the same marble, and between them pointed arches that gave way to smaller alcoves or doorways. It was through one of these arches that Victoria and her aunt entered the room.

The chamber was large, and the center of it was broken up by a large round pool, with water cascading down a fountain in the center of it. The space was so cavernous, Victoria could not see what was on the other side. There were chairs and tables, benches and desks scattered throughout the room, which, though it was underground, was exceedingly well lit by torches and lamps. The tables held books and papers, inkwells and pens, even some stakes and other weaponry. Except for the fountain and the churchlike arches, it felt rather like the gentleman's club in which she'd had to stop a vampire raid last year.

And there were Venators. Or, at least, men who looked as though they belonged there, and Victoria presumed they were either Venators or Comitators. As they became aware of the presence of the two women—for there were no other females that Victoria could see—the occupants of the room put aside what they were doing—reading, writing, talking, fondling stakes—and rose if they were sitting, and turned if they were not, and looked at them.

There were perhaps a dozen in all, and, Victoria noted, none of them any older than forty, perhaps fifty at the outside. The youngest was likely about her age. Some of the men had the swarthy skin of Italians; others had even darker skin, perhaps from India or Egypt; whilst there were others who were fair enough to be Celtic or English.

Wondering if they were all from the far-reaching branches of the Gardella family, or if they were Venators who chose their profession, as Max had, Victoria watched as her aunt greeted each of them by name and in various languages. They were deferent to her, kissing her hand, making little bows, as though she were some kind of royalty.

Victoria had always known that since her aunt was the most direct living descendant of the first Gardella, she was special in the world of Venators; but this display of affection and respect toward her elderly aunt made her heart swell.

"Signora Gardella!" A voice carried from around the other side of the pool, over the rushing noise of the fountain, and drew Victoria's attention, thankfully, from the others who stood watching.

"Ilias," Aunt Eustacia said, a warm smile stretching her lips, even as she clasped the hand of a man who had approached her in welcome. "How wonderful to see you again!"

The man was nearer her age than any others there, but she still had him beat by a generation. He was perhaps sixty to her eighty, and he looked distinguished enough to be someone of importance.

Victoria watched as he came to her and they embraced. "And this is your niece? The new Gardella?" he said, turning from Aunt Eustacia to face Victoria. "The one who sent Lilith back to the scourge of her mountains?"

"The very one. Victoria, may I present to you Ilias de Gusto. He is the keeper of the Consilium, and has been for many years. Ilias, please meet Victoria Gardella Grantworth de Lacy."

Victoria made a curtsy, and found herself looking into twinkling gray-blue eyes. His brows, bushy gray-and-brown spiders, lifted and arched as he looked upon her with pleasure. "We are honored to have you here today, Signorina Gardella." He smiled wider as she began to correct him. "No, no, to us you will always be a Gardella, signorina. And someday, you will be Ilia Gardella."

The Gardella. The most direct connection to the original Venator. A leader, a decision maker, a figurehead for all the other Venators, regardless of where they fell in the worldwide family tree. The one around whom they rallied when great threats descended.

There was a blur of introductions as Victoria met the others; and she'd been correct—most of them were Venators, visiting the Consilium for training or other reasons. Three others were studying and training to be Comitators. Kritanu was a Comitator, of course, and his nephew, Briyani, was Max's. Or, at least, had been. Victoria had been working with Kritanu, but eventually she would be assigned her own trainer.

Victoria had rather expected to be met with suspicion or condescension by the others, as she had been upon first meeting Max last year. He'd believed she would be more interested in dance cards and gowns and beaux than hunting and killing vampires—and he'd been wrong. At last, he'd finally come to accept the fact that she was a real Venator.

She wasn't even going to contemplate what had happened, what had changed Max in the last year since he'd come back to Italy… especially after last night. There would be time for that later. In fact, she suspected that was part of the reason she and Aunt Eustacia were here today. If indeed Max had defected, the other Venators would have to be told.

But Victoria did not want to be the one to do that.

Despite Max's initial begrudging acceptance of her calling, the other Venators appeared to have no such hesitation. In fact, Victoria felt as if she were making her debut at a ball as gentlemen of all ages and looks crowded forward to meet her.

"Would ye like to see the Consilium chambers, Signorina Gardella?" asked one of them with a faint Scots burr. He was not much taller than she, but he was as large and muscular as an ox. His hair was the color of polished copper, much too long to be fashionable, in London, anyway, and tied back loosely with a leather cord. Unfortunately, she couldn't recall his name, which she'd just learned. "I would be pleased to show you around whilst your aunt speaks with Ilias and Wayren."

"Wayren is here?"

He smiled, taking her arm and slipping it through his as though to stake his claim. His muscles were so large, her fingers felt as though they would be squashed in the cleft of his elbow. "Aye, of course she is. She is nearly always here, ye ken. Or, at least, it seems that way."

He swept her away, and as they walked off one of the others called, "Do not dare to monopolize the signorina, Zavier!"

Ah. Zavier. That was his name.

"How kind of you, Zavier. I am very interested in learning all about the place." It felt odd to be calling a man she'd just met by his familiar name, but apparently Venators didn't stand on ceremony—except with her and Aunt Eustacia—as he had not been introduced with a surname.

Zavier took her first to the fountain and bade her put her hand in it. "It is the most holy of water," he told her when she'd dipped her fingers. "Do ye feel your vis bulla now?"

Victoria wanted to blush at the mention of the silver cross because of where it dangled; he was a gentleman, after all, and a stranger. But he seemed so casual about it that she didn't allow herself to feel uncomfortable. Much, anyway. And, yes, he was correct. "I do feel it. It's as if it knows we are here."

"Aye. Ye might wish to have it blessed again before you leave today. I would be happy to assist if you like." His eyes twinkled as they swept over her, and Victoria could not hold the blush back any longer. She might be used to Sebastian's overt comments, but she was still not comfortable with such teasing from other men.

"I think that I should be able to manage it all on my own," she told him reproachfully.

He laughed and tugged her closer to his side, so that she bumped into his tree-trunk arm. She could only imagine how horrendously strong he was! "I kenned you would say that, but I could not resist making the offer. It is so very rare that we are honored with the presence of a female Venator that one often forgets oneself."

Although she was sure it was not the case of him "forgetting" himself, Victoria forbore to comment. Instead, she said, "How many other female Venators have you met?"

"Well, as ye and your aunt are the only living female Venators—only two thus far," he replied with a smile. "Of course, only a woman directly of the Gardella line can be a Venator. The rest of us… well, we are diluted Gardellas, from the very furthest branches of the family, spread or sent all over the world. And some of us—of course you know Maximilian Pesaro—are not of the Gardella blood at all, but have been called in a different way, and have met the deadly trials and tribulations that allow them to wear the vis."

"Indeed."

"I have not seen Max in some time. The last news I had of him was that he had traveled to England. That is where you have come from, aye?"

"Yes, of course. I had the pleasure of working with Max to retrieve the Book of Antwartha before Lilith obtained it." Calling it a pleasure to work with him was a bit of a stretch, but Victoria was attempting to be polite.

"Ah, aye, we have all heard the story of your adventure, and your sacrifice." The teasing had gone from his face now, as they walked away from the fountain, and was replaced with a soberness that made him look more like a warrior than the flirtatious humor had. "I am quite in awe." And he was so serious that she believed he was not merely flattering her.

"Thank you," was all she said.

"Since ye asked about women Venators, perhaps ye would like to see the gallery?" Zavier asked, leading her toward one of the arches that contained a heavy mahogany door.

He opened it and gestured for her to precede him in. This chamber was long and low, more of a hallway or passage than a chamber. Portraits and sconces alternated on the walls. Occasionally there was a hip-high pedestal with a statue or bust on it, or a glass cabinet, or shelves.

"Every Venator since the first stake was given to Gardella has a portrait here. And we have some other artifacts and mementos as well. It is a bit morbid, perhaps—more like a museum than anything—but it is important that we do not forget those who have given of themselves before us."

Victoria walked slowly along the line of portraits. They all seemed to be done in the same hand, by the same artist, though some of them were obviously centuries, perhaps a millennium old.

She stopped in front of the painting of a striking woman. " 'Catherine Gardella,'" she read aloud. Catherine's hair was bright, shining like polished copper, looped and curled and coiled at the sides of her head with ribbons and jewels. She was dressed in court clothing from perhaps three or four centuries ago, with a ruff fringing her neck and split velvet sleeves, puffed, with red satin behind them. She looked more like a queen than a Venator. In her lap, amid reams of skirts, she held a stake. A large emerald glinted on her other hand, painted so realistically that Victoria almost expected the hand to move and the facets to shine in a different direction.

"Our Cat," Zavier said with a smile in his voice. "She was well named. A spitfire if there ever was one, from tales I've heard. Her temperament matched her hair."

"Lilith's hair is the same hue," Victoria commented, remembering the glowing beacon of the vampire queen's hair, unholy in the way it lit the room.

"You are not the first to have commented on that, and you have seen Lilith, and are here to tell of it. I had forgotten that." Zavier's voice hushed. "Ye and Max Pesaro, and your aunt, of course. Some of the few, the very few of this era, who have walked away from her. I dinna ken how Max has remained so strong all of these years."

Victoria remembered what Max had said last night, about making a bargain with Lilith to be released from her thrall if he joined the Tutela. She'd wondered what he'd meant; surely he'd never shown himself to be under any kind of control by the vampire queen. His skill at stalking and hunting vampires was legendary; how could he be controlled by Lilith and still be so fearsome? There had not, of course, been time to ask him—and, of course, she knew better than to expect him to answer her. He had been intent on getting her out of the opera house, out of Rome, out of Italy.

"What hold does Lilith have over him?" she asked. "I have worked with Max, but he is not terribly forthcoming about… certain things."

"Of course. Ye ken that is Max's way." Zavier looked over at her; he did not have to look down, as they were of a height. "Her bites dinna heal, even for a Venator. Even with the balm we use, or the salted holy water. They are always there, and cause him pain when she wishes, for she chooses to remind him of her influence over him."

"Why?"

Now he looked at her in an odd way. "She wants him as her concubine, is my understanding. I am certain he would do anything to be released from that position. To be a Venator yet tied to the vampire queen is a burden heavier than I could ken."

He offered his arm and she slid her fingers around the bulge of muscle that seemed to be flexed at all times, even when at rest. "Here is another of our lady Venators. Lady Rosamund, meant to take holy vows, but instead she left the abbey when she learned of her calling, and went on crusade to the Holy Lands."

Victoria stood before the picture of the young woman. Dressed simply, in a sapphire-colored gown similar to Wayren's long, loose garments, with pointed sleeves that brushed the ground, Lady Rosamund looked serene and calm—very different from the mischievous Catherine Gardella. Long honey-colored hair fell from a simple headdress of pearls. She held a stake in one hand and a rope of prayer beads in another.

"She was a mystic, and during her time in the abbey, before she knew she was called, she wrote many manuscripts about the revelations she received during her meditation and prayer. Many of her works have become known as our prophecies, and Wayren studies them a great deal. Aye, she is the one to whom was revealed the whole story of how Judas, beloved of Jesus, came to betray him and turn to Lucifer, and was thus turned into the first vampire."

"There are some who say Jesus asked him to turn him over to the Jews in order to set all of the following events in motion," Victoria commented, looking at the portrait of the serene woman whose calm gray eyes reminded her of Wayren's.

Zavier laughed, a low, rolling laugh that fit his bearlike physique. "Och, that is what Lucifer would like us to believe. If ye study Rosamund's writings, as I have, ye will learn that for whatever reason, Judas indeed sold Jesus for thirty pieces of silver, and even today the presence of that particular metal is cause for a vampire to shrink back. Perhaps Judas knew what would happen because of his betrayal; perhaps he did not. But the truth is, after Jesus was crucified, Judas dinna believe he would be forgiven for his role in the betrayal, and Lucifer was easily able to convince him to turn to him for protection."

"You are quite a historian. Do you remember such detail for all of the Venators?"

He grinned back at her. "Ye ken, it is the female Venators' stories I am the most fond of, because men are expected to be warriors and hunters. When a woman is called to do so, she has more hurdles to leap than the men ever do. It is hard enough for a man to be chosen and called as a Venator. I have the greatest respect for a woman who answers the call."

Victoria thought of Melly, her own mother, who had been chosen to be a Venator, but who had ultimately decided not to take on the responsibility because she had just met the man who was to be Victoria's father. Because of that, Melly's mind had been wiped clean of any memory related to vampires and Venators, and any innate skill that she would have had had been passed to her daughter. In that way, and because Melly's father—who was Aunt Eustacia's brother—had also chosen not to accept the Venator call, Victoria had inherited the skills and sense of two previous generations of Venators.

Zavier was clearly pleased to be in the presence of a female Venator, and had no hesitation in showing it. Victoria decided to be flattered and to enjoy his acceptance. "And where is Aunt Eustacia's portrait?" she asked.

"There is no portrait yet. The paintings are not made until the Venator's work is done. The biggest question regarding your aunt will be how to portray her—as the young, fierce Venator of legend, or the older, elegant matriarch."

Before Victoria was able to ask about the next portrait, they were interrupted.

"Pardon me, Zavier, Signorina Victoria, but the Consilium is drawing to order." The man gestured toward the door with a great flourish, torchlight glinting off his round spectacles.

"Grazie, Miro," Zavier replied, and led Victoria out of the room. "He is one of our weapon masters," he explained to her. "A Comitator who has a finesse for creating new ways to fight vampires and protect ourselves. We will have to see if he can create a special, more ladylike stake for ye. Perhaps one that will fit in your reticule, or down a stocking. Or some formfitting leather armor?" He winked.

The Consilium, which was both the name of the governing body and also the name of the chambers through which they walked, met in a different room. This one had a circle of chairs arranged in a half-moon shape about a semicircular dais.

Most of the twenty seats were taken; Victoria selected one near the back and noticed that her aunt and Wayren had been seated on the dais behind a table.

They did not waste any time. Wayren spoke, referring to the sheaf of notes in front of her.

"Nedas has Akvan's Obelisk, and it is clear he intends to activate it; in fact, has already begun the necessary steps to do so. My research indicates that the Day of the Dead, All Souls' Day, is the optimal time for such an event. This is the day on which the souls of the departed are released from their bodies, making it a perfect time for Nedas and the immortals to attempt to capture them and use them for their purposes. It is, of course, November the second, which is two days from now."

She shuffled the curling papers into a pile and looked at Aunt Eustacia, who continued. "As many of you know, I was present the last time the Tutela gained vast power and unleashed it upon the mortals. It was the Battle of Praga, where twenty thousand people were massacred by vampires and the members of the Tutela, in the name of the immortals. Although we were ultimately able to stop them, it was only after great devastation. With the power of Akvan's Obelisk controlling the souls of our departed, Nedas will be impossible to beat back and we expect the damage to be even greater, should he succeed." She paused and looked around the room. "I believe it will be the end of our battle with them, for their power will overmatch ours."

"So how do we stop it?" asked Zavier. His face was expressionless. "How do we destroy the obelisk? And where does he keep it?"

"Last night there was a fire at the Blendimo Opera Theater," Wayren said, with a glance at Victoria. "It has not been completely destroyed, by some odd happenstance, but it has been closed to the public and will not reopen for months, if at all. And there were some reported vampire attacks at that location as well. I do not believe it is a coincidence, for several reasons. First, my research indicates that Nedas will need a very large space in which to complete his activation of the obelisk, and the theater is one of the largest and tallest chambers in the city—other than cathedrals, of course, which would not be a welcoming place for a group of vampires bent on calling an evil power to life. Second, the theater, as you well know, is perched on a small hill near the city's largest cemetery. This makes sense, for it will be much easier for him to draw the dead souls from the nearby cemetery; although I do not believe he would be restricted to only those that are close to him. I am certain that this is where Nedas plans to activate the obelisk. However, there is no known way to destroy the object, so we must consider other alternatives."

"Then we must assassinate Nedas. If he is dead, he cannot activate the obelisk," offered another Venator, one of the older ones. Perhaps he was nearing fifty.

"That would have been our hope," Wayren agreed. "But once the… mm"—she squinted down at her papers, plugged a word with her finger, and looked back up—"shadow has been broken and has wrapped around the being who broke it, even assassinating the holder of the obelisk will not solve the problem. Its power can be transferred quite easily to another. And another. We certainly do not want any other demon or vampire to obtain it and its powers."

"Beauregard would be waiting to snatch it up with both hands if Nedas were taken from the picture," agreed Zavier.

That caught Victoria's attention. "Beauregard?"

"A rival vampire to Nedas. He's older and very powerful; but Nedas is Lilith's son, and has been given more favor as a result. If only we could turn their attention to the other, and engage them in their own internal battles, we could let them destroy each other."

Aunt Eustacia was nodding. "Indeed. In fact, that is how we were able to stop the horror in Praga thirty years ago. But I do not think it will work now, for from what we have been able to learn, the obelisk's shadow has already been broken. Nedas has already begun the steps to activate the obelisk, and Beauregard, powerful as he might be, is no match for Nedas with his obelisk. There is no chance of distracting them in that manner."

"What can we do, if the obelisk cannot be destroyed and Nedas is already bound to it?"

"Two things. We must prepare for the worst, and expect that Nedas will succeed. We shall commence with that discussion shortly and put our preparations into place immediately, for we have less than two days. The only other possibility is for someone to get close enough to assassinate Nedas and steal Akvan's Obelisk before its power can be transferred to another."

"I will do it," volunteered the same Venator who'd first suggested assassination.

"You will not get close enough to do so," Eustacia told him. "The moment the Tutela recognized you as a Venator, you would be slain. As would any of you." Her eyes lingered on Victoria. "Except perhaps one."

"I have already agreed to do it," Victoria said, rising. "In London I agreed. There is no question that it must be me." She had not told Aunt Eustacia what had occurred at the opera house last night—that she had been seen by the Imperial, who would recognize her as a Venator. Or of her conversation with Max.

She opened her mouth to speak, then decided better of it. There was no one else who could do it. The others here would more certainly be recognized as Venators than she would.

There was a chance—slim, yes, but a chance—that the Imperial vampire had not betrayed her to the Tutela, or that he did not know for certain that she was a Venator.

And then she remembered what Max had told her: Nedas is going to win. He is too strong. You will be needed after this is all over.

However and for whatever reason Max had become involved with the Tutela and with Nedas was no longer important. The worst was going to happen, and he accepted it. He would allow it to happen. Somehow he knew that Nedas would succeed.

At that moment her last vestige of deep-seated hope poofed like a staked vampire. There would be no help from Max. From anyone.

She really was on her own.