Rises the Night

Chapter 6 In Which a Rather Disruptive Evening Ensues

As it turned out, Victoria did not meet up with Sebastian and Polidori as planned the next morning; nor did she find the comfort of her bed for very long.

Lying there, reviewing the conversation with Sebastian, and considering whether he had been completely forthcoming with her, Victoria became aware that the hair on the back of her neck had lifted. It was as if the gentle breeze from the balcony, where she had left the doors open after Sebastian eased out of the room, brushed over it.

However, since she was lying on her back, the pillow tucked into the curve of her nape, Victoria knew that was not the case.

If Sebastian was to be believed, the vampires had found Polidori.

Even if he wasn't to be believed, the fact remained: Claythorne House had attracted some unwelcome guests.

Flinging the blankets away, along with her confused feelings about Sebastian, she rolled from the mattress, planting her feet silently on the floor. Victoria tucked her long braid down into the back of her gown (all the better to keep it from flying into her face during any ensuing fight) and shoved her arms back into her pelisse. The sleeves caused her nightgown arms to bunch up again, but she was in too much of a hurry this time to fix them. In the bottom of her trunk she scrabbled for her stakes, grabbed one, and also a small vial of holy water, which she tucked into a bulked-up sleeve. Slinging a palm-sized silver crucifix around her neck, she rushed out of the bedroom, not pausing to check whether the door closed behind her.

Out in the hall she hurried along, measuring the chill at the back of her neck. Too soon to tell how many there were. Did they know where Polidori was? Was it truly the author that the vampires sought?

Once at the staircase she had to make a decision: up, down, or continue straight along the corridor? Nerves singing and pulse jumping, nevertheless she made herself pause, draw in a deep breath, and wait. Feel. Listen and smell.

Down.

Victoria fairly flew down the wide, sweeping staircase, stake clutched in her hand, leaping the last few steps and landing light-footed on the floor below. She hadn't felt so alert and in control for months… months! This was what she was born to do.

Here again, she had to pause to sense the undead. Perhaps they had not found a way into the house yet. They had to wait for someone to invite them in; a vampire could not enter a home, even if the door was open, unless asked by someone with authority to do so.

Since someone with authority could include personages as random as butlers, footmen, or even maids, that requirement did not provide the level of protection one would expect or hope for.

But, there was the amulet to consider. Whoever had lost the amulet was sure to be the one to invite them in.

Then she heard it. A clink, then a low, soft scritching sound from the library.

The library. Where she had left George Starcasset!

Victoria slipped behind the tall, thick column at the base of the stairs, her heart ramming in her chest. Resting her cheek against the chalky plaster, she peered from the shadow and could see into the open door of the room. Was he still there? Surely he was… he had been deeply asleep when she left him.

Try as she might, she could not see the chair where he'd slept; it was in the shadows and facing the fireplace, away from the rest of the room. In his sleep, George would be helpless against any threat, but perhaps unnoticeable if he was not snoring.

She saw movement at the window and held her breath. She counted them. Four. Four figures slipping through an open window one by one, silently and without hesitation. The back of her neck was cold. They were all vampires; she could see the faint glow of four sets of eyes… yet they'd come into the house on their own. There was no other movement in the room… either George was still asleep, or he was no longer there.

The vampires must have been at Claythorne House before. That was the only way they could have entered as they did. Someone had invited them at an earlier time, when they were in their human form, and now they were back… with or without that person's knowledge.

Victoria waited, watching them as they conferred with hand gestures and the faintest of whispers, praying that they would not see George in the chair nestled in the shadows. Then, as they began to move toward the entrance, away from the armchair, she felt a wave of relief, a zing of excitement.

She could take on four of them with little trouble. Her eyes narrowed in anticipation; she adjusted her grip on the stake.

Then she saw their faces, their burning eyes, as they turned to move out of the library, only a breath away from where she hid. These were not normal vampires with blood-red irises.

Two of them had pinkish eyes, the color of rubies. Guardians.

Two of them had eyes of a red-purple color. They had long hair and carried gleaming metal swords. Imperial vampires.

Victoria swallowed, her dry throat crunching in her ears. Her palm grew damp, and the stake shifted in her uneasy grip. One could always tell where a vampire was in the hierarchy of his race by looking at his eyes. Pink-eyed Guardians, members of Lilith's elite guard, were dangerous enough, with their poisonous bite and capacity to enthrall with great ease… but Imperials, with magenta irises, were the most powerful of the undead—with the exception of Lilith, of course. Imperials wielded swords like second hands, and their strength and speed were beyond measure. They could fly when fighting, and could pull the life energy from a person without touching them.

The first and only time she'd encountered an Imperial vampire, Max had been with her. The match had been difficult, frightening for her to watch… but Max had been victorious.

There was no Max tonight—no one but herself.

They could see in the dark—all vampires could—but, thank heaven, they could not sense the presence of a Venator as she could sense theirs. Her presence as a mere human might be scented, but because the house was full of them, the vampires would not necessarily know exactly where the sensation was coming from or be able to sense her particular proximity as long as she was silent and still.

Victoria held her breath as the four undead swept from the library, doing nothing to muffle the sounds of their footsteps.

The four moved past her hiding place, close enough that she could have reached out and snatched at the boot of the last one as they swung past her and up the stairs. Her best hope was for them to separate, and for her to take them on one by one.

Victoria eased from her hiding place, staying in the shadows, but shifting so that she could see through the stair railing curving above her. The four did not appear to be interested in separating, so she would have to assist them in breaking up their party.

Slinking from the shadows, she moved along the wall in the foyer to a small table near the library door. The bust of a Claythorne ancestor sat upon it, and Victoria shifted it on its pedestal, creating the soft grating of marble against wood. Then she backed down along the hallway, away from the foyer and the staircase, standing in the middle of the corridor just out of sight of the stairs. She kept the stake hidden in the folds of her pelisse and wrapped one hand around the crucifix, obstructing its form from view.

Her trick worked. She heard footsteps coming back down the stairs and hoped only one had peeled away from the group.

Luck was on her side, for it was not only a single vampire who made his way from the bottom of the stairs toward her, but a Guardian and not an Imperial.

She stood in the hallway, backing toward one side, as he advanced toward her. The sharp metal edges of the crucifix edged into her palm. "I am sorry, sir," she stammered. "I did not mean to disturb… Oh!" She kept the puff of her scream low and soft—no need to draw any other members of the household into the trap—and her stake-filled hand behind the fold of her skirt.

The vampire moved toward her, a glint of humor in the glow of his pink-red eyes. "You did not disturb me," he replied in a grating voice as he reached for her. "But I might find it satisfying to disturb you, my dear." His fangs, long and silvery in the dim light, bared in a satisfied smile. "I have a task tonight, but it is hard to pass up the fresh blood of a beautiful young lady."

Pretending to jerk away in fright, Victoria pivoted, stepping aside so that he did not grasp the arm where she held the stake. Instead he laughed and easily caught at her forearm where it angled over her bosom, holding the cross beneath it.

They had moved down the hallway, toward the back of the house where the kitchens were, and far enough away from the stairs that the other vampires wouldn't hear the details of their altercation.

"If you taste good enough, perhaps I will give you the gift of immortality," he said with a condescending smile. "Then you shall always be as young and beautiful as you are now, with your long dark hair and creamy skin. What a lovely white neck you have—so long and slender and delicate—"

It all happened quickly: He caught her wrist; she released the cross and allowed him to pull her arm toward him, baring the crucifix to his sight. His grip faltered and he jerked back as though stung, making his chest vulnerable. Victoria struck.

A tiny pop, followed by a poof, and the garrulous vampire disappeared in a satisfying gust of dust.

Victoria couldn't help a grin—she couldn't have choreographed it any better. But before she went haring off after the others, she waited for a moment, listening. If she were lucky, one of the other three vampires would separate from the group to come back and check on the Guardian, giving her the chance to surprise him too.

But after she waited for several breaths and heard nothing, Victoria knew she had no more time to waste. Once again hurrying on light feet, she jogged back down the hallway to the grand foyer and up the sweeping staircase. She was only halfway up the first flight when a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the house… from below.

Blast it!

What now?

The vampires were upstairs, surely Polidori was upstairs, but something was happening below…

Victoria stumbled to a pause at the top of the stairs, forcing herself to wait and try to determine where the danger was. Her neck was cold and her instincts told her to go on upward… but the scream echoed through the house again.

Footsteps sounded, doors slammed, and suddenly people were erupting in the hallway.

"What is it?"

"Who is hurt?"

"Lady Rockley, is that you?" This last was addressed to her by a man in a nightshirt with spindly knees, his gray curls flattened to one side of his head. She couldn't recall his name—he was a guest of Gwendolyn's father—and she did not have the time to respond politely.

"Get back to your rooms!" she shouted, pushing past him and starting up the second flight of stairs. "Lock the doors!" Locked doors wouldn't protect them forever, but they would at least slow down the vampires. She hoped.

"What is it, Victoria?" Gwendolyn's voice came, high-pitched, from the landing above. "What are you doing?"

"Get in your rooms! Lock the doors, and get a cross or a Bible!" Victoria pushed past her friend, who tried to clutch at the tail of her pelisse as she ran past. "Gwendolyn, now! Do as I say!"

The iciness at the back of her neck had not ebbed; it was getting stronger. They were close. "Where is Polidori?" She screeched to a halt and spun to shout back. "Where is he?"

More yells, more doors slamming, men running, and loud, angry thuds from one of the rooms along the hall.

"Last door," Gwendolyn called, staring fearfully after her. "Victoria, what are you doing? Come back!"

"Lady Rockley!" It was Mr. Berkley, who looked befuddled and rumpled.

Victoria pushed past him and dashed down the hallway, wondering how on earth she was going to fight two Imperials and a Guardian without the element of surprise. And keep the others, who had no concept that vampires had invaded the house, from getting in the way.

But she had to. Polidori's life, apparently, depended upon it.

Something grabbed her from a shadow, and she whipped away, stifling a shriek. "Sebastian!"

"They're in there. Two Imperials and a Guardian."

"I saw them; I staked a Guardian already. I thought you were going to be with Polidori after you left my room," Victoria hissed, pulling away and starting toward the door.

"What in the hell are you doing? I said two Imperials." He wrenched at her arm, and, surprised, she stumbled backward. "Polidori's not there."

"Let go," she snarled, flinging off his grip. "I've got a job to do. Where is he?" Victoria looked at him, struck by the look on his face. She'd seen Sebastian only with his calm and charming persona, not this intense, angry mood. But she was the one in command here. Not him. "What I'm doing is what I must. Remember? My choice—to stand and fight, rather than to turn tail and run."

"You against two Imperials and a Guardian… don't be foolish. Besides, he's hiding." He pointed to a room across the hall from where she'd been ready to burst in. "Whoever let the vampires in told them where he slept, and they're searching the room for him. There are two others outside, watching the windows." He spoke quickly, his words like angry raps in her ear. "We haven't much time before they realize he's gone."

Then she noticed. "What is that you're holding—a sword?" Victoria barked a short, nervous laugh. "What do you expect to do with a sword?"

Annoyance in his eyes, he shoved her away. "Think what you will. Are you—" Whatever he was going to say was cut off as someone behind them shouted. They turned to look back down the hallway, where a cluster of party guests were still standing in a wide-eyed group. Several of the men had retrieved pistols, and were starting toward Victoria and Sebastian.

"Get back!" Sebastian shouted, turning toward them. "You don't understand what is happening here. Get back in your rooms and lock the doors! You will only endanger yourselves!"

"Lady Rockley, what is going on? You must come to safety! What is it?" Mr. Berkley, still looking rumpled, but a bit more clear-eyed, ignored Sebastian.

Loath to take the time, Victoria nevertheless turned and faced him and the others. She spoke calmly, strongly. She knew they had to see the honesty and earnestness in her face. "You cannot help. You must listen to me. Save yourselves and do as I say. Lock the doors to your rooms and do not come out until it is safe. There are vampires in this house, and pistols will do little to protect you." Victoria yanked the crucifix from over her head. "This will protect you," she said, tossing the heavy amulet to Gwendolyn, who hovered behind the men. "Now lock yourself away."

"Vampires?" Mr. Berkley backed up, his eyes wide. Another man holding a pistol like a shield took a step toward her as though to argue. Before he could speak, a door slammed open and a tall, glowing-eyed vampire strode out.

Screams echoed through the hall as Gwendolyn and some of the more fainthearted of the men turned and scrambled away.

The sight of the Imperial, with his magenta eyes and long silvery hair, was enough to deflate any argument from the bold man with the pistol. He goggled at the evil-eyed undead and backed away, pointing a shaking firearm at him.

Victoria and Sebastian did not move.

"Where is Polidori?" snarled the Imperial, surging toward them as his companions flowed into the narrow corridor behind him. Through the open doorway, Victoria caught a glimpse of an overturned bed, shattered bedposts, and a splintered dressing table. Shreds of bedding and other fabric scattered the floor, which glittered by lantern light with tiles of glass.

Victoria stepped forward, keeping her stake hidden in the folds of her night rail and careful to keep her eyes averted. "He's not here." She wanted to add, What a shame that you'll have to report to Lilith how you've lost your prey, but she was hoping to keep the fact that she was a Venator a secret for a bit longer. Just long enough to find an opening for the stake that itched in her hand.

"You lie," the Guardian said, pushing his way between the two Imperials. His breath hissed like a kettle of evil steam. "I can smell the dog. Tell me where he is or you die."

Sebastian shifted beside her, but Victoria took a step to the side and gestured behind her at the long hallway stretching back toward the stairs. Distractions. She had to create distractions. And she had to get him close enough so she could stab him. One chance was all she would get.

"What do you want Polidori for? Is there not enough fresh blood right here?" taunted Victoria.

The other two vampires crowded in the hall behind their leader. In some deep part of her mind—the part that was not focused on the large hand from the Guardian that was reaching toward her—Victoria was glad that the corridor was barely wide enough for three men to walk abreast. The Guardian, by virtue of his stocky body, effectively blocked his companions from moving forward to attack.

Now if she could just get them to move down the hall, away from the room where Polidori was, perhaps Sebastian could help him escape. Somehow. While she attempted the divide and conquer strategy that was her only option.

All other thoughts disintegrated as the Guardian's hand closed over the top of her shoulder and squeezed. Just where she wanted him… close enough to strike. Don't look at him, she reminded herself. It would be much too easy to be caught by his enthralling gaze.

Sharp nails dug into her tender shoulder, and she focused away from the discomfort as he bent closer and hissed in his low, menacing voice, "Right here is some fragrant fresh blood. Shall I feast on your lovely neck right now?"

She was tipped off balance by the thrust of his hand as it jolted her shoulder, or the stake might have found its mark when Victoria reared back and propelled it forward.

Instead, the pointed ash stick slammed into his arm as though she were driving it against a brick wall. The shock of the sudden impediment stunned her, numbed her arm, and she felt an ugly click in her wrist. And pain. Shooting, sharp pain in her awkwardly bent wrist. Victoria gasped and stumbled back, dark spots whirling in her vision before she shook them away.

"What have we here?" growled the Guardian, his burning eyes narrowing as he looked down at Victoria, whose head reached only to his shoulders. He still had a strong hold on her shoulder, but she twisted away when he would have drawn her near.

Don't look at him.

"A bold little girl. Perhaps she will be my reward for a job well-done."

Victoria had blinked away the black spots in her vision, but now as she tried to focus again, she was caught in the vampire's gaze as though he'd yanked her back from a dead run.

The effect of the thrall was instant. She felt as though she were falling into a soft pool of pink velvet folds. Her breath shifted, slowed; her limbs felt like feather pillows. The pulse in her neck surged. She could feel the blood vibrate, yearning for the smooth, sharp bite that would release it.

It was warm in her veins, warm, hot, tingling. It leaped and lapped as though the vampire called the liquid of her life to him, ebbed and surged with each breath. Her body became aware… alive, yet dull… tantalized, yet sleepy… as though she were turning to Phillip's body in the night, half-awake, half-aroused.

Faintly, trying to claw to the surface, to break the spell, her consciousness fought. She had to stop the tug. But the pull… it enwrapped her, like the flow of water suddenly undammed and rushing to drown her. She struggled… if she could blink, make her dry, open eyes close, even for a moment… Dimly she felt and heard movement, shouts… but she could not respond. Couldn't identify them.

Her arms clunked against each other as though someone was moving them, the stake fell from loose fingers; something hard bumped into her sore wrist… something curving and hard that was out of place… Her head tipped to one side, the heat of her shoulder warming one side of her neck, the other damp and cool and vulnerable.

Her hands fluttered as though to fight him away, but he was too close… too strong. Burning pink and ruby filled her world. Hot breath came close, fangs, alluring and promising relief, glistened yellow-gray in the dim light.

Victoria felt the hard, slender thing under her sleeve again as her arms were pushed up against her body, helpless, and she suddenly had a burst of clarity. It was the vial of holy water.

Pater noster. She thought it. Then she said it aloud. "Pater noster, qui es in caelis …"

It was like a jolt of lightning through her mind, a streak of consciousness. Focus. She'd been given focus.

A low laugh sounded near her ear. "He to whom you pray cannot help you now." The vampire was too close; she couldn't get it in time, though his moving toward her seemed to take hours… days. Her fingers fumbled, clumsy; he came closer; she fought to blink, to break the connection; she pulled on the vial.

As their gazes disconnected, as he came that last inch closer, the vial slid free and she fumbled as the gentle prick of his fangs touched her skin. With the last bit of her strength, she buckled one knee and tipped to the side, twisting the cap off the vial. She fell, throwing the water full into his face as he bent after her.

The Guardian screamed and tore away, hands over his eyes, murderous rage coming from behind them. Victoria scrabbled for the stake she'd dropped, but before she could find it, she saw something better.

The glint of a sword lay near her feet: an Imperial's weapon, dropped and forgotten. She swooped for it and rose, holding the heavy blade.

With a quick slice, like the one she'd used to behead the demon at the Silver Chalice, she rose up and swung it just as the vampire started toward her again.

His head lopped off, tumbling into dust before it hit the floor.

Victoria whirled, the last vestiges of his control over her lifted, and was suddenly back in the present. She saw to her amazement that Sebastian had engaged one of the Imperials with his own sword.

Blades flashed, clanging in rhythm as the two parried in the narrow hallway. Sebastian matched the Imperial blow for blow, blades scraping against each other as they fell away. The other Imperial was nowhere to be seen; but the door to the other room was open.

Victoria hesitated for a moment, but Sebastian shouted, "Go! Polidori!" He was outmatched, and she knew that if she left, he would die. A sword was effective against a vampire only if it was used to behead him. However, a sword against a mortal could wound, maim, or kill in any part of the body.

Sebastian did not have the strength or speed to match the vampire for long, she did not know how he'd managed it so far. It was a blessing that the low ceiling prevented the Imperial from floating and swooping like a bird of prey, or the battle would have been over before it was begun.

"Victoria! Go!" he shouted, and she made her decision. She could wonder later why Sebastian was willing to endanger himself. Bending in a graceful move, she scooped up her stake, and, still holding the sword, darted to one side of the Imperial.

She was not to make it past him, though, for he saw her and spun, whirling with one last blow meant to slice into Sebastian, then arc into Victoria. The clang and slide of three blades meeting was a satisfying yet ugly sound.

Seizing the opportunity, Victoria pivoted and brought her blade around as she slipped to the side of the vampire, who raised his own sword to meet Sebastian's. As she swung with all of her might, slicing toward the vampire, he one-handed his own blade, somehow broadsiding Sebastian while reaching for her.

She brought the blade down, cutting through his arm and missing the vulnerable neck, spinning around behind him.

The arm burst off his body, exploded into dust, and in the blink of an eye another one appeared to replace it.

Victoria swung her blade again, noticing Sebastian crumpled against the wall, and brought it up and around as the Imperial whipped back to meet her. Their blades clashed, sliding angrily along each other, and just as they reached their zenith, separated. Victoria's went up, the vampire's went down, and hers bit into his neck as searing pain exploded along her thigh.

With a scream of determination, she kept her momentum in force, and felt the release as the second sliced through his neck.

She collapsed onto the floor as the Imperial poofed into nothingness. Blood streamed down her leg, sopping her silk night rail and pooling onto the polished floor beneath. She had executed her first Imperial, thanks to Sebastian's assistance.

Shakily, she pulled to her feet and stumbled toward Sebastian.

When she pressed a hand to his chest, sliding her fingers into the opening and over his warm skin to feel whether he was breathing, and tipping his head to one side so she could probe for a pulse, he shuddered a deep breath and forced his eyes open. Weary humor glinted in their amber highlights. "Not now, Victoria… but later, I promise."

With an unplanned grin, she pulled herself away, still shaky. She staggered to her feet, satisfied that he wasn't about to expire on the spot. "One must have one's fantasies," she told him, then gasped at the pain in her leg.

Still holding the sword, heavy in her sore wrist, she used it to help propel herself to the room in which the author was purportedly hiding. The door was open, hanging half from its hinges.

The Imperial vampire, the last one remaining, spun from the bed to meet her. He did not have a sword; it must have been he who dropped the one she had. Looking past him, Victoria got the impression of blood, a vat of blood spilled over the body that lay there, thick and rust-smelling. The scent of evil, of death.

Her leg screaming, her wrist protesting, she lobbed the sword up, but the Imperial lunged toward her and stopped the blade. It smacked into the palm of his hand, and he caught it, flat against his palm, twisted it from her weakened grip, and sent it flying across the room. His face burned with anger, edged with blood at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes blazed as he came at her again.

Victoria felt herself lifted and tossed across the room. She slammed into something hard, and everything went black.