The Bleeding Dusk

Seven In Which a Small Red Jar Becomes the Topic of Conversation

“You went to Lilith? Alone?”

Max looked at Wayren, who’d straightened up in her chair. Unsure how the other Venators would react toward him after Eustacia’s death, he hadn’t wanted to go to the Consilium to see her. He had invited Wayren to the small room he’d rented.

“That’s what I said. I had nothing to lose, Wayren.”

“I know, Max. I know how much you want to be rid of her. But to take such a chance!”

“It’s not as if I haven’t been alone with her in the past.” He knew his words came out harshly, but, bloody hell, the memories weren’t pleasant ones. Blast it that he had to remind Wayren of them.

For all her calmness, all of her knowledge and wisdom, she was a bit absentminded at times. Now, realizing what she’d said, Wayren softened and merely looked at him. Behind the perfectly square spectacles she wore, her wise eyes filled with understanding. “Of course. I’m sorry.”

“She gave me a salve she claims will release me from her thrall…but at a price.” He pulled the small garnet jar from his coat pocket and set it on the table between them. Though his fingers itched to open it, he’d not done so yet. During the last months he’d kept it with him at all times, but had never opened the shiny pot, which was made from a walnut-size jewel.

It had weighted his coat. Burned his hand when he brushed it. Called to him when he emptied his pockets at night. One morning he’d awakened with it clutched in his hand.

That was when he knew it was time to return to Roma, to speak to Wayren.

Wayren looked at it, but made no move to pick it up. Then she shifted her attention back to Max, and contemplated him as if she knew what he was going to say next.

“If I use the salve I’ll lose my Venatorial powers, and because her bites have tainted my blood, I cannot regain them, even if I attempt the trial again. I’ll forget everything I know of that world. As if I never had the knowledge in the first place.”

“Like a Gardella who has been called and refuses the call—as Victoria’s mother did—you’ll be ignorant and simply a man.”

Simply a man.

He couldn’t even imagine what that would be like.

“You wish to be free of Lilith, but you haven’t used it yet,” Wayren commented.

“I’ve decided not to.”

There were times, as now, when he was convinced Wayren could read minds, perhaps even see the future. God knew she’d been around long enough to have learned the skill, if indeed it could be learned. She looked at him, her blue-gray eyes calm and penetrating. “You’ve done enough, Max. You’ve given seventeen years of your life in penance for what happened to your father and sister. You can be free.”

Dear God, Lilith had said nearly the same thing. The vampire queen had tempted him. Now Wayren was giving him permission.

He knew it was true. He’d meditated on it, prayed on it, agonized over it…all these weeks since leaving Lilith’s stronghold he’d thought of little else. But…“Free? But what would I leave behind? More deaths? More destruction and evil?”

And what would he lose in the process?

“You’d no longer have the memories. It would all be gone. You could truly be free.”

“Don’t you think I know that? How tempting is the thought of not having this bloody nagging on my neck all the time? The pain that comes at her every damned whim?”

Wayren gave a gentle shrug. “Max, to live with guilt for one’s entire life, to use it as a shield against truly living, an excuse for feeling…is that so much better? It’s not something anyone is required to do for all his days.”

He looked at her and realized she didn’t really understand. “The guilt doesn’t burden me any longer, Wayren. It’s Lilith’s thrall that burdens me. I don’t flay myself for what I did, for the choices I made. Those decisions are in the past and cannot be undone, and I’ve done everything I can think of to atone for them.

“But as easy as it might be to contemplate the freedom of ignorance, I can’t do it. I know I’m needed. How can I live in ignorance when I’m needed? How many deaths can I prevent by staying? I have no right to turn my back when I am one of the few who can prevent them.”

Wayren had folded her slender fingers in her lap and was watching him during this impassioned speech. “You were not called to be a Venator. You made the choice. You aren’t obligated as those Gardellas who are called.”

“Do you not understand? I became obligated the moment I turned Father and Giulia over to the Tutela.” His jaw cracked beneath his teeth.

“You were barely more than a child. You thought you were giving your family a gift—immortality—which is precisely what the Tutela led you to believe. That’s how they draw in strong, smart young men like yourself.”

“You dare to excuse what I did? Feeding my father and sister to the vampires? At sixteen, I knew what was wrong and what was right. Yet I was blinded by the chance for power and wealth and immortality.”

“And for the next seventeen years, at the risk of your life, you’ve worn the vis bulla. You’ve paid your penance, and then some.”

Max stopped suddenly and glared at Wayren. Wayren, who had been as close to him as Eustacia. Wayren, who, with her wisdom and calm, gentle ways, had been more of a mother figure to him than even Eustacia had. Eustacia had mentored and challenged him as a fighter; Wayren had touched and taught him as a young man.

She had been the one to help him through the life-threatening trial of attaining the vis bulla. She’d been there when he reached the point where he would either live and wear the amulet of the Venators, or die when it was pierced into his flesh.

“Why do you want me to use the salve?” he asked abruptly. “Do you think I’m no longer fit to be a Venator? After what happened with Eustacia?” His throat was dry, his hand tightly fisted into itself.

“No, Max. No.” She stood, coming to him, resting her slender hand on his arm. Some of his tension eased at her touch, as it always did. “I fear only that one day Lilith’s hold on you will become too strong for even you to fight. Already she has caused you to do her work of destroying Akvan’s Obelisk, bringing about the death of her rival and son. You could just as easily have failed as succeeded. What will she require of you the next time? And the next?”

The anger and annoyance that had whipped up inside him settled as he listened to her reasoning. “I do not know. But she has yet to control me as she would like.” Max stepped away and walked across the small room. On a small table next to the narrow bed was his favorite black-painted stake. It was sleek and heavy and it fit his hand perfectly. A cross was carved into the blunt end and inlaid with silver. “Victoria told me about the Door of Alchemy. You’ll need me if they get the keys.”

“You spoke to Victoria?”

“Last night. Briefly.”

“I’m certain she was glad you’ve returned. It’s not been an easy few months for her—losing her husband, and then Eustacia, and you as well. Just as you disappeared after Phillip died, you disappeared after Eustacia’s death. This inconstancy is becoming a habit of yours.” Her head tilted to the side like a little wren’s, her bright eyes watching him.

Max put the stake back with a soft clatter and glowered at Wayren. “I was not fit to be here, to wear the vis.”

“It was very difficult for her to lose you, someone she knows and trusts, during a time of such pain and upheaval.”

“Trusts? I hardly think she’s foolish enough to trust me any longer. And she was not alone. You were there, and Ilias, and others.”

Wayren stood abruptly. “That is true, Max. You’re right. She has taken over her role as Illa Gardella with little trouble. A bit of grief, perhaps, some sorrowful moments…but overall, she is an amazing Venator. It’s become her life. She’s made some difficult decisions. In fact, she insisted that no one know that Eustacia died by your hand—in order to protect you and your legacy. She carries on with her life as though unburdened with grief. It’s rather astonishing how well she has adapted to the sacrifices and changes this life has brought her.”

Wayren looked down at the little jar on the table, reaching to touch it with her slender finger. “I would like to take this, if you do not plan to use it, Max. Perhaps I can learn what it is that would sap your Venator powers while severing your ties to Lilith.”

“Take the damned thing.”

She picked it up and slipped it into a small pouch that dangled from her silver-link girdle. “I presume you will join us at the Consilium tonight, now that you have returned. And are wearing a vis bulla again.” Behind her square spectacles, she looked at him shrewdly.

Max picked up his favorite stake and traced the silver cross. Victoria had protected him. Bloody hell. “Of course I will be there. I am ever the dutiful soldier.”

Victoria was in a quandary by the time she reached Santo Quirinus late the next day.

Having been awake until dawn, she’d slept well past noon and met up with the ladies Melly, Winnie, and Nilly over a lunch filled with raptures about the hospitality of the Tarruscellis, the lovely view of the extinguishing ceremony from their balcony, and regret that there would be very little society during the next forty days of Lent.

Oh, and sympathy for poor, dear Victoria, who’d been in bed the night through with the megrims and had thus missed the most riotous, beautiful, exciting night of all. How could she bear it?

Victoria explained that she’d borne the annoying headache rather well, knowing that the ladies weren’t inconvenienced by her illness. “And it is very unfortunate that I cannot remain here with you ladies this afternoon to hear all of your adventures,” she said, rising from the table, “but I promised to meet with a portrait artist about doing a new painting of Aunt Eustacia.”

“You poor dear,” Lady Winnie said, her pudgy fingers flashing rubies and emeralds as she patted Victoria’s smaller hand. “After being ill so often this last week, I should think you’d be able to rest instead of gallivanting off.”

“You still look a bit pale,” Lady Nilly added. “Perhaps a brighter color gown would serve better to pinken your complexion. I shall have my Rudgers have a word with your maid.”

Despite her hurry to get to the Consilium and tell Wayren about meeting Sebastian and Max last evening, Victoria’s smile was genuine. The ladies could be dithering and overbearing, but they had only her best interests—and those of her mother, of course—at heart.

“Perhaps we shall be gone before you return, if you are very late into the evening,” Lady Melly said. “The party…er…meeting begins at eight o’clock.”

“Party? But it’s Lent,” Victoria replied, trying to keep her lips from twitching. Yet she was relieved to hear of their plans. Anything to keep the ladies occupied, and from worrying over Aunt Eustacia’s personal effects, was fine in her book.

“It’s not a party,” Lady Nilly squeaked, her bright blue eyes wide with innocence and sparse lashes. “No, we wouldn’t go if it were a party. Of course not.”

“It’s a meeting,” the duchess added, nodding vigorously. “Definitely a meeting. With dinner. But no music or dancing.”

“How unfortunate that I couldn’t join you at your meeting,” Victoria replied, dropping her grip from the chair and taking that all-important first step away from the table. “But it’s probably best if I rest again tonight. You ladies have a wonderful time.”

“I’m certain we will,” Lady Melly said, smoothing the napkin in her lap. “I haven’t any idea why the Palombaras chose to have their par—meeting on Ash Wednesday, but—What is it, darling? Your head again? Benedicto, some tea for the young madam, please.”

“Palombara?” Victoria had swiveled from the door so quickly it was, indeed, partly her head that spun. Her mind was the other part. “Tell me about this party, Mama.”

“It isn’t a party at all,” Lady Winnie remonstrated. “Dear me, Victoria, have you not heard what we’ve been saying?”

“Never mind, Winnie. The pope hasn’t been here in Rome since the war, so you needn’t worry that he can hear you,” Lady Nilly returned, one charcoaled eyebrow arching.

“What’s this about the Palombaras?” Victoria asked again, a bit more insistently. And she sat back down. The Consilium would have to wait.

“To be sure, it may not be the Palombaras themselves who are hosting the…meeting,” Lady Melly said primly. She was twining one of the wispy curls that dangled along her cheek around her left index finger. “It’s quite exciting, really, Victoria. What a shame it is that you cannot attend. I’m not certain how many people will be there, though I doubt it will be such a crush as we might have seen back home, you know. After all, it is Ash Wednesday. Even though it isn’t a party.”

“But perhaps I won’t want to miss it, if you would please tell me what this meeting is.” Victoria noticed that her jaw was beginning to hurt, and she eased off before she cracked something. The strength of a Venator’s gritting teeth could have lasting effects.

“It would be delightful for you to attend,” Lady Winnie crowed, sounding rather unlike a duchess in that moment. “The family villa that has been closed off for decades is being opened tonight for a pa—meeting. It shall be an adventure, for the Palombara villa hasn’t been occupied for years, and the family has been gone and—”

“It will be rather like a treasure hunt,” Lady Nilly chirped. “They’ve invited only a select group of friends to help in the search, and the Tarruscellis insisted we join them.”

“A treasure hunt?” Victoria felt a shiver across her shoulders. “Whatever would you be searching for in an old, empty house?” But she had a sneaking suspicion she might know.

“A scavenger hunt,” Lady Melly interrupted. “And we don’t know exactly how to find what we’re looking for, but it should be frightfully amusing. Well, perhaps not so amusing,” she added, looking abashed. “It will be nothing more than a good deed, helping the family find a key that has been missing for more than a century. I’m certain even the pope would approve. If he were here.”

Indeed.

“It does sound intriguing,” Victoria said. “I have decided I will attend after all.”

It took her another several minutes to extricate herself from the ladies’ enthusiasm, and then nearly forty minutes in the barouche with Oliver driving a roundabout path from the Gardella villa to the small church of Santo Quirinus.

Thus it was past five o’clock when she entered the small, unassuming church where a bowl of ashes sat in the vestibule. Victoria crossed herself with the gritty soot, leaving a dark smudge on her forehead and bits of dust floating down to catch in her lashes.

There were several penitents in the church, and she paused to kneel in prayer before slipping past the rail at the altar to the confessional.

Inside the small confessional, she closed the door behind her as if to meet with the priest. But instead of kneeling, Victoria felt for the small latch to the hidden door next to her seat. It slid silently open to reveal three steps that led down to a long, narrow hall studded with icons.

Victoria closed the door behind her and entered the passageway, taking care not to step on the middle stair as she did so. That middle stair was connected to an alarm in the Consilium below, warning when an unauthorized presence approached.

The hall in which she stood appeared to be nothing but a gallery of images that dead-ended in a brick wall. However, if one knew that the last icon on the left, the one depicting Jesus with the angels Gabriel and Uriel, concealed a subtle pattern of bricks that must be pushed in the proper order, one could release the rope-and-pulley mechanism that opened the dead-end wall and reveal the spiral staircase that led to the chambers below. After she’d opened the hidden door, Victoria started down the curling steps that were lit by several sconces.

She walked through the marble archway into the main chamber of the Consilium, where the fountain of holy water splashed and sparkled, and she stopped.

On the other side of the circular font was gathered a group of Venators: Ilias, Zavier, Michalas, Stanislaus. They were all talking in earnest. One tall, dark head rose above the rest, attached to a set of broad, black-clad shoulders facing slightly away from Victoria, and that man seemed to be at the center of the conversation.

Zavier saw her first, and retreated slightly from the little group to hail her toward them. “Victoria! At last you’ve arrived. I couldn’t help but be a wee worried after we were separated last night.” He gestured toward her, his face bright with pleasure, nearly matching his hair. “And see who’s returned.”

Max turned, and their eyes met briefly until she focused her attention back on Zavier, who, for all of his muscular bulk, looked as excited as a child with a new toy.

“Hello, Max,” Victoria said, walking toward the group. For some reason she wasn’t certain whether she should acknowledge that they’d spoken the night before. The expression on his face was devoid of the soberness he’d worn then and instead held the aloof, almost annoyed expression she was more accustomed to seeing. “Good afternoon, everyone,” she added, smiling at them all. The other Venators responded with nods and warm smiles, making her feel as if she were a long-lost sister returning to their midst.

But when Max arched a brow in that way of his and nodded in casual greeting, Victoria couldn’t help but feel a spike of annoyance. Why did his face seem to blank and sharpen now that she’d arrived when, before he saw her, even from behind, she could see that he’d been relaxed and engaged in conversation?

“I didn’t mean to be late,” she said, then was irritated with herself for apologizing, because she felt as though it was only for Max’s benefit that she’d done so. “But there’s a problem that has arisen, which delayed me, and it must be dealt with. Ilias, do you know where Wayren is? I should speak with both of you.”

“She is in her library, of course, and was waiting for your arrival,” Ilias replied.

Victoria had reached the group of Venators by now and found herself next to Zavier, who’d taken her arm and drawn her into the group. “Max,” she said, looking at him again, “welcome back. Are you indeed back?”

“For now, yes, I am.”

Victoria looked over the others and asked, “How was the last night of Carnivale?”

“Fifteen vampires slain,” Ilias told her.

“Then seventeen in all,” Victoria added with a smile. “And I saw no evidence of victims.”

“Where did ye disappear to?” Zavier asked, still holding her arm. “I was worried that whoever attempted to grab ye the night before had succeeded.”

Victoria felt Max looking at her, likely wondering if she would share her conversation with Beauregard. But since none of the others knew about the Door of Alchemy, nor about the missing armband belonging to Aunt Eustacia, she felt no need to go into the detail of her evening. They would find out soon enough, if it was necessary.

Instead she gave Zavier the smile she’d learned was helpful in distracting a man from his purpose and replied, “I went after a vampire, and when I returned you were gone. But, more important, I have need of your assistance as an escort this evening. Are you free to help me?”

“Aye, and with pleasure. Tell me only what I can do.”

“Thank you,” she replied, turning the smile just a bit warmer. Having Zavier with her to watch over her mother and friends would leave her free to do her own tasks at the estate.

“Did you say you needed to speak with Wayren?” Max interrupted.

“Yes, and Ilias as well,” Victoria replied, catching the elderly man’s eye.

Zavier looked disappointed when Victoria removed herself from his grip, but she said, “I won’t be long. Ilias, I have to do one thing, and then I’ll go to Wayren’s library to speak with you.”

She excused herself and hurried through the long gallery of Venator portraits, this time passing the newest one of Aunt Eustacia. At the other end of the hall she reached what appeared to be a dead end, but actually contained three hidden doors. One led to an old spiral staircase, one of several secret exits from the Consilium. These steps took one up to the ruins of a tumbledown building that appeared to be nothing more than an abandoned house on the small street of Tilhin. It was located many streets away from the main entrance at Santo Quirinus.

A second door led to Wayren’s private library, and the third door was the entryway Victoria sought. The doors were not secret to keep out other Venators; they all knew this chamber existed, and many of them had visited it.

They were hidden merely as a precaution. In the event the Consilium should ever be breached, the important and valuable items kept in this room and in Wayren’s library would remain safe and would be able to be evacuated through the nearby alternate entrance if necessary. Thus, Victoria reasoned, this would be the safest place for Aunt Eustacia to have hidden the armband with the key.

Perhaps she’d had the opportunity to secret it here before going to the meeting that resulted in her death. It wasn’t likely, but Victoria wanted to make certain all other possibilities had been exhausted before she talked to Sebastian.

She pushed on the marble relief of a trail of vines, her fingers sliding one of the leaves to the side. The heavy marble wall rumbled and opened enough for her to slip through.

Inside this chamber, which always had torches ready to be lit, the Venators kept their greatest secrets, their most valuable weapons, and the most dangerous souvenirs of their history. Victoria held her candle aloft, showing cabinets with deep cupboards and shallow, wide shelves that lined the walls. Display tables with glass tops that enclosed some of the objects sat adjacent to one another. A desk with curling manuscript papers and a large magnifying glass was positioned in a corner.

On display here was the stake given to Gardeleus when he was called to his destiny of fathering the generations of Venators. It was made of aspen wood, and had been part of the True Cross. Lady Catherine’s emerald ring, which she’d worn during her days in Queen Elizabeth’s court, was in a small, silver-cornered box made of ash. A head-size egg that belonged to the serpent demon Pithius was locked in an iron cage. It had never been incubated, but for security’s sake it was locked up, just in case it might someday spontaneously hatch. So far it had been there for centuries with nary a wiggle, according to Ilias.

There was the gold clasp that Eustacia and Kritanu had seized one Christmas Eve in Venice, thereby saving the city from horrific destruction at the hands of a powerful vampire. The golden anklet that had belonged to Dahhak, one of the divs of long-ago Persia. A twining copper ring, one of the five that had been given by Lilith to her most trusted Guardians centuries ago. An odd-shaped box made of jade that Victoria had never had occasion to see opened sat next to the egg. And, there on one of the tables, a long, obsidian object.

A shard from Akvan’s Obelisk.

Victoria walked over and looked down. The piece of shiny blue-black stone was no longer than her forearm from wrist to elbow, and perhaps as thick as three fingers. It was splintered to a lethal point at one end and a wider, jagged edge at the other. One side was smooth and curved; the opposite was fragmented and ridged.

It had been a part of a large obelisk that had contained a great, primitive evil harnessed by the demon Akvan. When the obelisk had been destroyed, it had shattered and disintegrated in a great explosion. Victoria had found the piece of obsidian during her escape with Sebastian from the aftermath of its destruction, and she had brought it here for safekeeping.

The gleam of her candle flame flickering on the shiny object reminded her of the blue and black flames that had erupted from the obelisk when it was still whole. As she looked at it, Victoria felt the shimmer of evil that had once been contained therein and placed her hand over her belly, where the vis bullae dangled, protecting her.

Stepping closer, Victoria smoothed her hand over the length of the shard and felt the prickle of evil present. She wondered, belatedly, if it was safe to leave it here, in the deepest, most remote part of the Consilium.

“What are you doing?”

Max’s voice caused her to jerk her hand away and whirl around. “Stop sneaking up on me,” she snapped, hating that he’d surprised her. She stepped away from the table, refusing to look at the shard behind her. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t sure if you were back. And now you are everywhere, as if you had never left. As if you have the right.”

He’d stepped into the doorway, filling it, casting a long, dark shadow from the brighter hallway behind him. “I’m back for now,” he said. “Are you looking for something?”

“Just making certain Aunt Eustacia didn’t leave her armband here before going…that night. It was a possibility,” she said defensively as he raised a brow. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for my meeting with Wayren.”

Brushing past him, forcing him to back out of the entrance, she went into the small vestibule, closing the storage chamber door behind her. But to her surprise, when she turned to enter the library Max was right there in her wake. “What are you doing here?” she asked rudely.

“As an adviser to the previous Illa Gardella,” he said smoothly, “I was invited to attend. Ilias felt that it was appropriate for me to be here.”

Wayren interrupted any response she might have made. “Please sit down, Victoria, and Max, perhaps you will take that seat.” If the mild-mannered woman was surprised or upset by the barbed comments of the Venators, she gave no sign of it. “Now, tell us what has happened.”

With a glare at Max, Victoria had no choice but to speak. “My mother and her friends have been invited to a gathering at none other than the Palombara villa tonight for a treasure hunt.”

“Perhaps they’re searching for the missing key,” Max said. He was settled back in his chair, nearly lounging, with his long legs crossed before him and his wrists resting on the arms of his seat. Almost as if he knew that the more relaxed he looked, the more irritated Victoria would be.

And she was.

“Yes, of course, that was what I thought—that the missing key is likely somewhere in the villa. I’ll be attending tonight as well, however, to make certain all goes well…and to perhaps find the key myself—”

“On the capable arm of Zavier,” Max interrupted. “A good plan, indeed, to have someone to watch over your mother. But not the best plan.”

Victoria took a deep breath, forcing her bubbling annoyance to simmer and settle. She was Illa Gardella now…no longer the naive amateur Venator that Max had had the ability to pique so easily a year ago. She was the one; she’d proven herself; she had the blood, the skills…the two vis bullae.

This was her life now.

He might have more experience than she, and it was valuable. But she still had her own merit and could listen to his suggestions without feeling challenged.

Even if it irked her. But as she released her breath slowly and evenly, as Kritanu had taught her, she merely lifted her eyebrows—both of them, in direct contrast to Max’s single eyebrow lifting—and waited for him to continue.

“We know that Sara Regalado attempted to kidnap you, so it’s likely that she and her father are interested in the key, or something else related to the villa. There are no Palombaras in Roma, yet there are vampires—we presume—who are attempting to find the keys and open the Door of Alchemy. It is possible, do you not think, that someone is pretending to be the Palombaras, and opening the deserted villa up to this…party tonight in the hopes of finding the key?”

“And that they might indeed be vampires or Tutela members?” Victoria added. “Yes. Which is why I have asked Zavier to attend…as my mother’s escort.”

Now it was her turn to settle back in the chair. “I will be attending, Max, but anonymously. I don’t particularly wish to be recognized by any vampires who might be at the treasure hunt tonight. And especially since my mother was invited by the Tarruscelli twins, whom I already know to be acquaintances of the Regalados, I was well aware of the dangers of promenading up to the villa unsuspectingly.”

“So you plan to sneak into the villa yourself?”

Victoria nodded. “I’ll make up some excuse in the carriage on the way to the party that will allow me to leave Zavier as escort for my mother and the others while I pretend to return home.”

“Brilliant, Victoria. You’ve thought the whole thing through.” Max nodded as if bestowing a great favor on her. “I’ll meet you there and we can find our way in together.”

She didn’t say anything. It would have given him too much satisfaction.

Besides, she’d expected nothing less from him.