The Bleeding Dusk

Three In Which Victoria’s Idyll Is Invaded

Victoria and Michalas finished the night by patrolling the rest of the rione near Villa Palombara. They staked a measly three more vampires before returning to the Consilium at sunrise to report their findings to Ilias. They found him on his way to speak with Wayren.

After their brief discussion, Ilias suggested that Victoria join him with Wayren in her private library. Michalas appeared relieved to be dismissed, saying with a crooked grin that he was ready to return home to his own bed.

Victoria would have been pleased to do so herself, but of course she did not. She followed Ilias to the library. It smelled of old books—of paper and papyrus, of ink and leather. She had been there only once before—very briefly—so as she came into the dome-shaped room that was accessed by a locked door with hidden bolts, she took the opportunity to reexamine the chamber.

The ceiling of the round room was high above her head, and rows of books sat on shelves that appeared to be carved into the circular walls. On closer look, however, she saw that the shelves were stone ledges, and carved with letters or symbols in a language Victoria didn’t recognize. She presumed the symbols were some sort of code by which the books, scrolls, and laced-together parchments were organized.

Victoria stepped onto a thick white rug that covered half of the chamber floor and selected a straight-backed chair for her seat. In the center of the room was a large piece of glass situated like a tabletop. Wayren sat behind the desk, her square spectacles resting neatly on a wooden tray next to a spread-eagled book. Ilias, who’d followed Victoria into the room, closed the door behind him and sank into the final seat.

The room wasn’t as large as she would have imagined, knowing how many tomes Wayren had access to. A bevy of candles burned from sconces on the walls and some of the lower shelves, and from stands with multiple tiers and holders placed throughout the room. Despite being a deep flight of stairs underground, the room was lit as if it were noon in July.

Ilias glanced at Wayren. “Where is Ylito? Is he not joining us?”

She bowed her head easily. “He is in the midst of a procedure. I have already spoken with him, and he urges us to continue without him.”

“Ylito?” Victoria was surprised at the unfamiliar name. She knew of all of the Venators by name, even if she hadn’t met them all, and the Comitators, their martial-arts trainers, but this was one she’d never heard mentioned.

“He is not a Venator, but an herbalist and alchemist who studies the properties of plants and metals and is very talented with his work.”

Victoria looked at Wayren. “Do you mean to say he’s a wizard?”

The older woman looked pained for a moment, then smiled slightly. “He prefers to be called a hermetist, a sort of spiritual alchemist, which is a bit more palatable to him than the moniker of wizard or sorcerer.” When Victoria continued to look at her with clear question in her eyes, she continued, “As powerful and daunting as our Venators may be, we’ve found over the years that someone like Ylito often provides skills beyond what a Venator can do: casting protections, creating infusions or distillations, and even drawing forth the energies and inherent powers of gold and silver—all for the purpose of annihilating the malevolence brought on this earth by Lilith and her kind.”

“It is not surprising that you haven’t met Ylito, or perhaps even heard his name spoken,” added Ilias. “He prefers to remain cloistered in his workshop unless needed. Which is why he’s chosen not to grace us with his presence at this time.” He shifted in his seat and raised a hand to scratch his chin. “So let us get to the matter at hand, Victoria. We have vampires who are cutting the heads off small animals and now, apparently, humans.” He looked at Wayren. “That would be behavior more like that of a demon, so I am at a loss as to why the undead would do such a thing, particularly since they abhor demons.”

“I shall have to study it,” Wayren told them when they described in more detail the headless corpses. “But I would suggest that a visit to the Door of Alchemy—la Porta Alchemica—during the daylight would be in order. Perhaps we will find some evidence that you could not see in the dark.”

Ilias turned to Victoria. “There are three keys that open the Magic Door, as it is also called. Each one must be inserted in its proper slot and, once inserted, cannot be retrieved until the door is open. Palombara had one of the keys, he secreted a second one somewhere in the villa, and the third one was given to Augmentin Gardella shortly before the marchese disappeared.”

“A Venator.” Victoria’s skin began to prickle.

“Indeed. Unfortunately Augmentin wasn’t able to save Palombara from whatever befell him before he completed his quest. But he did keep the key. And passed it down through the family. Your aunt Eustacia was the last person to have it.”

“It’s not here, and we’d best find it before the vampires do,” Wayren said, looking at Victoria. “I believe your aunt wore it on her person. Do you recall a silver armband? It was made specifically to hold the key, which is quite small—not much larger than the first knuckle of your finger.”

“She wore it high on her arm, and never took it off. That and her vis bulla.” Victoria chewed on her lip, not liking where her thoughts were leading her. Not at all. Best to change the subject. “What’s behind the door that’s so important to the vampires? They already have immortality.”

“The papers and journals of the alchemist must contain something of value to them. After Palombara disappeared, there was much activity about the door, as the undead—and some of the mortal alchemists—tried to force their way in. But the only way in is with the three keys, and they were in possession of none of them, even, presumably, the one kept by the Marchese Palombara.” Ilias was rubbing his nose again, pinching it between a thumb and forefinger.

“They gave up after a time, and the Door of Alchemy has remained untouched and unbothered for a hundred and forty years. But now, with this undead activity in the area—as well as the death of your aunt and the possibility that the key might fall into the wrong hands—it’s imperative that we keep our attention on the door. In fact, the very great possibility is that somehow the key was removed from her person…after the events last autumn, and that it has already been put to use.” Wayren’s face, unlined and ageless, was a pale moon of seriousness. “The fact that the undead want what’s behind the door is more than enough reason for us to be concerned.”

“Yet another reason to visit the door, to see if any of the keys have been turned,” Ilias said.

“Yes. Ylito will want to accompany you,” Wayren said, to Victoria’s surprise. “Perhaps you will be able to ascertain what is so important behind that door, or at least whether there is indeed anyone trying to get inside it.”

Late that afternoon Oliver, Victoria’s driver and the bane of her maid’s existence, stopped the little barouche in front of the Gardella villa. As Victoria stepped out, she realized she hadn’t been home or slept since leaving yesterday morning for the portrait unveiling at the Consilium. She was bone-tired, yet energized with purpose in a way she hadn’t been for months. Her mind was racing down a myriad of avenues, and she felt as though she could barely keep up with it. At the same time she was still dirty and mussed from her evening of moving headless corpses with Michalas.

But she had a task, and felt for the first time since Aunt Eustacia’s death that she was back in full form.

Still, she wanted nothing more than to get into the quiet of her room and practice some of the meditation and breathing that Kritanu had taught her. Tomorrow she would meet the mysterious Ylito and they would go to examine la Porta Alchemica.

The front door opened just as she reached it, Aunt Eustacia’s Italian butler looking slightly more harried than usual.

“Grazie, Giorgio,” Victoria said, walking in and directly toward the stairs as she pulled off her gloves and began to unhook the fastenings of her spencer. “Please ring for Verbena and ask that she wait upon me in my chamber.”

“Si, milady,” Giorgio said. “But perhaps you might wish to take a moment to visit the parlor?”

“The parlor?” Victoria, her hand on the newel post at the bottom of the steps, halted reluctantly—only a flight of stairs from the haven she sought. She glanced toward the parlor and saw that the door was closed.

But before Giorgio could reply, the door in question opened. “Victoria!” came a familiar shrill greeting. “Victoria, we have arrived!”

Victoria couldn’t move. Her fingers froze like a cap over the stairwell post as she looked at her mother, Lady Melisande Gardella Grantworth, rushing toward her from the sitting room, skirts and ruffles and lace bouncing and flouncing in all directions.

“We?” Victoria managed to ask, all thoughts of a quiet rest disintegrating along with the peacefulness of her home. No wonder Giorgio had looked out of sorts.

“Indeed! Lady Nilly and Duchess Winnie and myself, we’re all here. Just in time for the week of Carnivale. And for you, you poor dear, of course. Poor darling, to have to handle all of this on your own. I am only sorry I couldn’t have arrived sooner.” Lady Melly gathered Victoria into her maternal embrace even as her daughter desperately clutched the stairwell post.

And as her mother’s two bosom friends spilled into the hall behind her, arms outstretched in greeting, high-pitched voices exclaiming over everything from Victoria’s simple hairstyle to her sunken cheeks to the mild Italian weather and how it was so warm for February, so why were her hands so cold and her gown—was that even a gown?—so dirty and mussed? My goodness!—had she been hurt?…she could do nothing but let them fuss and hug and pat and croon as they’d done since she was a little girl.

With a weary glance over her shoulder, she told Giorgio, “Please tell Verbena I shall be a while.”

A long while.

Two hours later Victoria sank onto the stool in front of her dressing mirror. Two hours.

All that time listening to her mother and the ladies Winnie and Nilly prattle on about the circles under her eyes, the gauntness of her cheeks (although Lady Nilly thought it wasn’t so terrible, she of the hollow cheeks herself), and the paleness of her skin. Not to mention the droopiness of her plain hairstyle and unfashionable clothing.

And that wasn’t all. There were unveiled hints about her returning to London to find another husband. And how her dear friend Gwendolyn Starcasset was now the toast of the ton, with her new betrothal to an earl with more than fifty thousand a year, and how her brother, George, would be a perfect match for Victoria. (Victoria had had to bite her tongue particularly hard on that topic, for the last time she’d seen George Starcasset he’d been here in Rome with Nedas, as a member of the Tutela, and had been intent on ravishing her.)

There had been Lady Melly’s grievances about the erstwhile Lord Jellington, who had, apparently, failed to meet her expectations of what a beau should do and be, and was thus the impetus for her visit to Italy.

Then followed opinions on Italian biscuits (too dry and crusty), Italian streets (crowded and confusing and filled with pilgrims), and the beauty of the little fountain in front of the villa.

She’d had to keep the ugly red calluses on her left hand—her tea-pouring and stake-wielding hand—hidden while playing hostess, for, of course, she wasn’t wearing the gloves she would have been wearing had she been home in London. Nor was she garbed in a proper gown, the lapse of which still had her mother in horrified raptures.

The entire event had culminated in one big problem that led somewhere she wasn’t sure she wanted to go. She rested her head on the dressing table in her chamber.

“Now, milady, no sense in lettin’ em make it any worse’n it already is. Ye have important things to attend to.”

Victoria lifted her head to look in the mirror. All she saw at first were two puffs of orange-colored hair on either side of her own dark head, and then her maid, Verbena, looked up from where she’d been unfastening the buttons of Victoria’s tunic. Her face bore pity, but also a glow of interest.

“Did ye see that massive crucifix the duchess was wearing? I swear, even m’cousin Barth wouldn’t be wearin’ one that size, though he’s been known to drive vampires around himself. Pardon me for sayin’ so, but the duchess’s cross looks bigger than the pope’s.”

As she spoke, Verbena drew the tunic up and over Victoria’s head, leaving her droopy-eyed mistress to sit at the table in merely her split-skirt and chemise.

Victoria sighed. “I cannot believe they’re here,” she said wearily. “Without a word of warning Mother has arrived with them, and now I haven’t any idea how I’m going to get out at night without their knowing.” Sundown—vampire-hunting time—was in a matter of hours, and Melly expected her to join them for dinner, and likely more conversation. Surely she would also expect Victoria to join them in other activities, both during the day and in the evening.

In fact, the dearth of calling cards on the front table of the villa had sent Lady Melly into yet another soliloquy about how cloistered Victoria had allowed herself to become since Aunt Eustacia died, and how terrible it was that her social life had gone to null. And how glad Melly was to be here to set things right.

But that was the least of Victoria’s worries.

Verbena loosened Victoria’s hair from its casual mooring at the back of her head. “An’ ye’ll have to give more attention to your hairdressing and gowns, now that your mama is here. She won’t tolerate ye lookin’ less than a marchy-ness, now that ye finally got the title.” She sounded magnificently pleased with this new development, which was no surprise, as Verbena lived for the opportunity to get creative with Victoria’s coiffure and toilette whilst finding ways to incorporate the tools her mistress Venator might need.

Recently Victoria’s choice to wear the split skirt and long tunic favored by Kritanu for both training and rest had nearly given Verbena fits. But since Victoria had rarely left the villa except late in the day to go to the Consilium and then to search the streets for vampires, it was her opinion that it mattered not what she wore. Since she knew few people in Rome, there were no social obligations requiring her attendance. And, quite honestly, Victoria preferred it that way.

Her days of balls and soirees and musicales (thank goodness) were over. She was a Venator, and that was her life.

But all that would change now that Lady Melly and her cohorts were here.

“Mother’s horror at my choice of attire and coiffure was made abundantly clear, but at least the neglect was attributed to grief due to Aunt Eustacia dying.” Victoria looked longingly toward her bed. Perhaps she would have two hours to rest, if she could keep the list of worries at bay. “However, sadly, that topic brought an even larger problem to mind.” She looked in the mirror at her maid’s crystal blue eyes.

“I’ve no fear ye can’t handle yer mama an’ her biddies. I heard her say ye should come back to London and rejoin Society…she wants ye to marry again so ye can give her some little bunnies in nappies.”

Victoria was shaking her head. “No, no…that I can manage. I think. ’Tis even a bigger problem.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then rose to move toward her bed. “The silver armband that my aunt always wore…I must find it. As soon as my mother remembers it she’ll want it—but the bigger problem now is that the vampires are already looking for it, because it holds a special key.”

Their gazes met again in the mirror, Verbena’s eyes rounding in her cherub face, and her mouth following suit.

“That, my lady, is a bloody mess of a pro’lem.”

“Indeed it is, since my mother believes Aunt Eustacia died in her sleep. Thus, she expects that the bracelet would have been on her arm, readily available for me to retrieve.”

“Per’aps yer auntie gave it to Kritanu.”

Victoria shook her head. “No, she did not, for he gave me all of her personal effects, and it was not there.”

The apple-cheeked maid tsked, pity curving her lips down at the corners. Then they tilted up. “But, my lady, ye’ve forgotten someone did see th’ body after. He must’ve, in order to send ye her vis bulla. Perhaps—”

“I know,” Victoria said again, rising to go to the bed, her head suddenly aching. “That is the biggest part of the problem.”

Not only would she have to keep the vampires from finding the keys and opening the Magic Door…but now it appeared she would have to find some way to contact Sebastian and ask for his help.

Then he would, as usual, expect her to demonstrate some form of gratitude for said help.

And, truth be told, she could think of worse things to do. Much worse.

Victoria’s meeting with Ylito was delayed to just before noon on a rainy morning two days after her mother and friends arrived. Even so, it was pure luck that she’d actually been able to slip out of the villa that day, for Melly had planned to take her to see the Colosseum, but had developed a headache. Victoria had quickly seized upon a similar excuse, retreating to her room and instructing Verbena to allow no one to enter until the next morning.

“This is the first day she’s not dragged me about shopping, viewing the sights, parading around the city,” Victoria hissed as she slipped back down through the servants’ hall to the exit. “Pray God she has the headache all afternoon and misses dinner as well.”

“Now, milady, ye shouldn’t wish such stuff on yer mama,” Verbena cautioned. “She can’ help it if she jus’ wants t’ show ye off and dress ye pretty.”

“Marry me off is rather more accurate,” Victoria mumbled, tamping away the guilty feeling. She paused with her hand on the back door. “And for someone so concerned with propriety, the fact that it’s been only three months since Aunt Eustacia died and we’re not expected to be in mourning is surprising.”

“’T might be so, milady, but close as ye were to her, she was still jus’ yer great-aunt. Not so long fer mournin’, even back in Lunnon, but ye’re in Rome now. An’ if Lady Melly was in mournin’ she wouldn’t be able t’ go to Carnivale this week.” Verbena looked up at her, and Victoria saw sympathy in her cornflower eyes. “Ye’re still so young and pretty, milady. Yer mama jus’ wants ye to find happiness. She wants t’ erase that sadness in yer eyes.”

Happiness. Victoria wasn’t sure it was possible.

Perhaps not happiness, then, but contentment. Or at least satisfaction that her place on earth was as more than merely one half of a marriage, a womb to bear an heir, or a showpiece for her mother to flaunt.

Victoria had a more important, more difficult role than most women—or men—could imagine. If she could find the same satisfaction and peace her aunt had as Illa Gardella, Victoria could ask for little more.

Because her mother delayed her, Victoria was late meeting Ylito at what was left of the Villa Palombara. Despite the early February chill and dampness, she had Oliver drive a circuitous route in the city in order to make certain no one was following her from Aunt Eustacia’s villa. When the barouche stopped in front of the crumbling wall shaded by the old oak that had grown through it, Oliver turned to look at her.

“This the meeting place?” He looked at her questioningly. Not only was his driving gentler than that of Barth back in London, but his care for her safety was as well. Unlike Barth, Oliver wasn’t as keen on leaving a woman alone on the streets, particularly in areas that could be considered dangerous.

Of course, unlike Barth, Oliver had never seen Victoria fight vampires.

“Yes, you may let me off here and return to the villa.”

She’d never seen a person with such dark skin as Ylito. Even Kritanu, who had the mahogany skin and sleek dark hair of his Indian heritage, had lighter coloring than the hermetist.

“So, you are the new Illa Gardella,” he said, looking at her soberly. Victoria was surprised at his low, smooth voice; for some reason she’d expected him to sound as exotic as he looked, with his walnut skin and hair that spun out in tight, finger-length coils all over his head. His family was originally from Egypt, Wayren had told her, but Ylito’s grandfather had left the land of the pyramids and come to study with the Venators in Rome nearly a century ago.

“And you are the mysterious Ylito,” she replied, and felt compelled to make a brief bow to him. “I am delighted to meet you, particularly since I understand you rarely venture out.”

He looked as if he was at least two decades, or more, older than her own twenty-one years. He was dressed in boots and breeches and a coat and shirtwaist, as any other man of the times would be, but with his dark skin and regal bearing, he still looked exotic. He gave her a formal bow in return. “Come, let us look at this strange door.”

Now, in the daylight, Victoria could really see the deep split in the wall. It was caused by a low branch of the large oak growing through what had likely been a small crack at one time, but as the oak’s branch and trunk filled out, it had opened the wall. The shadow of the large tree, along with a mess of leafless vines, had helped to camouflage the opening.

With Ylito’s help, Victoria climbed through the crack, turning sideways so she could slip through the wet stone. She couldn’t help but think it was best that Zavier wasn’t there, for he would never have fit his bulky muscles through the slender opening. As soon as Ylito stepped both feet on the ground, they started off, Victoria leading the way.

The ground was wet and muddy, seeping into Victoria’s slippers, and the budding leaves had begun to shoot into green furls that would soon thicken the view even more.

Ylito made a disgusted comment under his breath as he paused to wipe mud from the side of his boot, but then he followed behind Victoria as they traipsed through thigh-high grass toward an awkward-looking gray-brick building. What must have been the main part of the villa loomed high behind it, and was made of the yellowish stone most common in Rome.

As Victoria trudged along, she turned her mind from the chill of her cold, wet gown to something nearly as uncomfortable: how to find Sebastian.

In London she had been able to go to his pub, the Silver Chalice, to contact him, but it had been destroyed. The last time she’d seen him was here in Rome, when, with his usual talent, he’d simply shown up when she didn’t necessarily want him to. Short of putting a notice in the newspaper, there was little she could do to find him.

But then a thought struck her. Sebastian had introduced her to two young women, twins named Portiera and Placidia. Perhaps if she called on them she might be able to learn how to find Sebastian in this city.

Not to mention the fact that her mother would love to see her interested in making social calls.

Since Lady Melly had arrived, Victoria had spent the last two nights at home with her aunt and friends, playing whist, catching up on gossip, and generally doing the things she thought she’d left behind when she married and moved from her mother’s home. Even as a marchioness she was expected to have social obligations—but at least they would be under her own terms.

“There it is,” Victoria said, gesturing to the wall made of slim gray stones stacked atop one another as she and Ylito passed through the same gate that the vampires had used two nights before. Off to the right was the smooth white lintel framing a solid stone door.

“La Porta Alchemica,” said Ylito, stepping toward it.

Victoria’s sodden skirt brushed against him as she too moved toward the door. It was not a particularly large one, now that she saw it in full daylight. Just an average size, low enough that someone as tall as Max might have to duck to cross the threshold.

She watched as Ylito smoothed his dark hand over the white marble as though reading with his fingertips the symbols carved there. Above the door was a large circle carving, within which were two triangles superimposed on each other, one pointing up and the other pointing down, and a cross stamped on top of them.

“Jupiter…tin…diameter sphaerae thau…circli…non orbis prosunt… Venus…copper…” murmured Ylito, moving his hand down the right side of the doorway.

“What does it say?”

“Alchemical symbols—this is for the planet Jupiter,” he said, showing her the top carving that looked like a cross with an arrow pointing to the right, “and represents the metal tin. Below it, the symbol of feminity, or Venus, the circle with the cross below it. There is Mercury and Mars…” he added, gesturing to the other side.

“What does it all mean?”

Again Ylito flashed his white teeth. “I do not know, and apparently neither did Palombara. As the story goes, he found the papers of an alchemist who came to Rome searching for a mysterious herb. After the alchemist disappeared, Palombara studied his journals and had some of the content engraved on the door. For example, under the Jupiter symbol it says, ‘the sphere’s diameter, the circle’s tau, and the globe’s cross are of no use to the blind.’ It simply means one might have the tools, but if one doesn’t know how to put them to use, they’re worthless.”

Victoria, looking at the odd symbols, couldn’t agree more.

A large dial was set into the stone of the portal, covering about the center half of the entrance. The round disk, which was flush with its setting, was formed of a different color stone and had the shape of a triangle carved into its face. At each of the three corners was a small rectangular notch, no more than two fingers wide and one thumb-length long. Victoria could see that the dirt and moss had been scraped away from the bottom right-hand notch, as though someone had recently slipped something into the hole.

She pushed her fingers in, examining the stone around the opening of what must be one of the keyholes, though it looked nothing like any keyhole she’d ever seen. Which made her realize that the key was perhaps not a long metal one with notches carved on one side, but something different. More of a small tab that would slide into the small opening. “Ylito, look at this.”

He crouched next to her with a faint pop in one of his knees and thrust his fingers sideways into the notch. They disappeared up to his second knuckles, and his dark eyes lit up with interest. “The key. One of the keys has been found.” He looked up at her, more animation in his face than she’d seen yet today. Obviously this was a fascination to him. “Si, that slot has the key slid in, unable to be retrieved until the door is opened. It has been fitted into place, and there it will stay. Each key fits in its slot and lifts the insides of the lock, and thus allows the disk to turn. That will open the door.”

Victoria nodded, her heart filling her chest. Was the missing key the one that had been given to Augmentin Gardella and then passed down to Aunt Eustacia? How could they know? Had the others been found?

Then she noticed that the moss and dirt had been cleaned off just above the notch, and that there was a faint carving on it.

Ylito was already looking at the etched lettering, his quick, dark hands passing over it as if it would help him to read it. “That is the name of the key. ‘Deus et homo,’ God and man. And see, there: its symbol—a large circle with rays like the sun, with a smaller circle inside it, resting at the bottom. It will be carved on the key itself, so that the user knows where it fits.”

“And the other two?” Victoria crouched so she could look at the bottom left corner of the triangle, using her nails to scrape away the moss, feeling the grit of moist dirt. “They’re named as well?”

“They are all noted here, in this symbol above the door,” Ylito said, drawing her attention to the large circle above the door. “See, it names the keys—‘tri sunt mirabilia: Deus et homo, mater et virgo, trinus et unus,’ that means ‘three are the wonders: God and man, mother and virgin, the one and three.’ The wonders are represented by the three keys that will give access to this secret laboratory.”

Victoria saw the words carved around the circle, and bent back down to the lower left key slot, scraping the dirt away. She uncovered enough to see that it was the “mater et virgo”—mother and virgin—key, and then sat back on her heels, heedless of the wet grass bleeding into her thighs and rump, her heart thumping hard in her chest. “And this?” she asked, relief beginning to creep through her muscles.

“This is the slot for the ‘mater et virgo’ key,” he said easily, tracing the symbols. “A slender crescent moon to the left, representing the virgin, curving away from and touching the full, ripe circle of the mother.” He looked up. “It’s two parts of a common ancient symbol of the three goddesses: virgin, mother, crone.”

“Aunt Eustacia’s armband is marked with that very same symbol of mother and virgin. They haven’t found her key yet.”

Ylito’s face settled into a smooth mask. “But we see here evidence that someone is looking for it now.”