Rises the Night, page 12
Victoria watched her in fascination. She had not had very much experience in the womanly arts of flirtation, but it seemed Countess Guccioli was a master at it. Poor Byron. He was fairly miserable by the time Victoria was ready to leave…which was two hours later.
She had called for Oliver and the carriage and was stepping out of the villa’s door, ready to draw in a deep breath of night air, when she felt a presence behind her.
“Do you leave us so soon, signora?”
“Count Alvisi. Is it not a lovely night, with the stars out? And, yes, I am sorry, but I’m feeling rather fatigued. Nevertheless, I had a gorgeous time this evening.”
He was the same height as she, with the same swarthy Italian coloring that Max had. But his eyes glittered just a bit too much, and his lips curled in a most dismaying manner. And he smelled ridiculously, hideously, of lavender water.
Either he had bathed in it, or he’d gotten much too close to a woman who’d bathed in it.
At any rate, Victoria was near the end of her patience and was prepared to set him down quickly and thoroughly should he become friendly. And friendly was what he had in mind, if the direction of his gaze was any indication.
“But you did not get what you came for, did you?”
She looked sharply at him. He nodded delicately and smoothed a hand down the front of his shirtwaist.
“What do you mean, sir?”
“I had the pleasure of overhearing a portion of your conversation with our wonderful host.”
“Indeed?”
“How you wished to meet a real vampire.” He stepped closer, bringing lavender and…was that lemon?…with him.
“I should think it would be fascinating. Do you think they truly exist?”
“I know they do. I’ve seen them.”
She widened her eyes and emitted a girlish squeal from her lips. “Truly? Where have you seen them? Are they dangerous?” She dropped her voice. “Have you been bitten?”
“I have. Would you like to see my scars?” He showed her, and true enough, there were four little marks on his neck. Rather recent, in fact.
“How? Where?”
“We have a little…group. We see the vampires and we spend time with them—only a few of them, mind you. Because we understand them, you see. They are the most misunderstood creatures I have ever met.”
“I can only imagine! People for years have thought of them as beasts. But they aren’t, are they? Are they as romantic and dangerous as I have dreamed?”
“They are. And if you like, I can arrange for you to join us some evening.”
“I should be most grateful, Count Alvisi.”
He slipped something hard and flat into her hand. “This will be your token of admittance. I shall notify you of the date and place.”
She looked down, already knowing what she would see. A Tutela amulet.
Most grateful indeed.
+ 10 +
In Which Lady Rockley Acquires an Acute Dislike of Lavender
* * *
True to his word, four nights later Count Alvisi sent a cryptic note to Victoria.
“‘I shall call for you in one half hour,’” she read aloud. Sending the note wafting onto her dressing table, she looked up at Verbena. “It appears I will be attending a meeting of the Tutela very shortly.” She looked at the small clock on her dressing table. “At ten o’clock tonight.”
“I’ll have Oliver bring word ’round t’ your aunt whilst we get you ready,” the maid said, bustling toward the door. “The man’s been frayin’ each one o’ my nerves for the last day, lookin’ for somethin’ t’ do. After I ’splained they’re afraid o’ silver, ’e got himself so worked up he locked hisself in his room, says he’s gonna make a new weapon for fightin’ vampires with.” She snorted, shaking her head as she slipped out of Victoria’s chamber, then poked back in to add, “The man’s never seen a vampire, so I don’ know how he’s gonna invent a way to kill one. He’ll take one look at those red eyes and he’ll be runnin’ back to Cornwall wi’ wet britches, where ’e belongs.”
The door closed behind her, and Victoria picked up the note again. Over the last several days she’d considered the best way to approach the invitation extended by the count. At one point she’d thought of having him followed so she could learn where he went, and possibly discover the Tutela’s meeting place on her own. She would have preferred going in on her own terms, possibly sneaking in, rather than having to wait to be escorted.
If she were escorted, she would have to play the role of the widowed Mrs. Withers and to remain with Alvisi during the entire time. If she could go alone, she might simply be able to watch unobserved.
But in the end she’d decided to wait for his invitation and accompany the count. He would certainly be aware of the process, and if there were anything special one must do in order to gain entrance, he would know. Once she learned the location of the meeting, and how to get in, she could investigate on her own. After all, her goal was to find and assassinate Nedas.
Against her better judgment, she allowed Verbena to coif and dress her as though she were going to a social event. Her maid had protested when Victoria originally opted to dress in her loose split skirt and braid her hair in a simple braid.
“You should look as if you’re goin’ to a party,” she told her. “Ye can’t dress as if ye’re huntin’ vampires. And besides…the count prob’ly wants to show you off to the vampires! I’m sure ye’er prettier than any of the other women in the Tutela!”
“More dangerous too,” Victoria added, and succumbed to her maid’s ministrations. She was certain half the reason Verbena insisted on dressing and coiffing her so particularly even when the event didn’t call for it was because her sister was the lady’s maid for the daughter of a duchess…and they were always comparing notes about their mistresses’ gowns and jewels. She wondered idly whether the sister knew as much about vampires and Venators as Verbena did.
When Victoria came down the stairs a half hour after receiving the note from Alvisi, two stakes in her hair and another one affixed to the garter under her skirt, salted holy water in her reticule and in a small vessel attached to her other garter, along with a sheathed dagger, and a large crucifix tucked deep down betwixt her breasts where it would not be seen unless she wished it to, she interrupted a fierce, whispered conversation between Verbena and Oliver in the front parlor.
It was comic: The maid barely reached to his collarbones, but she appeared to be doing all the talking, with him nodding silently but energetically down at her. Her carrot-red hair, frizzy and bushy, bobbed with her every movement, his darker, more auburn hair following in a slower rhythm. Her hands slapped together in some sort of emphasis, back hand into her palm with a loud crack; then she shifted into a single pointing finger.
“Has the count arrived?” Victoria asked innocently.
“Not yet, my lady,” Verbena responded, stepping away from her counterpart with one last glare. Perhaps she’d been lecturing him on using a cross or crucifix instead of garlic for the best vampire repellent. “But Oliver here will, I’m certain, be pleased to look out for you.”
Just then, the Italian servant who acted as butler for the small house they were renting slipped into the room and announced, “The Count Alvisi, signora.”
It was apparent as soon as the count stepped into the small parlor that he had not brushed too close to a woman who had bathed in lavender the other night, but that he had been the one to douse himself. And as though he were trying to extend the scent in some sort of stylistic pattern, his silk shirtwaist was a lavender color…and the cravat tied neatly, if blandly, at his throat was lavender. And the gem that glittered in the center of it was…yes…a clear, pale amethyst.
“You look lovely this evening, Mrs. Withers,” the count told her, honest appreciation beaming in his dark eyes. “In fact, you look lovely enough to eat!” He winked and gave a loud guffaw as he stepped forward to take her hand.
Victoria remembered herself, and that she had to play the role of a bold, crass woman—instead of a fearsome Venator or a perfect Society woman—and managed a hearty enough laugh that her mother would have been mortified. She would remember that for the evening: If she did something that would cause her mother’s jaw to drop in askance or her lips to purse in annoyance, she would be acting just as she should—just as she imagined a woman who would be interested in meeting vampires because she found them fascinating and attractive would act.
“Shall we go?” asked Victoria.
“Indeed, signora. The carriage awaits.” He took her arm and they swept out of the room, shoulder-to-shoulder, elbow-to-elbow.
“I cannot believe I shall meet a real vampire tonight,” Victoria said once they were settled in the carriage. No sooner had the door closed than she wished fervently to crack a window in order to allow some of the lavender to escape.
Alvisi sat across from her, not as Sebastian would have, relaxing in the corner with an arm extended along the back of the seat, but on the edge of the bench, stiffly upright, hands clasped in his lap. He looked as though he might be ready to bolt at any moment. “Er…si, signora. We may not see an actual vampire tonight. I have seen one myself only one time.”
Victoria sagged back, stifling her disappointment and budding annoyance. Was this simply a ploy to get her in a carriage alone?
If it were Sebastian, she would believe it without a doubt. But this man did not send ripples of apprehension through her. He seemed harmless and easily managed—except for the powerful weapon of his cologne. “Where are we going if not to see a vampire?”
“We are to attend the meeting of a secret society, the Tutela, whose purpose is to protect and care for vampires. But I do not know if we shall be graced with the presence of the immortals.” That glitter she had seen in his eyes at Byron’s villa was back, accompanied by a slight sheen on his rounded forehead. “They do not attend every meeting at this level.”
“Level?” Victoria looked around; the carriage had stopped. “Have we arrived?”
“No, no. We must make our way on foot for a short distance. The streets are too narrow and curved for a carriage to pass. Come, signora, hurry, or we shall arrive too late and the doors will be barred. It is already after half past ten.”
They climbed out of the carriage and Victoria allowed Alvisi to guide her through the dim, narrow streets. The route curved like a snake, widening enough that a horse might pass through in some places, or even a small carriage, then back to little more than a passageway. Despite the darkness and narrowness of the streets, there were many other pedestrians making their way about—to or from the evening’s entertainments, perhaps.
At last, Victoria and Alvisi emerged from the labyrinthine streets at a bridge that rose gently over a narrow canal.
“Signora,” said Alvisi, gesturing for her to precede him into a waiting gondola .The vessel dipped and pitched when he tried to find a comfortable seat.
Victoria didn’t recognize the part of the city in which they had stopped, but she was not all that familiar with Venice as yet. As the gondolier eased them across the canal with his long pole, she glanced back at the shore they were leaving behind. Something in the shadows moved…and then the shape was gone.
She continued to stare as the gray outline of shore, lit only by random lanterns hung from poles and a smattering of stars in a moonless sky, melded into the darkness that now surrounded them on the wide canal. Someone or something had been there. Following them? Or merely another pedestrian carrying on his or her business?
As they poled along the canal, away from either shore, Victoria could hear the excitement growing in Alvisi’s breaths. They were coming faster and more shallowly, a bit raspier, often with a little catch, like a tiny gasp, at the end. The single lantern of punctured tin that hung from the back of the gondola gave enough light for her to see his hands clasped onto the sides of the vessel, and a shinier sheen on his forehead. Either he didn’t like water and boats, or he was becoming very excited about the meeting of the Tutela.
They went on for a long while, traveling away from the city, silently moving atop the water. There had been a few other gondolas in the vicinity when they started out, but as the distance from town and where they’d climbed aboard the boat grew wider, the number of other vessels decreased until there were none other about. Even the lights from homes along the canals, and the squares of buildings silhouetted against the shore eased into darkness and the jaggedness of tumbledown structures and rocky terrain, illuminated only by chance when their gondola lantern swayed in a lucky direction.
Victoria began to feel a bit apprehensive as she realized they’d left Venice behind. This was so very different from London, where she at least had a sense of direction and knew where she was. And where a hackney could be hired to take her home from most any place in the city, even St. Giles. She realized she should have paid much better attention to where they were going in the carriage, and watched for landmarks as they made their way on foot to the canal.
She wasn’t frightened, but she should have made better preparations. Having Oliver follow along might have been a prudent choice. Perhaps Kritanu as well.
But she had been so confident of her ability to take care of herself, with her vis bulla and other weapons, and so focused on her goal of gaining entrance to the Tutela, that she had planned poorly.
Of course, she could be worrying about nothing. But her uneasiness was beginning to grow as steadily as the moisture on Alvisi’s forehead. He spoke little during the short voyage, and Victoria, who was trying to watch for landmarks in order to remember their route, didn’t attempt conversation.
And then, at last, after what must have been more than an hour of navigating along the dark canal, they arrived.
At least, that was what Victoria assumed when the gondola eased up to a dark shore.
“Come, come,” Alvisi said, his voice strained. He scrambled out of the boat and pulled her after him with none of the gentlemanly aplomb he’d served up earlier at her villa. Once on the rocky shore, Victoria pulled firmly away from his grip—no difficult task, and if he noticed her unusual strength, he made no comment. He was already hurrying along some pathway she was hardly able to see. Looking back toward the water, she saw that the gondola and its small lantern had shoved away from the shore and it was easing back up along the canal.
She would have paused longer to take measure of the darkness and its occupants, but Alvisi had come back for her. “Mrs. Withers, come. We must hurry or they will bar the doors!”
This was what she’d come for.
She turned and followed him down the dark path between bushes and trees that brushed into her and snagged at her light pelisse.
At last they came to a wooden door attached to a tall stone building closely surrounded by trees. It appeared they’d approached it from the rear; there were no other buildings in sight, nor anything that hinted of civilization. It was a building alone in the dark woods. Victoria could see the outlines of the gray, black, and tan stones that made up the wall, thanks to the small lantern that hung from a short iron stem. It sat only knee-height, and was half-hidden by a bush until one came nearly upon it. Clearly, the Tutela took no chances in having its meeting place found.
Alvisi pulled on the long iron latch of the door and, to his obvious relief it swung open on silent hinges. A red glow from inside colored the sandy, trampled ground next to the low lantern outside, and tinged the door and stones with a warm hue.
With one quick glance up at the sky, which had cleared to show the moon, Victoria noted it was already midnight. She followed Alvisi in and, once they were inside, a tall man dressed as though he were ready to attend the opera closed the door behind her.
“Good evening, madam, and welcome,” he said in Italian. He seemed to be waiting for something, and then Victoria remembered. She opened her hand to show him the Tutela amulet, and he nodded admittance.
She followed Alvisi down the hall, confirming that, according to the back of her neck, there were no vampires in the vicinity.
The half-lit room they entered at the end of the hall contained several dozen people conversing, and was large enough in size to be a ballroom, but not appropriate in decor. Victoria hadn’t been able to determine what kind of building they were in, but it didn’t appear to be a villa or home. The interior walls were the same stone as the exterior. There were no windows—not surprising, as the vampires wouldn’t be receptive to having sunlight come flooding in—and as far as she could tell, only one other door. The floor was covered with rugs, and between them, she could see the primitive dirt and stone.
There were, however, chairs and benches throughout the room. And at the far end from where she and Alvisi had entered, a small, high dais had been positioned. It was just large enough to hold a long table and five chairs. It reminded her of a theater, or perhaps a church…although that would be an odd place for vampire protectors to meet.
Curious, Victoria slipped away from her escort and toward the front of the room, for she was too far away to see what was on the table other than two large, shallow bowls that held small fires, one on each end.
The room’s red glow came from a roaring fire on one wall near the dais in a fireplace that could easily hold eight grown men. Candles and sconces flickered throughout the chamber, and as she passed among the other attendees, Victoria noted the vast majority were men of all ages and that they were as well dressed as the man who’d asked to see her amulet.
In fact, she saw only three other women, and they didn’t appear to be ones who would normally be accepted in high society, based on the ludicrously low-cut gowns and pretentious jewels they wore. Perhaps she should speak with them. Since that was the kind of thing that would make her mother’s eyes roll up into her head just before she swooned, Victoria decided it would be a fitting action for Mrs. Withers to undertake.
