Rises the Night, page 13
The room smelled of smoke and perspiration, along with the horrid mingle of Alvisi’s lavender, and the rosewaters, minty perfumes, and vetiver colognes that clung to other persons. But underlying all of the sweet floral and musky herbal scents, Victoria smelled blood and darkness and evil, and a faint pungent smell she’d sensed only once before: at The Silver Chalice.
The essence was nothing she specifically recognized, nothing she could name or even compare it to; the aura was faint, but it was rancid and rank. It made her belly want to seize. She hadn’t remembered even smelling it until now, but the memory came back as she inhaled it once again. The only other time she’d experienced it was when she had fought the demon.
Was this the scent of a demon? Or was it something else entirely?
She looked around and realized everyone seemed to be selecting a seat. Alvisi was gesturing to her from one of the rows in the back of the room, and Victoria decided it would be in her best interest to remain with him. She had absolutely no desire to be singled out until she had a better idea of what was to happen here. In addition, sitting in the back of the room would give her a better view of the entire chamber and perhaps an opportunity to determine whether there was indeed a demon present.
So far, there were no vampires.
No sooner had she been seated next to her escort than three men stepped up onto the dais. She recognized one of them as a guest at Byron’s villa. Signore Zinnani.
“Good evening,” he said, gesturing widely to the room as the attendees gave him their attention. “Welcome to the Tutela. You are all here only because you have been invited by one of our members.”
Victoria looked at Alvisi, who gave a small shrug and nodded.
“Let us begin.”
Zinnani opened what appeared to be a square black box that gleamed when it was moved. He reached in with his hand, then sprinkled whatever had been in the box onto each of the small bowls of fire that sat on the table in front of him. Each fire in turn gave a tiny poof, like a huff of breath, and the flames burned blue, then purple, then back to red again. Almost immediately a faint but enduring sweet scent reached Victoria’s sensitive Venator nose.
She didn’t like it. The smell made her want to escape from the room even as it rushed through the air, silently and invisibly, like a web.
She didn’t like it at all. It was too sweet and too thick, like honey or molasses, and Victoria felt it clogging her nostrils as though a piece of heavy cloth had been tossed over her, pulled tight, and stuffed into her nose. She looked around, next to her, and along the rows in front of her. No one appeared to be bothered by the smell but her. In fact, Alvisi looked as though he wanted to sniff the entire room into his nostrils, the way he lifted his face and closed his eyes and sucked in long, deep breaths.
Victoria was feeling hazy and light-headed. Alvisi swayed next to her, and when she turned to look at him, she saw that his eyes were darker and glassy. Others in the rows in front of her, all the way to the dais, were moving, restless, tipping as though having difficulty keeping their balance as well.
She became aware of a low murmur. She couldn’t understand the words, but they sounded like a chant. It started with the men at the dais and swelled to fill the room, deep and low, as though needing to stay near the ground so its meaning could not be discerned. Alvisi’s mouth was moving and the words were coming out, but they were not recognizable to her.
The sense of muzziness had not left her. Victoria placed a hand on her abdomen, slipping her fingers into a small hole where several stitches had been removed at the seam of her bodice and skirt. This way she could feel under her stays and beneath her chemise to her vis bulla, the solid, blessed silver of comfort and strength. When her fingers touched it, she closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and let its power flow through her.
The haziness ebbed. It didn’t disappear completely, but it relaxed its grip.
The chanting stopped, and for a moment the only sound came from the sizzle and pop of the fire in its large stone enclosure.
Then Zinnani spoke again. His voice was low and mellow. “We have been called, those of us here. We are chosen from among the mortals to protect those who cannot walk in the sun as we do. To protect those who cannot live in ease, those who have been cursed to darkness.”
As he spoke, murmurs punctuated his words as he listed the generous tasks required of and the rewards bestowed upon the Tutela members. “Protect them!”
“Those of us here who can stand the test and who shall prove themselves will be granted safety.”
“Safety!”
“By serving the Immortals, we will remain safe from harm. We will not be hunted or ravaged as the unbelievers will. We will not be their victims when the Immortals rise to rule.”
“Rise, Immortals! Rise!”
“We will be granted pleasure such as we have never known.”
“Pleasure!” This response a soft gasp, nearly a whisper.
“The partaking and giving of life force is the most erotic and pleasurable event ever experienced. This will be ours at will and without cessation! We shall feel as we have never felt before! We shall feel and we shall live for the first time! And we shall be granted the gift of immortal life.”
“Immortal life!”
“Immortal life!”
“Immortal life!”
The words filled Victoria’s ears, slipping into them, worming into her consciousness. Immortal life. The prize sought by men for centuries from alchemists to, if legend was to be believed, the knights of the Round Table who hunted for the Holy Grail.
Was it any wonder some men would even align with evil in order to attain life everlasting?
Immortal life, the gift bestowed upon the Tutela. Immortal life, at least, until they were staked or beheaded…and then eternal damnation. She shuddered, for she knew it was true.
Victoria turned to Alvisi, wanting to say something to him, to try to penetrate the fog that had hold of him, but even when she tugged at his arm with all of her strength, he merely stumbled into her, righted himself, and then returned his attention to Zinnani.
And then she felt it: the cool wisps across the back of her neck, growing burning cold. Her fingers still pinching her vis bulla, Victoria let her gaze scan the room without turning her head, looking for new arrivals. They either needed to enter through the door near the dais, or from the doorway through which she and Alvisi had come. She could not see that door unless she turned around, and she dared not do that for fear of drawing attention to herself.
The cold itch became biting. There must be five or six vampires here.
And then they pushed past her, thrusting themselves through the messy rows of chairs, one by one, six of them, striding toward the dais. Victoria felt cold rush over her entire body. She had never been so close to a vampire that she had not been fighting, that had not been on the attack.
Fingering her vis amulet, she thanked God that vampires could not sense the presence of a Venator.
Five of the six vampires had not fed. She saw that from the moment they stepped onto the dais and turned to face the room. Their eyes, pure bloodred, had the hunger in them that would drive them to find nourishment at any cost. The sixth vampire, whose eyes were also red, turned to speak with Zinnani.
Zinnani, who had the same unblinking expression on his face as Alvisi, made room for the vampire guests next to him. Even from her position in the back, Victoria could see him vibrating with emotion and pleasure at the proximity of the creatures he so obviously worshiped. His eyes glistened with what must have been tears, and his mouth was stretched in a wide, wet smile that made him appear as if he were about to partake of some rich and sinful pastry.
The sixth vampire turned from him and spoke to the room. “We have come to receive your commitment and promise to the Immortals. Who of the First Trial shall be the first to receive this honor?”
There was a hesitation; then a man stood near the front of the room. “I shall.”
“Come forward.”
The man, who was little more than a youth touching adulthood, maneuvered himself between the chairs until he stood at the dais. The vampire leader, the one Victoria had come to think of as the Sixth, effortlessly pulled the young man up onto the stage.
She could see the pulse pounding in a distended vein on the man’s forehead, and the way his Adam’s apple jerked and jumped. He faced the room, and the Sixth opened his mouth, extending his lethal fangs, and pulled the man’s head to the side.
He bent and, as Victoria watched, sank his teeth slowly into the exposed neck. The young man started, his shoulders snapping back, but he did not fight. His eyes closed, his mouth opened. He would have sagged to the floor had the Sixth not held him upright. The victim moaned, twitching, his fingers convulsing at his sides as though reaching for something, his chest moving rapidly as though he were running. Yet he seemed to welcome the sensation.
Behind them, the other five vampires, the ones who had not fed and would be highly susceptible to the scent of blood, stood and watched avidly. Their noses twitched as though the scent of fresh blood called to them. Victoria could feel their hunger. She could nearly smell their obsession and she waited with trepidation to see whether they would succumb to the temptation and the need.
But though their eyes burned like the hottest coals of Hell, they did not, and the Sixth did nothing to alleviate their agony. Instead, after he had fed from the young man for a few moments, he turned to face him, swiping a tiny trickle of blood from his lips. “You have now entered the Second Trial. When you have completed what is required of you in the next two trials, and have proven your service, you shall be brought into the Center.”
The man, shaking but glowing with a sort of accomplishment, hurried back to his seat and received the congratulations of the men sitting beside him.
“Who shall be next?”
Another man stood and came forward, and the same process ensued. The Sixth fed from him as he had from the other, ignoring the increasing depravity and impatience of the five other vampires. This time when the man was being fed upon, Victoria, who now knew what to expect, felt herself becoming enraptured along with the man. His cries were not of agony but of ecstasy, his eyes closed in pleasure rather than pain. His hands reached back behind the vampire, who fed from his neck and fondled his shoulder-length coils of hair.
When he moaned, she felt it rumble through her veins. She felt his shivers and the waves of pleasure, felt her own body begin to awaken. What should have been grotesque and frightening became inviting.
She realized then that the sweet, cloying scent had become stronger and noticed Zinnani moving back behind the stage. Reaching beneath her gown, she felt again for the vis bulla and closed her eyes.
This went on for a time. Victoria felt as though hours had elapsed since she and Alvisi had arrived: the Sixth feeding for a short time with each of the men who volunteered to come forward. None of the three other women that Victoria had seen stood and asked to complete their First Trial, and she began to wonder if only men were given the opportunity to get to the Center.
She must find out, for the Center must be where Nedas was.
To her surprise, Alvisi did not volunteer to go forward, and she remembered through her haze (for she still held her vis bulla) that he had said something about a “level.” Perhaps the trials were the levels of which he’d spoken. That brought her to wonder what level or trial he had attained. He’d shown her his bite marks, so he must have passed at least the First Trial.
When all of the volunteers from the First Trial had come forward, the Sixth stood with his hands on his hips. He’d forgotten to wipe away the last vestiges of blood from his final feeding, and a small trickle curled down his chin. His lips were full and moist and red, and his matching eyes glowed a complacent blood color. “Now we have finished the First Trial. We have brought sixteen new members into the Tutela. Sixteen new men who shall help to protect and serve the Immortals!”
A cheer rose in the chamber, followed by that same chanting she had heard at the beginning of the meeting. As before, it started off low and deep, undulating throughout the space, catching her up in its rhythm. She could not fathom the words, but this time the volume swelled and peaked and reached a froth of emotion that sent cold, curling shivers down her back. It was uncontrollable. It was loud—and the ebb and flow of syllable and breath rumbling into and around her was combined with yet another increase of the sweet, hypnotic scent in the air.
The men surrounding Victoria shouted, punching their fists high. Everywhere about her, she saw eyes lit with fanaticism and fervor.
The chanting continued, rolling into a soft accompaniment to the Sixth’s next words. “The Second Trial! Who shall begin the Second?”
The chanting built, the scent sweetened, the fervor escalated. Someone stood, a man near the front—one who had not been fed upon this night. “I shall!” he shouted joyously.
And then, instead of stepping forward, as Victoria had expected him to do, he bent to the side and grabbed the arm of the woman who sat next to him. Muscling her to her feet—for by now, she was trying to pull away, obviously apprehensive of what was to happen next—the man shoved her forward.
She stumbled and would have fallen, but the man grabbed her arm again and manhandled her in front of him toward the dais.
“I offer my commitment and promise to the Immortals,” the man said, shouting to be heard above the rising chanting. And he pushed the girl hard.
The Sixth reached down from the dais and easily plucked her up before she fell, dragging her up onto the platform. Her creamy white gown swept along with her, spilling over the edge of the stage as she tripped again.
“Your commitment is accepted!” shouted the Sixth above the room’s frenzy, effortlessly holding the woman’s wrists behind her back. He then released her to two of the unfed vampires.
They fell upon her, one at each side, tearing their fangs into her white flesh, one at the side of her neck, one at the juncture where neck met shoulder. The woman screamed, kicked, bucked…but a third vampire came from behind and pulled her arms back, holding her steady while his companions fed.
Victoria watched in abject horror, her mouth drying and her heart pounding. This was so different from the scenes before. The unwilling victim at the mercy of the two vampires who ravaged her throat and shoulders. They were made crazed by their need to feed, by the smell of blood, and by the agony of having watched sixteen others being fed upon.
But what could she do? One against dozens of men…against six vampires. Her mind was still foggy; her limbs didn’t want to move. The instant she was discovered to be a Venator, she would be killed before she could take her next breath.
She looked back up at the stage and saw that the woman’s bodice had been torn away and one white breast, streaked with blood, bounced and swayed as she twisted and fought. These vampires did not bite delicately; they were starved, so they gouged and tore and destroyed. The woman’s moans were choked, her cries fading. The stench of blood filled the air, just as the chanting continued.
And then Victoria noticed another woman was on the other end of the stage. Two more vampires were sharing her, but she did not fight with the same vehemence as the other. Her flesh was torn, and blood streamed from her neck and bosom while she cried—
Suddenly Victoria felt a great, hard jerk on her own arm.
She pulled away from Alvisi—whose face had become determined and fanatic—and whirled from his grip, but she slammed into another man, who shoved her forward. Victoria sidestepped him, swinging out with her fists, but she faced another one. Everywhere she turned, another man stood, blocking her, shoving her forward toward the stage.
The chanting continued as Victoria was spun around, trying to fight her way through the wall of men, but there were too many. She was pushed and prodded, pulled and tripped. She kicked and fought, her head swam, the sweet smell built back in her nose again. She could not touch her vis bulla; she could not stand straight; she could not see where she was. She couldn’t breathe.
Suddenly hands, many hands, grabbed her—too many to fight off. She felt herself being lifted, and the roaring fire to her left tipped in front of her, then around to her other side as she kicked and bit and bucked. Then she felt herself launched through the air, and landed on her hip and shoulder on something hard, her cheek smashing onto the floor. The smell of fresh blood filled her nose.
The sea of chanting, bright-eyed faces was at her eye level for only a moment before she was dragged to her feet. Victoria had an instant to grope for her vis before she swung out at the vampires who came at her. She kicked and dodged and punched, had the satisfaction of meeting one of them in the face, and was reaching back to yank a stake from her hair when her arms were grabbed and pulled down to her sides. Dimly aware that it had taken two vampires, one at each arm, to do so, she ducked and tried to twist free.
The grip was too strong; she couldn’t break it. She couldn’t get to her stakes, her holy water, her cross…Hands were on her everywhere, pulling at her dress, her arms, her legs, her breasts. She felt her head being jerked to one side by the hair, felt her coiffure loosen and her neck bare to the sweet-smelling room. The dull, pasty smell of blood on the breath of the vampire nearest her filled her nose, pushing away even the hypnotic scent of the incense.
When his teeth sank into her neck, it was almost a relief.
+ 11 +
Two Fortuitous Doors
* * *
Teeth sank into her once, twice, three times. Victoria felt the warm ooze of blood seeping along the crease of her neck, trickling into the cleft between her breasts, and the soft lull of relief…the easy haze that tempted her to let go.
Yet she couldn’t stop fighting. Her body dipped and tilted as they pawed at her, nibbled on her. She felt something heavy shift and slide from beneath her bodice, and then fall free with a gentle weight tugging at the back of her neck.
There were cries of surprise and fear, and the hands clawing her fell away…she felt herself falling, tumbling, and then smacked onto the ground again.
