Колин Глисон: Victoria Gardella: Vampire Slayer

And since a vampire couldn’t enter a home uninvited, Victoria presumed he or she had arrived under a mask of some sort, pretending to be one of the invitees. Which would make it even more difficult to identify the villain.

She’d pushed her way between a milkmaid juggling two, thankfully empty, pails and a doublet-garbed Romeo when she suddenly came face to face with the golden-haired lute player.

“Why, my dear Venator,” he murmured, slipping his hand around her arm in the crowd, “how delighted I am that you should have followed me so quickly. Shall we slip away to finish the…discussion…we began at the Chalice?”

“Sebastian,” she replied, tugging her arm discreetly away so as not to draw attention. If her mother saw her tête-à-tête with a man who not only wasn’t the Marquess of Rockley, but was also without a title at all, she’d come barreling over to separate them immediately. “What are you doing here?”

She didn’t know much about Sebastian—particularly whether or not he should be trusted—but one thing she did know was that he wasn’t the vampire she sought.

“Why, I’m attending a masquerade ball…the same as you, I presume. What a delight to see you here, ma chér, although I must admit that your costume could be considered in poor taste…considering the fact that her majesty met a most unpleasant end. According to my Grandfather Beauregard, it was rather a bloody incident.”

She drew back a bit. Was that some sort of warning? A renewed prickle lifted the hair at the back of her neck, reminding her that she had other business to attend to. “Why are you here?” she asked again.

Those sensual lips smiled knowingly, lifting his mask a bit. “Perhaps I came simply because I knew that you would be here…and I find that masks, though obscuring, can also be quite…freeing.” His hand slid through the crook of her arm, easing her flush against his side—or at least as flush as he could, with inches of skirts, crinolines, and panniers between them. “I noticed that you extricated yourself from Lord Rockley quite directly, as soon as you recognized me.”

She realized he’d begun to guide them through the crowd, away from the dance floor, and toward the rest of the house. Since that was the direction she wished to go anyway, she allowed him to think he was in charge.

After all, with her vis bulla strength, she could snap his grip and stop him in his tracks at any given moment, as the lascivious Mr. Bendleworth had discovered a week ago when he tried to lure her into a dark corner.

Aside of that, since she didn’t trust Sebastian as far as she could throw the well-padded Duchess of Farnham, Victoria felt it might be best to keep an eye on him for a bit. Especially if there was a vampire about.

As they pulled free of the party-goers and found themselves moving into the house’s grand entrance, Victoria’s neck grew colder, confirming that she was heading in the right direction.

Suddenly, she heard a low cry from one of the rooms beyond, and she pulled free of Sebastian’s grip. Heart beating, she slipped the stake from its little loop beneath a flounce and began to move quickly down the corridor. Her gown rustled, causing her to curse the fact that she’d listened to her mother’s costume suggestion instead of dressing the way she wished: as Diana, in a flimsy, light gown. She would have even been able to put stakes in a bow quiver and wear it over her shoulder.

Victoria reached the only door that was closed tightly, certain this was where the soft cry had come from. Her neck was still cold, but there was silence. A quick glance behind told her that Sebastian had disappeared, blast it, but she couldn’t worry about him now.

The stake gripped hard in her hand, she listened again, and closed her fingers around the cool door knob. Then, she heard it again. A low, pained cry from the other side of the door.

Victoria twisted the knob and eased it open quickly and quietly. Inside, the room was dark, lit only by a fire needed more for its illumination than warmth. Shadows danced, black and red, and she darted her gaze around quickly.

There. In the corner, the shapes of a man and woman, entwined.

Entwined?

Victoria paused, her stake poised, and forever after, she would be grateful for that hesitation. For as she looked more closely, she saw that not only were there no burning red eyes or long white fangs on either of the two figures, but that one of them was dressed in the long white gown of Circe.

Mother?

And the other was the tall, slender figure of Lord Jellington, Lady Melly’s erstwhile beau.

Victoria sucked in her breath and fairly stumbled back out of the room, deliriously grateful that they’d been much too engaged in…whatever they were doing…to have noticed her presence.

Her mother.

No wonder she wanted Victoria married off. Then she would no longer have a daughter to chaperone and could go about her own business.

Victoria hurried back down the hall and then paused, waiting to feel the temperature at the back of her neck. Yes, the chill was still there.

A broad, curving staircase rose out of the foyer in front of her. Perhaps….

Victoria gathered up her bothersome skirts and hurried up the steps, stake gripped in one hand and slippers silent on the treads. As she rose, her neck became slightly more chilled and she smiled in pleasure. Hopefully, she was on the right path and would soon dispatch the nuisance of the undead…and then be able to return to Phillip, lemonade, and the moonlight.

Once at the top of the stairs, she hesitated for a moment, then moved smoothly along to the left. Most of the doors were closed, for they led to bedchambers, but she paused next to each one to listen and feel.

The third one door on the left was slightly ajar, but she was certain the prickling chill at her nape had become colder. One hand on the door, she eased it open slightly and peered inside.

A dark figure moved within the shadows of the room, and Victoria caught her breath. Smiling to herself, she levered the door open further, started to move in and then realized her skirts were too wide. The light from the hallway would soon spill in enough to warn the vampire that someone was there, but he would likely think she was simply an innocent, helpless girl.

Victoria hid her stake behind the width of her gown and pushed the door open.

The man turned, and light fell on his face.

“Sebastian!” Victoria stalked into the room. “What are you after?”

“So you’ve followed me again, have you, my dear Venator?” he asked, moving away from a chest of drawers. He looked as though he was withdrawing his hand from beneath his tunic, and she suspected he’d just placed something—likely whatever he’d been searching for—somewhere inside. “A bit more private than the library downstairs. Did you find your vampire?”

“No,” she replied. “What do you have in your pocket?”

His smile flashed hot in the low light. “Why do you not come and look for yourself?”

Victoria was too annoyed to be flustered by his blatant comment, and she moved into the room with an angry swish of silk. “I would be delighted to do so,” she said, approaching him fearlessly.

“My, you are full of courage tonight, aren’t you?”

“No, indeed,” she said, fully aware that the back of her neck was still cold, and that somewhere, an undead was on the prowl. “I’m simply in a hurry, and you keep distracting me.”

“I distract you, do I?” He stepped closer to her, so close that her crinolines brushed his cross-gartered hose. “What a welcome bit of information, Victoria Gardella.”

Before she could react, he reached out and slid a hand under her chin. He was ungloved, and the feel of his warm skin on the delicate flesh of her neck had her pulse spiking high. “I’ve always wanted to distract a Venator.” His voice had dropped to a murmur, and Victoria felt her breath catch in her throat.