Колин Глисон: Victoria Gardella: Vampire Slayer

Nevertheless, she stood firm. “You’ll not keep me from my purpose, Sebastian. Turn out your pocket so I can see what it is you’ve taken.”

“Don’t you wish to look for yourself?” he replied. Even behind the obscurity of the mask, and the low light from the hall lamps, she could see the beauty of his face. From the first time she met him, she thought he looked like a golden angel.

A nefarious golden angel.

“Turn out your pockets,” she said again.

“You’d best do what the girl says, Vioget,” came a bored voice, “or we’ll be here all night waiting for her to get to the task at hand.”

Victoria whirled, stepping back from Sebastian. Just inside the doorway stood a tall, dark-haired man. He wore a mask that covered the top of his face, but his dark hair and square chin were exposed…as was the annoyed expression twisting his mouth. The mask was his only concession to costume; the rest of his garb consisted of a white shirt, and black coat and breeches.

“Nice costume, Max,” Victoria responded. “Let me guess…a villain. No? A vampire perhaps? Indeed, I do believe you have the look of Lord Ruthven to you.”

“Definitely not Lord Ruthven,” Sebastian put in. “That fictional vampire was known for a much better grasp on fashionable attire than Maximilian Pesaro.”

“What are you after, Vioget?” Max asked, ignoring the comments and moving into the room with his long, graceful strides. He passed Victoria as though she was no more than a nuisance of a gnat and stopped in front of the other man, cutting between her and Sebastian.

“I have the matter well in hand, Max,” Victoria said, smarting from his reaction. “Perhaps you ought to go and slay the vampire that’s lurking about here. Somewhere.”

Max barely deigned to glance at her. “I’ve already attended to that.”

Victoria looked at him, and realized with a sudden surge of annoyance that he was telling the truth. The chill at the back of her neck had evaporated in the last few moments, since she’d come into the chamber with Sebastian.

Which meant that the vampire had to have been nearby for Max to have arrived at this room so expediently. Which meant that it had been merely by accident that he came upon her and Sebastian.

Firming her lips, she pushed herself and her gown between the two men and faced Sebastian. “I’ll check your pocket, then, if you won’t show me yourself.”

Sebastian’s mouth twitched. “Be my guest.”

But before she could slide her hand into that deep pocket in his undertunic, the waft of a chill breeze skittered over the back of her neck again. In spite of herself, she turned to look at Max, to see if he registered the presence of another undead…and he gave a brief, annoyed nod. His lips moved in a silent oath—but whether it was directed at her, or the new vampire presence, she wasn’t certain.

“Vioget. What are they after?” he said sharply.

The lower half of Sebastian’s face turned crafty. “A particularly well-thought member of the ton has become…shall we say…enamoured of the undead. When he—or she—” he glanced at Victoria, “please note that I do keep my clients’ confidences—last visited the Silver Chalice, a personal item was left behind. One that could identify him—or her.”

He stepped back, his hand beneath his tunic. “I was merely returning the item to its rightful owner, and I suspect that this person’s…enemies, shall we say? Wished to stop me. Apparently, this individual is rather prominent, and a cause for blackmail. The undead have many friends here in London. Perhaps more than you would imagine, my dear Victoria.”

“Now that you’ve entertained us with your fantasy, Vioget, you might just as well get out of here,” Max said, turning toward the door. “You’ll be no help now.”

Victoria felt his gaze pass over her, and got the impression that he had the same impression about her. Blasted man.

“Why, I do believe I shall,” Sebastian replied, moving quickly toward a window.

In a trice, he was gone.

Having nothing further to say to Max, Victoria swished past him, her stake at the ready. The new undead presence implied that the vampire had just recently arrived nearby, and it led Victoria to hope that the creature hadn’t yet been able to find and isolate a potential victim.

Out in the hall, she paused for a moment and noted that the back of her neck had grown still chillier. That boded no good, implying that either there were more than one undead, or that the creature was very close by. So, putting thoughts of golden-haired lute players and arrogant vampire hunters out of her mind, she gave herself over to her instincts.

Down. Something told her to go down.

The cold prickle grew stronger as she swept down the curling staircase, unaware—and uncaring—whether Max had deigned to follow her. She didn’t need him.

At the foyer, Victoria pushed through a small group of costumed party-goers clustered near the entrance to the ballroom, and was just about to slip off down the corridor when she caught sight of Phillip. He was just coming out of the ballroom, and carried a small cup of lemonade.

Blast.

With her tall hair, she hadn’t a chance of getting away without him seeing her, and so Victoria had to rush toward Phillip in an effort to head off an uncomfortable situation.

“Oh, thank you so much,” she cried, perhaps a bit more fervently than necessary. She took the cup with enthusiasm as she kept her stake hand tucked behind her.

“Are you mended and such?” he asked, edging toward her as if to take her arm. Perfect.

Victoria smiled up with genuine delight, and jostled against him just as he reached for her. The lemonade splashed everywhere, even up onto her chin.

“Oh dear,” she said, real regret in her voice. She hated that she had to do this, but, truly, it was for his own good. And that of whoever the vampire might be stalking. The last thing she needed was for a curious beau to follow her. “How clumsy of me!”

“No, it was I, perhaps being a bit too enthusiastic over seeing the moon with you.” He smiled apologetically. Phillip would have linked her arm closer, ignoring the spill, she was certain. So she continued, “I’ll just be a moment, my lord. So the stain doesn’t set. Perhaps….” Victoria gave him an apologetic smile.

“Of course,” he replied. “And I’m certain you’ll still have a thirst, so I shall occupy myself by obtaining a replacement. Do hurry,” he said breathlessly into her ear before releasing her arm. “Please.”

Victoria smiled up at him, warmth flushing over her face beneath the mask. “I will, Phillip. Most assuredly.”

He took himself off, and she turned and nearly barreled into Max.

“I trust you’ve gotten your affairs in order? Dance card filled? Beaus lined up in order of title and wealth?” he said blandly. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, perhaps you could—”

She didn’t hear the rest of his obnoxious comment, for she’d sailed off down the corridor, following the sensation at the back of her neck. When she came to the same door behind which she’d nearly interrupted her mother and Lord Jellington, Victoria stopped.

She did not want to open this door again.

But before she could, a soft cry—much more frightened than the one she’d followed earlier—reached her ears. It came from further down the hall, near the back of the house and the servants’ area.

Victoria hesitated no longer and took herself off so quickly that she lost a slipper, and her heavy coif bounced threateningly. The chill grew colder, and she heard another cry that led her to another closed door.

This time she didn’t wait. The back of her neck frigid, Victoria yanked off her mask and flung the door open.