Колин Глисон: As Shadows Fade

“You’re losing your touch, Max,” she said, sinking into her own seat across from him. She took her time smoothing the skirt over her legs, perversely allowing it to whisk against his pantaloons, which, in the way of fashion, were held neat and straight by narrow straps beneath his feet.

He raised a brow in question, his face half lit by the small lantern that hung in the corner above Victoria. Of course he’d choose the side that wasn’t as well illuminated.

She took the brow quirk as an invitation to explain. “That message,” she said, gesturing at his long, sprawled body, “doesn’t have your normal subtlety.”

His lips moved in what looked like a suddenly checked smile.

“In fact,” she continued, “it’s a rather clumsy and obvious shield against something you wish to ignore.” She drew off the single glove she still wore and looked expectantly at his stony expression. Her throat had dried, and she swallowed gently, trying to ignore the sudden… awareness… between them.

“Are you going to tell me what you were doing with George Starcasset, or are you going to continue to look for meanings that aren’t there?”

“Since you were the one who sought me out, on a matter of some urgency, I should think you’d be more eager to share your news. What on earth was so important that you braved a Society dance fraught with-what do you call it? Social frivolities?” One of her slippers was very close to his shoe. She edged her foot over slightly, just enough to touch him, and waited.

“Brim and Michalas have left,” Max told her. The other two Venators had come to London to help Victoria, Max, and Sebastian foil Lilith’s plot to kill the new King of England.

“For Rome?”

He shook his head, and moved his foot. Away from hers. “Back to Paris. We received word tonight that another demon was sighted. They went to conduct an investigation.”

Victoria considered him for a moment. Wheels crunched and ground along the street below, and the floor beneath her feet rumbled. The lantern above her jolted, swinging its light gently from side to side, casting larger, then smaller, larger, then smaller, shadows over his face. “And?” she asked when he said nothing further.

“And Kritanu thought that you should be advised immediately.”

Victoria smothered a smile. And thus Max, who was so biddable and who adored social functions, leapt at the chance to join her at the duchess’s party. Even for Kritanu, who was as close to him as an uncle?

Not, as he himself would say, bloody likely.

“So why was it necessary for me to leave the dance?” she countered. “If that was the extent of the news.”

“Your hair is mussed, you’re missing a glove, and there’s a streak of blood on your neck,” he replied. “You look as though you’ve just returned from some sort of assignation. A violent one.”

“As it happens, I have.” Of course her hair was askew. She’d not quite gotten the technique of pulling the small, hidden stake from her coiffure without messing it up.

“And along the way accosted a vampire? Or was that the purpose of the meeting?” He seemed to relax more, settling those wide, square shoulders against the velvet squab behind him. “You might wish me to believe that you had a tкte-а-tкte with George Starcasset, but the thought is utterly ridiculous.”

“If I were to have an assignation in a carriage, it would most definitely not be with George Starcasset.”

His elegant fingers, spread over the back of the seat, straightened. Then curled. “Viog-”

“Nor would it be with Sebastian,” she continued coolly, refusing to drop his gaze.

“Victoria-” His voice was strained. Laced with anger, real anger. He looked away, out of the window. His fingers relaxed again.

She wanted to reach across the gap between them and grab those shoulders and shake him until some sense filtered down through that stone-filled, honor-bound, cowardly skull of his.

And she could do it, too. She was so much stronger than he.

But what good would it do?

Silence, full and heavy, sat in the carriage with them.

“This reminds me of the night we had to go to Bridge and Stokes,” Victoria said after a moment. “Do you remember?”

“I remember,” he snapped, still gazing out the window. “We had to save your husband from a vampire attack.”

She took the opportunity to shift in her seat, arranging herself subtly, so that the small lantern light fell just so, cutting a swath of pale gold over the front of her gown. “I had to change in the carriage, remember? Into men’s clothing, because it was a men’s club, and of course I couldn’t enter dressed as I was.”

“My memory is perfectly clear; you needn’t review the details.”

“Then I’m certain you recall having to unlace my corset-”

“Victoria.” Now he looked away from the window. “What are you about?”

She couldn’t make out the expression in his eyes; they were muted by shadow. But by the set of his mouth, she knew he was angry. She knew how his eyes would glare, flat and black and cold.

“I’ve always wondered about something,” she continued as though he wasn’t looking murderously at her. “When I was undressing, and you were sitting shoved back in the corner, studiously looking out the window, or with your eyes closed as you claimed… did you peek?”

She heard what sounded like a stifled snort or strangled cough. Then… “Of course not.”

At that moment, the carriage eased to a halt, and Victoria realized in dismay that they’d arrived at Aunt Eustacia’s town house already. Max fairly leapt to his feet, looming like a full-winged bat in the small enclosure.

But although he stood in such a way that did not permit her to rise as well, he didn’t leave. Instead, he turned to face her, looking down from his half-stooped position. His hands moved to the wall above her head-a position of power that he must have felt he needed-and he looked down, his feet spread on either side of hers.

For the first time since they’d climbed into the vehicle, she could see his face clearly. Emotionless, sharp, closed. So empty it made her heart ache.

Her head tipped back, her neck cradled by the top of the cushion. Her fingers twisted in the shadows, burying in her thin, silky skirt, and her heart thumped audibly in her chest. At least, it was audible to her.

“Max,” she said. Whispered. Begged.

“I can’t, Victoria.” His voice was just as unsteady, but deep. And low.

“You won’t .”

“Don’t be a fool.” He’d regained control, and his words were clipped, cool. “You are obliged to do what’s right for the Venators-just as I am. And what’s right, Victoria, is for you to be with Vioget. A man who is your equal, who can stand at your side and doesn’t have to hide from the bloody queen of the vampires.”

“Max-” she began.

But he spoke over her. “Victoria, understand. You are the last of the Gardellas. You have to do what’s right for them, for the world. It’s your duty, your calling. You can’t ignore that because we”-here his voice dipped even lower-“spent the night together. I told you then, it changes nothing.”

“Coward!”

“Good night, Victoria.”

He snapped open the door and was out before Victoria could respond.

She pulled to her feet, suddenly frustrated to exhaustion. How could a man who did what he’d done, faced what he’d faced… made the decisions he’d made… be such a bloody coward?

Then all other thoughts fled as Max’s head came back around into the carriage. His eyes were fierce and dark as he reached forward to grab her by the arm.

“Victoria. Wayren’s gone missing,” he said, dragging her from the vehicle so quickly that she lost a slipper.