Колин Глисон: Bleeding Dusk

Zavier bumped a handkerchief in front of Victoria’s hands and she took the wadded cotton, dabbing at her eyes—hardly remembering the last time she’d wept. Her hand moved down over the front of the loose tunic and split skirt she’d taken to wearing now that her mother wasn’t nearby to insist upon more conventional garb, pressing through the material to the pair of vis bullae that hung from her navel. Aunt Eustacia’s was on the right, and Victoria closed her fingers around it for a moment…and missed her aunt.

“I do believe Zavier is smitten with the new Illa Gardella,” Michalas said to Victoria. He cast her a sly grin from under his hat brim as they walked quickly along the Via Merulana. “Perhaps I should have invited him to join us.”

Victoria was glad it was dark, for she would have been mortified for him to see the warm flush on her cheeks. Although perhaps he would have written off the slight color to the bite in the February air, for the tip of her nose was cold and likely just as red. “Perhaps you should have, although we’d likely be treated to a history lesson if you had.”

Michalas chuckled softly, then gestured ahead. Fortunately the air wasn’t cold enough to show the puff of air from his laugh. “You’re likely quite correct.”

Victoria was, of course, well aware of the interest the Scot had shown toward her, but she was a bit mortified that others had noticed as well. But why should it matter? Zavier was kind and gentle, and so very different from the easy propriety of her husband, Phillip…and the golden, overbearing charm of Sebastian.

The thought of Sebastian, and how she’d let him seduce her last autumn in the carriage, made Victoria’s stomach squiggle, and so she picked up her pace as she walked along with Michalas.

Sebastian was the great-great-great-(she didn’t know how many generations)-grandson of the legendary vampire Beauregard. Because Beauregard had been turned undead after he’d had his own son, there had been no vampire blood passed down through the generations. Sebastian was just as mortal as Victoria herself, but despite their intimacies, she didn’t and couldn’t fully trust him, for he seemed to come and go on a whim—usually when there were vampires or other danger about—and it was obvious his loyalties were divided.

As such, Sebastian had spent the past year, since meeting Victoria, trying to balance his loyalty to his grandfather with his…how would he describe his relationship with Victoria? A fascination? Attraction? Game of cat and mouse?

She suppressed a snort that would have sent her mother into spasms, if she’d been there to hear it. But she was safely back in London, undoubtedly being squired about by the smitten Lord Jellington and exchanging gossip with her two cronies, fondly known as Lady Nilly and Duchess Winnie.

But what would Victoria call it—her relationship with Sebastian? A tryst gone bad? Or good…depending on how one looked at it. An affaire ?

She’d tried to give as little thought to him as he likely gave to her these days, now that his great-grandfather was stalking the streets of Rome, attacking and feeding where he would and taking great care not to get caught. Regardless of whatever her feelings were toward Sebastian, Victoria had a duty and a responsibility to hunt down Beauregard and slam a stake into his centuries-old chest.

But Sebastian had apparently thought of her at least once since last autumn, for somehow he had obtained her Aunt Eustacia’s vis bulla after the horrific events of that long, bloody night and sent it to Victoria. How he’d obtained it she couldn’t guess, but the fact that he had sent it on to her was a miracle.

And then there was Max, from whom she’d heard nothing since he handed her his own vis bulla and walked away. Almost four months ago.

That vis , in combination with her aunt’s strength amulet, had given Victoria even greater strength and speed than her own single amulet. Instead of canceling each other out or even maintaining her level of expertise, the dual vis bullae had made her faster, stronger, and healthier—if the training she’d been doing with Kritanu was any indication.

Michalas stopped, drawing Victoria abruptly from her maze of thoughts. It was a good thing a vampire hadn’t leaped out in front of her, as she’d been distracted more than was prudent.

“Eh, now, look here,” he said. “This great stone wall encloses the Palombara estate. It reaches all along this block and then around in a sort of elongated pentagonal shape. We’re at the very rear, at the farthest point from the villa, which sits near the front, at the fifth corner of the wall. It’s just a bit up this street that I came upon the pile of animal carcasses.”

The sun had just set, and the graying light in the sky allowed her to see the crumbling rock of the barrier. Along the top of the enclosure—which was half again as tall as she was—high, sharp stones had been set in the mortar so that their edges discouraged anyone from climbing over. But there were cracks, and one large one where an oak branch had grown against the wall and caused it to buckle, then split halfway down so it would be possible to climb through.

Via Merulana was lined by narrow residences that appeared to be more well-kept than the Palombara estate, yet it wasn’t a busy thoroughfare. A few carriages drove by, and several pedestrians moved quickly along—heads bent against the chill, or in an effort to remain unseen and unnoticed. It was a bit eerie, made more so by the fact that she and Michalas didn’t carry a lantern as if in fear of attracting attention.

“No one has lived here for more than one hundred forty years,” Michalas told her, examining the crevice where the tree trunk thrust through. “Apparently the marchese had a secret laboratory where he and some of his fellow alchemists conducted their experiments. He claimed he was about to unveil the secret of transmutation after two more nights of work in his workshop, but he disappeared that very night. The laboratory, which presumably contains the results and remnants of his experiments, has remained locked since his disappearance.”

Victoria looked thoughtfully at the broken wall. “I don’t suppose he was turned into a vampire,” she said, a note of humor in her voice.

Before Michalas could reply, they both stilled. “Speaking of the bloody creatures,” he murmured, sliding a stake from his belt. Victoria followed suit and they looked at each other, then waited.

She felt the brush of cold air over the back of her neck, raising the prickles of awareness that always accompanied the presence of an undead. “It’s back there,” she said, gesturing to the wall. “Behind the wall.”

Michalas nodded, and they moved toward the crack in the enclosure. “First or last?” he asked.

“First,” Victoria said, pleased he hadn’t tried to keep her behind. Some of the male Venators, particularly the younger ones who hadn’t fought beside Aunt Eustacia, still had to be reminded that she was as capable—more so, in fact, due to her dual vis and direct Gardella lineage—as they in defending herself.

Despite that, Michalas had to help her through the crevice when her wide-legged trousers, designed to look like a skirt, got caught on a low branch. He followed behind her.

The sensation at the back of her neck was getting stronger, so she knew they were going in the right direction. The sun’s last gasp of light was disappearing rather quickly, and it was too dark on the other side of the wall to see any details of the overgrown terrain. Tall, skeletal trees mingled with thick bushes, and the tangled brown-leaved vines and brush of a long-forgotten garden left little room to pass.