The Bleeding Dusk (3 page)

The reinserting of her
vis bulla
was brief and less painful than Victoria recalled the first piercing being. Perhaps it was because the pain of its being torn away was more prevalent in her memory than the quick, smooth piercing. Kritanu, the elderly man originally from India who had been Aunt Eustacia's companion and Victoria's trainer, was quick and efficient with the long, curved needle. Since Victoria had decided to wear the two amulets, Kritanu inserted them separately, so that they each hung from the top of her navel and brushed against each other as they settled into the small hollow below. The moment the first one slipped into place, Victoria felt a renewal of energy, a familiar surge tingle through her body.

She felt as if she'd become whole again.

And, now that she was wearing something from her aunt, perhaps she would not only have her aunt's strength of spirit with her, but also begin to heal her grief.

 

+ + +

“Beheaded dogs and cats?” Victoria said, looking from Ilias, the keeper of the Consilium and one of the eldest Venators, to Michalas, one of the Venators who lived permanently in Rome. It was nearly two months since Victoria had had the two
vis bullae
inserted, and although she'd been out several times after sundown searching for vampires, things had been relatively quiet.

Michalas nodded, his russet curls so tight they moved but a whisper. With his fair skin and very blue eyes, he looked more like a young boy than a feral warrior, despite the fact that he was a decade older than Victoria. “A pile of them—perhaps three dozen. In various stages of decay, so it appears the pile was started some time ago, and has been added to. I saw it two weeks ago, but many of the carcasses had been there much longer. Perhaps two or three months.”

“That doesn't sound like vampires,” she said, looking at Ilias for confirmation. “They prefer human blood, and certainly would have no reason to cut off the heads of their victims, at any rate.”

“Yes, and it's for that reason I waited until today's gathering to apprise you of it,” Michalas said, glancing at Victoria and then back at Ilias. “There's no urgency, nothing to indicate any connection to the undead or any other non-human threat.”

The older man nodded his head in agreement. Ilias was well over fifty, perhaps approaching sixty, and had watery yet wise eyes that crinkled at the corners, matching the furrows on his forehead. When he was deep in thought, as now, he pinched the end of his sharp nose with his thumb and forefinger. “
Vero,
not vampires. Nor the undead of the Draculia sect. But something unpleasant, to be sure. It could be as simple as the leftovers from a butcher shop—some of the Oriental pilgrims have unusual eating habits. This was two weeks ago? Has the pile grown?”

Michalas smiled ruefully. “I confess, I didn't deem it important enough to check on it again. With the city preparing for Carnivale, and all the tourists arriving for the festivities, I've been busy in the more populous areas.”

“Where did you find this?”

“In the Esquiline,” Michalas said. “I saw no undead in the area, but there were some about. I could sense them.”

“The Esquiline. That's near the Villa Palombara,” Ilias said, his pale blue eyes suddenly sharp. Sometimes they appeared rheumy, but that effect seemed to disappear when something of interest presented itself.

Victoria looked at both of the men, natives of Rome, and waited for an explanation. Having lived her first twenty years in England, she was at a disadvantage in this city, the home and birthplace of the Venators. Nevertheless, despite the fact that she was a woman, and much younger than either of them, they were respectful and forthcoming with whatever information she needed. She was The Gardella.

“The Villa Palombara has been empty for a hundred and forty years, since its
marchese
disappeared under unusual circumstances. He was an alchemist, and had quite a popular salon with others of his inclination—trying to find the way to transmute any metal to gold. That process is, of course, believed to be the source of immortality.”

Victoria felt it would be in poor taste to mention that one could easily achieve immortality by having a vampire turn one undead. Of course, there was the disadvantage of being damned for all eternity and being relegated to drinking human blood if one was turned. Instead, she said, “Perhaps we could go tonight and see if anything has changed. As well, I'm not familiar with that part of the city and would like to see it with someone who knows it well.”

“That would be a pleasure,” Michalas said with a genuine smile. “I would enjoy hunting with you.”

They were interrupted from their conversation, which had taken place in one of the alcoves adjoining the fountain chamber, by a handsome man with red-gold hair. His arms were heavily muscled, a feature Zavier tended to display by wearing unfashionable shirts with the sleeves cut off, much as he might have on the farm his father and brothers worked back in Scotland. It made him look slightly barbaric, and Victoria felt mildly embarrassed at all of his exposed skin.

“Come, ye gabblers—Wayren is gathering us in the Gallery. Victoria, 'tis good to see your bonny face again. Dias, Michalas, come along with ye.”

“Greetings, Zavier.” She moved toward him, smiling. “I knew you wouldn't miss our celebration today. I can only imagine how delighted you'll be to see Aunt Eustacia's new portrait unveiled in the Gallery.”

Though his brawny physique bespoke great strength, his blue eyes were kind and his smile warm, particularly when he was in Victoria's presence—a fact that had not been lost on her. He'd left Rome just after Aunt Eustacia died to investigate rumors of vampire activity in Aberdeen. Wayren, with the use of the well-trained pigeons that clustered around Santo Quirinus, had learned that Zavier was on his way back to Rome, but she hadn't been certain he'd be there in time for the portrait unveiling. The ceremony was a bittersweet tradition that honored each Venator after his or her death. But she should have known Zavier wouldn't have missed the honor to the oldest, most legendary Venator.

Somehow, as he ushered her out of the alcove, Zavier managed to place himself between her and Michalas and Ilias, drawing her back to walk behind them. “And you ken that I have been attemptin' to wheedle out of Wayren whether the painting of Eustacia is one of her in her younger years or as we ken her.”

Victoria slipped her hand into the tiny crook of his arm, aware of the unusual fact that her fingers were touching a man's bare skin. He'd been the first of the Venators to befriend her when Aunt Eustacia brought her to the Consilium for the first time. Not that the rest of them had been standoffish or looked down on her for being a woman—only Max had done that, and only until he'd seen her at her most vulnerable moment—for they were all well aware of the power and skill her aunt had wielded, and thus they held no prejudice against the female gender.

“She hasn't told me either,” she replied, glancing at him.

“Well, soon enough. Tell me, when will ye be having your
vis bulla
replaced, and be able to go out on the hunt?”

“I have already done so, Zavier. Whilst you were gone back to Scotland.”

“Och! And I meant to be there for it,” he said, a gleam of humor in his cornflower eyes. “I would have offered to hold your hand.”

Victoria couldn't stay the blush—and, truly, it was mortifying for her, a Venator, to blush over something like this!—and she looked away.

Despite the fact that every Venator wore his
vis bulla
somewhere on his body, pierced through the skin so that it became one with the being of the person, Victoria had not relished the thought of being surrounded by a group of men whilst her belly was bared and her navel poked. And along with that resolution, she'd also made it a point not to imagine where Zavier—or any other Venator—wore his. She felt it was a private thing.

“Well, you were not, and Kritanu and Wayren were the only ones there. Just as I preferred.”

Zavier chuckled. “Ye canna blame a man for tryin' his best.”

Victoria changed the subject as they wandered past the fountain and through the alcove leading to the Gallery where portraits of all of the Venators through the years were hung. “Did you dispatch the vampires in Aberdeen?”

“Indeed I did. Five of the demmed leeches were living beneath the construction of the new Music Hall, coming out at night to feed on the locals. I never heard of any undead that far north before; I thought Scotland was too cold and rough for them.”

Victoria smiled. “I'm certain it was pleasant to have a reason to visit home, after living here for several years. I've been in Italy for only six months, but already I do miss London. Have you had any more thought on the paintings? Perhaps the months away from them have given you a different theory.”

“No matter how I look at it, and study the portraits in the Gallery, I can only come to the conclusion that they have all been painted by the same artist.”

“Even though some of the paintings of the Venators are centuries old?” Victoria allowed the humor into her voice. “It must be a family of painters, perhaps a father-to-son-to-grandson sort of talent…not so unlike that of the Venators.”

“Ye are most likely correct, but I still canna get beyond the fact that they are so similar. And Wayren persists in being mysterious about it all. Ah, well, 'tis nothing more than a legitimate opportunity for me to study our artifacts.”

“Which is no hardship for you.”

“Indeed not.” He looked at her, his eyes suddenly warm enough to cause her face to heat. “Perhaps now that I am back we can hunt together some night. Carnivale begins in three days, and we will all need to be watchful during the festivities.”

“So I hear,” she replied. “I am looking forward to experiencing the great Roman Carnivale.”

“Since I have been here these last five years, I have learned to greatly enjoy it. Most especially the roasted chestnuts and
brunetti,
which they sell on every street corner.”

With that, they entered the long, narrow portrait gallery, which was lined on each side with the pictures of every Venator from Gardeleus on. Most of them were men, but there were a few women in the ranks. Zavier, who was particularly interested in the female slayers, had told her that each of the female Venators were direct descendants of Gardeleus—as Victoria herself was, and her aunt before her, and unlike himself and Michalas, who were from other branches of the family. One of her favorite portraits depicted Catherine Gardella, whose laughing green eyes and brilliant red hair gave her a mischievous look that made Victoria wish she'd known her.

Other Venators, like Zavier, were also from the Gardella family tree, but had sprung randomly from far-flung branches that often went for three or more generations without producing a potential Venator.

Ilias gathered their attention with three sharp claps of his large-knuckled hands. “Since I believe Zavier is about to expire on the spot with curiosity, it's time to unveil and honor our beloved Eustacia Gardella, mistress of the Venators, gracious lady of the Gardellas.”

With a quick flick of his wrist, he whipped the lush white covering from the large portrait, revealing a life-size painting.

Victoria felt the sting of tears in her eyes as she looked on the beautiful, wise face of the woman who had mentored her through her first year as a Venator. The artist, who in keeping with his mystery did not sign a name to any of the portraits, had captured the liveliness in her eyes, the gentle crinkles at their corners, and the gleam of her black hair. Aunt Eustacia's white forehead showed nary a wrinkle, despite the fact that the painting depicted her just as she had been before she died—eighty-one years old, and still beautiful and strong.

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.

+ Two +

Wherein Our Heroine is Privy to a Repulsive Discovery

“I do believe Zavier
is smitten with the new
Summa
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 well aware of the interest the Scot had shown toward her, but she was a bit mortified 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 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.