The Rest Falls Away (11 page)

He took her hand and raised it to his face, gently brushing it with his cheek instead of his lips, then releasing it. “Wayren, how wonderful to see you again. You look well.”

“And so do you, Max,” she replied with a smile that transformed her face into one of delight and humor. “It has been well over three years…and apparently you are no worse for wear.”

Max laughed gently and Victoria stared. It was the first time she had ever heard him laugh with real delight. It changed his countenance from one of stone-like austerity to one that was very nearly handsome. “Indeed not. You are here to tell us about the Book of Anwarth.”

Aunt Eustacia gestured to a chair, and when Wayren took her seat Victoria noticed she carried a large satchel that appeared to contain several books. It thumped awkwardly when she let it slump to the floor.

“Yes, and also to determine what Lilith wants from it. Eustacia contacted me as soon as she learned that she was trying to obtain the book. It took me some days of travel to arrive.” Wayren looked at Victoria. “I come from a long distance.”

“Did you find anything in your library that might help?” asked Eustacia, taking a seat herself in the chair that was always reserved for her, next to the piecrust table.

Wayren leaned down toward her satchel and, flipping it open, pulled out a sheaf of paper and a battered book. “My library is organized in such a way that it is simple to locate nearly anything by following a number system by topic. I found several mentions of something called the Book of Antwartha; Max, is it possible that you misunderstood the word and that it is Antwartha instead of Anwarth?”

He nodded. “That is more than possible. I was in a situation that did not provide a perfect environment for listening.”

“I am not surprised to hear that.” Wayren smiled. “That makes things easier, as I wasn't able to find anything referencing ‘Anwarth.' Apparently…” She paused, and dug back into her satchel. When she straightened, she was wearing a pair of square-shaped spectacles that gave her face a completely different look. More austere than fey, Victoria thought. “The story behind this book has its origins in the Indus Valley, in the country of your ancestors.” At this she nodded at Kritanu, who had taken a chair next to Eustacia. “You were correct that there is a connection with the goddess Kali.”

“Kali…yes, she is known in India as the Queen of the Dead. She rules over death, but she is not an evil goddess—for death is a state we all must encounter. Legend has it that she bore a child who was half demon and half god. This child was known as Antwartha.” Kritanu's shiny hair, pulled into a short club at the back of his neck, gleamed blue-black as he nodded at Wayren, as if passing the tale back to her to continue.

“It is this demonic child of Kali who legend says gave his early followers the so-called wisdom in the Book of Antwartha. The book contains rituals and rites for utilizing the blood of the living as sustenance for the immortal followers of Antwartha—known as
hantus,
or, in your language, vampires.”

“Lilith believes this ancient book is in London. That's why she's here, isn't it?” Victoria said. “How did an ancient manuscript get here? From India?”

“Likely in some manner of trade between England and her colony of India,” replied Max. “Ships back and forth between London and Calcutta could easily have carried it here.”

“Yes, I can see that. But why now? How did it happen that Lilith just now found it?”

Wayren shook her head. “Max?”

He frowned. “My…source wasn't as willing to give information as I was to receive it, unfortunately, and at some point I had to put her out of her misery. All she told me was the name of the object Lilith is seeking, and even then, clearly I did not hear her properly. It is fortunate Wayren was able to translate my miscommunication.”

“If the book is indeed in London, our first course of business while Wayren continues to study her resources is to locate the book before Lilith or her Guardians do,” Eustacia spoke. Victoria noticed Kritanu had closed his fingers over her hand as if to provide support.

“That is imperative.” Wayren pulled her spectacles away and looked at each of them in turn, including Victoria. “According to my information, the Book of Antwartha contains powerful spells and incantations utilizing malevolent power. If Lilith obtains this book, she will have the ability to raise demons at will by the legion. There will be no way to keep her at bay, even if we call all Venators here. She will overcome the world of mortals and all mankind will all become her slaves…or worse.”

+ 7 +

The Marquess of Rockley Presses His Suit

“Now, then, don't you look
pretty as a picture!” Verbena gushed, leaning in toward Victoria and adjusting a curl that had fallen from her hairstyle. “The feathers are just the touch!”

Victoria had to agree. Her maid was truly a genius! She'd slipped the pale blue stake straight into the thickest part of her hair, after affixing three soft feathers to the dull end. Thus, from the front, it gave the appearance of gentle white decoration shifting and flowing at the back of her crown. The beauty of the arrangement was that she could remove the stake from her coiffure easily and quickly, without disrupting the style.

“Wonderful, Verbena. It looks lovely.”

Rockley was to pick her up for a drive in the park, and she was pleased that her hairstyle looked demure yet flirtatious.

“And now that your bite is near healed, well, tucking this light scarf around your neck will do just fine. Though I know you won't need the stake during daylight hours, 'cause them creatures don't come out then.”

Victoria turned. “Oh, no, Verbena, that is not exactly true. Some of them do come out in daylight hours.”

Verbena's eyes turned into large circles and she sat on the bed suddenly, as if her knees had given out. “No, my lady! You're funning me!”

Rather pleased to know something about vampires that her maid didn't, Victoria hurried to assure her that she was indeed correct. “It's true. There are some rare powerful vampires, very few of them, who have lived for centuries and who have become somewhat accustomed to the daylight. They can actually move about in the sun, as long as they are covered or shaded, although they cannot remain in the light for very long, or allow the sunlight to touch them directly. If it does, they begin to burn.”

“My gracious word!” Verbena's round cheeks had turned furious red, and her flyaway peach-colored hair seemed to vibrate with her anxiety. “Me cousin Barth is goin' to have to start carryin' his cross during the day too? I don't know how he's goin' to get his work done, havin' to hold that thing up in front of himself all the time, and drivin' the hackney as he does! My lady, are you quite certain about this?”

“Aunt Eustacia told me so, and I believe she would be one person who would know!” Then a thought struck her. “Verbena, did you say that Barth lives in St. Giles? And he sees vampires there?”

“Yes, my lady, he sees more'n he wants to, that's for sure. But they leave him alone, because of his cross and the garlic he hangs from his neck.”

“Can you take me there?”

“Take you there?” If Verbena was horrified at the thought of vampires in the daylight, she was utterly traumatized at this request. “St. Giles is
no
place for a lady, my lady!”

Victoria stood, and felt the feathers waft in the air. “Verbena, I am no lady. At least, I am not so much of a lady as I am a Venator. We have to find the Book of Antwartha before Lilith does, and if there are vampires in St. Giles, it is possible that I might learn something from them. I wear a
vis bulla,
don't you forget. Max is not the only Venator who can hunt down vampires and make them tell him their secrets.”

Verbena opened her mouth to say something, and Victoria braced for another round of defense; but it was unnecessary. “If yer going to St. Giles, I'm going with you. And you're not wearing a gown, my lady. You'll dress as a man.”

“Of course. Thank you, and no need to worry. You will be safe with me. There is no time to waste, so we'll go tonight.”

“Tonight?” Verbena's eyes goggled. “At night? Oh, my lady—”

“Tonight, Verbena. And you say your cousin drives a hackney? That is perfect. Can you arrange for him to pick us up at midnight?”

“Midnight?”

Victoria could actually see the rampant pulse racing in her maid's throat. “Midnight tonight, Verbena, when the vampires are on the prowl.”

 

+ + +

Phillip de Lacy, Marquess of Rockley, settled into the seat next to his companion. “Miss Grantworth, you look utterly charming,” he told her as they set out for the park. His tiger and her maid were seated on the small raised seat in the back of the cabriolet, leaving Phillip and Victoria in the front.

“I might say the same about you, Lord Rockley.”

“You say? It must be due to the company I am keeping.” He glanced over again, just for the pleasure of looking at her. Her fair skin had the faintest pink tinge that he hoped was due to the delight of his company. And how did her slender neck hold the weight of all that dark hair? He imagined what it would look like if it weren't piled at the top of her head. How long was it? He remembered from that day in the meadow, when she had lectured him, how it billowed and blew in a mass of dark curls around her shoulders and arms, in ringlets from one end to the other.

She had been young then…very young. But now she was a grown woman. And he was enchanted.

“It is a beautiful day.” She sounded a little breathless, uncertain. Perhaps this was the first time she'd ever been alone—or nearly alone—with a man.

He smiled at the thought, pleased about it, then looked up at the sky and laughed. “A beautiful day is it, Miss Grantworth? With those puffed gray clouds, laden with rain? Despite the sun peeking through occasionally, I feared you might decline to ride out with me today for fear the rains would come and ruin your gown.”

He watched as she looked up to see what he'd seen: pillowlike gray-and-white clouds filling the sky, making it colorless rather than blue.

“I rather like the rain,” she replied stoutly, but with a hint of smile. “It makes me appreciate the sunny days more.”

Phillip continued to grin. “Nice turn-about, my lady, and honest as always. And here I thought for a moment there you were going to slip into the convention of talking about the weather instead of other, more interesting things. Can you smell the moisture in the air?”

“I never noticed it before, Lord Rockley, but the breeze does carry a scent that portends the rain shower.”

“Never believe I have forgotten my promise to take you riding across the fields and meadows…but I feared for the weather to drown out our ride, and knew the carriage would protect you better.”

“Lord Rockley, it is my turn to make a bit of a confession.”

He turned to her with interest, noticing she was alternating between looking at her fingers, then ahead of them, and then at him. Where was his bold lady now? “I am most intrigued. Please, confess what you will.”

And then the thought struck him that perhaps he would not appreciate her confession. What if she felt the need to divulge the name of another beau?

“I'm certain you recall the day after you fell from your horse, meeting up with me in the same meadow. I had gone there hoping to see you again, but not at all certain you would be there, of course.”

He smiled, relief lightening his grip on the reins. “You would likely have found some other way to track me down and apologize for your harsh words, then, Miss Grantworth?”

She laughed, and he was pleased she'd read the humor in his speech and remembered she hadn't even thought to apologize about verbally flaying him for riding so carelessly. Good. That was part of what made her so interesting to him. She was not a shrinking violet, this Miss Grantworth whom he remembered…or whom she had become. He was more than pleased.

“As it was, I did not need to hunt you down, nor to apologize, as I recall, Lord Rockley, for you met me in that field, and you were the apologetic one.” She looked him fully in the eyes. “That was the first time I'd ever been given flowers by a man…and I still have the pink ribbon you tied them with.” As if to prove her point, she lifted her hand and tugged away the cuff of her glove, displaying a bit of her wrist and a pale pink swatch of satin tied around it.

“Your confession, such as it is, delights me, Victoria.” Propriety be damned. He'd called her by her Christian name for those weeks that summer, and it felt foolish to be formal when they were reliving those moments.

He'd navigated them from the main drag of Regents Park and turned off into a more private area. Stopping the cabriolet next to a small thicket of lilac and forsythia, he gently wrapped the reins around the small post there for just that purpose.

Reaching for her gloved hand, he said, “Miss Grantworth, I would be most appreciative if you would call me Phillip, as you did before.” He was aware of his voice deepening, as it did when he became serious, and he forced himself to look at her with a nonchalant expression.

Perhaps it was too familiar too soon, but, devil take it, he must have fallen in love with her years ago, for he'd never forgotten her. Couldn't get her out of his mind.

Had practically made a fool of himself tracking her down at the Straithwaite musicale the other night. Thank God he'd arrived late enough to miss the damned thing.

And it appeared, once her faulty memory was jogged, she had not forgotten him.

“Phillip is such a strong name,” Victoria replied, looking not at him, but at the way his fingers traced each of her own gloved ones one by one. “It suits you. And I give you leave to call me Victoria, as you did when we were younger.”