Victoria Gardella: Vampire Slayer

(A previously unrelated incident from
The
Gardella Vampire Chronicles)

Smashwords Edition

© 2010 Colleen Gleason

London, 1819

“My lady, your mother is wearin’ a hole in
the floor,” Verbena said as she twisted a final curl into place at
the top of her mistress’s coiffure. “She claims y’ll be late for
the masquerade ball if y’ don’t hurry. And something about the
Marquess o’ Rockley attendin’ and wantin’ to see ye?”

Miss Victoria Gardella Grantworth looked in
the mirror, eyeing her maid’s creation in the form of a tall—very
tall—coiffure. Her dark hair had been piled to an impossible
height, and then powdered so that her black curls looked more gray
than white. A small bluebird perched at the side of her column of
hair, and a bejeweled comb rested at the top. Pink and yellow
flowers and a variety of jewels further decorated the powdered
curls.

“I don’t know that Marie Antoinette’s hair
was ever this particular hue,” Victoria said, “but I think it looks
lovely. And perhaps I’d best go down before Mother comes up to drag
me off.”

She stood, and the skirts of her gown rose
with her as if they had a life of their own. Victoria was used to
wearing the high-waisted, clinging skirts of contemporary styles,
but these wide panniers and heavy brocaded layers of fabric at
least left her legs free to move beneath without getting too caught
up in the skirts. The only other benefit of the yards of material
dripping from her body was that there were plenty of places to slip
a wooden stake into or between ruffles, lace, or gathers. She felt
for the one that rested just to the right side of her torso,
cunningly hidden behind a pouf of lace.

“I do hope there aren’t any vampires at Lady
Petronilla’s ball tonight,” Victoria said, drawing on her gloves.
“It will be impossible to fight them in this costume.”

“But m’lady, if there are, you’ll be very
prepared,” Verbena told her, a sparkle in her blue eyes. “I’ve
slipped one o’ your littler stakes here in the back of your hair.”
She poked at the heavy mass near the back of Victoria’s crown.
“Just in case.”

“If I pull it out, likely it will all come
falling down,” Victoria replied, gingerly feeling for the stake.
“But in a pinch, I suppose it shall do. I only hope I’ll not have
need of it. I have been looking forward to one night where I don’t
have to make some excuse to sneak out and stake a vampire.”

Verbena handed her mistress a small reticule.
“Holy water, an’ a cross in here, my lady,” she told her. “An’ you
look lovely.”

Victoria might look like any normal young
woman, just debuting into Society, but beneath her gown—whether it
be a fashionable high-waisted one, or the retrospective costume she
currently wore—she harbored a secret that made her very different
from any other girl.

She wore the
vis bulla
, a tiny silver
cross amulet that gave her superhuman strength, speed, and healing
capability. Victoria Gardella Grantworth was a Venator, a vampire
hunter descended from a long line of slayers in the Gardella
family. Her duty, beyond that of her unsuspecting mother’s
expectation that she marry well, was to hunt the undead who lurked
in the shadows of London Society. And everywhere else in the
world.

Victoria wasn’t the only Venator in the
world. Her great-aunt Eustacia had been a powerful Venator before
she became too old to hunt, and then there was Max Pesaro, another
Venator who spent more time disparaging Victoria’s hunting skills
than anything else. He, too, was a vampire hunter, though not
descended from the Gardella line.

Victoria was rather glad that she would be
attending the masquerade ball at Lady Petronilla’s tonight, for Max
disdained social functions and would not be there to glower at her
and make snide comments about how many men had signed her dance
card.

And then of course, there was Phillip.

Thinking of the Marquess of Rockley put a
great smile on her face, so that when Victoria reached the bottom
of the stairs and her mother saw her, she looked particularly
radiant.

“Well, now,” Lady Melly twittered. She was a
handsome woman herself, and had chosen to dress in Greek fashion as
Circe. Having been widowed more than two years earlier from a man
she’d cared for, but never truly loved, she had just recently
re-entered Society with a vengeance. “You do look lovely, Victoria,
dear, and it is certain that Rockley will be enchanted. That tiny
little black patch on your cheek is just the most delightful
touch…although I do rather think you could do without that little
wooden thing sticking out of the back of your coiffure. I vow,
sometimes I wonder whatever your maid is thinking when she dresses
your hair.”

Victoria smoothly moved out of the way when
her mother reached to touch the stake secreted in her curls. “I
like it, Mother. And should we not be leaving? I’m not certain how
long it will take me to find Rockley, as we’ll all be masked.”

“Oh, I have no fear on that,” Lady Melly
said, ushering her daughter quite unnecessarily out the front door.
The carriage was waiting, a footman standing with the door open and
the groom holding the horses. “He shall be dressed as that infamous
Robin Hood, and I’ve made certain that he’ll know who the
mysterious Marie Antoinette is.”

Victoria didn’t bother to ask how her mother
found out how Phillip—as he’d asked her to call him—would be
costumed, nor how she would inform him of her daughter’s guise. It
didn’t matter one whit. She merely allowed her mother to muse
delightfully over her machinations to have her only daughter marry
a wealthy marquess.

Not that Victoria minded, for Phillip was
handsome, charming, and seemed to be as besotted with her as
Victoria felt toward him. He’d been seeking her out at every social
event they’d both attended since her debut…and had even kissed her
once while driving her through the park. That was when he insisted
that she call him by his given name, despite the fact that they
weren’t married, or even betrothed.

When they arrived at Lady Petronilla’s home,
Victoria had to succumb to her mother’s last-minute fussing before
she could emerge awkwardly from the carriage. Really, those skirts
were more than a bit much, and she nearly lost her balance due to
their weight and the fact that her heel caught in a hem.

She
really
hoped there would be no
vampires here tonight.

Inside the ball, Victoria and her mother made
their way from the grand foyer into the ballroom. The butler
introduced them only as “Her Majesty Marie Antoinette, and Circe,”
since they were masked and would remain that way until
midnight.

In spite of wishing to appear aloof, Victoria
found herself looking for Robin Hood. From the way her mother had
wrapped her talon-like fingers around her arm, she knew Lady Melly
wouldn’t let her slip into the crowds until they found him.

But then a generously-sized Aphrodite bore
down upon them, her gown flowing behind her like a great pink sail.
Lady Melly released Victoria’s arm and greeted one of her two bosom
friends, the Duchess of Farnham.

“I daresay, Victoria, you look absolutely
lovely,” crowed the duchess, who wore a heavy necklace of garnets
and a light dusting of crumbs. “Or shall I say, Your Majesty?
Perhaps you ought to adjust your mask a bit,” she added.

“Yes indeed,” Lady Melly said, pulling
urgently on the covering, unaware that a sharp edge was scraping
across her daughter’s nose. “It would be a shame if Bretlington or
Werthington-Lyce recognized you before Rockley, for I don’t know
how you should get out of dancing with them.”

In that, Victoria could not help but agree,
for the former had exceedingly putrid breath that accompanied
non-stop raptures over his bloodhounds, and the latter spoke nary a
word at all but spent his time leering down the bodice of her gown
and treading upon her toes.

But at that moment, her mother’s
manipulations came to fruition. Victoria felt the presence of
Phillip behind her before he even spoke…perhaps it was the smell of
the lemon-rosemary pomade he favored, or perhaps it was merely that
prickle of awareness, of attraction, that hummed between them. At
any rate, she turned slowly—so as not to appear too eager, yet
delighted to see him—and immediately found his gaze behind the
black mask.

His dark eyes were hooded by heavy lids that
always gave him an appearance of deep contemplation, and yet
underlying humor and sensuality. “That is quite a magnificent
coiffure, your majesty,” he said, removing his soft, feathered hat
as he bowed. “It’s a wonder that your slender neck can carry the
weight, especially with all of those jewels and other ornaments
therein.”

“Indeed, Sir Robin of the Hood,” she replied.
“I hope that you haven’t any designs on relieving me of any of said
jewels, under the guise of lightening the load for my poor little
head.”

“Jewels? Nay, my fair queen,” Phillip said,
his eyes glinting wickedly from behind the mask. “It is not jewels
that I seek from you.”

Victoria could feel her mother’s barely
suppressed delight at this exchange, even as her own cheeks warmed
beneath the mask and her stomach gave a delicious flutter.

Phillip, savvy as he was, took that moment to
break off their little sally and turn to bow at Circe and
Aphrodite, both of whom had eyes shining with delight and fingers
twittering silently with expectation. “Good evening, my ladies,” he
said, again flourishing his cap. “How lovely you both look this
eventide. I do hope you might forgive this outlaw if he claims the
queen for a waltz—as she refuses to part with her jewels.”

“Oh, but of course,” replied Lady Melly,
fairly shoving Victoria at Rockley.

Fortunately, Phillip had become familiar with
Lady Melly’s enthusiasm due to past exchanges, and he caught
Victoria’s arm before she—and her mass of skirts—stumbled over his
boots. “Shall we?” he asked, cupping her fingers intimately around
his warm, muscular arm.

As he drew her toward the dance floor, where
a country dance had just ended, Victoria passed a golden-haired man
dressed as a medieval lute player. Though he wore a mask the color
of well-brewed tea, topaz eyes glittered through the holes…and
caught Victoria’s gaze.

A little shiver tingled over the back of her
shoulders and she felt a quick, funny twist in her middle. She knew
him. The knowing heat in those eyes…the little lift at one side of
that full mouth.

Sebastian Vioget.

What on earth was Sebastian Vioget doing
here
?

This time, Victoria did stumble over her
blastedly heavy skirt as Phillip drew her into a smooth embrace,
very correct, with the proper amount of space between them…and
launched them into the three-count step.

Even as she was fully aware of the imprint of
Phillip’s hand at the back of her waist, and the comforting feel of
his fingers around hers, Victoria couldn’t keep her attention from
following the masked lute player. He was dressed in an emerald
shirt with a gold tunic over it, making it easy to follow the shine
of his garb as he moved smoothly through the clusters of
people.

The last time she’d seen Sebastian Vioget had
been at The Silver Chalice, a pub that he owned and operated in the
unpleasant, dangerous neighborhood of St. Giles. His clientele
consisted mainly of vampires, although a few brave—or
unwitting—humans also patronized the place.

Somehow, Sebastian had recognized the fact
that Victoria was a Venator, and he’d made his fascination clear.
And there had been that moment in his private office….

“My dear, you seem rather quiet tonight,”
Phillip said, breaking into her thoughts. “I do hope that my
appearance didn’t set you off any plans you might have had to add
to your dance card…though I must confess, I would have battled my
way through any of your admirers to claim my waltz tonight. Or,
dare I hope…waltz
es
?”