When Twilight Burns (34 page)

She bit her tongue, holding back the questions, the demands, the comparisons. After all, hadn't he despised Sebastian for turning his back on the Venators? There would be time for that later, time to force him into a conversation he wished to avoid. She wasn't about to let anything happen to Sebastian and Kritanu.

The rest of Max's comment brought to mind something he'd said earlier. “What do you mean, you aren't certain who they're trying to lure? It's you, of course. Lilith wants you back and Sara nearly delivered you to her. Two in exchange for one. Which is why there can be no ‘we' about this.”

Max raised a brow. “Indeed? I happen to disagree. I believe Lilith wants you more than she does me. After all, you're still a threat to her, unlike me—as you've made quite clear so recently. And you've escaped her for a second time, only days ago. I can only imagine how much ash exploded after that—and after last night, when we foiled her plans to kidnap the king. And if she believes you are some sort of rival for my…affections…” His expression and tone indicated how absurd that thought was.

“Don't be ridiculous. Is this some kind of twisted way for you to try and take control?” She realized she was still standing there with the shirt in front of her. She yanked it over her head. It smelled of him. Her knees weakened.

“No.” He gestured to the packet, which lay on the mussed bed, open to show the glint of two shades of hair. “Apparently you didn't notice that the message was unaddressed. It's not clear for whom it was intended.”

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. “It doesn't matter, Max. You're not as well equipped to face her as…as you used to be.”

If she expected anger from him at her statement, she was disappointed. “There's one thing you're forgetting.” His lips stretched in a humorless smile. “No one would ever think I'd be moved to save Vioget's life. It's a game. And you're meant to be the prize.”

Victoria would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so horrible. In fact, she did give a snort of disbelief. “That's just it, Max. You
would
be moved to save his life. The life of anyone, even someone you hate—”

“I don't hate him.”

“Even someone for whom you have a great amount of antipathy. Because it's the noble thing to do,” she added sharply, remembering her own poor choices. Leaving Bemis Goodwin and his companion to die. Drugging Max. Hating Gwen for her happiness. “Ever the hero, aren't you, Max? Always selfless. Do you never do anything just for you?”

She realized suddenly that the red haze was nudging the frame of her vision. Her heart was racing, and she felt a surge of ugly anger bubbling inside her. Automatically, she took a deep breath, touched her
vis bullae,
and shook her head as if to clear it. Yet that nobility, that steadiness, was what she loved most about Max. The strong, impassable line drawn between right and wrong, black and white.

Loved.

Her knees trembled anew.

It was the reason she'd been able to forgive him for Aunt Eustacia's death. The reason she'd never stopped trusting him. Had known he wouldn't forsake the Venators, even once stripped of his own abilities.

In her own mind, that stark black-and-white line had always leaked a bit into charcoal, or to fog…but that had recently begun to bloom into a wide stretch of gray…Was that why he retreated from her? Because she wasn't as good?

By now the rosiness had faded, her pulse had slowed. The surge of malevolence had gone. Was it getting easier to fight it back? Or was it her imagination, wishing and hoping?

It also hadn't escaped her that last night, when she and Max were fighting…that vulgar evil hadn't attempted to take her over. That reddish haze and surge of wickedness hadn't teased and fought to control her. Why?

Was it because she hadn't been fighting for self-preservation, as she had other times? Her self hadn't been in jeopardy; she'd not been battling for her life? She'd not
needed
to be selfish to win.

The seed of everything evil begins with self.

When she felt steady, Victoria looked up to find Max watching her. His attention scored her, as though trying to decipher what it was that had sent her off into the whirlwind of her mind.

Before he could speak, there was another knock at the door.

It was Verbena again, and she held a small white box.

A red ribbon tied it closed, and when Victoria accepted the container, an awful feeling of foreboding rushed through her. Max took one look at the brownish streaks on the outside and swore. It bore the same seal of Brodebaugh.

Victoria couldn't get it open fast enough, and when she did, she nearly dropped it. “My God.”

Inside were two fingers, their bloody stumps sticky and oozing into the sides of the container. One had skin the color of coffee, and the other a few shades lighter. This second one bore a small golden ring Victoria recognized. She didn't need to say anything; the look of revulsion on Max's face mirrored her own.

The message was perfectly clear. Time was running out.

 

+ + +

Victoria arrived at the Brodebaugh residence as though making an early social call. The house wasn't as large as St. Heath's Row, but grander than Grantworth House. Situated near Hyde Park, the grounds of the home were walled but the rear was adjacent to a small finger of the park. Neighboring houses were far enough away to give privacy, due to the unusually wide side gardens.

The moment the door opened, she smelled blood.

“Victoria!” It was Gwendolyn, her eyes wild and her face tinged gray and streaked with tears. Her hair fell in ungainly clumps, and she was still dressed in the gown she'd worn to the coronation yesterday. “You've come! I was afraid…I'm so afraid!” She clutched desperately at her, pulling her into the house. “You have to help us!”

Victoria's heart was pounding. She'd suspected, but now she knew for certain.

As Gwendolyn closed the door, Victoria fought to ignore the heavy iron scent in the air, and to keep her mind steady. Instead, she focused on the comforting stake deep in her pocket, her own
vis bulla
beneath her clothing, and her surroundings. The foyer of Brodebaugh Hall was empty, fairly ringing with its silence. The whole building was silent.

“Where are they?” she asked, battling the smell of blood, the horror that now gripped her, the edge of pink at her vision.

“Did you…you came alone?” Gwendolyn sniffled, looking around wildly. “How could you…how…”

“I can handle it myself,” Victoria told her firmly. “Where are the servants?”

“They're all gone,” Gwendolyn said fearfully. “They—
she
—took them all away.” She looked again, over Victoria's shoulder, out the door, as if expecting to see an army there. “There's no one but you? But, Victoria—”

She'd had enough with the hysterics. The stake was out of her pocket and Victoria had slammed Gwendolyn up against the wall before the girl took another breath. Or made another fake sob. Her hand closed in a tight vee under Gwen's throat, and she poised the stake against her chest. “Tell me where they are, or you're dust.”

Gwen dropped all pretense. Her pretty face, which had turned gray and tired from the overuse of the elixir, curdled into a malignant expression. Her eyes bulged, and turned from blue to red in an instant. “How did you know?”

“I'd suspected for awhile,” Victoria told her, realizing the back of her neck had cooled. Gwen wasn't the only vampire in the house. “You were always there when a daytime attack occurred. I could see the elixir taking its toll on you, in your face, but I just thought it was exhaustion from your wedding plans.” She tightened her fingers around Gwen's throat, causing the girl to cough and to scratch at her hand, trying to tear it away. “But when I saw the queen yesterday, I realized there's a certain shadow in the eyes of a daytime undead. They all had it: James, Caroline, her guards. And you.”

“James.” Gwen kicked out, but Victoria was ready. The little pointed foot, strong with undead power, merely grazed the side of her target's leg. “You killed him too! You killed my love.”

“So that was it.” Victoria knew she was taking up valuable time…but she had to know more. And why. “You helped set him in place as the new Rockley heir.”

“I had no choice, since the first one was dead. I wanted to marry Phillip and you stole him from me. I'd seen him first, and then you made your debut, and immediately he was stumbling all over his feet for you. I didn't have a chance.” Gwen's voice was rough from the hand at her throat, but her tone was petulant. “And now James. We were going to be so happy together. Eternal youth! And wealth.”

Victoria looked at the girl who had been her friend and wondered how such a lovely young woman could have turned so evil.

Self. The seed of everything evil begins with self.

“You never intended to marry Brodebaugh?”

Gwen gave a squeaky laugh. “Oh, yes, we were to wed. And then he would die a sudden death, and I would find solace in the arms of the Marquess of Rockley. We've been planning this for months!” she ended on a shriek.

“How long have you been undead?”

“Only since George returned from Italy. He brought Malachai—you knew him as James. And when I met him, I knew the Tutela wasn't enough for me. I wanted immortality.” Her laugh was grating and malicious. “I wanted revenge on you for years, Victoria Gardella…since you married the man I desired. I planned for you to die when you came to the house party last summer…when the vampires came for Polidori. But you fought them off. You and that blond Frenchman.”

“You're dying from the elixir, Gwen. Did Lilith tell you that?”

Victoria felt, rather than heard, the front door open silently behind her. The gasp of fresh air was a relief.

“Ah. I see you've confirmed your suspicions,” said Max. “There's no one about on the grounds; all the servants appear to be gone. And I wasn't seen, for the windows are shrouded.”

“Good,” said Victoria.

“You lied!” screeched Gwen. “You didn't come alone.”

“So sorry.” Victoria gave her a cold smile, and slammed the stake home. Dusting her hands off—gloveless, of course—she turned to Max. He'd pulled his hair back into a tight queue, and his countenance was sharp with focus. “I probably could have gotten more information from her, but she was becoming tiresome. There are other undead here. Five or more.”

He gave a sharp nod, and they started off down the main hallway, following the smell of blood.

Just as they reached the end of the corridor, facing two massive wooden doors, Max stopped. He took Victoria's arm and turned her to face him. Her heart started to pound. “I know you're in charge, and we have a plan,” he said quietly, “but listen to me.” His eyes burned with determination, and Victoria's mouth went dry. She knew what he was going to say.

“Max, no,” she began, anger surging.

“Quiet,” he said, his voice still soft, but with sharpness. His hand tightened on her arm. “You have to get yourself and Vioget out of here. You're Gardellas. That's the most important thing.”

“We have a plan,” she began, but her protest was cut off by a man's agonized cry. It came from beyond the doors. They both turned, and Max released her.

There was no more time for talk.

As before, Max remained out of sight, sticking for now to their plan. Victoria was the one who threw the doors open and stood boldly in the entrance.

The stench of blood hit her like a wall, filling her nostrils, slogging into her lungs.

“At last. Our guest has arrived.
Benvenuto
.”

Sara, of course. She stood directly across the room from the doors. Her smile was beatific, her hair properly coiffed, her day dress a simple yet stylish pale green lawn. There was blood on it.

“
Cara mia,
Victoria,” she said in a shocked voice, looking at her tunic and trousers. “Whatever are you wearing? It is
abominevole
!”

Victoria scanned the chamber quickly. What she saw made the red blossom over her vision, coloring her whole world for a frightening moment. She focused on the feel of the stake in her hand: its square edges, the smooth wood, the inlaid cross on the top. With her focus, the haze ebbed, leaving only the faintest tinge.

The room would have been used as a small ballroom, or for a musical performance. It was large, with little furniture, and a polished wooden floor. The windows were shrouded, blocking the sunlight. Several lamps burned, however, so the chamber was not the least bit dark, revealing every detail of the garish scene.

To the left were several creatures: Brodebaugh and George Starcasset, along with four or five vampires with blazing red eyes—she didn't have time to count. George and the earl were sitting in facing armchairs. Brodebaugh's face was streaked with blood and his clothes were mussed. George, on the other hand, appeared patently uninterested in his surroundings, and had adopted a look of boredom on his boyish face. Two vampires stood near them. But that wasn't the image that would later give Victoria nightmares.

On the other side of the room, just out of sight until she stepped in, were Sebastian and Kritanu, also flanked by undead. The two men were seated in chairs at either end of a rectangular table. Their bodies faced the doorway, immobilized by a labyrinth of crisscrossing restraints. Kritanu slumped in his seat, sagging forward, held in place only by the straps around his torso. The vampire next to him held a heavy knife. Its blade was bloody.

Sebastian was looking at Victoria, fury in his face. There were fang marks, many of them, on his neck and the part of his arm bared by a rolled-up sleeve. He was pale. He, as well as Kritanu, had the hand closest to the table strapped onto it. Blood pooled on its surface, dripping from the edge to plop onto the rug below. Victoria tore her eyes away, but not before she saw the stump where Kritanu's hand had been. It was still bright with fresh blood.