Rises The Night

Her question answered, Victoria continued. "According to Polidori's notes, Nedas has obtained something called Akvan's Obelisk, which constitutes some threat that frightened Polidori so greatly that he left Italy." Victoria looked at Wayren apologetically. "His notes were rather difficult to read and wandered all over the scraps of paper, as though he wrote them down wherever he could find space."

"The Tutela has had its moments of power and glory, and its times of weakness and near extinction. It has been decades since it was a threat—indeed, the last time was after the events in Austria, when we were able to put a stop to them after that horrifying massacre," Aunt Eustacia said quietly.

Wayren had been listening intently, pressing the pads of her fingers from one hand against the other, her eyes unblinking. Victoria fancied she could see the slow, thorough spinning of the wheels in her mind as she thought. Then she reached into the large leather satchel she'd placed on the floor next to her chair, rummaged through it, and at last pulled out a small, browning, curling-leafed manuscript.

Its edges were torn and crumbly, and it was simply bound with a leather thong stitched along one side of the papers. The manuscript was no thicker than a finger, and perhaps twice the size of a man's hand. Victoria could see dark scratches of symbols and writing of some language that did not appear recognizable from her vantage point, and likely wouldn't be even if she were looking directly at the pages. It seemed as though Wayren was blessed with the ability to read every language or glyph that she needed to, whereas Victoria was limited to knowledge of English, Italian, and a bit of Latin.

Wayren turned the pages carefully, using one slender finger to skim along them, one at a time, and then it was several moments before she said, "Ah, yes, I believed it would be here." She looked up. "Akvan's Obelisk is a large, spearlike stone made from obsidian that, as legend states, when activated, gives a demon or vampire capabilities to call on and control the souls of the dead. Imagine an army of the dead, not vampires, not needing even to feed on the blood of man, but of warped bodies, puppeteered by the strings of their souls, called back from their afterlife and brought forth upon the earth. It would be devastating to us to have to fight an army of that strength and number."

She glanced back down at the manuscript, scoring her long finger in gentle circles around an image therein. "According to this book, Akvan's Obelisk was a gift given by the mountain demon Akvan to his lover Millitka, who was later turned to a vampire. In a fit of rage—for, as you know, demons and vampires are in general immortal enemies—Akvan took the obelisk back from Millitka and, during his tantrum, threw it into the earth. It penetrated so far and so deeply that no one could find it again." She looked up. "If Polidori is correct, and Nedas has somehow obtained it, there could be serious consequences for us if he activates it. If the legend is true."

The others remained silent as Wayren returned her attention to the book, reading further. "The stone is impossible to destroy. Once activated and in the hands of its master, it is infallible and indestructible. The activation has several stages, but once it is fully engaged, there can be no way to stop it."

"Akvan's Obelisk is indestructible… but what about Nedas? Could he be killed?" Victoria asked.

Wayren's eyes flickered toward Eustacia, then back to Victoria. "If he were killed, it would break the connection between himself and the obelisk… but it would not lessen the power of the obelisk. Someone else could activate it just as he did."

"However, you are right, cara. Nedas must be assassinated. The Tutela must be infiltrated, and he must be located and killed before he begins the activation."

"Nedas is a vampire. A son of Lilith, so he is very powerful. We were able to find out that much. But we weren't aware that he had found Akvan's Obelisk," said Wayren.

"We?" Victoria asked, even though she knew the answer.

"Max and I. Part of the reason he returned to Italy so soon after everything happened last year was because of the rising power of the Tutela."

"So Max is going to kill Nedas."

Eustacia and Wayren exchanged glances again. This time it was much more subtle, but Victoria was not a Gardella for nothing. She caught it, though she was not meant to. Something was wrong. "What is it?"

"Shortly after we arrived in Rome, the bites on Max's neck from Lilith began paining him more than usual," Wayren replied. "You know those bites have never healed, and she uses that to her advantage—she would like more than anything to have Max in her complete control. He's always been able to fight it, but… it has become more difficult since she bit him again last year, when you were stealing the Book of Antwartha."

"Where is Lilith now?" asked Victoria, remembering the horror of seeing the powerful Max so helpless under the vampire queen's thrall.

"I am certain she is in her mountain lair, hidden somewhere in the Muntü Fagaras, in Romania. She has been there since you chased her from London last year, and I have no reason to believe she has left."

"So what is wrong with Max?"

"As I mentioned, his bites were becoming more painful, and suddenly he disappeared for several weeks. I know he returned, for he was seen by another Venator, Zavier; but then I was called away to Paris and I have not been able to contact him for more than eight months."

Victoria's throat felt dry. "What do you think happened?"

Wayren looked at Eustacia, then back at Victoria. "I don't know. But I am certain Lilith is somehow involved. Her reach is far; even if she is not in Italy, her influence is great. I am not even certain Max is alive."

Chapter 8

Of Smashed Toes, Chatty Drivers, and Inflation

"So you are off to Italy, are you, Lady Rockley?""Indeed I am, Mr. Starcasset," Victoria replied. She would, in fact, have been on a ship at that very moment had her exit from St. Heath's Row not been delayed by a visit from the Starcasset siblings. "I hope you forgive me for being unable to take the time to send word round before I left. My travel to Venice is of a rather urgent nature, in relation to my elderly aunt's estate there."

"Of course. I hope everything is well." George—she would never again be able to think of him as Mr. Starcasset, or, even when he inherited, as Viscount Claythorne, after the episode in her bedchamber—appeared to be heavily dismayed at her precipitous departure.

"Victoria, I do hope that you were not put off by the events at Claythorne," Gwendolyn put in, stepping forward into the foyer of St. Heath's Row. From the grimace that flitted over her brother's face, it was quite likely that she'd stepped not only in, but on his toes. It probably served him right, Victoria thought, for he had been rather overzealous in his attempts to monopolize the conversation with her. "I cannot begin to apologize for the terrible fright we all had that night, Victoria. To think of such a thing happening at Claythorne!"

"Think nothing of it," Victoria soothed, pressing a gloved hand over her friend's arm.

Gwendolyn, of course, didn't know the half of what had occurred, thanks to Eustacia's glittering gold medallion, which had been used to alter the memories of all of the guests at Claythorne. "And now, dear Gwendolyn, and G—Mr. Starcasset, I am terribly sorry that I must beg your leave. My carriage is waiting, and the ship on which we are to sail is expecting me to arrive momentarily." Victoria drew her friend into a farewell embrace, realizing with a start that Gwendolyn was her only real friend her age. Yet another reminder that the other half of Victoria's world was so very different from the one that Gwendolyn inhabited.

Just as it had been for Phillip.

Perhaps if she'd used Eustacia's medallion on Phillip, things might have turned out differently.

Victoria was drawn abruptly from her regrettable reverie when George bent over her gloved hand to brush his lips against it.

When he lifted his face, he pulled her hand up and stepped toward her, so that his words were for her ears only. "Your departure shall put quite a damper on my intended courtship, Lady Rockley." He pressed a kiss to the underside of her fingers, then to the tips. "Godspeed, Victoria, if I may be so bold as to call you that… and if you should have the urge, I would welcome any correspondence from you during your time away." He could not help that his clean, boyish looks made him appear rather more like an earnest schoolboy than a serious beau. But, she allowed, despite the broad smile and the dismay in his eyes, he was rather charming. And in spite of the circumstances, Victoria felt rather pleased at having the attention of a man again. She had been lonely.

"Thank you, sir," she replied. "I am not known as an excellent correspondent, but I shall endeavor not to disappoint you. And when I return, we shall have to discuss this idea you have of courting me." With a smile that she realized was rather more flirtatious than she'd intended, she withdrew her fingers and nodded for Filbert to open the front door.

"Farewell, Gwendolyn. I shall notify you immediately upon my return."

Victoria saw that the Starcasset siblings were safely in their ornately sprung carriage before the tall, broad man named Oliver opened the door of her own.

The door closed behind her, she sank down in her seat and realized she was not alone.

"Sebastian? Blast it, how on earth did you get here? And in your shirtsleeves again!"

There he was, lounging in the corner of the seat across from hers. She hadn't noticed him when she climbed in because she was looking at her seat, and he had been prudent enough to keep his feet off the floor—where she would certainly have spied them as she climbed in.

If nothing else, the man had a talent for appearing unexpectedly—and looking utterly casual about it.

He sat with his legs extended along the length of the seat, his back propped against one wall of the coach. His curly-brimmed hat sat in his lap, held in place by two elegant hands. His dark jacket had been removed and was hanging from a hook above his feet. He smiled lazily at her as she arranged her gown primly on her seat, lurching slightly as the carriage started off. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">