The Bleeding Dusk

“Never mind, Winnie. The pope hasn’t been here in Rome since the war, so you needn’t worry that he can hear you,” Lady Nilly returned, one charcoaled eyebrow arching.

“What’s this about the Palombaras?” Victoria asked again, a bit more insistently. And she sat back down. The Consilium would have to wait.

“To be sure, it may not be the Palombaras themselves who are hosting the…meeting,” Lady Melly said primly. She was twining one of the wispy curls that dangled along her cheek around her left index finger. “It’s quite exciting, really, Victoria. What a shame it is that you cannot attend. I’m not certain how many people will be there, though I doubt it will be such a crush as we might have seen back home, you know. After all, it is Ash Wednesday. Even though it isn’t a party.”

“But perhaps I won’t want to miss it, if you would please tell me what this meeting is.” Victoria noticed that her jaw was beginning to hurt, and she eased off before she cracked something. The strength of a Venator’s gritting teeth could have lasting effects.

“It would be delightful for you to attend,” Lady Winnie crowed, sounding rather unlike a duchess in that moment. “The family villa that has been closed off for decades is being opened tonight for a pa—meeting. It shall be an adventure, for the Palombara villa hasn’t been occupied for years, and the family has been gone and—”

“It will be rather like a treasure hunt,” Lady Nilly chirped. “They’ve invited only a select group of friends to help in the search, and the Tarruscellis insisted we join them.”

“A treasure hunt?” Victoria felt a shiver across her shoulders. “Whatever would you be searching for in an old, empty house?” But she had a sneaking suspicion she might know.

“A scavenger hunt,” Lady Melly interrupted. “And we don’t know exactly how to find what we’re looking for, but it should be frightfully amusing. Well, perhaps not so amusing,” she added, looking abashed. “It will be nothing more than a good deed, helping the family find a key that has been missing for more than a century. I’m certain even the pope would approve. If he were here.”

Indeed.

“It does sound intriguing,” Victoria said. “I have decided I will attend after all.”

It took her another several minutes to extricate herself from the ladies’ enthusiasm, and then nearly forty minutes in the barouche with Oliver driving a roundabout path from the Gardella villa to the small church of Santo Quirinus.

Thus it was past five o’clock when she entered the small, unassuming church where a bowl of ashes sat in the vestibule. Victoria crossed herself with the gritty soot, leaving a dark smudge on her forehead and bits of dust floating down to catch in her lashes.

There were several penitents in the church, and she paused to kneel in prayer before slipping past the rail at the altar to the confessional.

Inside the small confessional, she closed the door behind her as if to meet with the priest. But instead of kneeling, Victoria felt for the small latch to the hidden door next to her seat. It slid silently open to reveal three steps that led down to a long, narrow hall studded with icons.

Victoria closed the door behind her and entered the passageway, taking care not to step on the middle stair as she did so. That middle stair was connected to an alarm in the Consilium below, warning when an unauthorized presence approached.

The hall in which she stood appeared to be nothing but a gallery of images that dead-ended in a brick wall. However, if one knew that the last icon on the left, the one depicting Jesus with the angels Gabriel and Uriel, concealed a subtle pattern of bricks that must be pushed in the proper order, one could release the rope-and-pulley mechanism that opened the dead-end wall and reveal the spiral staircase that led to the chambers below. After she’d opened the hidden door, Victoria started down the curling steps that were lit by several sconces.

She walked through the marble archway into the main chamber of the Consilium, where the fountain of holy water splashed and sparkled, and she stopped.

On the other side of the circular font was gathered a group of Venators: Ilias, Zavier, Michalas, Stanislaus. They were all talking in earnest. One tall, dark head rose above the rest, attached to a set of broad, black-clad shoulders facing slightly away from Victoria, and that man seemed to be at the center of the conversation.

Zavier saw her first, and retreated slightly from the little group to hail her toward them. “Victoria! At last you’ve arrived. I couldn’t help but be a wee worried after we were separated last night.” He gestured toward her, his face bright with pleasure, nearly matching his hair. “And see who’s returned.”

Max turned, and their eyes met briefly until she focused her attention back on Zavier, who, for all of his muscular bulk, looked as excited as a child with a new toy.

“Hello, Max,” Victoria said, walking toward the group. For some reason she wasn’t certain whether she should acknowledge that they’d spoken the night before. The expression on his face was devoid of the soberness he’d worn then and instead held the aloof, almost annoyed expression she was more accustomed to seeing. “Good afternoon, everyone,” she added, smiling at them all. The other Venators responded with nods and warm smiles, making her feel as if she were a long-lost sister returning to their midst.

But when Max arched a brow in that way of his and nodded in casual greeting, Victoria couldn’t help but feel a spike of annoyance. Why did his face seem to blank and sharpen now that she’d arrived when, before he saw her, even from behind, she could see that he’d been relaxed and engaged in conversation?

“I didn’t mean to be late,” she said, then was irritated with herself for apologizing, because she felt as though it was only for Max’s benefit that she’d done so. “But there’s a problem that has arisen, which delayed me, and it must be dealt with. Ilias, do you know where Wayren is? I should speak with both of you.”

“She is in her library, of course, and was waiting for your arrival,” Ilias replied.

Victoria had reached the group of Venators by now and found herself next to Zavier, who’d taken her arm and drawn her into the group. “Max,” she said, looking at him again, “welcome back. Are you indeed back?”

“For now, yes, I am.”

Victoria looked over the others and asked, “How was the last night of Carnivale?”

“Fifteen vampires slain,” Ilias told her.

“Then seventeen in all,” Victoria added with a smile. “And I saw no evidence of victims.”

“Where did ye disappear to?” Zavier asked, still holding her arm. “I was worried that whoever attempted to grab ye the night before had succeeded.”

Victoria felt Max looking at her, likely wondering if she would share her conversation with Beauregard. But since none of the others knew about the Door of Alchemy, nor about the missing armband belonging to Aunt Eustacia, she felt no need to go into the detail of her evening. They would find out soon enough, if it was necessary.

Instead she gave Zavier the smile she’d learned was helpful in distracting a man from his purpose and replied, “I went after a vampire, and when I returned you were gone. But, more important, I have need of your assistance as an escort this evening. Are you free to help me?”

“Aye, and with pleasure. Tell me only what I can do.”

“Thank you,” she replied, turning the smile just a bit warmer. Having Zavier with her to watch over her mother and friends would leave her free to do her own tasks at the estate.

“Did you say you needed to speak with Wayren?” Max interrupted.

“Yes, and Ilias as well,” Victoria replied, catching the elderly man’s eye.

Zavier looked disappointed when Victoria removed herself from his grip, but she said, “I won’t be long. Ilias, I have to do one thing, and then I’ll go to Wayren’s library to speak with you.”

She excused herself and hurried through the long gallery of Venator portraits, this time passing the newest one of Aunt Eustacia. At the other end of the hall she reached what appeared to be a dead end, but actually contained three hidden doors. One led to an old spiral staircase, one of several secret exits from the Consilium. These steps took one up to the ruins of a tumbledown building that appeared to be nothing more than an abandoned house on the small street of Tilhin. It was located many streets away from the main entrance at Santo Quirinus.

A second door led to Wayren’s private library, and the third door was the entryway Victoria sought. The doors were not secret to keep out other Venators; they all knew this chamber existed, and many of them had visited it.

They were hidden merely as a precaution. In the event the Consilium should ever be breached, the important and valuable items kept in this room and in Wayren’s library would remain safe and would be able to be evacuated through the nearby alternate entrance if necessary. Thus, Victoria reasoned, this would be the safest place for Aunt Eustacia to have hidden the armband with the key.

Perhaps she’d had the opportunity to secret it here before going to the meeting that resulted in her death. It wasn’t likely, but Victoria wanted to make certain all other possibilities had been exhausted before she talked to Sebastian.

She pushed on the marble relief of a trail of vines, her fingers sliding one of the leaves to the side. The heavy marble wall rumbled and opened enough for her to slip through.

Inside this chamber, which always had torches ready to be lit, the Venators kept their greatest secrets, their most valuable weapons, and the most dangerous souvenirs of their history. Victoria held her candle aloft, showing cabinets with deep cupboards and shallow, wide shelves that lined the walls. Display tables with glass tops that enclosed some of the objects sat adjacent to one another. A desk with curling manuscript papers and a large magnifying glass was positioned in a corner.

On display here was the stake given to Gardeleus when he was called to his destiny of fathering the generations of Venators. It was made of aspen wood, and had been part of the True Cross. Lady Catherine’s emerald ring, which she’d worn during her days in Queen Elizabeth’s court, was in a small, silver-cornered box made of ash. A head-size egg that belonged to the serpent demon Pithius was locked in an iron cage. It had never been incubated, but for security’s sake it was locked up, just in case it might someday spontaneously hatch. So far it had been there for centuries with nary a wiggle, according to Ilias. 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">