As Shadows Fade

Thirteen In Which We Observe Venators in Their Natural Habitat

Sebastian was well into his cups by the time he left Goldsmith Lane. He certainly wasn’t staggering along the street-indeed, he was much too refined to make a fool of himself in such a manner.

But the fine-very fine-brandy Katerina had kept for those “special” customers had put a sort of glaze over the world, over the dull throb of emptiness in his middle and the remnants of dreams that continued to linger and tease. It softened the edge of unpleasantness… and aside of that, it was damn fine brandy.

Perhaps even better than the Armagnac from which he’d relieved Katerina all those years ago. It was a shame she’d never forgiven him for that transgression, but, as he’d said, she rather owed him. It wasn’t his fault her daughter had seduced him.

However, Katerina hadn’t quite seen it that way, and had been furious with him for not “keeping his dillyjohn packed away,” as she had termed it. So Katerina had set a bunch of undead goons on him in retribution and caused a riot that destroyed half of the Lone Horse. Not to mention Sebastian’s arm, leg, and a few ribs.

Yes indeed, she’d owed him for that, and those casks had been a nice little start to his proprietorship of the Silver Chalice.

After Victoria left the Lone Horse, Sebastian had taken it upon himself to hunt around in the hidden storage room to see how much of this brandy was left. Perhaps he’d take the rest back to London, or wherever he thought he might settle after things were done with the Midiverse Portal, and open another establishment.

Having ascertained that there was, in fact, a nice store of various libations hidden away, Sebastian finished his last drink and left the tavern.

Though it was late in the afternoon, once he was outside of the dark place, he had to blink rapidly in the glare of sunshine. The great towers of Tэn Church rose in the distance, high over the city across the river. He looked away. Victoria hadn’t given a reason for leaving the Lone Horse, but he knew where she’d gone.

As he made his way back to their inn with nary a stumble, he wondered when Wayren and Brim and Michalas might arrive in Praha, or whether they would all attempt to meet up on the way to Muntii Fagaras. Sebastian had no desire to visit Lilith’s mountain lair in Romania, but in the last year, he’d become accustomed to doing things he preferred not to do.

Staking vampires, including his grandfather, was one.

Loving a woman who had to be coaxed into a kiss-or more-every time.

Fighting his arse off against paralyzing demons.

Even seeing Katerina poof into a pile of dust had raised melancholy in his mind.

Or perhaps it was the brandy.

No. It was more than the brandy. For all her faults, Katerina had been kind to him once upon a time, and it had been Sebastian’s fault that her husband was no longer living undeadly by her side.

At least now they rotted in Hell together.

The thought made his belly swish. Maybe he had had too much of the brandy.

Giulia in Hell. Sent there by his own bloody hand.

Was there no way to change that? To save her soul?

Of course not. He’d wondered and wished and hoped for years for some way to change that. What was done was done. Ashes to ashes… and in this case, ashes to ashes to Hell.

Damn. The brandy. Bitterness rose in the back of his throat, and Sebastian had to swipe the back of his hand over eyes that watered from the bright sun.

When Wayren had given him the papers written by Rosamunde Gardella, Sebastian felt certain they would contain something important… something that he needed to know. Some kind of message for him. After all he’d been drawn to them so strongly, there had to be a reason for it. And all the dreams, coming stronger and clearer than ever.

Was it just because he’d lost Victoria that Giulia had come back to haunt him? Had his relationship-such as it was-been simply a distraction from Giulia and her memory?

But so far, though he’d pored over them night after night so that the words seemed to be burned into his brain, there’d been nothing that spoke to him on those brittle, cramped-character pages.

Rosamunde prophesied Eustacia’s death in Rome:

The golden age of the Venator will find rest at the foot of Rome.

She’d foretold of Victoria’s near-turning by Beauregard:

And the rising daughter shall find herself blemished, and malevolence will fight to reign within. Yet the strength of a pure heart may overcome this test.

There was another passage that seemed to stick deep within his mind, but it meant nothing to him:

And in the new world shall be a savior who carries the deepest taint. A long promise shall the savior make, and in the end those for whom he lives will be saved.

In his sober moments, and in those early-morning hours when the words slipped around in his mind, Sebastian thought that perhaps it spoke to him for a reason. Might he be meant to go to America-the New World? He certainly carried a deep taint.

But a savior?

That couldn’t be him. Pesaro, perhaps-the damn hero who never shirked from his duty. The man who hadn’t a sensitive bone in his body.

Perhaps Pesaro was the savior and he would go off to America for some “long promise.” And leave Victoria for Sebastian. He smiled grimly. Then the bloody bastard could be as heroic as he wished, an ocean away.

Sebastian swallowed, tasting the strong flavor of brandy again. He had had too much. But it was day, and a bit of a nap would leave him clearheaded by evening.

The door to the chamber he shared with Victoria-shared with Victoria; of all the blasted lies, teases!-opened easily, and he stepped over the threshold with a slight shuffle.

And stopped short.

Blood. He smelled blood.

The vestiges of the brandy fell away as he took in the scene: Victoria, pale visaged, sprawled on the bed, her dark hair plastered to her face… Antonнn’s face buried against her, his jaw moving as he drank… long and deep.

The scent of iron filled Sebastian’s nose, and red tinged his vision. With a roar, he leapt across the room, grabbing up the vampire by the hair, somehow remembering not to yank him away from her flesh before his fangs slid out.

“Sebastian, no!” she said, lifting herself from the bed. He saw blood trickling down her white arm, a stake in her other hand, and surprise in her eyes, heavy lidded and soft. He managed to stop his hand from slamming the stake down into Antonнn’s chest just as she lunged up from the bed, surging toward him.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” he shouted, realizing belatedly that the vampire was still bound helplessly, hand and foot. That he’d been feeding from her wrist, and she had a stake at the ready. Revulsion swamped him as he understood. He grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers driving into her soft skin.

“Sebastian,” she said, struggling in his arms. But he held her tightly, with every bit of strength he possessed, anger and disgust mingling with desire and fear. “Stop!”

“Victoria, I don’t understand. Why? What are you…?” His voice trailed off, and he swallowed. Then shoved her away so hard she lost her balance and fell onto the bed.

He wanted to join her. Sebastian turned away, the nausea churning deeper.

She stood up, her beautiful face tight and perhaps a shade guilty. “I’m sorry to frighten you,” she said calmly, watching him closely. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I didn’t know that you’d become fond of… that,” he said. Horror, mingled with the taste of brandy, rose in the back of his throat… He knew well how it felt to have fangs slide in, the pleasure-pain of blood drawn long and slow from within… the sensuality of it, the light-headed eroticism. But Victoria?

She glanced at Antonнn, then back at Sebastian. “I thought,” she said in a low voice. “I thought if his blood had some Gardella blood mixed with it, it might…” Her voice trailed off as understanding washed through him.

Pesaro. She’d done it for Pesaro, for his damned Trial.

Sebastian felt his lips move crookedly. “Well, now… what an interesting thought. Though I doubt Pesaro would thank you for your interference.”

“You mustn’t tell him.” Victoria stood, swiping at the ugly marks on her arm. Hell, they were deep, and her face looked pale. She staggered a little. How much blood had she given?

“You fool,” he said, turning to rummage through his satchel. Salted holy water would help to heal the marks.

But she was weak. He saw it in the depths of her eyes and the paleness of her face.

Yet he couldn’t blame her. For wasn’t he also a fool for love?

Later that evening, word came by pigeon that Brim and Michalas had arrived in Prague, so Victoria and Sebastian went to meet them near the Stone Bridge. Brim embraced her as soon as she approached, surprising her with his affection and strength. Then the massive black man showed her the ring they’d brought from the Consilium.

“And now we have three of the Rings of Jubai,” Victoria said. “But the last two will be the most difficult to obtain. Lilith won’t give them up easily.”

“It’s in her interest to stop the demons,” Michalas said firmly, shading his eyes against the last shot of sunbeam spearing low between the red roofs. “Surely even she will understand that-especially if we are the ones taking the risk.”

Victoria grimaced. “I’m not confident that Lilith will see it that way. But we’ll get the rings. And then Sebastian will lead us to the pool at the base of her mountain.”

“And hope that they work to breach the enchantments therein,” he said grimly.

She replied, “Your grandfather would have known. I presume that’s why he wanted the ring that was hidden beneath London, because he knew how valuable it was.”

Sebastian nodded. “And the Midiverse Portal is less than two days’ ride from the pool, so if all goes as planned, we might be there in a week.”

“Wayren stays safely at the Consilium until she is needed here.” Brim looked at Victoria, understanding in his eyes. “And so we stay for another day?”

She nodded. “Until after Max’s Trial. Then we’ll be five strong and off to Muntii Fagaras.” She couldn’t help but glance toward Tэn, up on the hill, and when she looked back, she caught the exchange of glances among the others. Wayren would arrive on the day of the Trial by her own means in order to conduct the event, but until then, there was nothing to do but wait until tomorrow evening.

“Well,” Brim said, “the sun is setting, and I can think of several ways to pass the time.” He flexed his massive arm and smiled menacingly.

“I know of a place that has good brandy,” offered Sebastian.

“And what about food?”

“If it’s food you want, I can take you to a suitable tavern.” He glanced quickly at Victoria. “Not the Lone Horse.”

“And after that… some other amusements might be in order,” said Michalas. “Victoria, you’ll join us, won’t you?”

She nodded, realizing that her other option was to go back to the chamber with a snoring Antonнn and stare out at Tэn, or to hunt on the streets alone. Perhaps another night she might opt for the latter, but tonight her friends were offering companionship as well as a distraction.

And she realized she wanted both.

Hours later, Victoria sat in a large, loud, but dingy establishment with the three other Venators, who’d imbibed a generous quantity of brandy or ale or wine-depending on their preference. She, too, had had enough wine to take the edge off her worry, and found herself relaxing and enjoying the companionship of three others who lived the same dangerous, duplicitous life she did.

The tavern catered to mortals, but there were vampires mingling about, which was part of the attraction, according to Sebastian… and the reason he, Michalas, and Brim had slipped into their cups. Every time a vampire walked into the place, all four of them noticed, of course. And then the wagers began.

“He’ll go for the young man over yonder. Easy, and near the door.”

“I think not. See how he’s watching the server girl? It’ll be her.”

“No, no… see how he’s looking at the ones throwing dice? He’ll slip into the game and lure the winner away later… Then he’ll get the winnings, too.”

And then…

“She’s got her eye on that big guy by the wall.”

“No, see how she’s looking at the two over by the counter? The one with the red hair, mark my words.”

“She’s just dropped something-the bald one’s going to pick it up, and that will be his death wish.”

Coins of all denominations clanked and clinked into a small pot on the table until the vampire made a move to lure his victim out of the pub. Then the winning Venator collected his spoils, slipped them into his pocket, took a stake out… and followed.

The rest drained their glasses and poured another round.

After a while, vampires stopped coming into the eatery. Perhaps word had spread that those who did found themselves quickly turned to ash.

“It’s still early,” Michalas said, digging out a pair of dice. He tossed them on the table. “Who’s first?”

“Vioget and I,” said Brim, raising the eyebrow through which his vis bulla glinted.

Sebastian sighed, rolled his eyes, and sat up as though quite put-upon. Yet Victoria saw the gleam of challenge in his gaze. “I accept.”

Victoria watched with interest-all of these pastimes were as new to her as visiting a men’s club and watching them at cards.

Michalas rolled the bones. “Ten.” He laughed and looked up at the other two. “Good luck.”

Brim and Sebastian shoved to their feet, sending glasses clinking, and rushed out.

“Where are they going?” Victoria asked.

“I rolled a ten… Now it’s a race to see who can get ten vampires and get back here first.”

“Ten? Each?” Her eyebrows rose, and she stifled a laugh. “Are there that many undead left in Prague? We’ve been a bit busy.”

“Ten each, and the last one back buys a round.” Michalas settled back in his chair and sipped from his beverage of choice-wine. They chatted amiably for a time, and after a while he said, “Ah, here’s another one.”

Victoria felt the telltale chill on the back of her neck and saw the undead come through the door. “Yours or mine?” she asked.

“I’ll take him.”

“No, wait,” she said. “I’ll do it.” She stood, feeling the gentling effect of the wine, and made her way casually toward the vampire.

He stood near the counter of the bar, sipping something from a cup. Even though she was innocently looking away, Victoria felt the moment she caught his attention. She could imagine the picture she made-clearly a woman who was dressed in men’s clothing, for she’d left her hair unbound and removed her jacket in the warm evening.

The vampire stood tall, nearly as tall as Max, she realized as she came closer. His shoulders were broad, and despite the scar that cut along the edge of his jaw, he was a handsome man. And, she was fairly certain, a Guardian vampire. But she wouldn’t know for certain until his eyes began to glow.

“Well, well,” he said in a liquid voice that somehow penetrated above the dull roar of the eatery. “What is a lovely lady doing in such an ugly place?”

Victoria resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she gave him large, innocent ones and replied, “I was supposed to meet my brother here, but he hasn’t arrived yet.”

“Your brother?” The interest in his voice ebbed.

“He was supposed to meet me yesterday evening,” she said. “But he’s late.”

The vampire laughed, showing normal teeth. “I should say that is the case. How much longer do you intend to wait for him?”

“I don’t think he’s going to come after all,” she said ingenuously. “I’m thinking it’s time that I went home.”

“By yourself? The streets are dangerous at night,” he said, leaning a bit closer.

What woman didn’t know that? “I’m not afraid.” That was the truth.

“Perhaps you might like an escort?” he asked.

“I think not,” she said, giving him a coy smile. “I don’t usually walk with strange men.” She rested some coins on the counter to give the impression that she had approached so as to settle her account. “Good night, sir.”

She was nearly out the door when she felt the chill at the back of her neck intensify. A knowing smile tickled her lips, and she slowed her pace so that he could catch up to her.

But just as she stepped onto the crooked street, she saw Sebastian and Brim approaching. Both were moving quickly, obviously to see who could win the wager.

“Victoria,” said Sebastian as they slowed next to her. She felt the scarred vampire move past her and slip into the shadows. Neither Brim nor Sebastian made any attempt to follow him. Instead of going into the pub, they stopped at the entrance next to her.

“I’m very sorry,” said Brim. “I’ve made a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Victoria frowned.

“I was looking for my tenth vampire, so I could win this wager with Vioget,” Brim explained. Victoria felt Sebastian’s eyes on her, and an odd chill went up her spine. Why was he looking at her that way?

Max. It had to be about Max. What had happened?

She swallowed and realized Brim was continuing his explanation. She forgot about the vampire and listened.

“I couldn’t find one, or sense one anywhere, and so I kept looking. I’d found the first nine rather quickly. But then, nothing. At last, I came to a small boarding-house and felt an undead was nearby. I found him. In one of the rooms, sleeping. Just as I staked him, I realized he was-”

“Tied up,” Victoria finished, her heart sinking.

“Tied up,” Brim repeated.

So Antonнn was gone.

She glanced toward Tэn and nodded slowly.

That, she supposed, was what she deserved for attempting to interfere with divine will.

The gentle hand on his shoulder brought Max to reality.

He blinked, focused, swallowed, then breathed. A long, shuddering, deep breath.

The stones beneath his knees had long ceased paining him, but the moment he moved, the agony screamed along his joints. His legs felt leaden at first, and then as he moved them, nasty prickles traveled up and down and into his buttocks and down into his toes.

Colored light beams of red, blue, and gold glowed in the massive church nave, shining through stained glass and spilling over the altar and arches and pews. By their angle, he surmised that dusk was near.

The end of the third day.

Always knowing, always perceptive, Wayren had touched his shoulder to draw him from the deep meditation, then eased away to allow him time to come back to himself. Now he turned and saw her sitting in a pew beneath a low arch, where the only illumination was a few alms candles. For a moment, he saw a shimmer of light around her in the dusky church, and then it was gone.

He moved stiffly next to her and sat for the first time in three days.

“You’re here,” he said.

“I am indeed.”

“Do we have the third ring?”

She gave a brief nod. “We do. Now to finish here and to retrieve the other two from Lilith.”

He couldn’t think about that now. Not yet. One moment at a time. One task at a time.

Wayren seemed to understand, and she touched his hand, her fingers soft and cool against his rough ones. A surge of power sleeked through him. Power and peace. “You’re feverish. Are you ill?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been. A bit.”

She offered him a flask of water, and he drank. He’d never tasted anything more pure, more cold and clean. The heat burning through his limbs eased a bit, but it still raged beneath. He was ill and bloody weak. Yet he had work to do.

“Did you ask Ylito what he thought?”

Wayren nodded. “He agrees that you should not remove the vis bulla during the battle. There is no reason to, and yours is a special situation. Never have we had a Venator need to pass another Trial, wearing his own vis bulla. You do have your own back, don’t you?”

Max shoved away the memory of the exchange with Victoria, when she had returned his vis bulla, which she’d secretly been wearing, and he had given her back her own. Which he’d been wearing. “Yes.” He looked at Wayren. “Did you discuss with him the other matter?”

“He agrees that it would do no harm to try, Max. Normally, of course, we have the blood from the vampire waiting, with the vis bulla soaking in holy water. After the vampire is dead, then the vis is taken from the holy water and dipped in the dead vampire’s blood and then pierced through the flesh of the Venator. That is when the truth will out: either death or life as a Venator.

“But in your case, since you already wear the vis, Ylito believes you may be able to miss that step and finish the Trial sooner. We’ll pour holy water on the amulet before the battle. If blood from the vampire is wiped on the vis during the battle, it may indeed reactivate your Venator powers.”

“Or it may not.”

“Or it may not.”

Either way, the result would be the same. If it was meant to happen, it would happen, whether during the battle with the vampire, or after.

Max knew that he didn’t want to kill a vampire only to die afterward.

He didn’t want to die at all, he realized, for the first time in a long time. For the first time since he could remember.

But he might. And he was prepared. He stood. “I’m ready.”