Rises the Night Read online

  Barth would be along shortly in his hackney to pick her up and take her back to the echoingly empty Rockley estate known as St. Heath’s Row, where she would continue to live until the arrival of the new marquess, who was somewhere in America and hadn’t yet been located.

  Just then, the hackney in question rumbled around the corner and came to a rather slower stop than usual. It wasn’t that Barth’s driving had improved; it was that he’d been combing the streets, looking for Victoria.

  As she climbed into the carriage, she made the decision she’d been putting off for a week. “Barth, I’m not ready to go home yet…take me to St. Giles. To the Chalice.”

  And before he could protest, she closed the door.

  There was a bit of a wait, as though he were considering arguing, but then she heard Barth cluck to the horses and she lurched as they started off at a smart pace. Victoria settled back in her seat and tried not to think about the last time she’d been to the Silver Chalice. More than a year ago.

  It was well past midnight, and the streets of St. Giles were deserted. Only very foolish or very brave people ventured into this area of London during the relative protection of daylight. At night, even fewer would dare to trespass. As they rumbled along St. Martin’s Lane and crossed the intersection of the seven roads known as The Dials, Victoria cast her glance down one of them. She had not forgotten Great St. Andrews Street, nor even the block where she’d nearly killed the man almost a year ago. She could find it again in her sleep, for though she did not recall the actual event in all of its terrible detail, the location had imprinted itself on her brain.

  Perhaps someday she would return.

  Several streets later the hackney jerked to a stop, drawing her from her uncomfortable reverie. Anticipating the jolt, Victoria had already put out a hand to brace herself. Lifting the small lantern from its mooring on an interior wall, she ducked out of the vehicle and slipped away before Barth could speak or follow her.

  Her feet were soundless on the cobbled street as they skirted piles of trash and stepped over small puddles left from an early evening rain. The stench no longer bothered her, nor did the weight of eyes peering from the shadows.

  Let them come. She was ready for a fight.

  Across and down the street she walked, head held high, hand on her pistol, the legs of her men’s breeches swishing faintly against each other, the lantern light slicing through her shadow. A welcome summer breeze lifted the smell of rotting carcasses and animal waste back to her consciousness, then brushed on away. The back of her neck cooled slightly under the beaver topper she wore, but it was from the wind rather than a sign of approaching danger.

  Victoria stood in front of what had been the doorway to The Silver Chalice.

  She had not visited the place since the night she came looking for Phillip, and found, instead of her husband, the smoldering ruins of what had been an establishment that served vampires and mortals alike.

  Did she imagine it, or was the oaky smell of ash still in the air? It couldn’t be, all these months later…

  But the chill had returned to the back of her neck.

  She froze, stopping her breath to listen. To feel.

  Yes, it was there. It was real, raising the hair on her nape in a warning she hadn’t felt for a twelvemonth: a vampire was near. Below.

  Now, with the rush of anticipation fueling her actions, Victoria climbed over the rickety remains of the door frame and started down the steps into the cavernous chamber. She felt along the stones with her left hand while her right carried the lantern, shining onto the wood and stone rubble that littered the steps. If she could have approached without the illumination, she would have done so, but seeing in the dark was not one of the gifts bestowed upon Venators. Some of the element of surprise would be diminished, but that was better than trying to make her way through the mess silently, and in the dark.

  Miraculously, the ceiling had not completely caved in over the stairs, and she soon found herself at the bottom. Victoria paused, thrusting the lantern behind her to block some of its light, and peered around the corner into the dark, misshapen cellar.

  What was left of Sebastian’s pub.

  Although the tingle at the back of her neck still played there, confirming her instinct, she did not feel or hear any sign of movement. She stilled, but for the fingers slipping into the deep pocket of her coat.

  The stake felt comfortable in her hand, but she didn’t withdraw it yet. She let her grip close around the wood, warm from her body, and waited, listening and feeling.

  The chill on her neck edged colder, and she breathed the proximity of the vampire and the impending exhilaration of battle. Her heart rate picked up speed. Her nostrils flared as if to smell the presence of an undead.

  At last, satisfied she was alone in the chamber, Victoria drew the lamp forth. Shining it around, she saw the same scene of destruction that had greeted her months ago. But now her mind was not numbed by fear and apprehension. Now she saw the blackened ceiling beams, the splintered tables and broken glasses…perhaps she even smelled the faint tinge of blood in the air.

  The lantern bobbed as she climbed over a fractured chair, and glass crunched like gravel beneath her feet. She was making her way toward the innermost, darkest part of the wall, hidden under a lowering ceiling. The growing sensation at the back of her neck told her she was moving in the right direction.

  Sebastian Vioget had disappeared the night the Silver Chalice burned. Max had also been there that night, and he told Victoria he didn’t know whether or not Sebastian had escaped from the fire. She knew he didn’t give a whit what had happened either way.

  Victoria knew she shouldn’t care either…but she hadn’t been able to forget the bronze-haired man who welcomed vampires into his establishment. He’d once told Victoria it was better to know them and to offer them a place where they might find ease, where their tongues might loosen and information might be gained…

  She found the secret door Sebastian had taken her through the very first night she’d met him. Tucked away under a low stone ceiling and set in among the rough walls, it remained fairly unscathed. Marked with black streaks, it was ajar.

  And the cold at her nape tingled more sharply.

  Victoria pushed through the door, leaving the lantern at the entrance of the passageway. She felt the weight of the pistol in her pocket as it bumped against the edge of stone—the pistol, useless against a vampire, of course, but helpful for other purposes. In the dark, narrow passageway, Victoria couldn’t help but remember facing Sebastian, with the damp brick behind her, and him much too close for propriety’s sake as he reached to sweep off the hat of her gentleman’s disguise.

  He hadn’t kissed her that time.

  Moving down the faintly lit hallway, quickly, as though to leave the memories behind her, Victoria made her way to the small room on the left, the one Sebastian had used as an office and sitting room.

  He, she, it, or they…were in this room.

  Her lips curled in a feral smile, and anticipation kicked up her pulse. She had been waiting for this for months.

  The door was ajar, giving her the opportunity to peer around into the room. It was lit from within. Only a large lantern could illuminate the chamber well enough for her to see the intricate brocade design on the sofa from where she stood. Interesting that a vampire or two would use a lantern.

  From what she could see through the open door, the room had been untouched by the fire with the exception of a lingering smoke smell that had likely been trapped in the couch and chair upholstery. There was no sign of disturbance…the books were still lining shelves, the pillows perfectly arranged on the furniture…even the silver tray with the brandy and sherry bottles was in place across the room.

  The only things out of place were the two figures bent over Sebastian’s desk. At least one was a vampire.

  Slipping the stake from her pocket, Victoria let it hang behind the folds of her jacket and stepped into the room.

/>   “Good evening, gentlemen,” she said casually. “Are you looking for something?”

  Her year of grief had made her a bit slow.

  One of them was at her before she expected it, his eyes bloodred and his incisors flashing. Victoria stepped back, felt the wall behind her, and twisted away. He followed, and she tripped over the leg of a chair, nearly stumbling to the floor. The error made her more determined, and the skills Kritanu taught her came flooding back to her muscles like the fit of a well-worn glove.

  By the time Victoria gained her balance, the vampire was reaching for her, inadvertently opening his chest to her driving stake. She slammed it in, felt the familiar poof, and stepped back as he disintegrated into dust.

  Barely breathing, she looked up at the other man, who’d not moved. He watched her with a twitch of a smile, but he’d not changed. Instead, he adjusted his jacket and looked at her with glinting black eyes.

  “Came prepared, did you?” he asked, walking easily from around the other side of the desk. Coming closer, but easy.

  Unthreatening and unthreatened.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?” Victoria wanted some answers before she staked him too. It could be no coincidence they’d both chosen this night to visit Sebastian’s rooms, and by the amount of dust here, and the neatness of the room, she gathered this was the first visit anyone had made.

  “Merely curiosity.” He stood so that the sofa was between them. “This is what remains of the infamous Silver Chalice; I was interested in seeing the place owned by Sebastian Vioget.”

  His fangs had not protruded and his eyes remained unexceptionally dark.

  “Do you know him?”

  The vampire, who was no taller than most other men in London, had nondescript brown hair brushed back from his face. His nose, a bit too large to make his face attractive, rounded on the end like a garlic bulb. His brows were straight, narrow strips over his eyes. He shook his head in response to her question. “I’m afraid I haven’t the pleasure of meeting Monsieur Vioget. From what I have heard, I’m not altogether certain it is any longer possible to do so.”

  “I haven’t seen a vampire here in London for months,” Victoria said, watching him. “Since Lilith took herself and her followers off. Did she send you back to ascertain whether it was safe for her to return?”

  He looked at her for a moment, then recognition shifted into his black eyes. Not red, not yet. They were normal. He looked like nothing more than an average English gentleman, except for his ill-fitting clothing. “You are the woman Venator.”

  Victoria bowed her head in acknowledgment.

  His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “What a coup it would be for me to bring you to Nedas. He would reward me greatly.”

  A spike of anticipation jolted through her. “You could certainly attempt it. I’m certain that whoever Nedas is, he would appreciate your intent, if not your martyrdom in attempting it.”

  “I’m not quite as impetuous as my dearly departed companion,” he replied. “But I am much stronger and faster.”

  Suddenly he was there: across the room, next to her, reaching for her throat. Victoria spun back, but he grabbed her arm, and he was indeed strong.

  She tried to wrench away, caught in his suddenly glowing red eyes, and felt the sofa behind her legs. She pretended to stumble, dodged, and knocked him off balance. He came after her again, close behind, without giving her a chance to catch her breath, and the next thing she knew, she was whirling back to face him.

  Raising her stake at shoulder level, she lifted her face to look at him, ready to slam it home, and faltered.

  Phillip.

  It was Phillip.

  Her body turned to ice, and then blossomed into raging fire. The stake fell from her limp fingers, and the scream was knocked out of her as he shoved her aside, sending her to the floor.

  On the rug, dragging in dust and lint along with her panicked breaths, Victoria looked up at the figure looming over her. How? Phillip was dead.

  By her own hand.

  But it wasn’t Phillip who bent over her. It was the same nondescript man, now with glowing eyes and a determined line for a mouth.

  She scrabbled for her stake…surely it hadn’t rolled far on the rug. He lunged for her and she twisted away, suddenly trapped against the edge of the sofa. She felt something under her hip, round and hard and long, and rolled sharply to the right, toward his feet, grabbing the stake.

  The force of her motion sent him off balance, and Victoria propelled herself to her feet, stick in hand. She turned, using the momentum of her leg to whip around, then shifted her center of balance as she plunged the stake into the center of his chest. She pulled it away, stepping back to watch him dust to the floor.

  Nothing happened.

  And he came at her again, his mouth drawn in a frightening, feral smile.

  Victoria recoiled in shock, stumbling backward, and tripped over the flipped-up corner of the thick Persian rug. She tumbled to the floor, slamming her head against the wall as she fell, and stared up at the red-eyed man who advanced toward her.

  Calm and steady he moved, and Victoria could barely get her mind around the fact that she’d stabbed him, sunk a stake into his chest, and nothing had happened. Neither blood nor dust…he’d just come after her again.

  As she gaped up at him sprawled against the tapestried wall, readying the stake for another plunge, his face turned toward her again.

  “Phillip?” she cried softly.

  “Venator,” he said, sweeping down toward her. “Come now…relax…I shan’t hurt you.”

  “No!” she grunted, slamming the stake upward with all of her might.

  She stopped him, impaled his body on the wooden pike, but he did not disintegrate. His movements slowed…but still, he did not die.

  With a shout of horror and desperation, she used the stake and her hand to shove him away. The stake came free, and she bolted to her feet.

  She needed another weapon. The pistol in her pocket…she pulled it out, aimed it at the creature, and squeezed the trigger. The explosion kicked the gun in her hand, and the bullet slammed into the chest of her attacker.

  The focused part of her was not surprised when he barely paused…drew himself to his feet, and came at her again.

  Victoria launched herself backward over the sofa, frantically looking for something that could be used as a weapon…but what?

  He was so fast, so strong…she had no chance.

  He was after her, on top of her, and they rolled on the floor, slamming into furniture. The sharp-edged silver tray of brandy and sherry clattered to the rug, spilling the sharp-scented liquors.

  Through the fog of panic and shock, Victoria’s mind scrambled through a warren of possibilities, of the need to survive, of the anger at being taken by surprise. She felt the heavy tray behind her, and closed her fingers around its sharp edge. Not certain she knew what she was doing, Victoria pulled it up and over her head, slamming it down onto the skull of the man bending toward her.

  He staggered, losing his footing, and she shot to her feet, still clutching the tray. Grabbing the sofa, he propelled himself around toward her, his eyes back to burning red, his mouth grim. Victoria said a prayer and swung the tray in a mighty blow, into and through his neck, severing the head in one powerful, ragged stroke.

  His eyes rolled back and his head lopped to the floor, and Victoria braced herself, waiting, trembling, panting as though she’d fought ten vampires.

  As she watched, the face changed…it shrank and deflated, turning leathery brown with sunken eyes and shriveled lips, and metamorphosed into ribbony black…then sank into the floor and disappeared.

  + 2 +

  In Which Lady Rockley Disdains a Discussion Regarding Fashion

  and Becomes Overset

  * * *

  “It had to have been some sort of demon,” Victoria said when she finished describing her experience. It was early the morning after she had visited the Silver Chalice, and s
he had slipped out of St. Heath’s Row long before most of the ton would have been stirring. “Even though I’ve never met one before, and there haven’t been any in England for centuries, it couldn’t be a vampire. I couldn’t kill him with a stake. And he changed appearance.”

  Aunt Eustacia, whose glittering eyes had grown worried during the telling of the tale, nodded. “A stake to the heart will always kill a vampire, cara, you are correct. Even the other race of so-called undead—those whom we don’t hunt, known as the Dracule—would die upon a stake. And, yes, even Lilith or her brother Nicholas Iscariot would fall thus.”

  The elderly woman’s blue-black hair, still without a trace of gray in its coiled coiffure, gleamed and rippled like ink. Even her face, more than eight decades old, bore little sign of her age. But it was her hands—the ones that held the small metal amulet Victoria had given her—that twisted old and gnarled, with arthritic joints that made it difficult for her to grasp a stake.

  “I stabbed him two times,” Victoria continued. Her heartbeat still hastened when she remembered those moments of panic. Unlike the time in the alley of The Dials, where it had been all too easy to nearly kill a man, this had been a nightmare in which she couldn’t kill a vampire. “Two times, full in the chest…it slowed him, but when I removed the stake it was as if nothing had happened.”

  “You say he was with a vampire? That is peculiar. Demons will never coexist with vampires if they can help it. They are as much enemies as we are.”

  “I don’t see why they wouldn’t, for both races do the bidding of Lucifer.”

  Aunt Eustacia nodded. “One would think. But we are fortunate that they are too jealous of the other to do so. Both races vie so mightily for the partiality of Lucifer that they would never wish to allow the other to attain any great favor from him.”

  When one considered it, it made sense, in a warped sort of way, Victoria thought. The demons had been heavenly angels before turning to follow Lucifer, long before human history began.