A thought came to mind, and Victoria spent a few long moments scanning the viewers in the seats, looking for Sebastian. She should be as angry with him as she was with Max, but she wasn't.
Yes, he had kidnapped her and taken the opportunity to make love to her. It was fortunate that she hadn't expected more from him, for she was bound to be disappointed if she had.
Yes, he had disappeared at a most fortuitous moment—for him. And yes, he had left her to battle the vampires on her own. But at least he had been truthful with her. He was not a man of violence, and would not strike and kill. Not even a vampire. And he certainly didn't have the powers of a Venator to protect himself.
Of course, that meant it was necessary for him to make himself scarce at such dangerous moments; but if he had not, he likely would have been captured too.
But they wouldn't have hurt him, if all he'd told her about Beauregard was true. Would they?
Or perhaps they would have, if Beauregard and Nedas were rivals.
Victoria's head was swimming and her body was pounding with pain again. She couldn't stop the thoughts swirling around her mind, clogging it, softening it from any clear judgment.
The chanting had grown louder and deeper, and the incense did not disperse, but seemed to continue to swirl straight up.
Its smoke was colored, she noticed vaguely. Black and blue curls and coils, braiding together as they wove up into the catwalk, insinuating themselves into her nostrils and into her lungs. Stifling a cough, she held the sleeve of her tunic over her nose and mouth and tried to breathe the filtered air; perhaps she had waited too long to do so, but it might help to keep the scent at bay.
How was she going to stop them?
He cannot be stopped.
There had to be a way. She had to clear her mind.
Victoria took a deep breath and spewed it out, long and slow and silent, from between pursed lips, trying to send the smoke away from her, to send it dissipating far from where she breathed.
The backdrops hung from heavy wooden poles. She could loosen one, cause it to crash down on them. At least that would stop them momentarily. She might be able to take them by surprise and jump down to stake a vampire or two. Nedas would be her first target.
But… there would be little to no chance that she could get the obelisk away, even if Nedas was dead. She didn't know how long it would take, or what would have to occur in order for the obelisk's powers to transfer to another being.
And… she no longer wore the vis. She couldn't jump down without injuring herself; she would be fortunate to have enough strength in her battered body to drive the stake into a normal, red-eyed vampire, not the son of Lilith.
There were ropes looped over the poles from which the canvas backdrops hung.
Blocking out the sound of the incessant chanting, Victoria considered the heavy canvas scenery and, a plan half forming in her mind, moved carefully toward one that hung exactly opposite where Nedas seemed to stand. Perhaps she could swing down on the rope, using the element of surprise. If she aimed correctly, she could land on Nedas and stab him before he knew what happened.
Of course, after that she would be at the mercy of the rest of the vampires and the Tutela members, and, weakened as she was, she would be unable to fight them. And the obelisk would still be available for someone else to use.
The craving to drive the stake through Nedas's heart, to make him poof into ash, was so strong she considered taking the chance. And what about Max? He was the one who'd wielded the sword! The one who'd actually done the deed.
He deserved to die too.
She could have shot him, vampires be damned.
Her mouth twitched as she realized the irony of that thought. Then it straightened, for this was not a time for humor. Not with her aunt dead.
She could shoot Max from here. The realization swept over her, and she pulled the gun from her waistband. She could shoot him and be running through the catwalks before they realized what had happened or where she was.
At least then a part of her vengeance would be satisfied.
The firearm was heavy, so heavy. She sighted Max, trying to line up his tall frame with one eye squinted and the other focused on him. Never still, he moved with the power and confidence that had been so valuable to the Venators.
The best of them.
How could he have fooled them all?
Suddenly flames burst from below, diverting her attention from her target. They were tall black and blue flames, replacing the smoke tendrils from the five small bowls. They shot straight up, high into the air, narrow and hot, one column of eerie flame blazing only feet below where Victoria was perched. This was why Nedas had needed the large theater chamber.
The chanting had continued, melding into the background, as Nedas stood inside the circle made from the bowls of flame and began to speak, gesturing with his arms as though to bring the air toward the obelisk. He pulled his fingers through the air gracefully, drawing little buffets of movement toward the small table and its burden as though urging the heat toward it.
Victoria could not understand his words, but she did not need to know what he was saying. She knew what he was doing.
The sweet smell had ebbed, to be replaced by the heat of the flames and the deafening sound of their crackling. Max, Regalado, and the other two vampires stood outside of the circle, watching.
As Victoria looked down, she saw the flames begin to lean toward the center, above Akvan's Obelisk. Nedas continued to chant, surrounded by the black and blue flames that reflected the same color of the evil object, and the columns of flames drew closer and closer together.
At last they knit together as one, at the tip of the obelisk: five ropes of flame merging into one tall blaze that threatened to reach the highest part of the ceiling arching over the stage.
The flames roared, and Victoria could see, directly in front of her, the black and blue twining and writhing like rabid snakes, and feel the heat blazing on her face from yards away.
Akvan's Obelisk began to glow and sweat. Green and blue sparks radiated from it in a random pattern on all sides. Nedas reached out to touch one, and laughed when the spark snapped his finger. On and on he chanted; on the fire blazed; greener and bluer glowed the obelisk. Little beads glistened on the obsidian, trickling down and plopping on the floor.
The entire theater was lit by the weird blue and black flames, casting odd-colored shadows and plays of light everywhere. The vampires in the seats had ceased their chanting and stared at the flames as though desiring to pull their power into themselves.
Now the flames were changing, and large black drops swam down them faster than rain during a downpour. The drops swarmed down the long blazing tower and melted into Akvan's Obelisk, on and on and on.