If she were a normal woman, with normal strength and no capability to defend herself, she might be terrified at being separated from her male companion in the middle of the boisterous festival at midnight. But instead Victoria directed herself to the side of the broad, thronged Corso, where a man and his wife were selling hot chestnuts. Her stake was safely in the deep pocket of her loose costume, and Verbena had made certain that Victoria’s other pocket included a pistol, along with a few écus for such an occasion as this.
She pulled out one of the coins to pay for the chestnuts, and just as she turned back to look toward the wide thoroughfare, Victoria felt another sugarplum slam into the back of her shoulder. This one was harder than any of the others; as if it had been thrown from close proximity.
She whipped around, her hand going automatically to her stake even though the back of her neck wasn’t any colder than it had been moments before…and even though this was all supposed to be in the name of revelry. This time, miraculously, her mask stayed in place, and she turned to see a slight figure twisting away to slip through the crowd.
She started after the figure, a sense of recognition niggling deep in her mind with an impression of dark eyes behind a peacock mask, and a certain familiarity of movement.
Suddenly something grabbed her arm from behind, and Victoria pivoted back, hand groping for her pistol. “Zavier.”
“Where were you going?” he asked. “I lost ye for a moment there.”
“I…went to get some chestnuts, but I couldn’t find you, and then someone threw a sugarplum at me. Again.”
He laughed and turned her away. “I see it. Another powdery white spot on your shoulder.” He slipped an arm around hers, as naturally as if he’d always done so. “I’ve seen not one vampire here tonight, nor felt—”
His voice trailed off as the hair lifted at the back of her neck in a definite chill. They looked at each other. “This way,” Victoria said, starting off in the direction the figure had gone.
Whether it was a coincidence or not, she didn’t know. But they went off through the crowds, pushing through the revelers, on the trail of the first vampire they’d sensed all night.
Moving through the streets, they soon left the celebration behind them, and Victoria realized they were walking up a small hill. At the top she could see the outline of monuments and gravestones.
A cemetery. Not a bad place to find an undead.
She took off her mask and adjusted the stake she now held as they walked through the open iron gate.
“Do ye hear something?” Zavier asked, stopping next to her.
Up here, in the yard of death away from the insanity of the festival below, the night was quiet but for the occasional shout or shrill laugh far in the distance. Monuments and headstones made tall, stark shadows over the dark grass.
“No,” she replied, walking on, mask dangling from her hand. The fresh air felt good on her face, now that it was uncovered, but the back of her neck had warmed slightly, and the fine hairs there had flattened. She’d lost the scent.
“Nae many vampires during Carnivale this year,” Zavier said, walking along with her. His shoulder bumped against hers, then drew away as he kept on. “Perhaps they’ve all cloistered away since the death of Nedas, trying to get organized again.”
Victoria had killed Lilith’s son, Nedas, at the same time Akvan’s Obelisk had been destroyed. Nedas had been a powerful leader among the vampires in Rome who’d been served by the Tutela. With his destruction, the fate of his followers and the Tutela had been thrown into question, along with the issue of who would succeed him.
“I hardly think that Beauregard would lose his opportunity to gain control of the vampire underworld in Rome,” Victoria replied, stepping over a low iron fence. Its spike caught at the hem of her trousers—thank heaven her mother hadn’t been around to see her wearing them. “He was fairly salivating at the news of Nedas’s death, and intended to execute Max that night while the vampires looked on.” Her fingers were cold, but the air was only chilly. “We barely made it out alive.”
“Was there not another vampire who wished to succeed Nedas?”
“Indeed, the Conte Regalado, who was the leader of the Tutela, wanted it very badly. He is a newly turned vampire, and young in his power, but it seems as if he may have not only the support of the Tutela, but also of some of Nedas’s followers. It was partly due to Regalado’s interference that Max and I were able to escape from Beauregard.” Regalado was also the father of the woman Max had intended to marry, a woman who enjoyed being fed upon by vampires.
Victoria wondered, fleetingly, if Sarafina’s father ever fed on her, now that he was a vampire. He was vulgar enough to do so.
And Sarafina was indecent enough to let him.
The truth was, Victoria wouldn’t have escaped the battle between the two factions of vampires without the assistance of Sebastian Vioget. But at least now she thought she had a way of finding him.
Lost in her thoughts, Victoria didn’t realize Zavier had stopped walking until something snagged her sleeve. Dropping her mask, she whirled around, stake raised, and nearly drove it into his barrel chest.
Instead of being surprised or taken aback by her offensive stance, he looked at her with a glint of humor in his expression. “Ye can put that down for a minute.”
“No, I can’t,” Victoria replied, spying a movement in the shadows behind him. The hair on the back of her neck lifted, and the chill intensified again.
Stake in hand, she started off after the glowing red eyes, leaping over a gravestone and slipping a little when she landed on the damp grass.
The vampire must have thought he’d come upon two lovers strolling through the graveyard, taking a quiet moment away from Carnivale; for until Victoria landed in front of him, stake at the ready, he’d remained hovering in the bushes. When he saw that she’d fearlessly come after him, he turned and ran.
Elated, Victoria followed. She loved the feeling of letting herself go, of running, leaping over the stones and low fences, dashing around a crumbling mausoleum, and finally throwing herself at the vampire. She crashed into him, barely feeling the impact, and they tumbled to the ground. The loose legs of her costume wrapped around their calves as he rolled on top of her, fangs bared.
His eyes were red, the color of Chianti, glowing as he bent his face down toward her. She could smell blood on his breath, and she dropped her stake, reaching up to grab him by the shoulders and fling him onto his back. He was young and relatively weak, and would be perfect for the message she needed to send.