Rises The Night (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 2)

Eustacia couldn’t help a smile. If she thought age had warped her memory, she had nothing on Wayren, who’d been around much longer and who relied heavily on her notes and journals and memoranda written to herself during research sessions.

“I do not believe Lilith is directly involved in this plot with Nedas. At least, if she is, she’s not here in Italy. She’s still hidden away deep in the mountains of Romania, with an entire city of vampires. I’m certain she must be aware Nedas has found Akvan’s Obelisk and intends to activate it. He is her son, after all. They have ways of communicating, just as we do.” Her rueful smile revealed three little creases near her chin. “From what I have gleaned since I arrived, Beauregard and his vampires were prepared to overthrow Nedas here in Italy, but once it became known Lilith’s son had the obelisk, Beauregard was forced to back down. I can only imagine he’s waiting to see what occurs before declaring his loyalty—or attempting to usurp him.”

“Beauregard is smarter and has more experience, but Nedas is Lilith’s son. Dio mio, we cannot let either of them have it. Wayren, if we do not stop it, it could be another scene like Praga.”

“I pray it is not. Twenty thousand people massacred by the vampires and Tutela…here in Rome. They will surely target the Papal states, as well as our Consilium and as many mortals as possible. It would be devastating.” Wayren looked at her, and Eustacia saw understanding in her eyes. “You are thinking of Rosamund’s prophecy, aren’t you? The…hmph.” She bent to dig in her satchel again, drawing out five large books of various sizes, shapes, and conditions that could not possibly have fit in the bag but somehow had.

“‘The golden age of the Venator shall end at the foot of Roma.’” Eustacia quoted the words she’d never forgotten. A short phrase, one of many she’d read over the years, studied, perused…but none had stayed with her, resonated with her, as this one had.

Colorless blue-gray eyes, framed by square lenses, met sharp black ones. “It could mean anything, Eustacia.”

“It could. But I fear this could be our last battle. Rosamund was graced with many gifts, the least of which was her mystical writings.” She clasped her hands together in the ravenlike gown she favored for her age. “Our only hope is to stop Nedas from activating Akvan’s Obelisk, or, barring that, to somehow steal it.”

“The only thing we know for certain is that he has not yet completely harnessed its power. He is waiting for something—for the right time, or for some other thing he needs—or else he would have done it by now.”

“I shall have to join Victoria; she cannot do it alone.”

Wayren fixed her with eyes that had changed from pale moonstone to brilliant, stirring sapphire in a blink. “The moment the connection is made between you and Victoria, any chance we have will be over. The precise second you step into any gathering of the Tutela, or the presence of Nedas, it will be done. You are a legend.”

“You think I am too old to fight?” It stung, hearing it come from Wayren. Even though she knew it was true.

“A Venator is never too old to fight. But there are better uses for you and your experience than to have your presence announce our intentions.

Eustacia, I love you. But this is something Victoria will have to do alone.”

“Alone? How on earth…No, I’ll call together the Consilium. And perhaps Vioget can be persuaded to assist. He will have to choose sides at one point or another.”

“Perhaps he will. Perhaps he won’t. I do not place much faith in him.”

Neither of them mentioned Max.

+ + +

The opera house was no different from the theaters Victoria had visited in London: opulent and ornate, and crowded with members of high society dressed in their finest—and more interested in seeing and being seen than actually watching the opera.

A carriage with the Tarruscelli twins and Barone Galliani had called for her, and she had been seated next to the barone, much to his obvious pleasure. He’d greeted her immediately with apologies for not calling on her before now, and said that he understood she’d been ill.

During the ride, Victoria allowed him to be as attentive as he liked, and more than once caught the speculative glances from Portiera and Placidia. She smiled demurely as he made a great show of taking her arm and the arm of one of the twins—she didn’t see which one—and led them through the opera’s hall to the Regalado box.

Inside the small, shadowy room, which hung just to the left of the stage at approximately the height of two men, and close enough that Sara would be able to see the detail of every costume’s button, Conte Regalado and his daughter were waiting.

“How kind of you to join us,” Conte Regalado said with a smile that reminded Victoria of molasses. He bowed, took each of the twins’ gloved hands in turn, and kissed them. Then he turned to her and bowed again, took her hand in the same manner, but did not release it after the kiss. “Mrs. Withers, I am particularly pleased you accepted my daughter’s invitation tonight. We did not have enough of a chance to speak at my art showing, to my dismay.”

“Conte Regalado.” Victoria made a curtsy even as he held her hand as though he were not about to allow her to have it back. “I cannot tell you how lovely it has been to be so welcomed here in Rome by you and your family and friends. And I did not have the opportunity to tell you how fascinating I found your painting.” Fascinating was definitely one way to describe a man who painted his daughter’s nipples.

“I’m hoping that I might persuade you to sit for me someday. I believe you would make a lovely Diana.”

The huntress. How appropriate. “I would be most flattered to oblige your request,” Victoria replied, wondering if his image of Diana included the same filmy gowns as did his Fates.

“Emmaline!” Sara had greeted the twins and now pushed her way between her father and Victoria in order to greet her. “You must sit near me so that we can talk. Padre, excuse us, please.”

“Good evening, Mrs….Twitters, is it?” Max’s deep voice startled Victoria. He’d been standing to the side, in the shadows, where he wasn’t easily noticed. She was sure he’d done it purposely just for the effect.

“Max, do stop teasing. You are stupido. Of course you remember her name. This is Mrs. Withers; surely you recall meeting her at Papa’s showing?”

“Of course I do.” But he sounded baldly uncertain and Victoria wanted to slap that indolent smile off his face. But then, when she looked up at him and their gazes met, she was so shocked by the animosity in his eyes that she nearly stepped back.

Victoria turned to Sara and asked brightly, “Did you ask your fiancé about a rose?”