Rises The Night (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 2)

“After what is all over? What is happ—”

“Go back home, Victoria.”

Then he reached over and smashed his elbow through the window next to her. Before she could react, he picked her up and shoved her out, and she found herself erupting through the jagged glass, then tumbling to the ground below. It was not a long fall, and she landed on a small bush.

Struggling to her feet, she looked up, but Max did not follow.

+ + +

Max made his way out of the opera house, leaving behind a smoke-filled cave and who knew how many victims of fire and vampire.

He had one thing left to do this evening, and it would not take long.

Indeed, he found Bertrand strolling along toward the place the Tutela and the vampires were all to meet. It was just up one more block and down a narrow alley—Fettuch’s Locanda, a place not so very different from The Silver Chalice Vioget had owned.

Max greeted him. “Pleasurable evening, was it?” he asked the vampire.

“In some ways,” Bertrand replied. “I did not finish what I set out to do, but I have some glad tidings to bring to Nedas this evening. The woman Venator I thought I’d killed in England is here.”

“Indeed? He will be greatly pleased.” He made a show of pausing to look into a long, narrow shadow. It was the last alley before the one they must turn down. “What, say? What is this?”

When Bertrand followed him into the darkness, Max spun around, slamming the sta

ke into the vampire’s heart before he drew another breath.

Pocketing the stake, Max brushed off the last bit of vampire dust and continued on his way.

+ 19 +

Santo Quirinus’s Secret

* * *

The morning after her experience at the opera, Victoria received a message from her aunt, requesting her attendance at a small church located across the Tiber River from the most populous area of Rome. The message came by way of a peddler delivering milk at the back entrance of the villa, and was brought to Victoria as she ate breakfast.

Thus it was shortly thereafter that she entered the small church, Santo Quirinus, and found her aunt, swathed in black veils and holding prayer beads, kneeling in a pew near the altar. Unlike many of Rome’s other churches, Santo Quirinus was not overwhelming in its splendor. Its windows were few and plain. No marble floors or painted murals. It smelled of age and holiness, and wisps of long-used incense hung in the air.

The decor was stark and simple: brick swaddled with mortar in thick bands down the walls, leaving wide, naked brick stripes separated by the cream-colored mortar. Fourteen tarnished silver crosses, numbered in the Roman style, hung on the walls, seven on each side of the small nave, on the mortared sections. The pews were stained dark and uncushioned. The altar itself was little more than a stone table on a dais one step up from the congregation. The ceiling of the little church rose into a small round dome with three circular windows that allowed matching beams of afternoon light to shine down through their wrought-iron filigree. There were no stained-glass windows in sight.

As she walked through the church, which was empty with the exception of one other man sitting in the shadows, also kneeling to pray, Victoria felt her vis bulla sway against her navel, something she had not noticed it doing since she had become accustomed to wearing it.

But today she felt particularly aware of it, and the strength that it gave her sizzled through her belly and out through her limbs. She felt warm and confident, almost like a renewal of the intent she’d had when she had first accepted the strength amulet.

Not wishing to interrupt Aunt Eustacia, Victoria knelt next to her to pray, and waited until she finished her rosary. At that time, without speaking, her aunt stood and beckoned for her to follow.

Instead of leaving the church, Aunt Eustacia walked toward the altar, past the iron railing that separated the priest from the congregation, and up two steps on the left side.

When Aunt Eustacia opened the small door of a confessional at the edge of the altar, Victoria hung back in confusion. But her aunt gestured her to follow, so Victoria joined her in the small room, the door closing after her.

She watched in wonder as Aunt Eustacia reached behind the small screen that would separate the penitent from the priest—if there were one in attendance—and flip a latch. A well-hidden door popped ajar, and the older woman led the way into the opening.

“Have a care, and do not tread on the middle stair,” Aunt Eustacia told Victoria, gesturing to the three steps that led from the hidden door into a narrow hallway stretching approximately fifty paces before it ended in a stone wall. The passage was lit by sconces, and icons painted on wood hung all the way to the end, where a life-size statue of Saint Quirinus stood holding a sword.

Victoria closed the door behind her and, taking care not to step on the middle stair, followed her aunt as she paced down the hall. At the end, Aunt Eustacia shifted aside a small icon of Jesus with two of the Archangels, Gabriel and Michael, to expose the brick wall behind it. “Step here,” her aunt commanded, gesturing for Victoria to move next to her.

As Victoria watched, her aunt pushed on the intricate brickwork that had been hidden by the painting, and suddenly, the floor on which she’d been standing only moments before slid away to reveal a set of spiral stairs that led down into darkness.

“The Consilium is below,” Aunt Eustacia told her, haltingly leading the way down, one of the lanterns bobbing in her hand.