She dashed toward the narrow entrance of the courtyard, frightening two cats that had been sunning themselves, and she heard the door slam open behind her and Sebastian calling for her. Rounding the corner, she found herself on a narrow street lined with the same kind of buildings she’d just escaped from. He was right behind her; she could hear his footfalls coming closer.
Victoria was not about to be caught now, when she’d come so far. She dashed across the street, down another alley, and ran and ran, around corners and up streets, past chair weavers and tailors and bakers, until the sound of footfalls were lost amid the noise of midday Rome.
The Quirinale clock tower bonged in the distance: two o’clock.
She had ten hours.
+ 22 +
Mr. Starcasset Fills in a Number of Details
* * *
The ruins of the opera theater were still smoking when Victoria arrived at nearly half past three on November first, the day before the Day of the Dead, or All Souls’ Day, as it was commonly called. The curious stood nearby and gawked. The busy strode past as if nothing had happened.
The fire had destroyed only about one-third of the front of the building, but it was obviously unusable as it was. Victoria wondered how many people had died—either from the fire and smoke, or the fangs of the vampires.
Despite her conversation with Sebastian, she could not accept the idea that vampires were not all evil. It went against everything she’d been taught for the last year and a half, and her own interactions with the creatures.
Victoria pulled her cloak closely about her shoulders in an attempt to cover her unusual garb. She’d dressed to fight, to hide, to run and climb, in loose black trousers and a matching tunic. Her shoes were soled with leather, thick enough for protection and supple enough to allow the same ease of movement as slippers. Her hair had been braided in one long plait, and stuffed down the back of her shirt so the tail brushed the base of her back, under her garments. She had holy water, stakes, and a knife secreted in various locations under her clothing. Miro, the weapons master from the Consilium, had given her another weapon that would be of use in this particular situation: a small bow that would allow her to fire a specially carved wooden arrow—a stake—from a distance.
She already knew she would never get close enough to Nedas to stab him, so the bow and wooden arrow-stakes would be her only chance to succeed. She wasn’t an expert archer, but she could hit her target. She had three stakes, and her plan was to kill him and then, in what she hoped would be ensuing chaos, steal Akvan’s Obelisk. At the very least, assassinating Nedas would put a stop—albeit a temporary one—to the activation of the obelisk, giving the Venators more time if Victoria did not succeed.
Verbena had been more curious than worried when Victoria appeared at the villa. She knew her mistress had gone off with Sebastian and had not been overly concerned when she did not return that evening.
“After all, I seen the way ye two looked at each other—like ye coulden wait to get b’neath each other’s clothes. Ye’re young and ye’ve been mourn’n the marquess for more’n a year, so ’twas time to get ye’self a little slap an’ tickle, if ye ask me.”
What could Victoria say to that? Her maid’s assessment had, as usual, been accurate. How would she have known that Sebastian had other plans besides seducing her?
It had not taken long for Verbena to dress her mistress and prepare her to go. Oliver had brought a message to Aunt Eustacia’s villa, informing her that Victoria was back—of course, she didn’t even know her niece had gone missing, since Verbena had not thought anything of it—and of her plans to go to the theater and try to stop Nedas.
Oliver had returned, but with the news that Aunt Eustacia had not been at home. He had left the message, of course, but Victoria could wait no longer; time was slipping away.
Now at the theater, Victoria found her biggest difficulty was to gain entrance to the destroyed building without being noticed by a bystander, or, worse, a member of the Tutela. Once she was inside, her plan was to find her way in and attack Nedas by stealth and from a distance.
Victoria waited until she rounded the backside of the theater, where there were fewer witnesses, and moved nonchalantly toward the building. She spied a small entrance, half-hidden by a hillock, likely for use by servants and merchants. As she came closer to the building, a faint coolness at the nape of her neck began to build.
She’d stepped three paces off the walkway toward the door, past a trio of trees, when she felt someone behind her. Before she could t
urn to see who’d stepped out from the shade of the oaks, something poked her in the side of her hip: round and hard. And small.
“So it is you, Victoria. I’d begun to wonder. No, don’t stop, just keep moving nice and easily toward the door. I’d expected Pesaro to bring you himself, but this will work just as well.” George Starcasset was prodding her along with a pistol to her kidney, low enough that it wouldn’t be noticed by any passersby and would instead appear to be a solicitous arm about her waist.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you are talking about,” Victoria replied calmly, despite the fact that she’d been caught unawares. At least they were going in the direction she wanted to go.
“We weren’t certain about you. We had our suspicions, of course, which was why I invited you to come to Claythorne and made certain Vioget and Polidori were there to draw the vampires. You see, at the time, I didn’t know what good friends” —he poked her hard in the back— “you were. But since I didn’t actually see you in action, or observe what occurred, I couldn’t be certain. Come along this way, then.” A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed he’d lost the smiling, boyish look he usually had, and it had been replaced by a more fanatic, disturbing expression, albeit in the same youthful face.
“What is it you weren’t certain about, George?” she asked as they reached the door. She could hardly believe this was her close friend’s brother! A member of the Tutela, from the sound of it. He jabbed her with the gun, and she took that to mean she should open the door. She complied, hoping there was no one else about. If she was going to escape from him, she needed as few witnesses as possible. Preferably none.
“That you’re a Venator, of course. Don’t try to deny it, my lovely,” he said, pulling the door closed behind them, allowing the pistol to drop away as he did. “We’d had suspicions for a while, but since Lilith left London and took all of her people with her, how could we be certain?”
It was lucky for her he had been three sheets to the wind that night of the vampire attack at Claythorne. He’d slept through the whole flurry of events. She wondered if he’d been mortified that he’d had to report to the Tutela that he was unable to determine whether she was a Venator because he’d been too foxed to observe her. The thought made a smile tickle her lips. It would have served him right.
“Lilith? Of course she would have known. How amusing that you had to trick me all the way to Italy in order to find out.” She turned slightly so that she was half facing him in the small passageway, and noticed he was carrying a satchel over his shoulder.
“Perhaps she did, but there is no love lost between her and her son Nedas, so why would she tell him something that could protect him? They would as soon see the other sent to Hell than to help each other. This way, my dear.” He pointed the gun and directed her off to the right. “They will be pleased you’ve already arrived.”
Victoria strained to listen. The longer they were alone, the better. The back of her neck had turned cold and prickly. There were many vampires nearby. Somewhere.