The female grabbed at it as Victoria expected she would, and Victoria gave a hard yank, pulling the vampire off balance. As the heavy creature lurched forward, Victoria leaped out of the way and tripped the lumbering undead, then spun to slam the stake deep into the back of her evil heart.
Before the dust had settled, she stumbled over to the victim collapsed on the ground, and turned her over. Her mask was gone and she recognized the shy Miss Melissa Keitherton, who spoke of little but her beloved cat Damian. She was still warm and breathing, and despite the blood oozing from her neck, she wasn’t terribly hurt. It was a small wound, a single bite, with a relatively meager amount of blood. She would live to spoil Damian with catnip another day.
Victoria ripped a piece of silk from her gown and tied it firmly, but not too tightly, around the neck wound, and she then flung Miss Keitherton over her shoulder.
When she reached the patio again, she came upon a scene that could only be described as Hell. The house was in orange and red flames, throwing eerie shadows threaded with a dancing golden glow over the figures standing at the horizon of light and darkness. Smoke poured through the eaves and chimney, through upper windows open to the summer air. The ballroom, which appeared to be the last room on the lower level broached by the fire, was filled with black smoke. Flames ringed the far wall, making their way relatively slowly through a room that was fairly empty of fuel.
Releasing her burden gently to the ground, Victoria turned back and saw that the last pair of vampires, unengaged in battle and seeing that their companions had been vanquished, had turned tail. They bounded into the darkness, slick and dark and fast, and Victoria couldn’t resist. She preferred that there be none to tell the tale to Lilith, or any other creature who might be there.
But as she dashed into the shadows again, heedless of the now-tattered gown and the slipping silver brooch on her shoulder, she heard a loud noise behind her. Faltering in her chase, she turned just in time to see the house’s roof fold in on itself. The sound of screams, dulled by the roar of fire and distance, reached her . . . and urged Victoria to return.
She let the vampires escape, realizing, suddenly, that she hadn’t seen Gwendolyn. Had she made it out of the house? Were there others trapped inside? Max?
And what about George and Sara? There and at that moment, in the middle of the melee, Victoria realized how this whole tragedy had been executed—and why.
Panting, Victoria sped back to the clearing in time to hear the tolling of the fire bell as the wagon arrived. It was impossible to pump a large volume of water fast enough to keep the fire from destroying the house—it was too hot and too strong of a blaze. But at least the nearby buildings and fences could be dampened to keep it from spreading.
But now that the threat of the undead was gone and the house was evacuated, Victoria knew she needed to find George and Sara. It was obviously no accident that vampires had been waiting in the walled garden when a blaze forced a group of rich-blooded partygoers outside. As invited guests with access to the house, and members of the Tutela, George and Sara had obviously had a hand in this.
She scanned the crowd of people who’d quieted down and were now merely staring with soot-streaked faces— some even unaware they were still wearing their masks. Shadows of light and dark danced over their smoke-tinted costumes and faces. Many of them spoke quietly to each other, shock turning stoic facial expressions into long, drab ones. The household staff clustered off to one side, some of them still in their glittering livery; others, in plain dress, watching their home and livelihood eaten alive by flames.
Victoria didn’t see a Romeo or Juliet anywhere, nor an unmasked George or Sara. Nor, come to think of it, did she see Gwen.
Or Max.
Her heart thumping hard, she hurried forward, realizing she was limping from the gash on her leg. She shoved through the crowd of people to get between them
and the house—the only way she could see their faces and recognize anyone. Sebastian came up next to her. A slight sheen of sweat glistened on his face in the flames, and he put his arm around her, pulling her close.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his face in her hair.
“I can’t find Gwendolyn,” she replied, pulling away. “Or Sara or George. Have you seen Max?”
He shook his head. “No, none of them. ”
Victoria looked around and left Sebastian. She walked along the inside of the ring of people, looking sharply at the clusters of faces turned to each other. Some were being embraced and others were crying. But there was no sign of Max. Or Gwen.
“Have you seen Gwendolyn Starcasset?” she asked, at last coming upon a matron she vaguely recognized as being an acquaintance. She recalled that she had an odd fascination with science and chemistry, and often spoke endlessly about things that Victoria didn’t understand.
Mrs. Debora Guyette-Foster had tears running down her face, making glistening white lines in gray ash streaks. Her costume appeared to have been that of a gypsy, but her flowing scarves sagged, and her rainbow-colored frock was dark and torn. Glitter sparkled weakly in her straight, dark hair. “She’s not here. She left before—before—” The woman’s sobs obliterated her words, but Victoria had heard enough to feel easier about Gwen.
But Max.
He would tower above most everyone here. She stood on the empty patio, close enough that the heat of the fire from the house blazed against the back of her legs and her one bare shoulder. Looking for the tall dark head.
A deep unease flowered inside her as she searched in vain. He had to have gotten out of the house.
But it would be just like him to be a hero, trying to rescue someone.
Damned man.
Why couldn’t he be a hero by staking vampires?
Then she remembered the vampire that had dragged off the Crusader. Maybe Max had seen him, and gone after him.
Ignoring the people around her, who seemed to be coming out of their daze and once more were talking in full sentences, she ran into the dark garden again. This time she drove to the left, away from where she’d rescued Miss Keitherton, and found herself abruptly against a tall hedge.
She smelled blood. Tasted it in the air.