When Twilight Burns (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles 4)

Inside the cabinet, on its gently inclining display, rested the elderly Bible.

It was heavy, with gilt-edged pages that shone stubbornly despite its age. The leather corners were rounded and bumped, but the spine was as rigid as Aunt Eustacia’s own had been. Three faded silk bookmarks fell lifelessly from their places.

She pulled out the book and placed it on the larger table in the middle of the room. She needed something to focus on, rather than the thoughts and questions running rampant through her mind.

Opening the front cover, Victoria smoothed her hand over words written in ink of varying shades of black, brown, and sepia. Listed there in the front pages were the names of the Gardellas who had accepted their calling as Venators. She touched one of the last names scribed there: Eustacia Alexandria Gardella. Below it was her own name: Victoria Anastasia Gardella. Seeing it there, its ink relatively fresh and bold, Victoria shivered.

Would there be any other names beneath hers?

Feeling the weight of Max’s gaze, she was compelled to lecture. “Aunt Eustacia told me that the original pages of this Bible were given to the family during the Middle Ages. Six hundred years ago.” She looked up, saw that he was silently sipping his drink. “A Gardella monk scribed this book in the twelfth century. I wonder if there was any connection to the monks who built the subterranean crypt Sebastian and I visited by the sewers.”

“One could contemplate the beautiful irony of monks scribing a Bible in chambers next to those penning vampire secrets,” Max said gravely. “It would not surprise me, as the monks and undead have intertwined—usually at odds—for centuries.”

The Bible’s pages had been bound, and rebound, and more pages added to include the growing family tree as the decades passed. Victoria carefully turned the crisp brown sheets. They crackled like a gentle fire. She saw images on some of them, and fading script on others, line after line. Ornate lettering, patterns, and illustrations in faded colors decorated the first letters of each book of the Bible.

Turning back to the front, she resumed scanning the list of Venator names. Catherine Victoria Gardella. An image of a vivid redhead with a flashy emerald ring and a saucy expression came to mind, and Victoria nodded to herself. Yes, she’d seen her portrait in the hall at the Consilium in Rome.

Another name, faded and further up the list, drew her attention. Rosamunde Joanna Gardella. The mystic who wrote pages of prophecy during her youth in an abbey . . . before she learned of her calling as a Venator.

A thought struck her, and she turned back to the end of the list. “Sebastian’s name isn’t written here,” she said, looking up at Max.

“Nor is mine.” He sipped, swallowed. “That list in the front is confined to those who have descended directly from Gardeleus, with strong Gardella blood—such as yourself.”

An odd expression crossed his face and he stopped, blinking hard. Victoria tensed. But then he continued, “I believe the back of the book shows a full family tree, and also every Venator from the extended branches of the family tree—and those of us who can’t claim one drop of Gardella blood. You’ll find Zavier there, I suspect, and Brim, and Michalas as well. Or so I’ve been told.”

“I see.” A little shiver worked its way over the back of her shoulders. It wouldn’t be long now. “If I had looked more closely at the book early on, I would have known the truth about Sebastian much sooner, since you and Aunt Eustacia chose not to tell me.”

“There was no point in telling you.” Max shifted in his seat. “And Vioget should have been struck from the list years ago. He had no cause to be there.”

Knowing that this could be the last conversation she and Max ever had, Victoria closed the book and looked at him. “Why do you hate him so?”

“You ask because you know why he loathes me . . . but you can’t help but wonder what possible reason I could have for enmity toward him. I know he’s made his case to you.”

“There is no case to be made, Max. I understand why he . . . dislikes . . . you, and holds you responsible for Giulia’s death—even though it was by his own hand. But I also know that you’ve forgiven yourself for the horrible mistake, and that you didn’t bring her to the Tutela to hurt her. Only because you thought to help her, and that you’ve done everything you can to atone for it. But I do want to know what it is about him that makes you so disgusted.”

He looked at her, and she saw the signs lingering in his gaze. “Vioget has the calling—the blood, the innate skills, to be a Venator—and yet he rejected it. For years. I can’t forgive him for that. Nor can I understand it.”

“At first, I couldn’t either. But I’ve come to realize why he lost the urge to hunt vampires. Knowing that I’m responsible for sending a creature who—no matter how abhorrent he became—was once a mortal, loving and loved, to his eternal damnation, does give me pause sometimes.”

“Yet you still do it,” Max said quietly. His words were firm, steady. “As do I. Because you must; because we’re charged to protect our own race. Do you think it hasn’t occurred to me that not only did I cause Giulia to turn into an immortal half demon, but I also gave her a sentence of eternal damnation? I live with that knowledge every day.”

Victoria looked at him, at last realizing why he wore such a cold, harsh persona; why he seemed so brittle and emotionless most of the time. That made what she was about to do all the more difficult. “It was hard enough for me to slay Phillip,” she said, her heart breaking for him, “but it was that much easier, knowing that he’d not be sent to eternal Hell because he’d not yet fed on a mortal.”

“Indeed.”

“And yet,” she said, echoing words he’d said himself, “you’ve never wavered from your decision to hunt vampires. Despite knowing the sentence you—we—thrust upon them.”

“No. For what choice do we have? If we don’t slay them, strive to put an end to them, what would happen to our race? They’re stronger and faster than we are, immortal, and their instinct—their driving need to survive—is to take from humans. If we did nothing, if all—or even many—Venators rejected their calling as Vioget did, it wouldn’t be long before the undead would take over. We have no choice. As Venators—you especially, as a Gardella—it’s our calling. Our duty and responsibility. But it’s not our role to make judgments about whether the undead should live or die. Or whether there truly is no chance that an undead’s soul might be spared damnation.”