No sooner had she been seated next to her escort than three men stepped up onto the dais. She recognized one of them as a guest at Byron’s villa. Signore Zinnani.
“Good evening,” he said, gesturing widely to the room as the attendees gave him their attention. “Welcome to the Tutela. You are all here only because you have been invited by one of our members.”
Victoria looked at Alvisi, who gave a small shrug and nodded.
“Let us begin.”
Zinnani opened what appeared to be a square black box that gleamed when it was moved. He reached in with his hand, then sprinkled whatever had been in the box onto each of the small bowls of fire that sat on the table in front of him. Each fire in turn gave a tiny poof, like a huff of breath, and the flames burned blue, then purple, then back to red again. Almost immediately a faint but enduring sweet scent reached Victoria’s sensitive Venator nose.
She didn’t like it. The smell made her want to escape from the room even as it rushed through the air, silently and invisibly, like a web.
She didn’t like it at all. It was too sweet and too thick, like honey or molasses, and Victoria felt it clogging her nostrils as though a piece of heavy cloth had been tossed over her, pulled tight, and stuffed into her nose. She looked around, next to her, and along the rows in front of her. No one appeared to be bothered by the smell but her. In fact, Alvisi looked as though he wanted to sniff the entire room into his nostrils, the way he lifted his face and closed his eyes and sucked in long, deep breaths.
Victoria was feeling hazy and light-headed. Alvisi swayed next to her, and when she turned to look at him, she saw that his eyes were darker and glassy. Others in the rows in front of her, all the way to the dais, were moving, restless, tipping as though having difficulty keeping their balance as well.
She became aware of a low murmur. She couldn’t understand the words, but they sounded like a chant. It started with the men at the dais and swelled to fill the room, deep and low, as though needing to stay near the ground so its meaning could not be discerned. Alvisi’s mouth was moving and the words were coming out, but they were not recognizable to her.
The sense of muzziness had not left her. Victoria placed a hand on her abdomen, slipping her fingers into a small hole where several stitches had been removed at the seam of her bodice and skirt. This way she could feel under her stays and beneath her chemise to her vis bulla, the solid, blessed silver of comfort and strength. When her fingers touched it, she closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and let its power flow through her.
The haziness ebbed. It didn’t disappear completely, but it relaxed its grip.
The chanting stopped, and for a moment the only sound came from the sizzle and pop of the fire in its large stone enclosure.
Then Zinnani spoke again. His voice was low and mellow. “We have been called, those of us here. We are chosen from among the mortals to protect those who cannot walk in the sun as we do. To protect those who cannot live in ease, those who have been cursed to darkness.”
As he spoke, murmurs punctuated his words as he listed the generous tasks required of and the rewards bestowed upon the Tutela members. “Protect them!”
“Those of us here who can stand the test and who shall prove themselves will be granted safety.”
“Safety!”
“By serving the Immortals, we will remain safe from harm. We will not be hunted or ravaged as the unbelievers will. We will not be their victims when the Immortals rise to rule.”
“Rise, Immortals! Rise!”
“We will be granted pleasure such as we have never known.”
“Pleasure!” This response a soft gasp, nearly a whisper.
“The partaking and giving of life force is the most erotic and pleasurable event ever experienced. This will be ours at will and without cessation! We shall feel as we have never felt before! We shall feel and we shall live for the first time! And we shall be granted the gift of immortal life.”
“Immortal life!”
“Immortal life!”
“Immortal life!”
The words filled Victoria’s ears, slipping into them, worming into her consciousness. Immortal life. The prize sought by men for centuries from alchemists to, if legend was to be believed, the knights of the Round Table who hunted for the Holy Grail.
Was it any wonder some men would even align with evil in order to attain life everlasting?
Immortal life, the gift bestowed upon the Tutela. Immortal life, at least, until they were staked or beheaded…and then eternal damnation. She shuddered, for she knew it was true.
Victoria turned to Alvisi, wanting to say something to him, to try to penetrate the fog that had hold of him, but even when she tugged at his arm with all of her strength, he merely stumbled into her, righted himself, and then returned his attention to Zinnani.
And then she felt it: the cool wisps across the back of her neck, growing burning cold. Her fingers still pinching her vis bulla, Victoria let her gaze scan the room without turning her head, looking for new arrivals. They either needed to enter through the door near the dais, or from the doorway through which she and Alvisi had come. She could not see that door unless she turned around, and she dared not do that for fear of drawing attention to herself.
The cold itch became biting. There must be five or six vampires here.