Rises The Night (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 2)

The disk was perhaps the size of a large man’s thumbnail, stamped or engraved with a sinuous doglike animal. Although she couldn’t be sure it had come from the creature she’d decapitated, Victoria’s instinct told her it was important. When she’d touched it to pick it up, an uneasy sensation skittered along her arms, flowing over the back of her shoulders so that she’d whipped around as though someone had come up behind her. Or something.

“Where is Wayren?” Victoria asked, wondering about the serene, yet mysterious woman Eustacia often consulted when research needed to be done. Her attention darted to the small bookcase of aging, fraying manuscripts. They looked like something Wayren would have loaned to Aunt Eustacia—old, important, sacred. Perhaps they were part of Wayren’s library, which she managed and studied…somewhere. Victoria had never learned exactly where Wayren lived.

Her aunt placed the amulet on the mahogany piecrust table next to her favorite chair. “She was with Max in Roma, but she will come if I send for her. She was helping him with a problem.”

“Max has a problem?” The sarcastic words slipped out before Victoria could catch them. “I would never have guessed it. In truth, I’m flabbergasted to hear all things are not splendid in his world. So how does Max fare, back in your homeland?”

“He has not been in contact for several months.” Her aunt kept her eyes downcast. Perhaps she didn’t wish Victoria to see the expression therein. “Victoria, I realize it seemed rather callous for Max to return to Italy so immediately after the events last year with Lilith—and what followed—but he had been called back by the Consilium, the council of Venators, weeks earlier, and had chosen to stay until we could stop the threat of Lilith here in London.”

“Callous? No, that thought never crossed my mind,” Victoria said. “It was past time for Max to return to Italy, indeed. You and I are well able to handle any vampire threats here in London. Until tonight, I hadn’t even seen a vampire since Lilith left.”

Aunt Eustacia reached over and patted Victoria’s hand. Her gnarled fingers were warm, and their pads were soft and smooth. “It’s been a difficult year, cara, I know, and the last few months especially, as you’ve begun to receive some of your family’s close friends and think about your return to Society. With all the questions about Phillip, and—”

“The most difficult part has been that I’ve had nothing to do!” Victoria heard her voice spiraling up into a wail, and she stopped. If Max were here, he’d make some sardonic comment about how good Venators couldn’t let their emotions get in their way, citing himself as the perfect example of one who did not.

But…perhaps not. The last time she’d seen him, Max had said something that was high praise coming from him. He’d called her a Venator. As if he’d accepted her as his equal.

“It may be that you haven’t had much to do in the last months,” her aunt said, “but what you did in your first months as a Venator far surpasses what anyone could have expected. And after what happened…Victoria, you needed a rest. You need to let yourself heal.”

“I need to stake vampires. Not just one. More. I need to get back to work.” Victoria was on her feet, her heavy ink-colored skirt swaying. “You cannot imagine how it is, Aunt! I sit in my black mourning gowns, drab as a scarecrow, and do nothing all the day, unless Mother or her two friends come to visit. And then we speak of inane things. Of gowns, and jewels, of who’s marrying whom, and who’s fornicating with whose spouse. Apparently now that I am a respectable widow, I can be privy to these conversations.

“But outside of that, and a few other visitors like my friend Gwendolyn Starcasset, I hardly leave the estate. And I don’t know when I will be asked to leave Phillip’s home. The new marquess is in America, of all places, and has not responded to any of the letters sent by the solicitors. We don’t know when, or if, he will be coming to claim the title and estate. I’m fortunate that Phillip had the foresight to settle quite a bit on me, or I would be forced to move back in with my mother.” She had paced over to the streetside window and looked out at the dreary, rainy streets.

July was supposed to be green and pretty, not drab and gray.

“That might not be such a travesty, Victoria. At least you would not be alone.”

Victoria let the curtains fall back into place. “Aunt Eustacia, how could I live with my mother—especially after what happened? Endanger her again? She knows nothing about my life as a Venator. She and the rest of London have no concept that vampires and demons actually exist! Besides, she will try to find me a husband again as soon as I am out of these widow’s weeds. And after what happened with Phillip…well, of course I cannot marry again.”

“It seems to me that you could have been in half-mourning gray for months now, Victoria,” her aunt replied gently. “A lovely pearl gray that will make your complexion look rosy and your dark eyes brighter. You are well past the year’s mark of mourning. I think you are still wearing black only to keep your mother at bay.”

“Please, Aunt! You are beginning to sound like my mother. Let us talk about stakes and amulets and…and stopping the evil in this world—instead of gowns and fashions. I do not care if skirts are beginning to grow wider.”

“Victoria…you must have a care for yourself. You still grieve. Ignoring your loss will only make it worse.”

“Aunt Eustacia, I am not ignoring my loss. I want to avenge it. But there are no vampires here in London…at least, until last night.” She’d been so upset about the vampire who would not die that she’d missed the implication of last evening’s events.

Perhaps the undead were returning.

And if the vampires returned, the

n she could learn where Lilith was…and how to get to her.

Rest? No, Victoria would not take her ease until she plunged her own stake into the fiery-haired vampire queen’s heart. Or died trying.

+ + +

Eustacia drew in a long, deep breath…then expelled it, slow, easy. She opened her eyes to find Kritanu watching her.

He sat on the floor, as she did. One of his ankles was behind his neck, the other leg stretched out in front of him. As she watched, he lifted the foot from his nape and brought it gently to the thin mat on which he sat, raised his wiry, ropy arms, and drew in a deep breath.

Eustacia straightened her own legs, dismayed to hear the soft click of muscle and tendon that hadn’t been there only a year ago, and lifted her arms for a deep breath.

They did not speak until they were finished.

“Yoga should be relaxing and meditative,” he said, padding over in bare feet to sit next to her. “Yet the worry did not leave your eyes. And you forgot to breathe.”

His short, loose pants rose up to expose two muscular calves covered with blue-black hair. Not one white or gray strand stood out over his tea-colored skin anywhere, despite the fact that he had recently turned seventy-three. He could still position himself in the most difficult of asanas when they practiced yoga…ones for which Eustacia had long ago lost the flexibility.