The vampire disintegrated, as vampires did, into a poof of ash that burst over the partygoers, causing a dainty little shepherdess to forget about protecting her moccoletto for a moment in favor of brushing away the sudden gust of dust.
The chilly prickling at the back of Victoria’s neck had eased, but had not disappeared completely. There were other vampires in the vicinity. Perhaps one of them would rather be a message boy than a pile of dust.
Even so, she’d already given the message to two others last night, after returning to Carnivale from the graveyard and Sara Regalado’s aborted kidnap attempt. Perhaps that would be enough to get the message to Sebastian.
Her neck still prickling, she began to push her way back through the crowd in search of Zavier. Behind her Victoria heard the shepherdess’s shriek of annoyance as her candle was doused.
Suddenly something slammed into her from behind. She stumbled and would have fallen to the ground had she not knocked into a Pulcinella. Her flame guttered in its pooled wax, and the Pulcinella whipped his switch-laden handkerchief down on her moccoletto.
When Victoria regained her balance and turned, her now-dark candle still steady in her grip, she found herself face-to-face with a masked man. His eyes weren’t red, and she couldn’t see the shape or color of them behind his black domino. But she recognized the angle of his chin, and the crop of fair curls that brushed the side of his neck. The smile he gave her was bemused, and laced with challenge.
Apparently the message had been delivered.
Before she could speak he moved sharply, yanking a nearby Joan of Arc between them and pushing off through the crowd.
Victoria shoved a laughing Saint Joan out of her way and followed, her heart pounding. She didn’t hesitate to go after him, even though she certainly recognized that she’d been followed twice in as many nights, despite wearing two different masks. It was a risk, but not an unexpected one.
Her stake was in her hand, and another was in a deep pocket where she also had a metal dagger Kritanu had given her when she started her ankathari training. The kadhara had a curved blade and was about the length of her forearm. She was also protected by the large crucifix she wore beneath her costume, not to mention her duo of vis bullae.
Watching the back of the shadowy domino and following its irregular path through the crowd was no easy task. He didn’t carry a taper and Victoria’s had been extinguished, so as they neared the edge of the light-filled festival, she paused to catch a flame from the fat wick of a donkey’s candle.
When she pushed through the last barrier of people and found herself in a small, narrow viuzza—what she would call a mews back in London—Victoria stopped and looked around. It was an odd setting: behind her thousands upon thousands of people laughing and shouting with their glowing yellow candles, and here, in front of her, a dark alleyway lit only by her single flame, and silent. Still as death.
Her neck was still cold, the hair still raised to attention, but she saw no one. He’d been there a moment before, just as she burst free of the crowd, but now she was alone.
Ripe for another black canvas cloth to come wafting down over her head.
Victoria braced herself, half crouched, turning slowly and peering into the shadows. Then she saw one of them move.
“
Ah, it is you. I was not altogether certain, but the way you wielded that stake convinced me. ” The voice was soft as the figure moved into the dim light.
“Beauregard. ” Victoria stepped toward him, warily casting about to see if he was alone, or if someone lurked nearby to pounce on her from behind. Sebastian, perhaps. Her stake was firm in her palm. The back of her neck remained cold and prickly. But it itched, as though there were something else watching them. “Did you receive my message?”
“But why else would I seek you out?” His response was easy, but she could sense the respect and wariness in his demeanor as he flipped back the hood of his domino.
“Perhaps the message was garbled, then,” she replied. “It was your grandson I wished to speak with. Not you. ”
“You needn’t brandish that stake as though you are a novice Venator out for her first hunt,” he said, crossing his arms over his middle in a picture of nonchalance that pulled up one of his sleeves and revealed a strong, elegant wrist. The stance, the expression on his face, reminded her again of Sebastian.
Although the two shared a similar, elegant facial structure and thick, curling hair, there wasn’t a great resemblance otherwise. Beauregard, who must have been in his forties when he was turned, had a slightly wider nose and more delicate lips than his grandson, and his hair was more of a silvery blond than the tawny color of Sebastian’s. He was handsome enough in his own cool fashion, and that, along with his persistent charm, and the fact that he was exceedingly well dressed, was what reminded her of the younger man.
“I’ve done nothing to threaten you or to harm anyone,” Beauregard continued.
“You’ve been undead for four hundred years; I’m fairly certain you’ve mauled at least one mortal during that time. And once you’ve fed from one mortal, your sentence of eternal damnation is assured. I thought I might help you more quickly on your way there. ”
“Er…almost six hundred years, my dear Victoria. Six hundred. Yet, a pittance when one looks at the age of the elegant Lilith, yes?” He shifted, his eyes beginning to glow ruby, narrowing with annoyance. “Put the stake away. After all, you did send the message, and it’s not as if I’ve tried to bite you. ”
“I expect it will be only a matter of time until you do,” Victoria replied.
“As you wish. ” Beauregard grinned, and now his fangs flashed. They were no longer than a man’s first knuckle, but sharp as a razor. So sharp that the feel of them sinking into one’s flesh would hardly be noticeable, more pleasure than pain. His lower fangs were much shorter, but just as lethal, and hidden by his lower lip.
During their banter she’d foolishly allowed herself to relax enough that her gaze drifted too directly to his, too tightly to his ruby irises. She was snared.
Guardian vampires, the ones with ruby eyes who also made up Lilith’s personal guard, had especially strong enthralling powers. As Beauregard’s control crept over her, Victoria felt her limbs begin to soften and her head to swim. The blood in her veins surged, swelling the vessels so that hot pressure pounded through her body.
His breath began to match hers, then fought to control their merging breathing. Victoria was sluggish, but she still held the stake, and the candle in her other hand. She had enough presence of mind to realize how incredibly strong his pull was, and how difficult it would be to fight it off.