The Rest Falls Away (12 page)

And then, as if her words were some offstage signal, the clouds opened and the rain blasted down in sudden, loud torrents. The startled squeak from Victoria's maid at the back of the cabriolet drew her attention, but Phillip stopped Victoria from turning back to see to her with a gentle hand at her cheek. Any excuse to touch that flawless peachy skin.

“My tiger will take care of her,” he said. “And their moment of distraction will allow me to do this.”

He leaned into her sphere and touched his mouth to hers. She smelled like flowers and some kind of spice, and though he barely got a taste, her lips were warm and moist with surprise.

She did not start or move back, but instead pressed closer, angling her head to one side so their mouths fit better. Much better.

The rain streamed down around them, spraying fine mist onto the edges of the seat and onto their shoes. The tip of her nose, cool from the damp air, brushed against his warm cheek as their lips moved together. He released her hand and closed his fingers gently around her upper arms, bringing her closer to him so that her lovely breasts brushed against his jacket. Not close enough, but he was patient.

Or perhaps he wasn't.

She tasted as delicious as he'd imagined, and he wanted to sample more. He deepened the kiss deliberately, testing her…and she did not fail. She opened her mouth to him, and he felt the rush of want as their lips and tongues tangled. The brocade of her cloak crumpled under his fingers, and he closed his eyes when she reached to touch his jaw.

When he released her and moved back, he looked down into green-and-brown-flecked eyes, hazy and heavy-lidded, and he felt a rush of satisfaction. She bore the stamp of his possession there in her gaze and in the moisture on her swollen lips, not to mention in the faded ribbon around her wrist. He was going to marry this woman, by God.

 

+ + +

The freedom of wearing trousers!

Victoria had attained the age of twenty never experiencing the full range of movement, the loss of the fear of tripping over one's skirt, and the pure naughtiness of having one's nether limbs encased and defined in such an improper way.

But now, she felt incredibly scandalous and powerful as she climbed into Barth's hackney without any assistance other than what appeared to be a heavy walking stick which had been sharpened to a point at the end. Verbena followed after her, looking like a moonfaced, wide-eyed boy, clutching a thick stake in one hand and a large silver cross in the other. With her hands otherwise engaged, it made her activity a flurry of useless motions until Barth lost patience and shoved her inside.

Scrambling into a seat across from Victoria, Verbena tried to adjust her cap while still holding the stake and cross. One peach braid stuck out, doing little to support her disguise.

“What makes 'em afraid of silver?” she asked as the hackney jolted into motion.

“Because Judas Iscariot betrayed Jesus for thirty pieces of silver,” Victoria replied. She was not neryous, but her senses were on edge. She hadn't told Aunt Eustacia of her plan to visit St. Giles tonight, afraid that she would either forbid her to go or, worse, send Max along too.

“And garlic?”

“I don't know that, but I suspect it's because of the odor. A vampire's smell is much keener than a mortal human's. Perhaps it's acutely displeasing to them in their undead state.”

“Can you recognize one? When we're there…will you know if there's one before they try an' bite us?”

“I can always sense if there is one nearby,” Victoria told her maid, realizing the other young woman was plying her with questions to steady her nerves. “Most of the time I can tell who the vampire is, and I'm getting better at doing so. Don't worry, Verbena: I don't think they will attack without provocation, especially if we are seeking them in a public place.”

After a brief, energetic discussion with Barth, Victoria had convinced him to take them not only to St. Giles, the vilest and most dangerous neighborhood in London, but specifically to a place where he'd encountered vampires in a social rather than a predatory setting. Since Barth had seen and in fact transported vampires many times without being attacked, Victoria realized he must know where they gathered.

It was only because she was a Venator that Barth agreed to take them to the Silver Chalice.

“If'n anyone can pr'tect himself, it's gonna be a Ven'tor,” he said by way of acquiescence.

When the hackney jerked to a halt (if Barth hadn't been Verbena's cousin, and guaranteed trustworthy for that reason, Victoria would have hired a driver with more finesse), she opened the door.

It was after midnight, but the street was as busy as Drury Lane would be after the theater let out. The smells were much worse, however, and Victoria wondered how the vampires could stand it. The back of her neck had been cooling, but once she opened the door it became so cold she felt as though icy picks were thrumming on her nape. Turning up the collar of her man's jacket, as if that would help, she adjusted her hat to make sure none of her telltale curls were escaping.

Although it was a cloudy night, the street wasn't dark due to random street lamps swaying outside some of the establishments. Victoria used her lethal walking stick as leverage as she stepped down from the hackney, then moved to instruct Barth. “Stay and wait for us, regardless of what happens. Now, where is the Silver Chalice?” It seemed an odd name for a place that attracted vampires.

“Down there.” Barth pointed a shaking finger, while the other hand clutched his cross.

Victoria turned to look as Verbena stumbled out of the hackney, jostling her as she landed on the ground. “I see nothing but a burned out building.”

“Down
there,
behind it.”

Victoria stepped closer and saw what he meant: an opening two doors wide, barely noticeable near the foundation of the burned-out building. As she moved toward it, something bumped into her from behind, nearly sending her sprawling. Her walking stick raised, she pivoted to see Verbena shrinking away from three menacing creatures. The maid's mouth was open wide in a silent scream, and Victoria had to swallow her own automatic reaction and remind herself she was
not
helpless. She was a Venator.

“Wot brings two such dand'fied young men to this part of town, do ye think?” asked one of the three men. Something gold flashed in his mouth along with a grin that looked decidedly lascivious. Then something else gleamed silver in his hand.

The three men had circled around them and stood close enough that Victoria could smell the fumes of alcohol and other unpleasant odors. All three were dressed in dark clothing that appeared to be, while not very clean at least in fairly good condition. They weren't vampires; vampires didn't need knives. A stake might not stop the trio, but Victoria knew she was stronger than three mortal men. Still…her palms dampened beneath her gloves. She hadn't thought to bring a non-vampire type of weapon.

“I b'lieve I heard the young men say they be looking fer the Silver Chalice,” replied his companion, as if Victoria and Verbena were no more than a disinterested audience to their conversation.

“We've found it,” she said, deepening her voice. “We'll be on our way now.” Verbena bumped into her again, and Victoria resisted the urge to bump her back. She didn't need a clinging maid knocking her off balance if she had to shift into a fighting stance.

“Ye cannot enter without a token,” said the third of the men. He'd needed a shave at least three weeks ago, and his forehead and cheeks shone grimy and sweaty in the low light. “If ye two lovely men wish to come with us, we'd be pleased to 'elp ye procure one.”

“For a fee, I presume,” Victoria replied. Verbena bumped her again, and she nearly turned to shout at her. She realized why the girl was standing so close when she felt something cold and heavy next to her hand. Victoria wrapped her fingers around it. A pistol.

She shifted and suddenly had the weapon pointing at the closest of the three men. She was calm, her breathing steadv,. but her fingers trembled. “I don't believe we'll be paying you gentlemen any fees this evening. Now, disperse yourselves, sirs, before my finger becomes impatient.”

Although Aunt Eustacia had never taught her to use a pistol in her training, Victoria knew how to handle one. She'd seen it done. Pull the trigger and the thing would spit out a bullet while kicking back in her hand. Whether she would actually hit anyone was another matter; but the three men were so close, she wasn't concerned.

Of course, that was assuming Verbena had loaded it.

The men apparently believed her threat, and although they didn't disappear, they did melt into the darkest shadows of the stubby building next to the burned-out ruins above the Silver Chalice.

Victoria slipped the pistol into the deep pocket of her cloak and, gripping the walking stick, started toward the double doors that led, she hoped, to the Silver Chalice.

The doors were closed, but when she and Verbena each pulled on one, they opened easily to reveal a steep staircase leading down into the earth. At the bottom was, fortunately, a dim glow of light, but certainly not enough to easily light their way.

But vampires had excellent night vision, so it likely wasn't a hardship for them to make their way down a stairway so dark and straight one couldn't see two steps below. Victoria's neck was painfully cold, and the chill was beginning to creep up into the back of her skull. She reached back automatically to touch her skin, rubbing fingers over her nape in hopes of easing the frigidness. But it made no difference.

With a last look at Verbena, she started down the steps, thankful again that she wasn't wearing dragging skirts.

As she descended the twenty stairs, sounds from below became louder and more distinct. People talking, laughing, shouting…the clinks of metal tankards clattering together…the thuds and thumps of hands slamming onto tables or walls…and a wistful sort of music coming from a perfectly tuned piano.

When she reached the bottom, she had to turn a corner, and then she found herself in the Silver Chalice.

Although Victoria's experience with inns and pubs wasn't extensive, she had dined in two during her travels, and this one didn't look all that different from what she'd experienced in the mortal world.

Tables crowded the stone-walled room, which had a lingering dampness from being below the ground. Lanterns hung from ropes and chains from the planked ceiling, and the floor beneath was hard-packed dirt. Along one side, to the left and around the corner from the entrance, was another doorway that likely led into another room; although it was possibly another exit. Next to that door was a long bar, behind which two women hurried back and forth filling tankards and slamming them onto the counter.

No, if it weren't for the frozen feeling on her neck, Victoria would think she'd merely stepped into a travelers' inn that was just a bit darker and danker than she was used to.

No one seemed to have noticed her and Verbena, and for that she was thankful. Wanting to get a feel for the establishment and its clients, she hoped to remain incognito for a bit longer. She scanned the room, identifying which people were vampires and which were not. To her surprise, a good portion of the clientele weren't undead blood drinkers. Perhaps as many as half was her guess. That portended well, for Victoria had been wondering what they might serve to drink at this establishment. Though she'd had more than one sip of brandy—the most notable time was after her father's funeral—she wasn't the least bit interested in partaking of anything vampires might drink.

At last she saw a small table stuffed in the corner a short distance from the piano. Grabbing Verbena's cold fingers, she tugged her to follow, and began weaving her way to it. As they passed the piano she noticed the musician, who hadn't stopped playing since she and Verbena walked in: a female vampire with a long fall of silvery hair and an unhappy face, alternately bending over the keys, then turning her face up to the ceiling as if completely enraptured in the music. The song was sad and longing and beautiful in a haunting way.

When they sat, Victoria chose a chair so she could see the rest of the room. It was rather a letdown that they had walked into this pub and found a seat with nary a glance or flare of interest from anyone in the room.

That, then, answered a question Victoria had been meaning to ask Aunt Eustacia: Could vampires sense the presence of a Venator? The answer, apparently, was no.

Now that they were in the Silver Chalice, surrounded by vampires who might possibly know about the Book of Antwartha, Victoria realized she had planned no further than this. Perhaps she'd never quite believed she would actually get to this position. But she was…and she needed to act before Verbena fainted with fright.

Apparently they hadn't arrived completely unnoticed, for they'd barely settled in their chairs—it was much easier to flip up the tails of her coat while sitting, rather than gently lay out the skirts of a gown—when a serving wench elbowed her way to their side.

“Wot'll it be.” It was decidedly not a question—a bored, impatient statement, more like. Victoria looked at Verbena, at a loss for how to respond. Since she'd left her reticule at home, she had no coin with her.

“Two house ales,” Verbena responded smartly. She slapped two coins onto the sticky table, a proud grin ticking the corner of her mouth.

Victoria looked at her. That was twice tonight Verbena had come to the rescue of the Venator. Perhaps it was a good decision not to come on her own.

But now that the niceties had been handled, Victoria could decide the next step. She was going to prove herself to Aunt Eustacia and the sullen Max and the waif-like Wayren. It was abominable that he should lecture Victoria about being distracted from
her
mission.

As it turned out, Victoria didn't need to decide any next steps, for just as she finished patrolling the room with her eyes, a movement came into her peripheral vision, and a man sat down at the table with her and Verbena.