Rises The Night
Page 44

She already knew she would never get close enough to Nedas to stab him; so the bow and wooden arrow-stakes would be her only chance to succeed. She wasn't an expert archer, but she could hit her target. She had three stakes, and her plan was to kill him and then, in what she hoped would be ensuing chaos, steal Akvan's Obelisk. At the very least, assassinating Nedas would put a stop—albeit a temporary one—to the activation of the obelisk, giving the Venators more time if Victoria did not succeed.
Verbena had been more curious than worried when Victoria appeared at the villa; she'd known her mistress had gone off with Sebastian and had not been overly concerned when she did not return that evening. "After all, I seen the way ye two looked at each other—like ye coulden wait to get b'neath each other's clothes. Ye're young and ye've been mourn'n the marquess for more'n a year, so 'twas time to get ye'self a little slap an' tickle, if ye ask me."
What could Victoria say to that? Her maid's assessment had, as usual, been accurate; how would she have known that Sebastian had other plans besides seducing her?
It had not taken long for Verbena to dress her mistress and prepare her to go. Oliver had brought a message over to Aunt Eustacia's villa, to inform her that Victoria was back—of course, she didn't even know her niece had gone missing, since Verbena had not thought anything of it—and of her plans to go to the theater and try to stop Nedas.
Oliver had returned, but with the news that Aunt Eustacia had not been at home. He had left the message, of course, but Victoria could wait no longer; time was slipping away.
Now, at the theater, her biggest difficulty was to gain entrance to the destroyed building without being noticed by a bystander, or, worse, a member of the Tutela. Once she was inside, her plan was to find her way in and attack Nedas by stealth and from a distance.
Victoria waited until she rounded the backside of the theater, where there were fewer witnesses, and moved nonchalantly toward the building. She spied a small entrance, half-hidden by a hillock, likely for use by servants and merchants. As she came closer to the building, a faint coolness at the nape of her neck began to build.
She'd stepped three paces off the walkway toward the door, past a trio of trees, when she felt someone behind her. Before she could turn to see who'd stepped out from the shade of the oaks, something poked her in the side of her hip: round and hard. And small.
"So it is you, Victoria. I'd begun to wonder. No, don't stop, just keep moving nice and easily toward the door. I'd expected Pesaro to bring you himself, but this will work just as well." George Starcasset was prodding her along with a pistol to her kidney, low enough that it wouldn't be noticed by any passersby and would instead appear to be a solicitous arm about her waist.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you are talking about," Victoria replied calmly, despite the fact that she'd been caught unawares. At least they were going in the direction she wanted to go.
"We weren't certain about you; we had our suspicions, of course, which was why I invited you to come to Claythorne and made certain Vioget and Polidori were there to draw the vampires. You see, at the time, I did not know what good friends"—he poked her hard in the back—"you were. But since I didn't actually see you in action, or observe what occurred, I couldn't be certain. Come along this way, then." A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that he'd lost the smiling, boyish look he usually had, and it had been replaced by a more fanatic, disturbing expression, albeit in a youthful face.
"What is it that you weren't certain about, George?" she asked as they reached the door. She could hardly believe this was her close friend's brother! A member of the Tutela, from the sound of it. He jabbed her with the gun, and she took that to mean she should open the door. She complied, hoping there was no one else about. If she was going to escape from him, she needed as few witnesses as possible. Preferably none.
"That you are a Venator, of course. Don't try to deny it, my lovely," he said, pulling the door closed behind them, allowing the pistol to drop away as he did. "We'd had suspicions for a while, but since Lilith left London and took all of her people with her, how could we be certain?"
It was lucky for her that he had been three sheets to the wind that night of the vampire attack at Claythorne; he'd slept through the whole flurry of events. She wondered if he'd been mortified that he'd had to report to the Tutela that he was unable to determine whether she was a Venator because he'd been too foxed to observe her. The thought made a smile tickle her lips. It would have served him right.
"Lilith? Of course she would have known. How amusing that you had to trick me all the way to Italy in order to find out." She turned slightly so that she was half facing him in the small passageway, and noticed that he was carrying a satchel over his shoulder.
"Perhaps she did, but there is no love lost between her and her son Nedas, so why would she tell him something that could protect him? They would as soon see the other sent to Hell than to help each other. This way, my dear." He pointed the gun and directed her off to the right. "They will be pleased you have arrived already."
Victoria strained to listen; the longer they were alone, the better. The back of her neck had turned cold and prickly. There were many vampires nearby. Somewhere.
Her fingers itched for her stakes because they were the most familiar weapon to her, but of course they would do no good against George. And besides… she could kill a vampire without qualm, but there was still that pesky detail of what to do with a mortal being who stood in her way. Especially one who was her best friend's brother, regardless of his own potential violent tendencies. She would have to find a bloodless way to stop him.
It was fortunate that she was still wearing her cloak, with the small bow slung over her shoulder under it, or he might have relieved her of that. As it was, it was apparent George Starcasset was not the most experienced person when it came to holding one at gunpoint and forcing him or her to do his will. The gun slipped and dropped haphazardly, and he tended to use the hand holding it to gesture when he talked.
"In here," he said, gesturing to a small door. "We have some time before we must be down below." The smile he gave her would have sent shivers down her spine if someone more threatening had offered it to her.
Inside the small room, he pushed her away so that she was standing a few paces from him, keeping the gun trained on her as he locked the door. "Now, I don't want you to scream, or I'll be forced to use this. And I would hate to do that, for that would bring the vampires running as soon as they smell the blood. Take off your cloak."
Victoria slipped the bow off when she removed the cloak, and tucked it inside the bundle when she dropped it on the floor. There was only a chair in the room; whatever he had in mind—and she rather thought she knew—would not be comfortable in more than one way.
"Were you really that foxed when you came into my room at Claythorne?" she asked.
To her surprise, he appeared to flush slightly. The gun waved as he brushed off the experience. "I did not realize what he was up to until Vioget had induced me to drink nearly a bottle of brandy… but he suggested that you would welcome a visit from me, and I was not averse to following the suggestion once he led me up to your room and urged me on."
Victoria felt a spurt of annoyance. So Sebastian had actually brought George to her room? He'd led her to believe it was George's own idea, with a bit of encouragement from himself!
"Well, he was not so far off with that suggestion," she told George, wondering if he were as gullible when he wasn't pickled but was carrying a weapon that gave him a sense of control. She waited to see his reaction to her statement.
The gun drooped a bit lower, and his mouth relaxed. "I thought I had read the signs, but one can't be too sure when dealing with demure Society ladies. That was the other reason I invited you to Claythorne, you know. I had noticed the way you looked at me whenever we were at the same party or dinner. Even when you were married."
Victoria had to hold back the bark of a laugh that statement provoked. When she and Phillip were married—the brief time they were—she had had eyes only for him. And certainly not for this young, flimsy man before her. "When you invited me to Claythorne I was newly out of mourning, so I did not feel it appropriate to be… obvious." She gave him that smile… the one she'd learned from being married, and had used successfully on Sebastian little more than a week ago. "But the fact is, you would not have needed to get foxed to sneak into my room."
His expression turned hungry, and he stepped toward her. She held firm, even when he bumped the metal-scented gun barrel into the soft underside of her chin, pressing it there as he lowered his face for a kiss.
She expected it to be as inexperienced and uncouth as he appeared to be in other things, but the kiss wasn't. If she hadn't been thoroughly disgusted by him, and distracted by the other things she had to tend to, she might have possibly enjoyed it. Possibly, but by no means certainly.
And therein lay the difference between him and Sebastian. Even when she was angry with Sebastian, she still enjoyed his kiss. Damn him.
As it was, she kissed George back with some enthusiasm in hopes of disarming him. When his free hand began to get a bit friendly, she pulled away from his mouth and asked, "Are you part of the Tutela, then?"
"I am, of course! I have attained the Third Level," he replied, sliding his hand over the front of her tunic and tracing her breast through the cloth. Any lower and he'd find her stakes… She didn't want anything to throw him off his stride and remind him that she wasn't an average Society woman.
"I would love to see your mark," she asked coyly, making it clear that that wasn't the only thing she wished to see.
"Would you now? And I would be most happy to show it to you. But first…" He reached into the satchel he was carrying and pulled out a coil of rope. "I hate to do this to you, my lovely, but I mustn't take any chances."