As Shadows Fade gvc-5 Read online

  “What?” she said sharply, ignoring the damp on her silk-stockinged foot. “What’s happened?”

  Wayren was a woman of an indeterminate age-she looked older than Victoria, but much younger than Lady Melly, yet she’d been Aunt Eustacia’s friend and mentor for more than fifty years. The keeper of the Venator library, records, and many other secrets protected in the catacombs of Rome, she dressed like a medieval chatelaine and always carried a leather satchel that held many more books and manuscripts than could possibly fit.

  She had been a source of information, advice, and guidance to the Venators for as long as anyone could remember. Yet no one knew very much about her.

  “Inside,” Max said, looking around sharply, his hand over Victoria’s elbow. “Who knows what’s lurking about?”

  Moments later they were gathered in the small study, and Kritanu, who was still a bit awkward with his missing hand, told them what he knew. He sat, his spry, seventy-year-old body straight, his wiry legs bent in their customary loose trousers, ankle stacked above ankle. The small burden he’d been holding outside was revealed to be a bundle of white feathers with a single beady eye peeking out. A pigeon.

  “I have not seen Wayren today, but I thought nothing of it,” he said, glancing at Victoria.

  When Wayren visited London, she took her own accommodations, their location unknown to the rest of them. She required her privacy and a place to study, but she often visited the house where Victoria and Kritanu-and, for the time being, Max-lived. “When Brim and Michalas received their summons back to Paris, they left straightaway. Max and I felt that you should be notified immediately, and Wayren as well. We sent a message to Wayren, and Max went to inform you.”

  “You sent Myza?” asked Victoria, looking at the bird in his lap. “But she returned without a message?” Myza, one of the many pigeons the Venators used for communication, was the one Wayren preferred.

  “No, Myza was not here at the time. That is how I know Wayren is in trouble, for Myza returned with the bird I sent. Her wing is injured.” He gently stroked the top of the pigeon’s head with one of his five remaining fingers. The quiet bird’s eye blinked and looked about sharply.

  Victoria looked at Max for confirmation of her thoughts. He nodded, and she felt an uncomfortable chill descend on her. If Wayren’s pigeon was injured, it was likely she was also in trouble.

  “Myza can lead us to where she is,” Max said. “If she can fly.”

  Kritanu nodded. “Indeed, that is what Sebastian and I were discussing when you arrived home. The bird is hurt, but seems eager to leave, and I can only believe she wishes to take us to Wayren. She will be able to hop a bit, and I’ll help her.”

  “We’ve also sent the other bird off with a message to catch Brim and Michalas and bring them back. They left under an hour ago, and could not have gone far,” Sebastian said.

  “Good, but we cannot wait for them. It will take only a moment to change,” Victoria replied, then slid her glance delicately over to Max. “I’d prefer not to do it in the carriage.”

  Max’s mouth quirked, but he didn’t smile. “Then be off and get it done.”

  “What a shame,” Sebastian said as Victoria sailed past. “I rather like that gown.” But even he, the consummate flirt, still held worry in his expression.

  Wayren missing, perhaps injured… this was something they’d never had to contend with before. She’d always seemed so protected, so above the violence and struggle in which the Venators were engaged. The idea that she, the wise, serene, ageless woman, had somehow fallen prey to some evil was unsettling.

  True to her word, Victoria was quick to use Verbena’s assistance to change from her luscious red gown into clothing that was not only cooler, but also much less restrictive. Like Kritanu, she wore loose trousers, but of a dark brown color, and a man-style shirt she’d had made to fit her female curves. Her corset loosened, her slippers exchanged for heavier shoes, her person well armed, she hurried down the stairs, working her loose hair into a thick braid. She’d not wanted to take the time for her maid to do it; the sense of urgency had begun to grow.

  “Mounts are being brought around,” Max said as she reached the bottom.

  She nodded in agreement with his assumption. Following a hobbled bird would be much easier on horseback than in a carriage.

  Outside, the air was still comfortable, and a wide swath of stars helped the moon light the sky. Yet threads of dark cloud threatened to creep over the half-moon and weave into the Milky Way, creating in her a sense of unease.

  Kritanu elected to remain behind, partly because riding one-handed at the speed with which they hoped to move would be difficult; but also in the event that Wayren, Brim or Michalas should return or some other message arrive.

  They started off, Myza being turned over to Max for assistance. The pigeon, whose eyes now seemed to burn with purpose, also acted as eager as the rest of them to be off and fluttered into the air ahead of the party. Lofting awkwardly into a low tree branch, the pearl white pigeon paused, then launched herself to another tree.

  She flew a bit, then scuttled back toward Max, who caught her gently and held her until she was ready to fly again. As they made their way along the street of town houses, carriages rumbled by, bringing members of the ton to and from theater engagements, fкtes, and other events. Despite the hour, hacks and wagons transported members of the lower classes along with their wares, but as Victoria and her companions followed Myza, the streets became less populated, narrower, and more eerie.

  They’d been following her stop-and-start rhythm for more than thirty minutes when Myza turned and fluttered back into Max’s large hand. She sat there, neck stretched up, head tilting, looking around, and Victoria found herself nudging her horse up next to them. Her leg brushed against Max’s as she maneuvered near him, watching the bird as she gave a soft, throaty coo.

  Suddenly, the soft beat of wings and an answering coo announced the arrival of another pigeon. And then the clip-clop of rapid horses’ hooves as Brim and Michalas appeared from around a corner.

  Myza and the new pigeon, who was called Thrush, seemed to be having some sort of avian conversation, and at once, the second bird flew up into the air and began to circle around them. Then it swooped down and nipped Max on the ear, fully gaining his attention and understanding. They would follow the uninjured pigeon, who would receive navigation from Myza.

  Making much better time now, the five of them and one pigeon thundered through the streets, following the speedy Thrush away from the more populated areas. Often, Thrush had to stop and circle back, flying just above Max, because the horses had to follow a less convenient route-by road. At last, after more than an hour of hard riding south of the Thames, they reached a small graveyard at the edge of a dark-windowed village.

  Black iron spikes fenced the cemetery, studded with masonry columns taller than Max. In the moonlight, what had been bone white stone gleamed from beneath eerie black moss and dirt stains. A stand of trees cast long shadows from the north side of the graveyard, mingling with the gray and ash colors of the headstones.

  Thrush circled now, silent as the bats that darted and dodged around with him, sending sweeping black shadows over the horses and their riders. Victoria urged her mount closer to the fence, looking for the gate. It was clear from Myza’s reaction that Wayren was nearby. The pigeon had raised her head, warbling quietly, and attempted to take flight.

  Max released her, and the pearly pigeon settled in the low branch of a tree, unable to get enough height with her injured wing to fly over the fence.

  As she searched the enclosure, Victoria heard the others separate, some riding in her wake, the others starting in the opposite direction to circle around and meet her. Once she reached the west side of the fence, Victoria saw a small mausoleum near the north side, buried in the thick thrust of shadows.

  The hair lifted at the back of her neck-not the same chill that portended the presence of a vampire, but a different, uncomforta
ble feeling. At the same moment, she came upon a small gate, barely a man’s width if he should move sideways, between two of the stone columns.

  She was off her horse as Sebastian thundered up, and he swung himself off to land light-footed on the ground next to her.

  One brief glance told them the gate would need to be forced open, or the wall must be scaled. The iron bars were topped with spikes much sharper than necessary for mere decoration; they looked wicked enough to slice through flesh and even bone, given enough force. Forcing the gate would be the most prudent option.

  Victoria and Sebastian examined the gate more closely as Max and the other two Venators rode up, having circled the rest of the graveyard.

  “No other entrance,” Max said. “It’ll have to be here. Any undead?” Of course, he could no longer sense the presence of a vampire, unlike the rest of them.

  “No,” Victoria replied, stepping away from the gate to look around. Her attention focused on their target: the low, squat building cloaked in shadows only fifty yards away. “But something. Something…” Her voice trailed off, and she paused as she drew in a breath.

  No.

  She sniffed again, and her stomach pinched. An unmistakable scent of malignance and death simmered under that of moist peat and horse sweat.

  Victoria looked up and met Max’s eyes, then looked at Brim. The tall, ebony-skinned man who wore his vis bulla through the corner of an eyebrow had lifted his head as if to scent something on the air as well. He nodded and looked at her, his dark eyes black pits.

  Demons.

  Not every Venator could sense the presence of fallen angels, or demons, but Victoria and Brim were both capable of recognizing the malevolent scent that lurked beneath everything else.

  They would need swords along with stakes, then, for demons had to be beheaded in order to be completely destroyed. Being prepared for any eventuality, the Venators had armed themselves not only with stakes, but also with firearms and swords, which hung from the horses’ saddles.

  At that moment, a low screech tore Victoria’s attention to Sebastian and Michalas, who’d used their Venator strength to work an iron hinge loose from its hasp embedded in the masonry. As they pushed, the long-abandoned gate creaked and moaned as they worked to free it. When Brim, the bulkiest of them all, added his muscle, the gate gave another long, low moan as it bent nearly double. Still attached by a lower hinge and by its heavy metal bolt on the opposite side, the gate had now been rendered impotent and scalable.

  After retrieving the sword from her saddle and buckling it around her waist, Victoria scrambled over first, using Sebastian’s offered hand for stability. As she slid down to the other side, she eyed the mausoleum, watching for any sign of movement.

  All was quiet except for the faint shuffles of the others as they joined her inside the cemetery wall.

  Victoria stepped toward the building, and as she drew closer, more of its details became apparent. The structure stood no taller than the midpoint of a single story, with a low peaked roof and plain, blank sides. Perhaps half the size of a carriage house, the mausoleum was situated with the stand of trees curling around and behind it.

  Beneath her feet, the ground was soft and damp, littered with stones and larger rocks, embedded brick boundaries outlining family plots, and tufts of grass poking out. As she drew closer to the building, the faint scent of demons grew more discernible, though not strong enough to clog her nostrils. Something stirred in the air. Not a breeze but… something.

  Then she saw it. Above the low pitched roof of the mausoleum, not far above her head: a faint swirl of… fog? Smoke?

  No, the threads were too dark for fog. Or smoke.

  Her throat tightened, and she swallowed hard.

  Thin clouds of black whispered in and out of the glowering trees, tangling like tendrils of hair above the mausoleum. Circling.

  Victoria stopped and felt someone behind her. She turned. It was Sebastian, who was looking up over the mausoleum just as she had. Her heart thudding, she grasped his arm as she waited for the others to draw near.

  When they came closer, Victoria sought Max’s gaze in the meandering light. His face held the same arrested expression as hers. “What is it?” she asked, looking at him, but speaking to them all.

  Max shook his head, his lips pinched. Sebastian moved closer to her, murmuring, “Whatever it is, it’s not vampire.”

  Victoria looked at Brim, whose face was wary. With terse words, she sent him and Michalas around the mausoleum in one direction, and she, Max, and Sebastian went the other way in search of an entrance.

  They found it, well cloaked by two overgrown cedars. The door was set half below ground level, accessed by four rough, narrow steps.

  Victoria glanced up at the swirling black mass above them. It seemed nebulous, for it hadn’t changed, nor did it seem threatening. But it moved and writhed, barely visible in the shadows of the trees, hovering like an eerie warning over the roof, beneath and among the tree branches.

  She shivered. She’d met many demonic and undead threats in her two years as a Venator, but this was particularly disturbing-partly because it was unknown, but also because it was apparent that whatever it was, it had something to do with Wayren.

  A shadow appeared close by and had Victoria reaching for her sword, but it was only Brim and Michalas, completing their circuit of the mausoleum.

  She noticed that Brim, too, had a hand on the sword at his belt.

  Everything was strangely quiet. Tense, and quiet.

  Victoria lifted her foot to take the first step down toward the mausoleum door, but Sebastian curled his fingers around her arm and slipped in front of her. She allowed him to without annoyance, for she knew he made the gesture not because she was a woman, but because he loved her. Victoria followed him.

  The small alcove at the bottom of the stairs was only large enough for one person to stand, and so of necessity, she remained on the bottom stair, her head level with his as he looked at the door. She watched as his damaged hand, the left one, felt along the solid wood bound by metal, and then heard the soft clunk as he found the iron latch. Victoria felt a shift behind her and realized Max was standing on the step above, towering over them both from his vantage point.

  More dull clanks, and a soft creak, and then Sebastian had the latch loosened. The door opened without the reluctant groans of the iron hasp of the gate, indicating that this latch had been used more frequently.

  Sebastian glanced up at her as if to ensure everyone was ready, and then returned his attention to the door, pushing gently against it with a widespread hand.

  The heavy, metal-bound planks moved reluctantly, and it was so quiet that the faint scrape of wood over the gritty stone floor was audible. Shadows moved above Victoria, changing the faint illumination, and she assumed it was because Brim and Michalas had drawn closer as well.

  Then, she realized with sudden horror that the shifting darkness wasn’t from the others gathering closer. She looked up, eyes wide, as the air began to move. She felt it against her cheek, a rising breeze.

  The mass of dark clouds above now writhed faster and harder, curling above them, swirling and twisting, sinking like a vortex. It happened so quickly, all at once they were engulfed by the spinning air, the black fog, as it cloaked them in cloying darkness.

  Victoria couldn’t see, but she felt Max behind her, grabbing her shoulders from above, her long, thick braid flailing like a whip, and Sebastian suddenly warm and solid in front of her. If anyone spoke or shouted, the sound was snatched up in the whirlwind and destroyed, for all she could hear was a roaring in her ears. The air, cold suddenly, smelled ancient-ancient and deathly, like rotting bones and aged flesh. The chill was unbearable, biting and sharp, stinging her face and skin through the fabric of her clothing.

  Black filled her eyes and ears, buffeted against her, pushing and battling her trousers like wind against sails. Something screamed high and long in her ear-or perhaps in her mind. She felt Max hovering
over her, touched Sebastian, kept her fingers around the useless sword.

  Suddenly, the wind whipped hard enough to rip a tree branch from above, and it crashed down onto the group of them. The branch tumbled away, leaving Victoria scratched and her head aching though she’d not borne the brunt of its weight.

  The demonic cloud surged again, louder and darker now. Victoria pushed at Sebastian, shoving him toward the open door even as Max tried to pull her back. She shouted, but couldn’t even hear herself, and so she shoved Sebastian with all of her strength, leaping after him.

  Helped by the black gale force, they tumbled down through the door into the mausoleum.

  Four

  A Dark Battle

  Victoria slammed into Sebastian when they hit the ground, then tumbled onto the rough, cold floor. The wind whipped above her, but the roaring in her ears had eased.

  She staggered to her feet, hand on her sword, trying to make out details in the furious, dark world. For a moment, she had an impression of dim illumination, and perhaps the outline of shapes near the floor. Something warm touched her-an oasis in the fury-and she grabbed Sebastian’s hand. His grip closed around her hand, strong and solid, anchoring her, as someone-Max?-crashed to the ground behind them.

  And then suddenly, the horrible fog seemed to scream in rising desperation, whipping and buffeting even stronger and harder, filling her ears and nose and needling her skin… and then all at once, it stopped.

  Everything became still.

  The door was closed. Had Max done it?

  Victoria released her grip on Sebastian and looked around, still mistrustful of the sudden peace. The faint gleam of illumination she’d discerned became a small blue-tinged glow in the far corner of the small chamber. It cast a pearl gray frost over the bare stone walls, blackened by mold and age. A large ash-colored crypt rose low in the center of the room.