“What else? You’ve given me nothing worthwhile, and I’ve interrupted your card game,” Victoria said. “What’s going to happen? What are the vampires doing about it? And when?”
George shrugged. “Don’t know.”
Victoria bared her teeth in a false smile and leaned forward, grabbing his wrist with her fingers. “That’s all you have? After I did you the favor of eliminating your houseguest?” She tightened her grip slowly, and felt his bones shift beneath it.
“Stop,” he gasped before she’d hardly squeezed at all. “I don’t know, but I know someone who might.”
“Take me to them.”
George flickered a look at her, then sagged back in his seat, a decidedly sulky look on his face. He rapped on the roof and leaned toward the window to shout directions up to the driver.
When he was finished, he sat back in the corner, looking speculatively at Victoria. He opened his mouth to speak, his expression shifting from sulk to interest, and she raised her hand, palm out.
“Don’t bestir yourself, George. I’ll toss you from the carriage if you even think to make an inappropriate remark… or suggestion.”
The sulk returned, and she had to bite her lips to keep them from quirking. He looked as though he’d just had his favorite toy taken away.
His directions took them to an area fairly familiar to Victoria from her first days as a Venator. The dirty, poor, and dangerous neighborhoods of St. Giles were where, for a time, Sebastian had owned and operated the Silver Chalice-an establishment that had catered to both mortals and undead. She hadn’t been to St. Giles since shortly after Phillip died, when she went to look at the ruins of the Chalice, which had been destroyed when the vampires came after Sebastian and Max.
The streets looked the same during the day as they’d done at night: crowded, dark, close, and strewn with offal and other refuse. Beggars, thieves, and whores populated streets that weren’t known for producing honest tradesmen or crafters.
George glanced at Victoria, as if to measure her reaction to this dangerous place, but she had no reason to be frightened. Her strength and speed worked just as well against mortals as it did against the undead.
When they alighted from the carriage, he lingered close by her, and Victoria had to prod him-roughly-to keep him moving. Reluctantly, he led the way down an alley so narrow that nary a beam of sunlight made its way into its depths. At last, Victoria became impatient with his reticence, and despite the fact that her hem-which only brushed the tops of her shoes-dragged through the muck, she grabbed him by the arm and propelled him forward.
“Here,” he said at last as they reached a wretched-looking door in the back of the dead-end alley. Low, warped, and with dirt and mildew decorating the wood, the entrance looked much less inviting than even that of the Silver Chalice had.
Of course, Sebastian Vioget had run a clean and well-ordered pub, so that was no surprise.
The back of her neck did not feel cold, nor did she smell anything like demons lingering above or below the environment’s normal stench. She sensed nothing to fear, no trap, nothing out of the ordinary.
Victoria didn’t bother to knock. She kicked at the door, and it splintered easily. George could have done it himself. She glanced at his round face and pudgy gloved hands. Perhaps.
He lingered again, but she snagged him by the arm and yanked him behind as she ducked through the door. Inside, the small space looked just as miserable as its exterior suggested, with broken crates and sparse furniture in shambles. Dark, dank… and empty.
Before Victoria could turn to George to demand an explanation, he shrugged off her grip and walked to the center of the room. Turning around in a circle, looking about him in dismay, he said, “They’re gone!”
Eight
Wherein a Frothy Pink Confection Leaves Little to the Imagination
“It’s worse than we thought, isn’t it?” Victoria asked as soon as she saw Wayren’s face. She’d been summoned to her presence the moment she walked in the door of the town house. It was already late in the afternoon the day after they’d rescued Wayren from the cemetery.
So many things had happened since Victoria had left for the dinner dance in her red dress, less than twenty-four hours earlier.
The older woman nodded and gestured for Victoria to sit. “The fact that those demons had not only the power, but the insolence, to attack me… It has weighed heavily on my mind since yesterday.”
Victoria sat, regarding the taut expression on Wayren’s face. Her aura of serenity faltered, yet strength glowed in her eyes. Whatever evil they faced, it would not be simple or weak.
Not for the first time, Victoria acutely felt the loss of her aunt Eustacia, and simultaneously, a wave of relief and affection for the wise, peaceful woman in front of her.
Wayren seemed to understand, and she reached for Victoria as she often did, closing her fingers over her wrist. As always, tranquillity seeped into her and the leaping of her nerves settled. We’ll do this together.
“What have you learned?” she asked, slipping away from Wayren’s grip, unwilling to cause the woman further weariness.
“As you have remarked, the demonic activity you experienced at the cemetery is unusual, and carries a malevolence that has not often been experienced on this earth. Those demons were from true fallen angels, Victoria. Not merely creatures that have been imbued with the spirit of evil, as Akvan-and other demons you’ve previously faced. The fallen angels have great power, and are not so simpleminded as those of Akvan’s ilk.”
Wayren shifted in her chair to reach toward her ever-present satchel. “It’s my belief,” she said, pulling a crackling parchment tube from the depths of the bag, “that these demons are escaping through the Midiverse Portal.” She slipped square glasses on and unrolled the brown paper.
“The Midiverse Portal?” Victoria repeated. “Portal… like an entrance?” She frowned, yet that uneasy feeling continued to build inside. This was so different from anything she’d encountered. She felt rather like she had when she first began hunting vampires: nervous, unsettled… yet determined. “From where?”
Wayren nodded. “Yes, indeed.” She settled in her seat, her slender hands moving as she continued. “An entrance from Hell, Victoria. These demons once were angels, and roamed freely throughout the earth and heavens. When they fell from divine grace, and decided to follow Lucifer, they were banished from Heaven and Earth and sent to Hell with their new master. They cannot move easily onto this earth. They can only gain access through certain passages. Or portals. They’ve all been sealed for millennia, but it seems as though one has been opened. Or at least, the seal is broken.”
“Fallen angels,” Victoria repeated. “Why would they want to harm you?” But even as she spoke, a little shiver traveled up her spine.
“Because they know me. Because they know I am here to help you. And because once, countless aeons ago, I knew them.” She nodded at the question in Victoria’s face. “Because they fell… and I did not.”
Because she didn’t fall …?
Prickles exploded over her shoulders as Victoria looked at Wayren, aware of the shock and sudden comprehension that must be washing over her face. That simple statement explained so much about this woman, who never seemed to age. Who seemed to be able to be anywhere she was needed, whenever she wanted to be. Who knew so much about everything.
And how she could fit so blasted many books in a satchel that was too small to hold them.
Victoria wondered absurdly why an angel would wear reading glasses.
Wayren merely smiled at her, as if she knew what she was thinking, and replied, “We’re not perfect either.”
At that moment, the door to the parlor opened, and Max came in. Victoria couldn’t help but notice the weariness in his demeanor and the strain around his eyes. Doing the work of a Venator, without the blessing of a vis bulla , took a great toll on a man.
She wondered if he knew that Wayren was an angel; then she realized. Of course he did. It seemed as if Max knew everything.
He probably assumed she knew.
Max flashed a glance at her, but said nothing. Instead, he took a seat near the cabinet that housed the Gardella Bible. “Wayren,” he said by way of greeting.
She smiled at him, but by the tightening of Max’s mouth, Victoria knew that he, too, saw the cracks in her calm facade. “I was just telling Victoria that I believe the demons we’ve been encountering here, and those in Paris, are escaping into our world through the Midiverse Portal. It’s in Romania, in the mountains,” she said, tracing a half-moon fingernail over the rigid parchment. “And…” Her voice trailed off as she became absorbed in whatever she was reading.
“And their target is Wayren,” Victoria finished tightly. “Perhaps others, but Wayren for certain.”
“Did you go to the cemetery today?” he asked sharply.
Victoria shook her head. “No, I meant to, but-”
“I did. There is nothing there any longer.”
“You went alone?”
His mouth tightened. “In broad daylight, Victoria. Even I am in no danger in bloody broad daylight.”
They lapsed into silence, stress zinging in the air between them. Before now, the last words he’d spoken to her had been in anger and frustration in her bedchamber, punctuated by the slam of the door. He’d acted only as she’d expected, and, in fact, anticipated… but there was no sense in keeping her plans from him.
If he knew she was going to go after Lilith, he’d either be moved to go with her, or try to find a way to keep her in London-or at least otherwise occupied. Either way, they’d be together and she’d have the chance to wear down the resistance he’d erected.
But deep in her heart, she knew that until Lilith was gone, Max would not be wholly free.
Of course, any plans she had to find the vampire queen must be delayed until the demons were contained. Wayren’s safety was of paramount importance.