Just as she was.
But she’d also recently realized that, as Illa Gardella, and the last of the direct line from Gardeleus, the first Venator, it was incumbent upon her to continue that direct lineage. Certainly, there were far-flung branches of the Gardella family throughout the world, where Venators born to the family legacy were called… but the most powerful of them, and the leader of the vampire hunters, descended only from the direct line. Aunt Eustacia and her brother, Victoria’s grandfather, had been the last two directly descended Venators. But he had declined the legacy, passing his powers on to Lady Melly, who had also chosen not to be a Venator, and who now lived in blissful ignorance of the undead.
Victoria had received two generations’ worth of Venator skills, and now that Aunt Eustacia was gone, there was only Victoria.
“Why, Victoria, how lovely you look tonight!” exclaimed Duchess Winnie. Victoria blinked, wondering why she hadn’t noticed her before nearly running into her, for the duchess had chosen a frock in a bright tangerine hue. It blazed like a beacon among the softer pinks and blues and greens of the other attendees.
And right smack in the middle of the duchess’s massive bosom was an equally massive silver cross.
Victoria stared at the pendant. She knew the duchess had been known to carry garlic and to wear crosses in an effort to stave off potential vampire attacks, but this was absurd. Duchess Winnie, like the rest of London Society, didn’t know that the undead even existed beyond the fertile imagination of John Polidori. His story, The Vampyre , had taken London by storm a few years ago, and from that had evolved the fashionable superstition of vampires.
Little did most of London know that vampires weren’t like the mysterious, elegant Lord Ruthven portrayed in Polidori’s work, but bloodthirsty demons who tore into humans with no remorse. Victoria had seen the remnants of vampire attacks, and it wasn’t pretty.
“That is a lovely cross,” she ventured to the duchess.
Winnie clapped her hand over the ornament. “I’m taking no chances,” she said in a low voice, her row of chins wobbling as she looked over the guests. She leaned closer to Victoria, bringing with her a subtle whiff of… garlic. Tinged with hyacinth. “The rumors about Rockley’s disappearance claim that it was a vampire that took him. If the Marquess of Rockley can be attacked in his own home by one of those creatures, then no one is safe.”
Victoria looked at her. “Where on earth did you hear such a thing?” The Venators took great pains to keep the rest of the world ignorant of the undead in order to protect them. And when someone did see or hear something they shouldn’t, Aunt Eustacia’s special gold medallion was used to hypnotically remove the offending memories.
“Why, from Nilly’s new friend,” said the duchess. “He told us in the utmost confidence.”
“Lady Nilly’s friend?”
“Ah, but I’ve forgotten! You already know him, Victoria, and in fact, here they are. Nilly!” The duchess waved, the underside of her arm jiggling enthusiastically as the bracelets at her wrists jingled.
Victoria turned to see the slender, flat-bosomed, pale-as-a-wraith Lady Nilly approach with her new friend.
He had blond hair, round cheeks, and a cleft in his chin. Dressed as befit his station, he looked elegant in a boyish way, although, as Victoria had cause to know, he was a few years older than her own twenty-one.
“Good evening, Victoria dear,” trilled Nilly. She seemed to be clutching his arm as though she were afraid he’d fly the coop.
But she was in no danger of that, for the man bowed deeply to Victoria and took her hand, raising it to his lips. “How enchanting to see you again, Lady Rockley.”
“I don’t know how I could have forgotten that you two have met,” said the duchess with exaggerated surprise. Victoria noticed the waggle of her eyebrows as she looked conspiratorially at Nilly.
“Indeed we have,” Victoria replied, then turned to the gentleman. “George Starcasset. I certainly didn’t expect to see you again.” Her voice was glacial.
No, she certainly hadn’t. The last time she’d seen George, he’d been ushering two hostages, in the form of Max and a bloody, one-handed Kritanu, out of the room where Victoria had slain a group of vampires. George was a member of the Tutela, the secret society of mortals that protected and served the undead.
“I’m certain you didn’t,” he had the grace to say. And when she looked at him, she saw a bleak sincerity in his eyes that had replaced the bravado she was used to seeing there. “But I needed to see you. Will you dance with me?”
Victoria would have rather taken a spin around the ballroom with Beauregard, the great vampire who’d tried to turn her undead, than George. But Lady Nilly and Duchess Winnie looked as though they were about to explode with pleasure at the handsome, albeit boyish, young man who was not only titled but also wealthy, and who was clearly attempting to charm Victoria.
She could see no gracious way out of the mess, so she took his arm. And at the very least, she could lecture him about spreading rumors of the undead among unsuspecting ladies of the ton . The last thing she needed was Duchess Winnie out trying to stake a vampire again, and Lady Nilly inviting one into her bedchamber. She was under the impression that vampires were romantic.
“What are you doing here?” Victoria demanded as George spun her into his arms.
“My God, you look lovely tonight,” he replied, unable to keep the bald admiration from his voice. He stepped them into the waltz, still looking at her as though every other thought had evaporated from his head.
Victoria knew from past experience that he was easily distracted, and that he wasn’t the most efficient of villains. The two times he’d tried to capture her, he’d been abysmally inept with aiming a gun, binding with ropes, and other nefarious activities. She had absolutely no fear of him. Not even an inkling. The biggest emotion he raised in her was flat annoyance, which was what she felt now.
But before she could open her mouth to speak again, he looked up from her half-exposed bosom and into her eyes. The admiration was gone, replaced by fear.
“I’m in trouble, Victoria. I need your help.”
Two
Wherein Our Heroine’s Services Are Engaged
“I find it exceedingly ironic that you should ask me, of all people, for help,” Victoria replied. She tried to keep the sarcasm from her voice, but, based on the abashed look on George’s face, she didn’t quite succeed.
Yet he forged on, showing a resilience she would never have expected of him. And for once, he wasn’t looking down the front of her bodice. “Daresay it’s mad, but there’s no one else who could be of assistance.”
Victoria concentrated on the waltz for a moment, if only to keep from laughing outright at his presumption. He’d spent the last year trying to capture her for a variety of villains, including vampires and a demon. And that was after he had sneaked into her bedchamber-and bed-one night and tried to kiss her. Of course, he’d been foxed at the time, and goaded on by a mischievous Sebastian… but still. Despite her concentration, she wasn’t able to keep a smile in check.
“Should be the last person in the world to turn to for help,” George muttered, “after you killed my sister, but there’s nothing for it.”
“That’s what I do to vampires, George. I stake them,” Victoria reminded him drily. “And you-you protect them, and serve them. I cannot imagine how you think I might, or should, assist you.”
“They’re all gone, y’know,” he told her. “Since you ruined Lilith’s plan to kill King George, she’s gone away and taken them-most of them-with her.” His lips twisted grimly. “There’s where I need your help.”
“What? Is there a vampire that hasn’t gone with Lilith that you’d like me to chase away?” Victoria thought she was making a jest, but when his face dissolved into shock, she realized her flippant comment had hit the mark. “Is that it? Truly?”
George tightened his hand at her waist, pulling her toward him to redirect their path from a collision with another couple. “Sh’won’t leave,” he admitted. “I was… er… attached to her a bit, but her demands are getting too much. Need her gone.”
“Her demands? For drawn curtains to keep out the sunlight? And for fresh blood, of course. Does she have you snaring rabbits or catching mice? Visiting the butcher?” Victoria felt the giggle bubbling up inside her and swallowed it back as she thought of George running to and fro betwixt the butcher and the attic to check mousetraps. It was so unusual in her world, in the battle of mortals versus the undead, that she encountered a situation in which she found amusement.
Then her eyes narrowed and all humor fled. “You’d best not be bringing her humans, George. If you are, I’ll kill you myself.” It was a bluff; of course she wouldn’t kill George. He was a human-a member, albeit an insufferable one, of that race she was charged with protecting, no matter what the cost. “No, perhaps I’ll tie you up and set her on you.”
He swallowed and managed an uncomfortable smile. “Too late for that, Victoria.” He released her hand to pull the tall, starched collar of his shirt away from his neck. Beneath were four angry red bite marks. Fresh enough that the inside of his collar was smeared with dark red.
“Aside of that, only brought her two people-” He must have felt Victoria tense up beneath his hands, for he continued quickly. “They were willing. I swear it! Wanted to see what it was like, y’know.” He leaned forward, a sudden leer showing his teeth. “Y’dear friend Lady Fenworth wanted to go, Victoria.”
“Lady Nilly?” Victoria didn’t doubt it for a moment. The twittering old lady had been fascinated by vampires-or at least the romantic legend of them-since Polidori’s book.
George seized the opportunity to press further. “If y’don’t help me, I’ll take her to visit Maybelle.” He seemed to think his pronouncement a perfect occasion to examine Victoria’s dйcolletage more closely.