~ Of Venators and Vis Bullae ~
Macey thought her knees were going to give way, but she had the presence of mind to swing her handbag at him. "Get out of here or I'll scream."
He held up a hand and caught her bag in ."Venator? Temple? Who are you?" Macey was still jittery, but her panic had begun to subside; he sounded familiar. She suspected he was the stake-wielding Chas from the alley last night, but she hadn't had a good look at him. Even now, he seemed particularly adept at keeping his face in shadow, with his fedora riding unfashionably low over his forehead.
"Let's go. We're going to give your friend the slip. He's not invited." He flashed a humorless grin and, taking her arm, directed her firmly out into the cafe's back hallway.
By now she was certain her assailant was indeed the trenchcoated man from the alley behind The Gyro-that was why he'd seemed familiar when he walked into the diner. Temple knew him, and he was obviously another person who thought she was the mysterious Macey Gardella.
"I can't just leave him-"
"You're going to have to."
"No." She yanked at his grip, and to her surprise, she easily pulled free. "I'll...get rid of him."
Leaning against the wall, he sneered, looking at her from beneath his hat. "A Venator with a conscience. That won't last long."
Venator again. "Who are you?"
"Hurry, or I'll make a scene."
She believed him. But even as she walked out on trembling legs to ditch Grady, Macey wondered whether she should go with Chas or not. Maybe she should ditch both of them.
No. I'd better go with Chas and clear this up.
"What took you so long?" Grady asked as she met him near the front door of the cafe. "You didn't have to primp for me, I already think-hey. What's that on your neck?"
Damn. She'd forgotten her scarf. Her hand whipped up to cover the wound. "Nothing. I have to go. I forgot I'm supposed to be somewhere. Thanks for lunch."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Grady moved in, grabbing her elbow with his hand and, pulling her close to his side, maneuvered her toward the door. He was still staring at her neck, and his eyes had gone dark. "If that's what I think it is-"
"Problem here, miss?"
Suddenly Chas was there, blocking the way. Macey's heart lodged in her throat. He looked like a mobster: sharp and dangerous-and not in good humor.
A glance behind told her the attention of the cafe's occupants was riveted on the scene in the entrance. Two male customers stood and, grim-faced, began to make their way through the labyrinth of tablesWhere is she working?" sly toward them.
"Grady. I need to go," she said in a low voice. She'd already attracted attention once before. What if someone pulled out a gun and started shooting?
"Go? With this goon?" Grady looked from her to Chas and back again. "Are you all right? You don't have to go anywhere w-"
"It's okay. He's a friend." She hoped he was, anyway. "Don't make a scene. I really do appreciate lunch, Grady. Thanks so much, but I have to go."
She thought he wasn't going to move, even then. Macey could feel the tension zinging in the small foyer as the two men took measure of each other. They appeared well-matched in size and strength, crowding her into the small space, and neither seemed ready to back down. She could feel the battle of wills vibrating between them.
"Need some help here, miss?" One of the men who'd risen from his meal interrupted.
"No, thanks," Macey told him. "It's fine." She looked up at Grady, whose blue eyes were cold and flat. "It's okay. Really. He's a friend."
He muttered something under his breath. After one last measured look at Chas, he released her arm, stepping away just enough for her to slip by.
"Good Christ," muttered Chas as he ushered her away from the diner. "Next time can we forget the niceties and chit-chat? And you need something for that." He gestured abruptly in the general direction of her neck.
"What I need is to get everyone off my case. There's a misunderstanding, and I want to clear it up. I'm not this Macey Gardella you and your cohorts keep talking about."
Chas's only response was a short laugh.
Instead of leading her to an automobile or cab, he directed her briskly down the street and around the block, then into an alley. She hesitated, pulling away when they came upon the black, imposing entrance to a tunnel.
"I'm not going in there."
"Freight tunnels are the fastest way to get where we need to go-without being seen. You said you wanted to get this problem cleared up." Chas stood there, hands in his pockets, his fedora still shading his brows.
"Why should I trust you?" Macey backed away. What sort of fool would go down into a dark tunnel alone with a strange man? Her heart pounded and she looked around to see if anyone was nearby.
"Have it your way. But if we're followed, you can explain to Vioget." Chas whirled on his heels and stalked off, apparently expecting her to follow.Where is she working?" sly
And darn if she didn't. At least they were still on the street, in the daylight. And his acquiescence went a long way in making her more comfortable going with him. Besides, she wanted to see where they were going-whether to The Silver Chalice or someplace else.
Chas led her through such a maze of backstreets and narrow alleys Macey lost track of where they were. Since they didn't travel on the main throughways, she didn't see landmarks or street signs other than the Drake looming in the distance.
By the time they reached a street that looked vaguely familiar, she was not only completely lost, but had more than once seen men loading up trucks in back alleys...with things Macey knew were illegal. Barrels, clinking jugs in crates, and other things she didn't want to see or recognize.
She averted her eyes-just like most Chicagoans, including the fuzz- and marched along with her escort. Better not to take note of anything.
"After you." Chas pointed to an iron-railed stairway that led beneath the street.
Macey noticed the small finial on top of the railing, shaped like a chalice-exactly like the one she saw last night. Since she and Chas were on a different street, she could only assume there was more than one entrance.
Heart pounding, palms slick, insides churning, Macey looked around. Scads of people were about on their way to market or other errands, but no one seemed to take particular notice of them. It seemed a normal Saturday morning in Chicago for everyone except her.
"For the love of God, you're not going to your execution," Chas said, gesturing again. "And that bite needs to be seen to, sooner rather than later. You wouldn't want to scar that long neck of yours."
She couldn't argue, for the warm trickle of fresh blood had begun to seep more freely into her collar, activated by the brisk walk. Hoping she wasn't about to make a fatal mistake, Macey drew in a deep breath and started down the steps. As she descended, leaving the sunlight and familiarity behind her, she felt a chill settle over the back of her neck.
At the bottom of the stairs was an iron door with a knocker in the center. A small goblet was imprinted in the center of the metal, and above it was a peephole.
Chas crowded into the small space next to her, and Macey felt a trickle of alarm. In his black coat and hat, he was big and dark and dangerous-and she was trapped by three sides of brick wall below the street. But he didn't even look at her; instead, he used the knocker and waited. Macey shivered as the nausea-edged chill surged stronger over the back of her neck.
"You feel that, do you?" Chas looked down at her, grim satisfaction in his tones. "Not bad for a novice."
She had no idea what he meant, and might have asked if the peephole door hadn't swung open a throbbing slyt that moment. Two amber-colored eyes looked out at her, blinked, then shifted to Chas. "About bloody time."
The door to The Silver Chalice opened and there stood the most handsome man Macey had ever seen. He had blond-tipped tawny hair, rich golden skin and hot amber eyes. His full lips formed a sensual smile as he looked her over, slowly, then nodded. His gaze grew even warmer. The hand that gripped the edge of the doorway had rings made of braided copper on each finger.
"Sebastian Vioget, at your service."
If Sebastian had any lingering doubts Macey Denton was the young woman he believed she was, his first good look at her in full light would have wiped them away.
She very much resembled Victoria-not merely because of her thick black hair, curling wildly around her jaw and earlobes, or the lush, wide mouth he'd known so well-but also in the way she carried herself, in the lift of her stubborn chin, the tilt of her head, the shape of her striking face.
But not her eyes. And that was what clinched it. Macey Denton had the Pesaro eyes: large and dark, thick-lashed. They were extraordinarily beautiful and expressive, bright with intelligence-and laced with suspicion.
Except for the glint of wariness, it was like looking into Giulia's eyes.
For the first time in a hundred years, Sebastian felt something inside him move. Something warm and tantalizing. Hope.
Something dangerous.
Oh, indeed. This woman was exactly who he needed. Precisely whom he'd been waiting for.
"If you keep us standing out here long enough, a shaft of sun will fry you where you stand, Vioget."
Sebastian realized he'd been staring. Flaring a burn in his eyes at Chas, he moved, gesturing the pair into his private parlor. As she walked past him, he scented the essence of fresh blood at her neck. The shock of awareness took him by surprise, causing him to salivate and his pulse to speed up. Fresh blood. Her blood. Dangerous.
But he quickly regained his head and gave a little bow. He'd controlled himself for more than a century. Now that he was so close to his goal, he must be even more vigilant and strong.
"Ah, cherie, I'm delighted you've returned. I'm afraid you took me by surprise during your exit last night-otherwise you would have been safely ensconced here, and wouldn't have had to attend to your unexpected visitor." He smiled at Macey and closed the door. The scent of her blood tugged at him again.
"Unexpected visitor?" she said, looking around the room. "Is that what you call it? I was nearly "I'm quite cert-climbing through your window?" Sebastian frowned. "But the undead cannot enter your home uninvited." He looked at Chas, his eyes burning hotter with displeasure. By God, if that man's negligence had caused harm to Macey Gardella, Sebastian would have killed him. Venator or nay.
The other man ignored him, walking over to the liquor cabinet. He opened it without waiting for an invitation and Sebastian gritted his teeth. Chas had many beneficial qualities, and he was a damned good Venator, but all too often, it was impossible to remember them. If Wayren hadn't sent him, Sebastian would have divested himself of Chas's presence years ago.
"Well, someone must have invited him-or it-or whatever it was. Because he climbed in through my window. And I'm on the third floor." Macey, so delicate and petite she would barely reach Sebastian's chin, was indignant. And yet there was an underlying fear beneath her bravado. "I don't know how he could have gotten up there."
"But you staked him." Chas turned, holding a glass of Sebastian's best Scotch-contraband smuggled in via the Great Lakes with great difficulty. "And now all is well."
"All is not well. I came here so I could make you realize I'm not this Macey Gardella everyone thinks I am. I don't want to be involved in-in whatever is going on here." She was still standing, using her hands and shoulders for emphasis. "I've got a job and friends and-and things to do. I don't want any of my friends to get hurt."
"Too late," Chas told her abruptly, and downed his drink.
Sebastian wanted nothing more than to send the man away, but he couldn't. Not yet. Instead, he turned his full attention on the young woman. The scent of her blood still lingered, but he had himself under control and the aroma became little more than a faint tease.
"Please, cherie, sit, and I will tell you all. But first-ah, Chas, something for her bites if you please. You must surely carry salted holy water with you...but, oh, of course, you wouldn't. How foolish of me." Sebastian's smile was cold and false, and he was rewarded for his parry and thrust when the other man's expression darkened. The whiskey bottle clinked as Chas poured himself another generous drink, and this time, Sebastian didn't care. He turned back to Macey. "Did you receive the book?"
For a moment he thought she would ask what he meant. But then before his eyes, she wilted...and then straightened up, drawing her shoulders back. He nearly smiled. By God, it's like Victoria come to life.
Except for the eyes.
Oh, the eyes. He could drown in them. And if he was not careful, he would.
"I assume you are speaking of The Venators. By George Starcasset."
"Indeed. And have you read it?"
"Much of it. Which is how I knew what to do last night. When the...whatever it was...came in my room."
"Vampire. It was a vampire. You can say the word." Chas had a small, dark vial in his hand, and he brought it over to Macey. "Pour this on your wound. And take care not to splash. You might injure someone." He slanted a suggestive glance at Sebastian.
"Salted holy water." She looked at the vial, which was the size of her small finger, then began to work the tiny cork free. When she poured it on her neck, Macey's eyes widened in shock and she gasped, then began to pant, flapping her hand as if to ward off the pain. "You didn't tell me it was going to burn!"
Chas's lips twitched behind his glass and his only response was to drink. Long and heavily.
"Now that we've attended to your injury, I shall tell you everything. Please, cherie, sit." Sebastian patted the sofa near his chair and waited while Macey settled in. Though over a hundred years old, he was still most definitely a man. Thus he couldn't help admiring her slender, shapely legs and elegant ankles.
One of the things about living an immortal life was the experience of radical fashion shifts over the decades. He'd been born in 1790, and thus had seen-and unbuttoned, unlaced, untaped, unhooked-everything from high-waisted Empire gowns with bosoms spilling out over low necklines to tight corsets and full skirts with cagelike hoops that made it impossible to discreetly make love to a woman while tete-a-tete at a party or ball. And then there were the ridiculously narrow skirts and ungainly bustles of the late previous century...
Current fashion provided tantalizing views of sleek, silk-stockinged legs and bare ankles, but the dresses were little more than shapeless sacks, hiding the curve of breast and hip. And for these reasons, Sebastian found flapper fashion both titillating and disappointing. In the past, he rather enjoyed the chase, the coaxing and seducing...and the pleasure of finding out just what was beneath the complicated package of skirts, corsets, and petticoats.
As Macey smoothed her skirt over a pair of shapely knees, Sebastian conceded privately that one shouldn't complain about the lovely sight of bare legs, at least-and offered so readily.
"I received the book-or rather, the library received the book. It was only by chance I happened to read it-otherwise, I would have been completely offguard last night." Again her eyes were troubled.
"But no. Not at all. You have Gardella blood-Venator blood-and you have instinct. All born Venators do. The book surely helped you, but it was your own skill and innate abilities that came alive when it mattered."
Macey was shaking her head. She'd removed her close-fitting hat and set it on the sofa next to her. Her hair was a jumble of throbbing sly dark curls. "But that's the problem. I'm not a Gardella or a Venator. There's been a mistake."
"No, ma petite, there is no mistake. You are most definitely a born Venator. You've been having the dreams, no?"
"Dreams?" Her expression was arrested. "What sort of dreams?"
"About vampires. Being chased or attacked by them. Every born Venator has a series of those dreams when it is time for them to be Called."
"I..." Her eyes were huge and her lips slightly parted. "Yes. But that doesn't mean I'm a Venator. I was reading that book and it put me in mind of the vampires." She glanced at Chas, who, for once, actually seemed interested in something other than his own bloody needs.
"You are a Venator," Sebastian told her again, holding her with his eyes-but without his thrall. "There is no doubt. You look so much like Victoria Gardella, there can be no denying it-even if I wasn't already certain." She opened her mouth to speak, but he continued, "Do you know what happened to your parents?"
Those deep, dark eyes fastened on him. "You wouldn't ask if you weren't aware they're both dead. So you must know my mother died of a blood disease when I was a baby, and I-my father sent me away." Her voice became clipped and flat. "Then died in the war."
"I knew your father. He was the infamous Max Denton, my darling. Known throughout Europe as a fearless Venator of great skill, named after his great-grandfather. He certainly did perish in the Great War, but not on the battlefield, regardless of what you might have been led to believe. He was an assassinator of vampires and was quite instrumental in bringing about an end to the war. Unfortunately, that was his final mission. And as for your mother..." Sebastian reached over and closed his fingers over her slender hand. "A blood disease was a kind way of saying Felicia Denton died at the hands of a team of vampires, bent on avenging the work of your father. They kidnapped her and...well, I'll spare you the details. But suffice to say, your father was devastated. I've never seen a man so destroyed, yet still alive. He was never the same after, and he did indeed send you away-to protect you."
She stared at him, her mouth half open, her eyes wide with confusion and disbelief. The pulse drummed in her slender neck, her skin a soft, dusky rose. Sebastian swallowed hard and forced his attention from the temptation of her throat and the delicate blue vein therein. Her expression hardened, and she pressed her lush lips into a hard line. "To protect me? If he was an-what did you call him?-'infamous vampire hunter,' why didn't he protect me himself?"
Sebastian hesitated, uncertain whether to explain and attempt to heal what was obviously a deep wound."Max Denton was no fool. He knew you must be well hidden, and he dared not visit or have any contact with you for fear the undead would find you. It took me more than ten years searching throughout Europe and America to find you, and I was aware of your existence."
Her hard, skeptical expression didn't ease, and Sebastian felt as if his chance was slipping away the slightest bit of encouragement.She was shaking her head. "I don't believe any of this. It's...I'd say you were completely looney if I hadn't seen a-" She glanced over at Chas and drew in a deep breath. Then exhaled. "Vampire. Last night."
"Get used to it. You're going to see a lot more of them." He handed her a glass, leaning his hip against the sofa behind her. "You'll become intimately acquainted with every aspect of the undead. The smell of musty, putrid ash will permeate your clothes and hair, and you'll have to determine how to keep a stake hidden on your person at all times." Chas's eyes glinted as they skimmed over her slim-fitting skirt and blouse. "Unless, of course, you elect to refuse your Calling."
By God. It took great effort for Sebastian to keep from taking the man by his neck and giving it a good, sharp twist. Damn him. Macey Gardella couldn't refuse her Calling. It wasn't an option. Not for him. Not for his soul, and not for Giulia's. And God damn Chas Woodmore for bringing it up.
Instead of hurting the man, Sebastian sipped calmly from the golden liquid. Yet, as warm and lush and smooth as it tasted, whiskey was a poor substitute for what he truly wanted. He closed his eyes and swallowed, touching the vis bulla through his fine linen shirt. The answering sizzle calmed him.
"My Calling. You mean...to be a Venator?" Macey looked up at Chas, who loomed over her like a dark shadow. "You can't be serious. I'm not a vampire hunter."
"You slayed one last night, without any training-and without the protection of a vis bulla." Sebastian kept his voice steady and easy, allowed his eyes to soften warmly. He was very skillful at coaxing a woman to do what he wished-even without his thrall.
"Vis bulla. That was mentioned in the book-the strength amulet the Venators wear. Was George Starcasset a Venator too?"
"Good God, no. Which is why, incidentally, there are many incorrect assumptions and missing facts in the book. I don't believe your great-great-grandmother is even mentioned. In fact, Starcasset barely escaped with his life when Max Pesaro found out he'd written the treatise and meant to reveal the secrets of the Venators and vampires. That's why there are so few copies of it. They were all destroyed-or so we believed. Until Chas acquired one-and I'm not precisely certain how that happened. He's never felt obligated to share that minor detail."
Chas flickered a glance at him and lifted his glass in acknowledgement.
"Are you both Venators?"
"Of course." Chas leaned closer, his hand shifting on the sofa behind her shoulder as his voice dropped low and suggestive. "Would you like to see my vis bulla, Macey?" great-great-granddaughter of Victoriapa blood
Sebastian was familiar with that technique: if she were wearing a low-cut gown, he'd have an excellent view down the front. As it was, her buttoned blouse was a shallow vee-neck that showed only a hint of healthy cleavage.
"I..."
"Perhaps another time, Woodmore," Sebastian cut in. "And Macey will soon receive her own vis."