“No one has lived here for more than one hundred forty years,” Michalas told her, examining the crevice where the tree trunk thrust through. “Apparently the marchese had a secret laboratory where he and some of his fellow alchemists conducted their experiments. He claimed he was about to unveil the secret of transmutation after two more nights of work in his workshop, but he disappeared that very night. The laboratory, which presumably contains the results and remnants of his experiments, has remained locked since his disappearance.”
Victoria looked thoughtfully at the broken wall. “I don’t suppose he was turned into a vampire,” she said, a note of humor in her voice.
Before Michalas could reply, they both stilled. “Speaking of the bloody creatures,” he murmured, sliding a stake from his belt. Victoria followed suit and they looked at each other, then waited.
She felt the brush of cold air over the back of her neck, raising the prickles of awareness that always accompanied the presence of an undead. “It’s back there,” she said, gesturing to the wall. “Behind the wall.”
Michalas nodded, and they moved toward the crack in the enclosure. “First or last?” he asked.
“First,” Victoria said, pleased he hadn’t tried to keep her behind. Some of the male Venators, particularly the younger ones who hadn’t fought beside Aunt Eustacia, still had to be reminded that she was as capable—more so, in fact, due to her dual vis and direct Gardella lineage—as they in defending herself.
Despite that, Michalas had to help her through the crevice when her wide-legged trousers, designed to look like a skirt, got caught on a low branch. He followed behind her.
The sensation at the back of her neck was getting stronger, so she knew they were going in the right direction. The sun’s last gasp of light was disappearing rather quickly, and it was too dark on the other side of the wall to see any details of the overgrown terrain. Tall, skeletal trees mingled with thick bushes, and the tangled brown-leaved vines and brush of a long-forgotten garden left little room to pass.
Michalas pointed to the remnant of a pathway marked only by a smattering of stones. It was a pale streak in the dark, and nearly obstructed by tall grass that had fallen over it through the years. They were silent as they moved along the old trail. Victoria found herself peering ahead in the direction she expected the villa to lie, somehow assuming she’d see lights or other illumination, but knowing that there would be none. It was just odd to have a large estate in the middle of a city, empty and unused. This would never occur in London.
The sensation at the back of her neck was growing stronger; Victoria knew they were close when they came upon a lower stone wall that appeared to bisect the estate, separating the back, with its more natural gardens, from the front, where the villa, stable, and more formal gardens would lie.
She sensed three or four of the undead nearby, perhaps just on the other side of the wall. She and Michalas either needed to find a gate or another way over it.
She silently grabbed Michalas’s arm to get his attention and showed him four fingers, now barely visible, backlit by an anemic moon. He nodded and pointed to a large gap where the two walls should have connected—a space they could easily walk through.
But as they moved toward it, Victoria heard the sound of rusty metal: a gate, opening and clinking back into place. She and Michalas waited for a moment, then began to creep silently toward the undead.
Eight red eyes glowed in the darkness, and they appeared to be talking excitedly among themselves; probably planning where and when to stalk the victims for their evening feed. She hated to interrupt their dinner plans, but…she lunged from the covering of a pine tree, the needles brushing over her cheek, her stake raised.
The element of surprise allowed her to stab one of the undead before the others realized they weren’t alone. When her stake plunged through to the creature’s heart, he froze, then poofed into the malignant pile of ash and dust that was the final result of a life of damned immortality. Michalas was just as quick with his weapon, and it was really too simple for both of them to dispatch the other three vampires with barely the flicker of an eyelash or a disruption of breath. They were easy targets—taken by surprise as they were, and, from the looks of them, had not been undead for very long.
When she’d stabbed her second and final vampire, Victoria stopped, silent and still for a moment. The back of her neck was no longer cold and prickling, so she slipped her stake back into the deep pocket of her man’s coat.
“They came from this way,” Michalas said, starting off into the darkness.
Victoria was glad to follow. One could hardly call that brief skirmish a battle—she could have done it in full court dress, without Michalas. Perhaps they would find something more interesting if they continued.
She finally saw the shape of the villa, rising wide and dark in front of them, just past the lower gated wall through which the vampires had come. It was dark as a tomb, large and black and quiet.
“It must be here somewhere,” Michalas said from the darkness. She realized he was walking along yet another wall, this one angling off from the shorter one and stretching into the darkness, toward the back corner of the villa.
“What?”
“La Porta Alchemica,” he said as she joined him. “The Door of Alchemy—the door to Palombara’s laboratory. I’ve not seen it, but I’ve heard about it.”
“It’s too dark,” Victoria said, peering up at a particularly overbearing pine that obliterated every bit of residual light from the moon. “I don’t know how we’ll find it.”
Michalas tsked. “If only we had some source of light…Why does Miro not invent something practical like that for us? How many times have I wished for something that I could turn on or inflame at a moment’s notice. We spend so much time in the dark and cannot see. All the fancy weapons he spends his time on—pah! An ash stake is all I need. Or perhaps a little bit of something that could be set to explode at will.” His smile flashed at her.
Privately, Victoria agreed with him that the best weapon was a stake, but since the Venator weapons master was working on a special garment for her, she felt it would be inappropriate to complain.
“Eh, perhaps this is it. Feel here,” Michalas said.
She moved next to him and felt around the great stone lintel that framed a massive stone door set into the wall. The moon peeked out from behind the trees and clouds just enough to illuminate the smooth white door and the shadowy carvings on it and its frame.
“It’s locked with three keys, and I understand it cannot be opened without all three of them,” Michalas told her. “This must be it. Feel the round disk in the center? And the carvings on it? There are more carvings on the lintel, and legend has it that the symbols and words there are taken directly from an alchemical journal that came into the possession of Palombara before he disappeared.”
“Do these symbols contain the secrets to immortality, then?” she asked in a wry voice, feeling the moss and dirt beneath her fingers as she felt the crevices of the carvings.
Michalas was moving around in the dark behind her now, back in the direction from which they’d come. Suddenly she heard the unmistakable sound of him tripping and then the “Oof!” when he fell.
Even Venators, apparently, had moments of gracelessness.
“By the bloody rood,” swore Michalas quietly.
“What is it?” she asked, coming toward him where he crouched not far from the gate through which the vampires had passed.
“You…perhaps you don’t want to see this,” he said, straightening and turning as if to block her view. “Eh, it is not a pleasant sight.”
Remembering the carnage she’d seen at Bridge and Stokes, a private club in London, Victoria shook her head. “What is it?”
She nearly stumbled over them herself in her effort to show she wasn’t hesitant. There were four of them. She could barely make out the details in the low light, but she could see enough.
Still clothed. One in a dress. The other three in breeches and shirts.
Humans.
Headless.
Just like Aunt Eustacia.
The memory shot into her mind. Blood everywhere.
Victoria took a deep breath, closed her eyes. Her heart was slamming hard. Her stomach roiled, but she managed to keep from losing control. She waited a moment, swallowing hard. “What are they doing? Why cut off their heads?”
“They were taking them somewhere, probably out of the estate.”
Victoria looked at Michalas. “No coincidence that there’s a pile of beheaded animal carcasses nearby. Let’s go see if…if there are other bodies there. But…we can’t leave them here.”
“No…eh…shall we bring them somewhere outside these walls so they’ll be found? So perhaps they’ll be identified? I’ve not heard any reports in the city about finding headless corpses,” Michalas added. “I’ve a cousin who works with the polizia, and he tells me of all the goings-on.”
“But why take off their heads? They’re vampires,” Victoria asked again, if only to keep her mind from thinking about the morbid task at hand. They certainly couldn’t leave the bodies; Michalas was right.
In the end they moved the four corpses and left them in a small courtyard several blocks away from the Palombara estate. Michalas would suggest to his cousin that he might wish to investigate that particular viuzza, and then the police could at least attempt to find the families of the victims.
By the time they completed the task of moving the bodies, Victoria was filthy and bloody and quite nauseated, but she still wanted to see the pile of animal carcasses, so Michalas took her to where he’d found it, which was only two streets away from the broken wall of the estate.
The pile was still there, in the darkest corner of an overgrown courtyard behind a half-burned-out apartment. She had no idea how Michalas had ever come upon it.
According to him, the pile was larger now. Rotted. The stench was stomach-turning. And it was composed only, as far as they could tell, of dogs and cats, perhaps a wolf or two.