The Rest Falls Away

Max drew himself to his imposing height and looked down his long, narrow nose. He truly was magnificent, Eustacia thought fondly. 'Your offer of assistance is appreciated, Miss Grantworth, but I believe I will be able to handle three vampires without putting you at the risk of tearing your skirt or losing your bonnet. And, alas, it would be no virtue if you mistakenly staked a night watchman or a—what is the name—a Runner.' He drew on his cloak and from its depths pulled out a wicked-looking black stake. 'When you've had a little more practice, and received your vis amulet, I am sure you will find yourself on your own patrols.'

With that, he gave a little bow and swept from the room.

Eustacia was almost dreading turning back to her niece—knowing exactly what she would see on her face and in her posture. What had gotten into Max? He wasn't one to mince words, true, and from the expression on his face, he was worried about more than three unexceptional vampires… yet he had been more acerbic than usual with Victoria.

It was almost as if he wanted to discourage her from pursuing the work.

Perhaps that was it. Perhaps he didn't feel she was prepared for her role.

Eustacia reached absently to stroke Victoria's shiny black hair. She felt the same hesitation about exposing her beloved niece to the evil in the world… but at this time, she didn't have any choice.

Victoria had been Chosen, and she'd accepted her fate.

Now they would have to trust that she would succeed.

Two days after Maximilian swept from the room, setting off to fight vampires, Victoria had contrived an excuse to miss an afternoon of making calls in favor of visiting her great-aunt.

Today was a most important day: She had passed her test by staking her first vampire, and she was to receive her vis bulla.

Now here she was, about to take the last step toward her destiny. Victoria and her aunt were in a small room on the first floor of the Gardella home. The windows were draped with heavy curtains, and the furnishings were spare and simple, except for a tall cupboard at one end of the room. It was as high as Victoria's forehead, bearing ornate carvings along the edges of the two doors that shuttered its contents.

Candles burned about the room, and small pots resting above the heat of the flames simmered herbs and water, releasing the scents of verbena and myrrh into the air. A large crucifix hung on one wall, simple yet commanding. It was made of two long pieces of wood fitted together, but with no other ornamentation. A long table held haphazard stacks of old books along with some jars and pots of herbs, oils, and other items Victoria could not identify.

'The vis bulla is the most critical tool to a Venator's success,' Aunt Eustacia told her as she sat in her large, cushioned chair. It was the only piece of furniture that looked comfortable. 'Today, as you accept yours, you also accept your destiny of belonging to the Gardella Legacy. You devote your life to the work of eliminating the evil of the undead from this earth, protecting mortals from the persistent creep of Satan and his followers. Upon your acceptance, Victoria, you must understand—there is no turning back.'

'What would happen if I decided not to accept the vis bulla?'

Eustacia stilled, looking at her with sudden, sharp eyes. 'Is that what you wish?'

'No, Aunt. I have made my decision. I will accept the Legacy. But I wondered what would happen.'

Her aunt seemed to relax. 'If you chose not to go further, you would undergo a ritual in which your mind would be wiped clean of all knowledge you've received heretofore, and you would lose any and all innate skill or sensitivities you have for being a Venator—skills that you were born with, that merely remained dormant until the dreams came. Those skills and inherent sensations would be given to another.'

'Has anyone ever done such a thing?'

'Indeed, yes. Many times over the years a young man—and in a few cases, a young woman—chose to return to a life of ignorance.'

'And they know nothing about this? Nothing they would see or hear would trigger their mind and make them remember?'

'Nothing. It is to protect them as well as to protect us.'

'Is there… is there anyone I know who was Chosen, but did not accept the vis bulla?'

'Yes, Victoria. Your mother was one such person. And because she chose not to fulfill the Legacy, her powers were passed on to you.'

'My mother?'

Eustacia nodded. 'Si. She had met your father and had fallen in love with him during her debut season when the dreams began to come. When the time came for her to make her choice, she chose your father.'

'Are there any… repercussions for one who is Chosen and does not accept the Legacy?'

Eustacia took Victoria's hands in her frail, cool ones. 'The only consequence is lost knowledge, and the fact that the powers and instincts will pass on to a descendent. And the powers passed on will be multiplied by the number of generations who have chosen to deny the Legacy. In your case, you are the third in a line of people who have not accepted the Legacy, so it is probable that you have great skill and instinct within you.'

'The third generation? My mother and who else? Who ignored the Legacy and allowed it to be passed to Mother?'

'My brother. Your mother's father, Renald. I was already Chosen when Renald had the dreams. It was very unusual for two people so closely related to be called at the same time. But my brother chose not to accept the task, and then your mother did the same. And so now we are here. You and I, Victoria. The only Gardellas who are directly of the Gardella line. The rest are from far-flung branches of the family. Their powers are more diluted than ours. And there are even some Venators who are not blood-related to us and have chosen at their peril to be Venators.

'Those who are not Chosen by divine order, as we of the Gardella family are, but who choose, must complete great and dangerous tasks… and even then there is no certainty that they will be able to accept a vis bulla. But once they acquire their vis amulets, they are just as powerful as we are. It doesn't make them any less skilled than we are, but since we are of the original family, we carry the heaviest burden.'

'Are we the only Venators?'

'Throughout the entire world, there are perhaps one hundred Venators, and at this time, you and I are the only living women Venators. And there are thousands upon thousands of undead, and their numbers grow every day, at will. We can never take our ease in this battle, for once we relax our guard, they will surge into strength and power. That is why I called Max here from Venice, for with London being Lilith's stronghold now, I knew we needed more support. The other Venator who had been here in England was killed three months ago.'

'Is Max a Gardella? Is he a real Venator?'

Eustacia speared her with her eyes so sharp that Victoria nearly stepped backward. She had never seen such a fierce expression on her aunt's face. 'Max is more of a Venator than you are, Victoria. He chose this path at great peril, and he is at this time the most powerful of the Venators… after myself. Yes, I am called Ilia Gardella, and you will be too someday when I am gone. But I… my arthritis and age keep me slow. It is only his lack of Gardella blood that keeps him from being the Chosen one, the head of the Venators—the most powerful one of us all. Someday it will fall to you, Victoria.'

Her face gentled. 'Now, my dear, if you have had enough of your curiosity assuaged, perhaps you would bring me the book from the cabinet.' Her perpetually curling finger, the one part of her body that visibly betrayed its age, jabbed toward the mahogany cabinet standing against one wall in her private salon.

Victoria went to the slick breakfront and carefully fit in the tiny key that her aunt usually wore on a strong gold chain about her neck. Click, click, clunk… the key turned and the lock tumbled open.

She had never gone to the cabinet on her own before, and had certainly never been given the key to unlock it. She realized she was holding her breath when she pulled both doors open as if she were the butler, sweeping a clique of guests through a set of French doors into the dining room for dinner.

Inside the cabinet, on its gently inclining display, rested an old book. The Holy Bible.

It was heavy, with gilt-edged pages that shone stubbornly despite its age. The leather corners were creased