Rises the Night

indication.

'But you did not get what you came for, did you?'

She looked sharply at him. He nodded delicately and smoothed a hand down the front of his shirtwaist. 'What do you mean, sir?'

'I had the pleasure of overhearing a portion of your conversation with our wonderful host.'

'Indeed?'

'How you wished to meet a real vampire.' He stepped closer, bringing lavender and… was that lemon?… with him.

'I should think it would be fascinating. Do you think they truly exist?'

'I know that they do. I have seen them.'

She widened her eyes and brought a girlish squeal from her lips. 'Truly? Where have you seen them? Are they dangerous? Have you been bitten?' She dropped her voice.

'I have. Would you like to see my scars?' He showed her, and true enough, there were four little marks on his neck. Rather recent, in fact.

'How? Where?'

'We have a little… group. We see the vampires and we spend time with them—only a few of them, mind you. Because we understand them, you see. They are the most misunderstood creatures I have ever met.'

'I can only imagine! People for years have thought of them as beasts. But they aren't, are they? Are they as romantic and dangerous as I have dreamed?'

'They are. And if you like, I can arrange for you to join us some evening.'

'I should be most grateful, Count Alvisi.'

He slipped something hard and flat into her hand. 'This will be your token of admittance. I shall notify you of the date and place.'

She looked down, already knowing what she would see. A Tutela amulet.

Most grateful indeed.

Chapter 10 In Which Lady Rockley Acquires an Acute Dislike of Lavender

True to his word, four nights later Count Alvisi sent a cryptic note to Victoria.

' 'I shall call for you in one half hour,'' she read aloud. Sending the note wafting onto her dressing table, she looked up at Verbena. 'It appears that I will be attending a meeting of the Tutela very shortly.' She looked at the small clock on her dressing table. 'At ten o'clock tonight.'

'I'll have Oliver bring word 'round't' your aunt whilst we get you ready,' the maid said, bustling toward the door. 'The man's been frayin' each one o' my nerves for the last day, lookin' for somethin' t' do. After I 'splained they're afraid o' silver, 'e got himself so worked up he locked hisself in his room, says he's gonna make a new weapon for fightin' vampires with.' She snorted, shaking her head as she slipped out of Victoria's room, then poked it back in to add, 'The man's never seen a vampire, so I don' know how he's gonna invent a way to kill one. He'll take one look at those red eyes and he'll be runnin' back to Cornwall wi' wet britches, where 'e belongs.'

The door closed behind her, and Victoria picked up the note again. Over the last several days she'd considered the best way to approach the invitation extended by the count. At one point she'd thought of having him followed so she could learn just where he went, and possibly discover the Tutela's meeting place on her own. She would have preferred going in on her own terms, possibly sneaking in, rather than having to wait to be escorted.

If she were escorted, she would have to play the role of the widowed Mrs. Withers and to remain with Alvisi during the entire time. If she could go alone, she might simply be able to watch unobserved.

But in the end she'd decided to wait for his invitation and go with the count. He would certainly be aware of the process, and if there were anything special one must do in order to gain entrance, he would know. Once she learned the location of the meeting, and how to get in, she could investigate on her own. After all, her goal was to find and assassinate Nedas.

Against her better judgment, she allowed Verbena to coif and dress her as though she were going to a social event. Her maid had protested when Victoria originally opted to dress in her loose split skirt and braid her hair in a simple braid.

'You should look as if you're goin' to a party,' she told her. 'Ye can't dress as if ye're huntin' vampires. And besides… the count prob'ly wants te show you off to the vampires! I'm sure ye'er prettier than any of the other women in the Tutela!'

'More dangerous too,' Victoria added, and succumbed to her maid's ministrations. She was quite certain that half of the reason Verbena insisted on dressing and coiffing her so particularly even when the event didn't call for it was because her sister was the lady's maid for the daughter of a duchess… and they were always comparing notes about their mistresses' gowns and jewels.

When Victoria came down the stairs a half hour after receiving the note from Alvisi, two stakes in her hair and another one affixed to the garter under her skirt, salted holy water in her reticule and in a small vessel attached to her other garter, along with a sheathed dagger, and a large crucifix tucked deep down betwixt her breasts where it would not be seen unless she wished it to, she interrupted a fierce, whispered conversation between Verbena and Oliver in the front parlor.

It was comic: The maid barely reached to his collarbones, but she appeared to be doing the talking, with him nodding silently but energetically down at her. Her carrot-red hair, frizzy and bushy, bobbed with her every movement, his darker, more auburn hair following in a slower rhythm. Her hands slapped together in some sort of emphasis, back hand into her palm with a loud crack; then she shifted into a single pointing finger.

'Has the count arrived?' Victoria asked innocently.

'Not yet, my lady,' Verbena responded, stepping away from her counterpart with one last glare. Perhaps she'd been lecturing him on using a crucifix instead of garlic for the best vampire repellent. 'But Oliver here will, I'm certain, be pleased to look out for you.'

Just then, the Italian servant who acted as a sort of butler for the small house they were renting slipped into the room and announced, 'The Count Alvisi, signora.'

It was apparent as soon as the count stepped into the small parlor that he had not brushed too close to a woman who had bathed in lavender the other night, but that he had been the one to douse himself. And as though he were trying to extend the scent in some sort of stylistic pattern, his silk shirtwaist was a lavender color… and the cravat tied neatly, if blandly, at his throat was lavender. And the gem that glittered in the center of it was… yes… a clear, pale amethyst.

'You look lovely this evening, Mrs. Withers,' the count told her, honest appreciation beaming in his dark eyes. 'In fact, you look lovely enough to eat!' He winked and gave a loud guffaw as he stepped forward to take her hand.

Victoria remembered herself, and that she had to play the role of a bold, crass woman—instead of a fiercesome Venator or a perfect Society woman—and managed a hearty enough laugh that her mother would have been mortified. She would remember that for the evening: If she did something that would cause her mother's jaw to drop askance or her lips to purse in annoyance, she would be acting just as she should—just as she imagined a woman who would be interested in meeting vampires because she found them fascinating and attractive would act.

'Shall we go?' asked Victoria.

'Indeed, signora. The carriage awaits.' He took her arm and they swept out of the room, shoulder-to-shoulder, elbow-to-elbow.

'I cannot believe I shall meet a real vampire tonight,' Victoria said once they were settled in the carriage. No sooner had the door closed than she wished fervently to crack a window in order to allow some of the lavender to escape.

Alvisi sat across from her, not as Sebastian would have, relaxing in the corner with an arm extended along the back of the seat, but on the edge of the bench, stiffly upright, hands clasped in his lap. He looked as though he