Rises the Night

'Callous? No, that thought never crossed my mind,' Victoria said. 'It was past time for Max to return to Italy, indeed. You and I are well able to handle any vampire threats here in London. Until tonight, I hadn't even seen a vampire since Lilith left.'

Aunt Eustacia reached over and patted Victoria's hand. Her gnarled fingers were warm, and their pads were soft and smooth. 'It's been a difficult year, cara, I know, and the last few months especially, as you've begun to receive some of your family's close friends and think about your return to Society. With all the questions about Phillip, and—'

'The most difficult part has been that I've had nothing to do!' Victoria heard her voice spiraling up into a wail, and she stopped. If Max were here, he'd make some sardonic comment about how good Venators couldn't let their emotions get in their way, citing himself as the perfect example of one who did not.

But… perhaps not. The last time she'd seen him, Max had said something that was high praise coming from him. He'd called her a Venator. As if he'd accepted her as his equal.

'It may be that you haven't had much to do in the last months,' her aunt said, 'but what you did in your first months as a Venator far surpasses what anyone could have expected. And after what happened… Victoria, you needed a rest. You need to let yourself heal.'

'I need to stake vampires. Not just one. More. I need to get back to work.' Victoria was on her feet, her heavy ink-colored skirt swaying. 'You cannot imagine how it is, Aunt! I sit in my black gowns, drab as a scarecrow, and do nothing all the day, unless Mother or her two friends come to visit. And then we speak of inane things. Of gowns, and jewels, of who's marrying whom, and who's fornicating with whose spouse. Apparently now that I am a respectable widow, I can be privy to these conversations.

'But outside of that, and a few other visitors like my friend Gwendolyn Starcasset, I hardly leave the estate. And I do not know when I will be asked to leave Phillip's home. The new marquess is in America, of all places, and has not responded to any of the letters sent by the solicitors. We do not know when, or if, he will be coming to claim the title and estate. I'm fortunate that Phillip had the foresight to settle quite a bit on me, or I would be forced to move back in with my mother.' She had paced over to the streetside window and looked out at the dreary, rainy streets. July was supposed to be green and pretty, not drab and gray.

'That might not be such a travesty, Victoria. At least you would not be alone.'

Victoria let the curtains fall back into place. 'Aunt Eustacia, how could I live with my mother—especially after what happened? Endanger her again? She knows nothing about my life as a Venator. She and the rest of London have no concept that vampires and demons actually exist! Besides, she will try to find me a husband again as soon as I am out of these widow's weeds. And after what happened with Phillip… well, of course I cannot marry again.'

'It seems to me that you could have been in half-mourning gray for months now, Victoria,' her aunt replied gently. 'A lovely pearl gray that will make your complexion look rosy and your dark eyes brighter. You are well past the year's mark of mourning. I think you are still wearing black only to keep your mother at bay.'

'Please, Aunt! You are beginning to sound like my mother. Let us talk about stakes and amulets and… and stopping the evil in this world—instead of gowns and fashions. I do not care if skirts are beginning to grow wider.'

'Victoria… you must have a care for yourself. You still grieve. Ignoring your loss will only make it worse.'

'Aunt Eustacia, I am not ignoring my loss. I want to avenge it. But there are no vampires here in London… at least, until last night.' She'd been so upset about the vampire who would not die that she'd missed the implication of last evening's events.

Perhaps the undead were returning.

And if the vampires returned, then she could learn where Lilith was… and how to get to her.

Rest? No, Victoria would not take her ease until she plunged her own stake into the fiery-haired vampire queen's heart. Or died trying.

Eustacia drew in a long, deep breath… then expelled it, slow, easy. She opened her eyes to find Kritanu watching her.

He sat on the floor, as she did. One of his ankles was behind his neck, the other leg stretched out in front of him. As she watched, he lifted the foot from his nape and brought it gently to the thin mat on which he sat, raised his wiry, ropy arms, and drew in a deep breath.

Eustacia straightened her own legs, dismayed to hear the soft click of muscle and tendon that hadn't been there only a year ago, and lifted her arms for a deep breath.

They did not speak until they were finished.

'Yoga should be relaxing and meditative,' he said, padding over in bare feet to sit next to her. 'Yet the worry did not leave your eyes.' His short, loose pants rose up to expose two muscular calves covered with blue-black hair. Not one white or gray strand stood out over his tea-colored skin anywhere, despite the fact that he had recently turned seventy-three. He could still position himself in the most difficult of asanas when they practiced yoga ... ones that Eustacia had long ago lost the flexibility for.

She still stretched and breathed, as Kritanu had taught her when they'd first begun to train together… oh, well more than fifty-five years ago. But she could no longer put her ankles behind her head, nor could she hold her folded body up on one flat palm, fingers splayed, as he could.

'It did not? And how would you know, if you were meditating as you should have been?'

'I was meditating upon the familiar face of mere humsafar, and I was dismayed by what I saw there.'

She smiled at him, and in the old way, as she had done when they were much younger, Eustacia drew his head into her cross-legged lap so she could look down at his face. Never mind that her knees did not touch the ground as they once had, and that her arthritic ankles throbbed with the weight of his head. It was familiar, and it was a comfort to touch him.

She replied, 'It is true. I have been able to concentrate on little else since Victoria's visit this morning. It cannot bode well that she found a vampire and a demon together, yet I fear I haven't the energy to determine what it means. The demon spoke of someone named Nedas as well: a familiar name, but one that I cannot place. Wayren will know.'

'At least it is not Beauregard who is making mischief.'

'Unfortunately, there is no reason to believe that. Nedas could be one of his followers, or even one of his rivals. If I were not cursed with the mind of a Strega, I should be able to recall who he is. And then there is the amulet that Victoria found… it fairly reeks of evil when I touch it.'

'I have been thinking on that as well as the worry in your face,' Kritanu said, looking up at her. 'The hound on it makes me think of the hantu saburos of the Indus Valley.'

Eustacia smoothed her hands along his wide jaw in an automatic gesture. 'The vampires who lived in caves and fed on animal blood?'

'No, mere sanam. The saburos in the stories I heard supposedly trained dogs to hunt humans and bring them back for them to feed upon. I do not know if there is any truth to the legend, but… the hound figure on the amulet reminded me of it. I do not know if it is worth mentioning to Wayren in your correspondence… but then, you have already sent it, haven't you?' He drew himself from her lap and smiled into her face. 'Of course you have. With the swiftest of pigeons, haven't you?'

'Wayren should have the letter in four days or less. I will send her another letter with your thoughts, however, as I have learned never to discount your impressions.'

'At least you have learned something in more than fifty years.'

They laughed together, a comfortable, close chuckle, their breaths mingling and their noses brushing.

When the humor faded from her face, Kritanu picked up her hand. 'And you are worried about Victoria.'

'Vero. She is like my daughter. The pain is still so fresh for her. And there has been all the gossip, all the pity for the new bride of the Marquess of Rockley, so shortly married, so soon a widow.'