In the meantime, the safest place for it was in the pocket of her gown.
As she came down the stairs, Victoria heard the excited chatter of feminine voices in the parlor. She vacillated for a moment, considering whether she should ask for something to eat before joining the elder ladies, but her decision was made for her when she heard a high-pitched squeal from—it could only be—Lady Winnie, and the door opened as the other ladies chuckled in response.
“Victoria,” crowed the duchess. “Come and join us.”
“We feared you would lie abed all the day,” her mother added. “Come, sit, and let us tell you of our adventures last night.”
Victoria was swept into the elegant chamber and seated on the only uncushioned surface in the room: a straight-backed chair situated betwixt her mother and the duchess. Just where she’d prefer not to be.
Before the ladies had an opportunity to begin their interrogation, there came a rap on the parlor door, and then Giorgio stepped in.
“For the signoras,” he said, looking at Lady Melly and her two companions as he gave a little bow. And then he stepped back, and into the room came three more servants, each carrying a bouquet of flowers larger than the one before.
Victoria watched in amusement as the three ladies dug through prickly stems, fernlike leaves, and various colored petals to find each bouquet’s enclosed letter.
“For me?” Lady Winnie clasped the smallest collection of flowers to her ample bosom, burying her face in the beautiful lilies that carried their precious scent throughout the room. They were white with pink blushes down their centers, and when she pulled her face from their ivory petals her bulbous nose was streaked with yellow pollen. She didn’t seem to know or care, even when she began to sneeze violently enough that the poor lilies released more pollen into the air. “It’s from that lovely gentleman we met last evening,” she gasped, trying to catch her breath as she finished her explosive sneezing.
“So he did not come to call, but he sent flowers in his stead.” Melly, who was the recipient of the largest and most glorious of the flower arrangements, sniffed. It was made of roses of every shade of pink imaginable, and with a single white rose in the center.
“But he sent you the largest of vases,” Lady Nilly said, nearly hidden behind a profusion of pink gillyflowers and red tulips. “You most certainly must be the one who caught his eye.”
“But he did not come to call,” replied Melly, her long, slender nose still lifted in disdain. “I shall ensure that we are not home tomorrow in the event he should attempt to show his face,” she added, thrusting the massive vase at Victoria. “In fact, my dear, I believe you should accompany us to make calls.”
“Make calls? On whom?” Victoria asked, startled into paying attention by the large bouquet Melly had given her, and her mother’s imperious comment. “We know no one here.”
“You’ve been in Rome nearly six months, and you know no one here? That is abhorrent, Victoria. But it’s also not true. You know the Tarruscelli girls, of course.”
“Yes, indeed. That is all—”
“So you will go on calls with us tomorrow. And we none of us will be here if Alberto deigns to show his face.”
“His handsome face,” Winnie corrected her. “His very handsome face. Although he is a bit shorter than Lord Jellington. And bald. And he cannot spell ‘enchanted.’”
“Alberto?” squeaked Nilly. “He signed his name Alberto on your card?”
“He must be in love, Melly!” the duchess said, arching her brows. They were thick and wiry, and when she lifted them they looked as though they were trying to meld into one long, dark swath across her forehead. “He didn’t sign my card as Alberto.”
“What a lovely name.” Nilly sighed, clasping her skinny, blue-veined hands to her nonexistent bosom. “So Italian. So masculine! And the way one must roll one’s Rs when saying it…Alberrrrrrto. Alberrrrrrto.”
“Nonsense.” Melly broke in, Victoria noticed, only when the other two ladies seemed to have run out of raptures. “He was merely being kind. If he truly had developed a tendre for me, he would have come calling. At least Jellington knew enough to do that, although he certainly didn’t send flowers the first day after we’d met.”
Victoria had listened to enough of their prattle; her mother was always in raptures over some beau or another, it seemed. The obsidian chip felt heavy in her pocket, and curiosity about Max’s health weighed on her mind. And she wished to speak with Wayren about all that had transpired last night as well. “I must excuse myself,” she said, standing. “I have an appointment with my…my Latin tutor,” she added, thinking that Wayren wouldn’t mind being called thus.
“Latin tutor?” her mother replied in astonishment. “But Victoria, why on earth would you wish to read Latin?”
“So that I can better study the histories of Rome as they are written,” she replied primly, and, having made a quick curtsy, glided toward the door as rapidly as possible. “You ladies have a lovely day today. I do not know if I shall see you this evening for supper, Mama, for my tutor has invited me to dine with her.”
Victoria arrived at the Consilium late in the day, and the main chamber where the holy-water fountain glistened was empty and silent but for the sound of rushing water.
This was not unusual, for rarely were Venators at the Consilium unless there was a meeting or gathering of some kind. Most often there was no need for people to be there, and the fewer times Venators traveled to the Consilium, the less likely it would be discovered. Venators preferred to spend their time hunting vampires on the streets.
Even Wayren and Ilias were not always about, although they each had private apartments back in the depths of these catacombs. As well, Miro, Ylito, and the physician Hannever all had their own workshops nearby, in other parts of the underground property. But they rarely made an appearance in the main chamber or galleries.
Victoria was relieved that she was able to go immediately to the secret storage room near Wayren’s library. After all that had happened last night at the villa, combined with her haunting dream, she just wanted to make certain that the shard was still there, and safe. And she wanted to get the other, smaller piece hidden away before anyone else knew about it.
The fewer who did, the better. The safer.
Once inside the chamber Victoria closed the door, remembering last time when Max had sneaked up on her. After lighting a lamp on the table, she pulled the leather thong out of her pocket, the pendant dangling, jet black streaked with dark blue.
The shard she’d found still lay on the long, scarred wooden table where she’d left it. It didn’t appear to have even been moved, and for some reason that knowledge eased the deep-seated worry that had niggled at her since she’d awakened from her dream. The shard was safe, and now its smaller counterpart would be as well.
When she dropped the leather necklace onto the table, the two pieces of obsidian clinked dully, and a single blue spark between them startled her. A faint aroma like old smoke, blended with something putrid, reached her nose, but faded almost immediately, just as the spark died out.
Victoria picked up the leather cord and moved the pendant so that it wasn’t touching the shard any longer. Then, gingerly, she reached out to feel the bigger piece of obsidian. A sharp tingle zipped up her arm, blushing over her shoulder.
The feeling was similar to the sensation she experienced when she’d touched the smaller piece, but this was stronger, strong enough that she yanked her hand away. And she stared at the large splinter, sitting there like a chunk of black glass.
The shard looked like a weapon she would carry; it was ironic that the obsidian piece that exuded such malevolence was the same shape and size of an ash stake she’d use to destroy evil.