Unsurprisingly, Pesaro appeared eager for Phillip to drink his whiskey; so he obliged, but only if the cousin drank with him. It was when their glasses were nearly empty that he began to see signs of the other man's edges wearing down. His eyes drooped; his words came slower. Whether he was being poisoned or merely drugged, Phillip did not know… but whatever it was, the other man had attempted to foist it upon Phillip, so he felt very little remorse.
"You switched glasses," Pesaro said, his voice slurred and his eyes glistening with anger. "Damn fool. "
"It is only what you deserve. Why have you tried to poison me?"
"You do… not know… danger… Keep you… safe… Fool. "
He waited until Max gave up, his head slumping to the table. "Now I will find Victoria. " Phillip dropped a few coins on the sticky wooden planks and they clattered to a stop next to the man's half-curled fingers. Then he stood and walked away without looking back.
It was clear that his fiancee was not here, if she ever had been. He crossed the room, hurrying toward the stairs, lingering the pistol under his cloak.
Phillip couldn't wait to get out of this cloying, depressing place; he rushed up the steps, needing to breathe the clean night air. He had to clear his mind, which now had many more questions than when he'd arrived—including the reason Victoria's cousin would try to drug him.
When he reached the top of the stairs, Phillip heard heavy steps behind him. He turned and saw one of the patrons, large and pale-faced, stalking up the stairs.
Slipping through the door, Phillip was back in the night. He closed the door and turned to hurry away; but the man came through more quickly than he could have imagined. Suddenly he was right behind him, and Phillip felt hot breath on his neck… even though it was covered by his cloak, and the man was not touching him.
He turned, pulling the pistol from his pocket and pointing it at his stalker. They were standing in the middle of a narrow alley, and there was nowhere for him to run but back down the stairs to the Silver Chalice… or past the man who blocked the street entrance of the alley.
"Stay back, or I will shoot," Phillip warned, his finger tightening on the trigger. His aim was steady, his senses alive and singing even as a confident calmness flowed through him. He did not wish to hurt the man, but he would do what he must to protect himself… and find Victoria.
The man took another step forward and Phillip pulled the trigger, aiming for his shoulder. His aim must have been off; the man kept coming. His vision swam, and he felt an odd tightening in his chest, as if his lungs were not his own… as if someone else inflated and deflated them.
He could not look away, could not move away from the man coming toward him.
Something glinted red, but Phillip could not see it… it curled at the edges of his blackening vision. Phillip could not focus; he aimed blindly ahead, hoping for the man's chest, and pulled the trigger.
His attacker's eyes were burning an odd color… like glowing wine. He reached for Phillip, who tried to pull away, but the man had inhuman strength; Phillip could not shake him, could not dislodge his grip even slightly. And then something white gleamed in the dim light as one hand closed over Phillip's head, pulling it to one side.
Sharp white teeth, descending toward his neck.
"Why did you not tell Max about the protection on the Book of Antwartha?" asked Victoria. She stood fully across the room from Sebastian, in the same denlike chamber they had been in before—the one with a single entrance.
He looked up from where he was pouring two small glasses of something pale pink. The settee on which she'd sat before, and where he'd touched her vis bulla, bisected the space between them like the low stone fence that kept the sheep in their fields at Prewitt Shore. Victoria wasn't certain who was the fenced-in lamb and who was not.
"I wanted to see if you had kept our bargain," replied Sebastian, stepping toward her. Victoria moved so that the sofa remained between them, and reached across to take the glass he offered. She was careful not to allow their fingers to touch. "If he knew about it, it was because you had told him. "
"I kept our bargain, but he could have died without the knowledge. "
"But he did not, for he did not touch it. He knew. "
"I told him only to save his life. He didn't believe me. "
"His life is of such value to you?"
"Any life is of value to me. What is this?" She looked at the glass. The liquid pooled into a ruby color at the bottom of the tiny tulip-shaped vessel, but as the glass widened up, it became the palest of pink.
"Only a bit of sherry. Try it; I believe you will find it to your taste. " He raised his glass in a mock toast and tipped its entire contents down his throat. When he looked back at her, he nodded to th
e settee. "Have a seat, Victoria. "
"No, thank you. " She set the glass down and stepped farther away; now she was standing behind the settee and he in front.
"Are you frightened of me, Victoria?"
"What have I to be frightened of? I am a Venator. "
"Indeed. I wondered the same thing myself. In fact, perhaps it is I who should be wary of you. " He looked at her and held her gaze for a long moment. "Perhaps I should. " He broke away and swiveled to the table to pour another glass of sherry.