There were no other men in sight. Presumably the club members had taken themselves off… or were lying unconscious somewhere in the back. Phillip was nowhere to be seen.
Victoria flipped herself over the balcony rail, landing as planned on top of two vampires. They tussled on the floor before she had the opportunity to stake one of them; then with a somersault, she rolled away and leaped to her feet. The clatter of metal on the ground drew her attention, and she saw that the Imperial's sword had fallen when Max staked him.
She snatched it up and, whirling back up and around, sliced the head off a Guardian in one swoop. He poofed and she turned toward Max, who was easily holding the three other vampires at bay. When Victoria came toward them, one of them saw her and spun around to dash out the
front door. She let him go in favor of checking the back rooms to make sure there weren't any other vampires—or victims. The back of her neck had become warmer, and she didn't expect to find any other undead.
She did find four gentlemen who'd obviously been playing faro before they lost the battle with a vampire or two.
Victoria had not seen the results of many vampire attacks; in her limited experience she had most often prevented them from happening. Even the driver of the hackney two nights ago had been fed upon, but not destroyed and mutilated as these four men were.
Her stomach twisted as she walked into the card room. Blood was everywhere, clogging the room with its brutal stench. Shirts and jackets were in shreds, chests and necks torn open as though a mad dog had terrorized the men with teeth and claws. One man's gaping wound still showed the twisted blue-gray of his veins and muscles in his scored-open neck.
Vampires had fed on them, but they had also destroyed them.
" 'Hell hath no fury…' "
Victoria turned. Max looked weary, and his swarthy face was as pale as its olive color would allow. Three dark stains dampened his black coat. He held a stake in his hand.
"I presume the woman you speak of is Lilith?" she replied, proud that her voice was steady.
"Calling her a woman is a bit of a stretch, but yes, I would say this is her message to us. "
"We got all the vampires except one who bolted. Are there any victims who can be saved?"
Max shook his head.
"Phillip?"
"He's gone. Sent home in my carriage, which no vampire will dare attack. Briyani knows what to do. He'll drive him around for a few hours before taking him back to St. Heath's Row. He was to give him some salvi; you'll be home before your husband, so you can tell him any story you like. " His voice was strained.
"Max, you look like you're going to fall over. "
"I've been worse. Let's get out of here before the Runners arrive. I don't want to have to clean their minds tonight too. "
They stepped out together into the starry, moonless night. It was peaceful and warm and the streets were nearly empty. There was nothing to indicate that a horror had just occurred in the narrow brick building behind them.
Chapter Twenty-three
In Which the Truth Corned Out
Max would not let Victoria see to his wounds. He snarled at her when she tried to pull his jacket off to look at them, so she gave up and settled onto the threadbare seat of the hackney they'd been forced to hire to get them home. The edge of the horizon had just begun to color with the faintest gray-yellow of approaching dawn. Victoria couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. No more vampires to deal with until the night.
Now all she had to handle was her husband.
Despite the fact that he was growing gray and breathing more shallowly, Max insisted that the hackney drop Victoria off at St. Heath's Row before taking him home. And he wouldn't even consider coming into her house to have his wounds—whatever they were—attended to. Thus, when she climbed down from the hackney, she told the driver where to take him—not to his house, but to Aunt Eustacia's—and gave him an extra shilling to make certain he got Max inside and into her aunt's care.
It wasn't until she walked up the steps to the entrance of St. Heath's Row that Victoria realized she was still garbed in men's clothing, and that what was left of her gown was still in Max's carriage. It wouldn't seem so odd to Lettender, the butler, that she would arrive home at dawn in a hired hackney… but to arrive dressed as she was would certainly be cause for some comment and curious looks.
However, she was the marchioness, and though the austere butler might look at her askance, he surely would not dare to ask any questions.
The biggest concern Victoria had at that moment was whether Phillip was home. She rapped on the door, knowing that the household was already up, although perhaps Lettender was still snoring in his back room. One of the underbutlers opened the door, and from the bored look on his face Victoria knew that she had arrived home before Phillip.
Thank God.
She walked past the young man as if it were an everyday occurrence that she should leave in a ball gown and arrive home in men's clothing, and hurried up the stairs to her chamber. Verbena stumbled to her feet when she walked in, her springy hair smashed flat on the same side of her face that had sleep marks.
"My lady! You are home! How is your arm?"