A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. When Macey turned on him, pretending to acquiesce to his invitation to enter The Silver Chalice before shoving him down the stairs, her expression had been very much like one Victoria would have worn: determined, annoyed, and more than a little arrogant.
The arrogance, Sebastian acknowledged as his smile faded, would have been Max Pesaro's contribution to the family line.
"Since we can't be certain when-or whether-to expect Macey Gardella, perhaps it would be prudent for both of you to venture out into the day to determine whether Count Alvisi is aware that he's lost one of his Guardians. "
"How do you know it was Alvisi's and not Nicholas Iscariot's?" asked Temple. "Or both?"
Chas snorted. "Alvisi and Iscariot hate each other. They wouldn't cooperate on anything-even this. "
"So you'll visit the club to see if there's any news?" Sebastian said to him.
"It would be my pleasure. " Chas was already at the door.
Chapter FOUR
~ The Grim Reality of Day ~
Macey didn't expect to sleep. But she must have done so, for all at once, she opened her eyes and found bold, hot sun streaming through the window.
The events of the night before were uppermost in her mind, and she realized she was still holding the stake. As she looked down at it, rolling it in her fingers, a chill washed over her. I killed someone with this.
I took a life.
Macey squeezed her eyes closed and tried to block the memories of the attack, of the pinkish eyes and grasping hands, the pain. . . the desperation as she lashed out. When she opened them, once again her attention fell on the stake. She saw for the first time that there was no blood on the jagged end.
She'd driven it into flesh, and there was no blood? A deep, violent shiver took her by surprise. As if it were happening again, she remembered the feeling: shoving that slender wooden pike down through clothing, into skin and muscle and organ. There'd been a brief resistance at first, and then, with a little pop! the point slid down deep with sickening ease.
It was like stabbing butter. Macey swallowed hard and looked at the stake again. Clean.
Something shiny drew her attention to the window. The rosary, its holy beads glinting in the light, was still arranged carefully on the windowsill. Whether it had worked for the rest of the waning night as a protective barrier, she'd never know, but Macey decided it was staying there for the foreseeable future. If there was any truth to the stories in The Venators, holy objects would repel the undead.
The nagging ache on the side of her neck had Macey rising from the bed on shaky legs. She tottered to the mirror and examined the image reflected there. Her curly jet-black hair was a wild, tousled mop with its blunt ends brushing her chin, covering her ears, and leaving her long, slender neck bare and exposed. Crusty red rivulets curved over the shape of her throat and down over her chest, and she closed her eyes for a moment, grateful it had mostly stopped bleeding.
Didn't people die from vampire bites? Her eyes opened then, wide and large in a pale face as she stared at herself. Zst7Tr
"No," she told the reflection firmly. "There are no such things as vampires. " Then her shoulders sagged. "Except the one I killed last night. " She still couldn't believe it.
It was impossible.
But it had happened. She had four puncture marks in her neck and an ash-tinged apartment to prove it. And as if that wasn't enough, the musty, foul smell still lingered, leaving her to wonder if it would ever go away.
Someone rapped loudly at the door of her apartment. Macey whirled, heart pounding. Then she drew in a deep breath. A vampire wasn't going to be knocking on the door of her apartment. Especially in the light of day.
"Macey? Are you in there?" The knocking became more insistent and the vocal tones sharper. "I'm sure I heard you moving around in there. Macey?"
Her landlady, Mrs. Gutchinson, was not only stubborn, but filled with a sense of entitlement in regards to knowing the comings, goings, and habits of her tenants. "I'm coming, Mrs. G. " She yanked on an old flannel robe, wrapping the collar high around her neck so as to hide the vampire wounds.
Holding the robe tightly in place, she opened the door to find her landlady peering at her from behind thick glasses. All sharp angles and gangly limbs, Mrs. G stood on the landing of the stairs looking like a near-sighted scarecrow wearing a housedress. "There you are. " She arranged herself so as to see behind her tenant and into the one-room apartment, her large-knuckled hand grasping the edge of the doorway.
Macey knew from experience if she moved even a smidge to one side of the entrance or the other, despite her arthritic hip, Mrs. Gutchinson would breeze right into the room faster than a breath of fresh air.
"Where else would I be on a Saturday morning, Mrs. G?" She hoped the odor of exploded vampire flesh wasn't noticeable. Not that the old woman would recognize it, but the last thing she needed was her landlady thinking anything unusual was going on in her apartment.
"I didn't see you last night," Mrs. Gutchinson replied with a note of accusation. "When they came and evacuated us. "
"Evacuated you?" Macey blinked.
"Yes. Overnight. "