She took the opportunity to shift in her seat, arranging herself subtly, so that the small lantern light fell just so, cutting a swath of pale gold over the front of her gown. “I had to change in the carriage, remember? Into men’s clothing, because it was a men’s club, and of course I couldn’t enter dressed as I was.”

“My memory is perfectly clear; you needn’t review the details.”

“Then I’m certain you recall having to unlace my corset-”

“Victoria.” Now he looked away from the window. “What are you about?”

She couldn’t make out the expression in his eyes; they were muted by shadow. But by the set of his mouth, she knew he was angry. She knew how his eyes would glare, flat and black and cold.

“I’ve always wondered about something,” she continued as though he wasn’t looking murderously at her. “When I was undressing, and you were sitting shoved back in the corner, studiously looking out the window, or with your eyes closed as you claimed… did you peek?”

She heard what sounded like a stifled snort or strangled cough. Then… “Of course not.”

At that moment, the carriage eased to a halt, and Victoria realized in dismay that they’d arrived at Aunt Eustacia’s town house already. Max fairly leapt to his feet, looming like a full-winged bat in the small enclosure.

But although he stood in such a way that did not permit her to rise as well, he didn’t leave. Instead, he turned to face her, looking down from his half-stooped position. His hands moved to the wall above her head-a position of power that he must have felt he needed-and he looked down, his feet spread on either side of hers.

For the first time since they’d climbed into the vehicle, she could see his face clearly. Emotionless, sharp, closed. So empty it made her heart ache.

Her head tipped back, her neck cradled by the top of the cushion. Her fingers twisted in the shadows, burying in her thin, silky skirt, and her heart thumped audibly in her chest. At least, it was audible to her.

“Max,” she said. Whispered. Begged.

“I can’t, Victoria.” His voice was just as unsteady, but deep. And low.

“You won’t .”

“Don’t be a fool.” He’d regained control, and his words were clipped, cool. “You are obliged to do what’s right for the Venators-just as I am. And what’s right, Victoria, is for you to be with Vioget. A man who is your equal, who can stand at your side and doesn’t have to hide from the bloody queen of the vampires.”

“Max-” she began.

But he spoke over her. “Victoria, understand. You are the last of the Gardellas. You have to do what’s right for them, for the world. It’s your duty, your calling. You can’t ignore that because we”-here his voice dipped even lower-“spent the night together. I told you then, it changes nothing.”

“Coward!”

“Good night, Victoria.”

He snapped open the door and was out before Victoria could respond.

She pulled to her feet, suddenly frustrated to exhaustion. How could a man who did what he’d done, faced what he’d faced… made the decisions he’d made… be such a bloody coward?

Then all other thoughts fled as Max’s head came back around into the carriage. His eyes were fierce and dark as he reached forward to grab her by the arm.

“Victoria. Wayren’s gone missing,” he said, dragging her from the vehicle so quickly that she lost a slipper.

Victoria caught her balance once her feet were on the ground. At the same time as she assimilated Max’s words, she registered the fact that Sebastian and Kritanu, whose arm was curled up to hold something close to his body, were standing next to the carriage. All three of the men appeared tense and concerned.

“What?” she said sharply, ignoring the damp on her silk-stockinged foot. “What’s happened?”

Wayren was a woman of an indeterminate age-she looked older than Victoria, but much younger than Lady Melly, yet she’d been Aunt Eustacia’s friend and mentor for more than fifty years. The keeper of the Venator library, records, and many other secrets protected in the catacombs of Rome, she dressed like a medieval chatelaine and always carried a leather satchel that held many more books and manuscripts than could possibly fit.

She had been a source of information, advice, and guidance to the Venators for as long as anyone could remember. Yet no one knew very much about her.

“Inside,” Max said, looking around sharply, his hand over Victoria’s elbow. “Who knows what’s lurking about?”

Moments later they were gathered in the small study, and Kritanu, who was still a bit awkward with his missing hand, told them what he knew. He sat, his spry, seventy-year-old body straight, his wiry legs bent in their customary loose trousers, ankle stacked above ankle. The small burden he’d been holding outside was revealed to be a bundle of white feathers with a single beady eye peeking out. A pigeon.

“I have not seen Wayren today, but I thought nothing of it,” he said, glancing at Victoria.

When Wayren visited London, she took her own accommodations, their location unknown to the rest of them. She required her privacy and a place to study, but she often visited the house where Victoria and Kritanu-and, for the time being, Max-lived. “When Brim and Michalas received their summons back to Paris, they left straightaway. Max and I felt that you should be notified immediately, and Wayren as well. We sent a message to Wayren, and Max went to inform you.”

“You sent Myza?” asked Victoria, looking at the bird in his lap. “But she returned without a message?” Myza, one of the many pigeons the Venators used for communication, was the one Wayren preferred.

“No, Myza was not here at the time. That is how I know Wayren is in trouble, for Myza returned with the bird I sent. Her wing is injured.” He gently stroked the top of the pigeon’s head with one of his five remaining fingers. The quiet bird’s eye blinked and looked about sharply.

Victoria looked at Max for confirmation of her thoughts. He nodded, and she felt an uncomfortable chill descend on her. If Wayren’s pigeon was injured, it was likely she was also in trouble.

“Myza can lead us to where she is,” Max said. “If she can fly.”

Kritanu nodded. “Indeed, that is what Sebastian and I were discussing when you arrived home. The bird is hurt, but seems eager to leave, and I can only believe she wishes to take us to Wayren. She will be able to hop a bit, and I’ll help her.”

“We’ve also sent the other bird off with a message to catch Brim and Michalas and bring them back. They left under an hour ago, and could not have gone far,” Sebastian said.

“Good, but we cannot wait for them. It will take only a moment to change,” Victoria replied, then slid her glance delicately over to Max. “I’d prefer not to do it in the carriage.”

Max’s mouth quirked, but he didn’t smile. “Then be off and get it done.”

“What a shame,” Sebastian said as Victoria sailed past. “I rather like that gown.” But even he, the consummate flirt, still held worry in his expression.

Wayren missing, perhaps injured… this was something they’d never had to contend with before. She’d always seemed so protected, so above the violence and struggle in which the Venators were engaged. The idea that she, the wise, serene, ageless woman, had somehow fallen prey to some evil was unsettling.

True to her word, Victoria was quick to use Verbena’s assistance to change from her luscious red gown into clothing that was not only cooler, but also much less restrictive. Like Kritanu, she wore loose trousers, but of a dark brown color, and a man-style shirt she’d had made to fit her female curves. Her corset loosened, her slippers exchanged for heavier shoes, her person well armed, she hurried down the stairs, working her loose hair into a thick braid. She’d not wanted to take the time for her maid to do it; the sense of urgency had begun to grow.

“Mounts are being brought around,” Max said as she reached the bottom.

She nodded in agreement with his assumption. Following a hobbled bird would be much easier on horseback than in a carriage.

Outside, the air was still comfortable, and a wide swath of stars helped the moon light the sky. Yet threads of dark cloud threatened to creep over the half-moon and weave into the Milky Way, creating in her a sense of unease.

Kritanu elected to remain behind, partly because riding one-handed at the speed with which they hoped to move would be difficult; but also in the event that Wayren, Brim or Michalas should return or some other message arrive.

They started off, Myza being turned over to Max for assistance. The pigeon, whose eyes now seemed to burn with purpose, also acted as eager as the rest of them to be off and fluttered into the air ahead of the party. Lofting awkwardly into a low tree branch, the pearl white pigeon paused, then launched herself to another tree.

She flew a bit, then scuttled back toward Max, who caught her gently and held her until she was ready to fly again. As they made their way along the street of town houses, carriages rumbled by, bringing members of the ton to and from theater engagements, fкtes, and other events. Despite the hour, hacks and wagons transported members of the lower classes along with their wares, but as Victoria and her companions followed Myza, the streets became less populated, narrower, and more eerie.

They’d been following her stop-and-start rhythm for more than thirty minutes when Myza turned and fluttered back into Max’s large hand. She sat there, neck stretched up, head tilting, looking around, and Victoria found herself nudging her horse up next to them. Her leg brushed against Max’s as she maneuvered near him, watching the bird as she gave a soft, throaty coo.

Suddenly, the soft beat of wings and an answering coo announced the arrival of another pigeon. And then the clip-clop of rapid horses’ hooves as Brim and Michalas appeared from around a corner.

Myza and the new pigeon, who was called Thrush, seemed to be having some sort of avian conversation, and at once, the second bird flew up into the air and began to circle around them. Then it swooped down and nipped Max on the ear, fully gaining his attention and understanding. They would follow the uninjured pigeon, who would receive navigation from Myza.