“And you needed me to help you.” She followed him, shifting out of his way when he reached to close the door behind them.

“Well, it might get a bit messy, and you know how I deplore drawing blood or exploding ash.”

Her lips quirked in a smile as she looked around the room. There were no torches in here but she was able to discern more than shadows and shapes in the darkness before a tiny light flared to life in Sebastian’s hands.

“Using the little light sticks Miro created, I see,” she commented. “Do you carry them in your boot heel as Max did?”

“If I had,” he replied, lighting a sconce near the door, “they’d be wet and sloppy after slogging through that mess. I did have the foresight to keep them in a dry place, my dear Victoria. Much as it might surprise you that I think ahead—”

“Oh, there’s no doubt that you think ahead, Sebastian— usually about where to disappear to when things get dangerous.” And that was why, even though she knew he was a Venator, Victoria couldn’t quite trust him. He’d been too unreliable in the past.

As Victoria scanned the dark chamber, she saw the influence of the monks in the simplicity of what must have been some sort of main hall. The floor was uneven beneath her feet, and she could see some old furnishings— broken chairs, an upended table—near one end, as though they’d been tossed there during a bout of cleaning. Other than that, the room was empty but for a few tattered tapestries hanging from the wall, and a dozen scattered stones. The walls were the same charcoal and black shade as the sewer tunnel, slate discolored by years of dirt and smoke. There were, of course, no windows, and only a small fireplace that must have some sort of chimney. There was only a single door, this one made of stout wood, beyond the one through which they’d come.

She followed him as he made his way across the abandoned room toward the door. And just then, the ruffle of a chill slipped over the back of her neck. Victoria readied her stake. Perhaps the place wasn’t as abandoned as it appeared.

Sebastian didn’t have to unlock this door and, when it cracked open, Victoria wasn’t surprised to see a warm glow of light bleeding through. The chill on her neck had intensified slightly, yet she didn’t think the undead— perhaps one or two of them—were in close proximity.

“Are you going to tell me what you’re looking for before the vampires appear?” she asked.

“Perhaps. It may take a few moments. I’m not sure exactly . . .” Sebastian said this as he prodded the door open further, and Victoria saw a much more inviting setting than the chamber behind them. Though it might not be as comfortable as a parlor in St. James, with its upright chairs, tables covered with a variety of objects, and several torches, this smaller space was obviously occupied. Or had been recently, if the bundles of clothing and blankets littering the room were any indication.

Victoria followed Sebastian in, closing the door behind her to act as a warning for new arrivals—undead or mortal—as much as to keep the warmth and light contained within. Now that she had stepped inside, the first thing that struck her about the chamber was the smell permeating the air.

Blood.

Sharp, thick. Like iron.

Something hitched at the back of her throat, and her stomach lurched as she remembered being inundated with it—the taste, the odor, the heaviness on her tongue, the thick slide down her throat. Victoria gagged; yet even as she did so, her nostrils flared as though to drag in the smell, and saliva pooled in her mouth.

Her vision blurred, and a rosy haze filtered over the room as she forced herself to draw in a deep, blood-scented breath. Closing her eyes, she exhaled long and slow, pushing the smell away, then pulled in another breath, deep and easy. By this time, the sharp smell had softened and the nausea ebbed.

She opened her eyes. The red tinge was gone, and she stood steadier. The brush of chill at the back of her neck hadn’t changed, indicating the vampires weren’t yet in near vicinity. Looking over at Sebastian, she was gratified that he was too busy to have noticed her lapse. Or whatever it had been.

What had it been?

Tightening fingers that felt weak, she gripped her stake as if it were a talisman and walked toward Sebastian as he knelt at the base of a large stone chair in the center of one wall. With its dusty, torn cushions and white marble arms, it put her in mind of a masonry throne. Its white and red marble gleamed coolly in the light.

When she got close enough, she planted herself next to Sebastian, shiny muck still clinging to her boots. She looked down at the back of his thick, curling hair, watching the flex of shoulders beneath his coat as he worked. It wasn’t until she stepped aside that she saw he was unbolting the chair’s two front feet from the floor.

They weren’t really bolts, she realized when he handed them up to her, but more like thick stone plugs that had been fitted through the clawlike curls of the marble feet and down into the stone-and-dirt floor. Cleverly designed caps on the bolts, when sunk into place, camouflaged them as part of the chair’s design.

“The chair must hide something Beauregard told you about,” Victoria said, rolling the finger-width cylinders in her palm. As they bumped together with a dull clunk, she realized the heavy bloodscent was threatening her again. She shook her head sharply, and concentrated on breathing steadily as the feeling passed.

“As usual,” he muttered as he pulled gracefully to his feet, “you surprise me with your insight. If I thought we had the time, I’d kiss you senseless right here. Or perhaps”—he grinned lasciviously, glancing at the behemoth chair—“we could find other uses for this.”

Victoria stepped back as though to put herself out of his reach, then felt ridiculous for doing so. He noticed, and although his smile remained fixed, the jest faded from his eyes. “Well then, since that’s not your preference, let us see what lies behind this bloody thing.”

Despite the great weight of the stone chair, it was easy for Sebastian, who of course wore the vis bulla, to move on his own. With a dull, gritty scrape, he shoved it aside so that he could approach the wall against which it had stood. Victoria heard his small sound of satisfaction just as the chill on the back of her neck exploded into a blast of cold.

“They’re coming,” she said, spinning around to face the door from which they’d entered. “Two or three, I think. I’ll take care—”

But her words strangled in her throat as Sebastian leaped into place beside her, stake in hand.

An odd thing. So odd, after their debates time and again about the finality of sending a vampire to his death—to eternal damnation—and how Sebastian refused to be the one to pass such judgment on the creatures. So odd to see him holding a stake, ready to use it, instead of running the other way.

It was almost like being with Max.

The chill intensified and was now accompanied by deep, guttural voices just beyond the door. Sebastian whispered, “Get them before they see that the chair is moved.”

Victoria was only too happy to oblige. She was waiting when the first undead stepped through the door, and the element of surprise along with the fact that he was turning to speak to someone behind him made it easy to turn him into a pile of ash.

His companions, a woman with long blonde hair and a man sporting a shiny head and a red beard, weren’t quite as easily dispatched. However, the element of surprise and Victoria’s quick decision to push between the two undead, back into the previous, darker chamber, at least brought the battle out of sight of the dismantled throne.

When she turned back to face the vampires, who had whirled after her, Victoria saw Sebastian emerge from the entrance behind them. The creatures rushed at her, fangs bared and eyes gleaming red, fairly glowing in this dark room.

She ducked and rammed her shoulder into the abdomen of the male in one smooth move, causing him to tumble over her spine and land with a thud on the floor. But his hand snaked out and grasped her ankle, tripping her as she slammed her stake at the female’s chest. The stake drove into the vampire’s shoulder instead of sliding easily into her heart, sending a shock along Victoria’s arm.

Just as she began scrambling to her feet, a soft poof sent the bald vampire into an explosion of ash. She glanced over at Sebastian in surprise—until now, she hadn’t been sure he’d really do it. She’d never actually seen him stake a vampire; when he killed Beauregard, she’d been too far gone to notice anything.

That left the female, and she began to back away, fear in her pale, gaunt face. But Victoria was too quick for her. Upright now, she started after her, following when the undead began to run. She had the extra moment when the creature had to pause to open the stone door leading to the small antechamber, and Victoria used it, leaping toward her.

They tumbled to the dirty floor, the vampire’s long, blonde hair tangling about them like a greasy net. Victoria rolled on top and raised her stake, but the undead grasped her wrist in midstrike and flipped them both over so that she had the upper position. Her fangs were extended, digging into the full flesh of her lower lip as she struggled to force Victoria’s hands to the ground behind her.

The odd rosy haze was beginning to feed into the corners of her vision when a shadow loomed above. The vampire jerked, and then the pressure on her wrists was released. A cloud of ash showered over Victoria, sprinkling her mouth and nose with the dusty, decayed smell.

Victoria jumped to her feet, shooting a glance at Sebastian. “Now that you’ve decided to slay vampires, you’ve really committed to it,” she said, not quite successful in keeping all of the annoyance from her voice. “I didn’t need your assistance.” She spit out a mouthful of dust as she brushed the rest of it from her face and shoulders.

“Oho, so that’s how it is. Shall I never please you? For months, you disparage my disinclination to slay vampires . . . and now that I’m doing so, you rebuff me. Tsk, tsk, Victoria. I thought that you, of all women, would not be fickle.” He turned and walked back toward the comfortable room.

Victoria resisted the urge to tell him that it wasn’t that he was staking the vampires; it was that he’d interfered when she hadn’t needed him to. Max would have stood and watched, criticizing her technique all the while, but only stepping in if things got out of hand.