The stake felt comfortable in her hand, but she did not withdraw it yet. She let her grip close around the wood, warm from her body, and waited, listening and feeling.

The chill on her neck edged colder, and she breathed the proximity of the vampire and the impending exhilaration of battle. Her heart rate picked up speed; her nostrils flared, as if to smell the presence of an undead.

At last, satisfied that she was alone in the chamber, Victoria drew the lamp forth. Shining it around, she saw the same scene of destruction that had greeted her months ago; but now her mind was not numbed by fear and apprehension. Now she saw the blackened ceiling beams, the splintered tables and broken glasses… perhaps she even smelled the faint tinge of blood in the air.

The lantern bobbed as she climbed over a fractured chair, and glass crunched like gravel beneath her feet. She was making her way toward the innermost, darkest part of the wall, hidden under a lowering ceiling. The growing sensation at the back of her neck told her she was moving in the right direction.

Sebastian Vioget had disappeared the night the Silver Chalice burned. Max had been there too that night, and he told Victoria he didn't know whether or not Sebastian had escaped from the fire; and she knew that he didn't give a whit what had happened either way.

Victoria knew she shouldn't care either… but she had not been able to forget the bronze-haired man who welcomed vampires into his establishment. He'd once told Victoria that it was better to know them and to offer them a place where they might find ease, where their tongues might loosen and information might be gained…

She found the secret door Sebastian had taken her through the very first night she'd met him. Tucked away under a low stone ceiling and set in among the stone walls, it remained fairly unscathed. Marked with black streaks, it was ajar.

And the cold at her nape tingled more sharply.

Victoria pushed through the door, leaving the lantern at the entrance of the passageway. She felt the weight of the pistol in her pocket as it bumped against the edge of stone—the pistol, useless against a vampire, of course, but helpful for other purposes. In the dark, narrow passageway, Victoria couldn't help but remember facing Sebastian, with the damp brick behind her, and him much too close for propriety's sake as he reached to sweep off the hat of her gentleman's disguise.

He hadn't kissed her that time.

Moving down the faintly lit hallway, quickly, as though to leave the thoughts behind her, Victoria made her way to the small room on the left, the one Sebastian had used as an office and sitting room.

He, she, it, or they… were in this room.

Her lips curled in a feral smile, and anticipation kicked up her pulse. She had been ready for this for months.

The door was ajar, giving her the opportunity to peer around into the room. It was lit from within; only a large lantern could illuminate the chamber well enough for her to see the intricate brocade design on the sofa from where she stood. Interesting that a vampire or two would use a lantern.

From what she could see through the open door, the room had been untouched by the fire, with the exception of a lingering smoke smell that had likely been trapped in the couch and chair upholstery. There was no sign of any disturbance… the books were still lining shelves, the pillows perfectly arranged on the furniture… even the silver tray with the brandy and sherry bottles was in place across the room.

The only things out of place were the two figures bent over Sebastian's desk. At least one vampire.

Slipping the stake from her pocket, Victoria let it hang behind the folds of her jacket and stepped into the room.

"Good evening, gentlemen," she said as they turned. "Are you looking for something?"

Her year of grief had made her a bit slow.

One of them was at her before she expected it, his eyes bloodred and his incisors flashing. Victoria stepped back, felt the wall behind her, and twisted away. He followed, and she tripped over the leg of a chair, nearly stumbling to the floor. The error made her more determined, and the skills Kritanu had taught her came flooding back to her muscles like the fit of a well-worn glove.

When Victoria gained her balance, the vampire was reaching for her, inadvertently opening his chest to her driving stake. She slammed it in, felt the familiar pop, and stepped back as he disintegrated into dust.

Barely breathing, she looked up at the other man, who'd not moved. He watched her with a twitch of a smile, but he'd not changed. Instead, he adjusted his jacket and looked at her with glinting black eyes.

"Came prepared, did you?" he asked, walking easily from around the other side of the desk. Coming closer, but easy. Unthreatening and unthreatened.

"What are you doing here?" Victoria wanted some answers before she staked him too. It could be no coincidence that they'd both chosen this night to visit Sebastian's rooms; and by the amount of dust here, and the neatness of the room, she gathered this was the first visit anyone had made.

"Merely curiosity." He stood so that the sofa was between them. "This is what remains of the infamous Silver Chalice; I was interested in seeing the place owned by Sebastian Vioget."

His fangs had not protruded; his eyes remained unexceptionally dark.

"Do you know him?"

The vampire, who was no taller than most other men in London, had nondescript brown hair brushed back from his face. His nose, a bit too large to make his face attractive, rounded on the end like a garlic bulb. And his brows were straight, narrow strips over his eyes. He shook his head in response to her question. "I'm afraid I haven't the pleasure of meeting Monsieur Vioget. From what I have heard, I'm not altogether certain it is any longer possible to do so."

"I haven't seen a vampire here in London for months," Victoria said, watching him. "Since Lilith took herself and her followers off. Did she send you back to ascertain whether it was safe for her to return?"

He looked at her for a moment; then recognition shifted into his black eyes. Not red, not yet. They were normal. He looked like nothing more than an average English gentleman, except for his ill-fitting clothing. "You are the woman Venator."

Victoria bowed her head in acknowledgment.

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "What a coup it would be for me to bring you to Nedas. He would reward me greatly."

A spike of anticipation jolted through her. "You could certainly attempt it. I'm certain that whoever Nedas is, he would appreciate your martyrdom."

"I'm not quite as capricious as my dearly departed companion," he replied. "But I am much stronger and faster."

Then he was there, across the room, next to her, reaching for her throat. Victoria spun back, but he grabbed at her arm, and he was indeed strong.

She tried to wrench away, caught in his suddenly glowing red eyes, and felt the sofa against her legs. She pretended to stumble, dodged, and knocked him off balance. He came after her again, close behind, without giving her a chance to catch her breath, and the next thing she knew, she was whirling back to face him.

Raising her stake at shoulder level, she lifted her face to look at him, ready to slam it home, and faltered. Phillip.

It was Phillip.

It was as if her body had turned to ice, and then raging fire. The stake fell from her limp fingers, and the scream was knocked out of her as he shoved her aside, sending her to the floor.

On the rug, dragging dust and lint into her panicked breaths, Victoria looked up at the figure looming over her. How?

But it wasn't Phillip who bent over her. It was the same nondescript man, now with glowing eyes and a determined line for a mouth.

She scrabbled for her stake… surely it hadn't rolled far on the rug. He lunged for her and she twisted away, suddenly trapped against the edge of the sofa. She felt something under her hip, round and hard and long, and rolled sharply to the right, toward his feet, grabbing the stake.

The force of her motion sent him off balance, and Victoria propelled herself to her feet, stick in hand. She turned, using the momentum of her leg to whip around, then shifted her center of balance as she plunged the stake into the center of his chest. She pulled it away, stepping back to watch him dust to the floor.

Nothing happened.

And he came at her again, his mouth drawn in a frightening, feral smile.

Victoria recoiled in shock, stumbling backward, and tripped over the flipped-up corner of the thick Persian rug. She tumbled to the floor, slamming her head against the wall as she fell, and stared up at the red-eyed man who advanced toward her.

Calm and steady he moved, and Victoria could barely get her mind around the fact that she'd stabbed him, sunk a stake into his chest, and nothing had happened. Neither blood nor dust… he'd just come after her again.

As she gaped up at him sprawled against the tapestried wall, readying the stake for another plunge, his face turned toward her again.

"Phillip?" she cried softly.

"Venator," he said, sweeping down toward her. "Come now… relax… I shan't hurt you."

"No!" she grunted, slamming the stake upward with all of her might.

She stopped him, impaled his body on the wooden pike, but he did not disintegrate. His movements slowed… but he did not die. With a scream of horror and desperation, she used the stake and her hand to shove him away. The stake came free, and she bolted to her feet.

She needed another weapon. The pistol in her pocket… she pulled it out, aimed it at the creature, and squeezed the trigger. The explosion kicked the gun in her hand, and the bullet slammed into the chest of her attacker.

The focused part of her was not surprised when he barely paused… drew himself to his feet, and came at her again.

Victoria launched herself backward over the sofa, frantically looking for something that could be used as a weapon… but what?

He was so fast, so strong… she had no chance.

He was after her, on top of her, and they rolled on the floor, slamming into furniture. The sharp-edged silver tray of brandy and sherry clattered to the rug, spilling the sharp-scented liquors.

Through the fog of panic and shock, Victoria's mind scrambled through a warren of possibilities, of the need to survive, of the anger at being taken by surprise. She felt the heavy tray behind her, and closed her fingers around its sharp edge. Not certain she knew what she was doing, Victoria pulled it up and over her head, slamming it down onto the skull of the man bending toward her.