“No…I haven’t spoken to her since…since the night the obelisk was destroyed.” His demeanor changed. “What happened?”
She told him about the door, and the missing keys, taking several steps toward the Colosseum as she spoke.
“Eustacia’s armband that holds the key is missing,” he commented. It wasn’t a question, but more of a thoughtful statement. “And so you’re looking for the unreliable Sebastian in the hopes that he might know, since after all he somehow obtained her vis bulla.”
“You were there when I spoke to Beauregard, weren’t you?” she said, continuing to walk across the grass-filled cobblestone square that surrounded the large amphitheater. The ruined building loomed over her, its ragged outer wall cutting in a jagged diagonal to the ground.
“Spoke?” He didn’t appear to be surprised, and suddenly Victoria knew why. He’d been there. He’d seen Beauregard try to bite her. Seen them kissing.
“I knew someone was watching. So you needn’t even bother to ask me what he said.”
“I told you, Victoria…at first I didn’t know if you were wearing a vis bulla.” She paused for a moment to look at him, and he stopped next to her. “But what about you? You don’t have yours.”
He looked steadily at her. “You need not trouble yourself over it.”
She began walking briskly again, but with his long legs he easily kept pace, continuing to speak. “You’re looking to Sebastian for help, but there’s something else afoot. Someone—Sarafina, perhaps, if you didn’t mistake her in the shadows—arranged for what amounted to an ambush. You were lured away and could easily have been outnumbered and killed.”
“I’m not foolish, Max. It was clear they wanted me alive. They must believe I know where the key is. No one raised a hand to injure me, and even the single vampire, who was nothing but a lure, simply ran away. Otherwise would it not have been easier to slay me—or attempt to—right there?”
“Wishing for death already, Victoria?”
They’d reached the Colosseum’s wall. Its three rows of arcades, circling the arena one atop another, rose like dozens of black eyes staring down on them. In the shadows Victoria could see that the walls were overgrown with foliage, sprouting tall plants and grasses along the top and from the sides. It gave the amphitheater a bushy, messy appearance.
“You’re the one who has a wish for death. I have too much left to do here.” She cast him a sidelong glance. He’d had no gratitude when she saved his life the night Aunt Eustacia died; he’d told her it would be easier not to live with the guilt—despite the fact that he’d done what he’d done for the good of their race. What he’d been ordered to do by Aunt Eustacia herself. That was the only reason Victoria couldn’t hate him—she knew he’d had no choice.
“I’m still living, am I not?” He looked at her as she gawked up at the wall. More than four months she’d been in Rome, and she’d not had the opportunity to visit the Colosseum until now. “Do you want to go inside? There will be no vampires there, for all that it’s been consecrated for nearly a century, but if you can step aside from your duty for a time, we can walk through.”
“Yes.”
She felt odd walking companionably with Max into the dark recess of one of the archways, instead of being on guard for a battle with undead. Inside the outer wall they were in a passageway that curved around the entire perimeter of the building, with more arches leading to the seats.
Victoria strolled along the dark passage, Max close enough to brush her sleeve. They were silent, and despite the openings on either side of them, the high ceiling loomed above in a vast cavern.
“Do you plan to walk around the perimeter all night?” he asked brusquely. “Or would you like to see the battlefield?”
Victoria gave a small laugh. She felt a bit nervous, and wasn’t sure why she should. After all, this was just Max. “Yes, of course.” She turned abruptly toward one of the arches just as Max stopped walking, and she bumped forcefully into him. Her forehead slammed hard into his chin as her sudden movement pushed them into an unexpected embrace.
He caught her as they collided, his strong hands finding her arms and steadying her in the moment of her silent mortification. She’d forgotten how tall he was. “Pardon me,” she murmured formally, and pulled away to continue walking through the passage to the interior of the amphitheater. Her heart was beating harder; she couldn’t feel more foolish and clumsy.
“This entrance is called a vomitory,” Max was saying as if nothing untoward had happened—and indeed, nothing had, she reminded herself, except that for a moment she’d lost all of her Venatorial grace. In front of Max. “Because of the rapid ease with which the masses of people can enter or exit. Did you hurt your head?”
His chin had been just as hard and stubborn as it had always appeared, and it had indeed been painful to crash into. “I’m a Venator, so I think there will be no bruise.” Her voice was light with humor.
“The moss that grows here can be slippery,” he added as they emerged from the short tunnel. “Take care.”
“There’s moss everywhere, and plants,” Victoria commented, looking over the shadowy interior of what had once been a pristine arena. “It’s so overgrown.”
“Hannever finds many of the herbs and plants he uses in his medicinal treatments at the Consilium growing here. There are hundreds of them, presumably brought here purposely or accidentally from the far reaches of the Roman Empire over the centuries. It’s very fortunate for us that there is this great variety.”
She looked over at him. His face was turned to gaze over the field below, and his profile struck her. With his long, straight nose, prominent forehead, and sharp-planed face, he looked like one of the very gladiators who might have fought below. Or perhaps he looked more like a senator, who might have sat in this very same section. In either case he looked strong and powerful and Roman.
Max must have felt her staring, for he shifted and turned toward her. “What is it?”
“It’s just that you sound a bit like Zavier, expounding on the history of this place. I hadn’t expected it.”
“Yes, Zavier is quite fascinated with the history of our female Venators, among other things,” Max replied, his voice dry. He looked back out into the darkness. “But it is this place in particular that appeals to me. Down there, somewhere”—he cast his arm out to encompass the arena—“Gardeleus—the first Venator—died at the hand of a vampire. And set in motion this battle that has lasted for centuries.”