Max.
There was no mistaking his height and spare, measured movements as he made his way toward a set of wooden cellar doors.
A bolt of fury shafted through her, and Victoria slammed her teeth together so hard a crack of pain shot through her jaw. She was surprised he didn't hear the loud snap; and she was glad he didn't.
What was he doing here?
Not looking for her; he would easily have found her if he'd cared to look.
Somehow he must have learned about the book, that it was here and that the owner was gone.
In the moment that the blankness of shock and the red haze of anger burst over her, Victoria had missed his next move. When she refocused her attention toward the house, toward where Max had been approaching the wooden doors, he was gone.
Had he gone in?
Or had he found another hiding place, as she had, and would also lie in wait for the vampires?
He was a blasted fool if he thought she was going to wait here by herself.
Victoria eased from her hiding place, gratified that, although the sun hadn't set completely, the shadows were long enough in this garden that they afforded her a protective cover as she hurried along in Max's path.
As she approached the building, one of her questions, at least, was answered when she saw a tall, unmistakable figure pass in front of a window at the back of the house. Max was inside, in the servants' quarters, if one were to judge by the size and placement of the window.
Did he think to snatch the book from under the vampires' noses? Before they had the opportunity—
Oh, God. Max was going to take the book himself! If he touched it before it was out of the house, he would die!
Victoria launched herself from her shield of bushes before she realized that she couldn't go haring into the house willy-nilly.
And she realized quite suddenly that she had made a mistake. She should have told Aunt Eustacia and Max.
For if she did not stop him in time, he would die… and she would be to blame.
Chapter Eleven
In Which Maximilian Encounters Dust Bunnies
Max paused, listening intently. He'd made it inside Redfield Manor with no problem at all. Not any surprise. This wasn't the first time he'd slipped into a building undetected, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.From his resources at the Silver Chalice, he knew that the Book of Antwartha was to be stolen tonight from this very location, and that Rudolph Caulfield had left the city, taking his servants with him, leaving an unsuspecting houseguest to watch over his belongings.
This was their only chance to get the book before Lilith did; once she had it in her possession, hidden away wherever she was holding court, it would be impossible to retrieve it.
He could not fail tonight.
Satisfied that his presence hadn't been detected, and that there was no one about to come strolling around a bend in the servants' hallway, Max hurried along the passage. Although he wasn't familiar with the layout of the house, logic suggested that something of a valuable nature would be kept in a study, where it might be locked away, or in a private parlor in the personal quarters of the owner of the house.
Max was hoping it would be the latter, as the private quarters would be on an upper level and less likely to be inhabited by the houseguest or investigated by his staff.
The servants' staircase was accessible and would lead to the upper floors. The pale blue door that ended the passageway was made of warped and buckled wood, and it creaked faintly when Max opened it. He slipped through and dashed with light feet up the narrow steps, pausing at the top to listen.
When silence continued to reign, he cracked the door and put his ear to the edge. A dull thump from near the front of the house, below, told him that at least someone was not in the vicinity. But then he heard the doorknob on the warped door below as it turned with a dull clink, and he couldn't wait any longer—he pressed through the narrow aperture and found himself in a blessedly carpeted hall on the second floor.
On cat feet he hurried down the hall, pausing at each entrance to listen, gently open its door, and peer in. The rooms were dark and uninhabited, the furnishings covered with sheets or other protection, as if they hadn't been used for years. Mr. Caulfield had recently returned from India—which was how the Book of Antwartha had made its way from the colony to the mother country—and it was obvious his home had been closed up for that purpose. This would make Max's task easier, for the items brought from India, including the book, would stand out as new additions to the room, and would likely be in a chamber that was obviously in use.
Max had three more rooms to search when he heard the door at the top of the servant staircase open at the far end of the hall. He pivoted through the door at which he stood and closed it swiftly and silently after him. Turning, he faced the room, hoping to heaven it was empty, for he hadn't time to check… and found himself in a bedchamber that had been used recently.
Fortunately for him, it was empty, but Max couldn't be certain it would remain so. He heard footsteps moving down the hallway; they were barely discernible, but his hearing was nearly as acute as a vampire's.
Max dove under the high bed, sliding the chamber pot, which fortunately was empty, out of the way and closing his eyes against the puffs of dust he'd stirred up. It tickled his nose and made his eyes water as he fought to keep from sneezing; any little bit of disturbance of the air seemed to go right into his nostrils. He pinched the bridge of his nose, right under the innermost edges of his brows, and felt the urge to sneeze dissipate.
The door to the room opened, and someone came in. The back of Max's neck remained unchanged, so he kept his hand on the pocket where his pistol was. He couldn't see the person, couldn't look at his shoes to tell if it was a servant or the houseguest; but when he or she strode across the room and then back out, Max exhaled slowly. Likely the valet bringing some laundered clothing to the room, or even the houseguest coming up to retrieve something he'd forgotten.
Good. He hadn't relished the thought of an altercation with a mortal. Vampires he could stake without a second thought; but fighting with or injuring a mortal was something he tried to avoid. He'd seen too much violence, and preferred staking vampires to fisticuffs because it was much neater. No blood, no cracking of bones, no mess. Just a small pile of ashes.
Yet… to get the Book of Antwartha, Max would do whatever was necessary, because if he did not, an infinite number of mortals would be in danger.
He waited until the quiet footsteps disappeared before he slid from under the bed and pulled himself to his feet. Brushing the dust from his dark pants, Max hurried toward the door. He had two more rooms to search on this level, and then he could move on to the third floor. It was a less likely location for something like the Book of Antwartha, but at least he could eliminate it before having to slink around on the main area, where he was more likely to be found out.