As they poled along the canal, away from either shore, Victoria could hear the excitement growing in Alvisi's breaths. They were coming faster and more shallowly, a bit raspier, often with a little catch, like a tiny gasp, at the end. The single lantern of punctured tin that hung from the back of the gondola gave enough light for her to see his hands clasped onto the sides of the vessel, and a shinier sheen on his forehead. Either he didn't like water and boats, or he was becoming very excited about the meeting of the Tutela.

They went on for a long while, traveling away from the city, silently moving atop the water. There had been a few other gondolas in the vicinity when they started out, but as the distance from town and their carriage increased, the number of other vessels decreased until there were none other about. Even the lights from homes along the canals, and the squares of buildings silhouetted against the shore, eased into darkness and the jaggedness of tumbledown structures and rocky terrain, illuminated only by chance when their gondola lantern swayed in a lucky direction.

Victoria began to feel a bit apprehensive as she realized they'd left Venice behind. This was so very different from London, where she at least had a sense of direction and knew where she was. And where a hackney could be hired to take her home from most any place in the city, even St. Giles. She realized she should have paid much better attention to where they were going in the carriage, and watched for landmarks along the canal.

She wasn't frightened, but she should have made better preparations. Having Oliver follow along might have been a prudent choice. Perhaps Kritanu as well.

But she had been so confident of her ability to take care of herself, with her vis bulla and other weapons, and so focused on her goal of gaining entrance to the Tutela, that she had planned poorly.

Of course, she could be worrying about nothing. But her uneasiness was beginning to grow as steadily as the moisture on Alvisi's forehead. He spoke little during the voyage, and Victoria, who was trying to watch for landmarks in order to remember their route, didn't attempt conversation.

And then, at last, after what must have been more than an hour of navigating along the dark canal, they arrived.

At least, that was what Victoria assumed when the gondola eased up to a dark shore.

"Come, come," Alvisi said, his voice strained. He scrambled out of the boat and pulled her after him with none of the gentlemanly aplomb he'd served up earlier at her villa. Once on the rocky shore, Victoria pulled firmly away from his grip—no difficult task, and if he noticed her unusual strength, he made no comment. He was already hurrying along some pathway that she was hardly able to see. Looking back toward the water, she saw that the gondola and its small lantern had shoved away from the shore and it was easing back up along the canal.

She would have paused longer, to take measure of the darkness and its occupants, but Alvisi had come back for her. "Mrs. Withers, come; we must hurry or they will bar the doors!"

This was what she'd come for.

She turned and followed him down the dark path, between bushes and trees that brushed into her and snagged at her light pelisse.

At last they came to a wooden door attached to a tall stone building closely surrounded by trees. It appeared that they'd approached it from the rear; there were no other buildings in sight, nor anything that hinted of civilization. It was a building alone in the dark woods. Victoria could see the outlines of the gray, black, and tan stones that made up the wall, thanks to the small lantern that hung from a short iron stem. It sat only knee-height, and was half-hidden by a bush until one came nearly upon it. Clearly, the Tutela took no chances in having its meeting place found.

Alvisi pulled on the long iron latch of the door and, to his obvious relief it swung open on silent hinges. A red glow from inside colored the sandy, trampled ground next to the low lantern outside, and tinged the door and stones with a warm hue.

With one quick glance up at the sky, which had cleared to show the moon, Victoria noted that it was approximately midnight already. She followed Alvisi in and, once inside, a tall man dressed as though he were ready to attend the opera closed the door behind her.

"Good evening, madam, and welcome," he said in Italian. He seemed to be waiting for something, and then Victoria remembered. She opened her hand to show him the Tutela amulet, and he nodded admittance.

She followed Alvisi down the hall, confirming that, according to the back of her neck, there were no vampires in the vicinity.

The half-lit room they entered at the end of the hall contained several dozen people conversing, and was large enough in size to be a ballroom, but not appropriate in decor. Victoria hadn't been able to determine what kind of building they were in, but it did not appear to be a villa or home. The interior walls were the same stone as the exterior. There were no windows—not surprising, as the vampires wouldn't be receptive to having sunlight come flooding in—and as far as she could tell, only one other door. The floor was covered with rugs, and between them, she could see the primitive dirt and stone.

There were, however, chairs and benches throughout the room. And at the far end from where she and Alvisi had entered, a small, high dais had been positioned. It was just large enough to hold a long table and five chairs. It reminded her of a theater, or perhaps a church… although that would be an odd place for vampire protectors to meet.

Curious, Victoria slipped away from her escort and toward the front of the room, for she was too far away to see what was on the table other than two large, shallow bowls that held small fires, one on each end.

The room's red glow came from a roaring fire on one wall near the dais, in a fireplace that could easily hold eight grown men. Candles and sconces flickered throughout the room, and as she passed among the other attendees, Victoria noted that the vast majority were men of all ages and that they were as well dressed as the man who'd asked to see her amulet.

In fact, she saw only three other women, and they did not appear to be ones who would normally be accepted in high society, based on the ludicrously low-cut gowns and pretentious jewels they wore. Perhaps she should speak with them. Since that was the kind of thing that would make her mother's eyes roll up into her head just before she swooned, it would be a fitting action for Mrs. Withers to undertake.

The room smelled of smoke and sweat, along with the horrid mingle of Alvisi's lavender, and the rosewaters, minty perfumes, and vetiver colognes that clung to other persons. But underlying all of the sweet floral and musky herbal scents, Victoria smelled blood and darkness and evil, and a faint pungent smell she'd sensed only once before: at the Silver Chalice.

It was nothing she recognized, nothing she could name or even compare it to; it was faint, but it was rancid and rank. It made her belly want to seize. She hadn't remembered even smelling it until now, but the memory came back as she inhaled it once again. The only other time she'd experienced it was when she was fighting the demon.

Was this the scent of a demon? Or was it something else entirely?

She looked around and realized that everyone seemed to be selecting a seat. Alvisi was gesturing to her from one of the rows in the back of the room, and Victoria decided it would be in her best interest to remain with him. She had no desire to be singled out until she had a better idea of what was to happen here. In addition, sitting in the back of the room would give her a better view of the entire chamber and perhaps an opportunity to determine whether there was indeed a demon present. So far, there were no vampires.

No sooner had she been seated next to her escort than three men stepped up onto the dais. She recognized one of them as a guest at Byron's villa. Signore Zinnani.

"Good evening," he said, gesturing widely to the room as the attendees gave him their attention. "Welcome to the Tutela. You are all here only because you have been invited by one of our members."

Victoria looked at Alvisi, who gave a small shrug and nodded.

"Let us begin."

Zinnani opened what appeared to be a square black box that gleamed when it was moved. He reached in with his hand, then sprinkled whatever had been in the box onto each of the small bowls of fire that sat on the table in front of him. Each fire in turn gave a tiny poof, like a huff of breath, and the flames burned blue, then purple, then back to red again. Almost immediately a faint but enduring sweet scent reached Victoria's sensitive Venator nose.

She didn't like it. The smell made her want to escape from the room even as it rushed through the air, silently and invisibly, like a web.

She didn't like it at all. It was too sweet and too thick, like honey or molasses, and Victoria felt it clogging her nostrils as though a piece of heavy cloth had been tossed over her, pulled tight, and stuffed into her nose. She looked around, next to her, and along the rows in front of her. No one appeared to be bothered by the smell but her. In fact, Alvisi looked as though he wanted to sniff the entire room into his nostrils, the way he lifted his face and closed his eyes and sucked in long, deep breaths.

Victoria was feeling hazy and light-headed. Alvisi swayed next to her, and when she turned to look at him, she saw that his eyes were darker and glassy. Others in the rows in front of her, all the way to the dais, were moving, restless, tipping as though having difficulty keeping their balance as well.

She became aware of a low murmur. She could not understand the words, but they sounded like a chant. It started with the men at the dais and swelled to fill the room, deep and low, as though needing to stay near the ground so that its meaning would not be discerned. Alvisi's mouth was moving and the words were coming out, but they were not recognizable to her.

The sense of muzziness had not left her; Victoria placed her hand on her abdomen, slipping her fingers into a small hole where several stitches had been removed at the seam of her bodice and skirt. This way she could feel under her stays and beneath her chemise to her vis bulla, the solid, blessed silver of comfort and strength. When her fingers touched it, she closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and let its power flow through her.

The haziness ebbed. It did not disappear completely, but it relaxed its grip.

The chanting stopped, and for a moment the only sound came from the sizzle and pop of the fire in its large stone enclosure.