They’d been following her stop-and-start rhythm for more than thirty minutes when Myza turned and fluttered back into Max’s large hand. She sat there, neck stretched up, head tilting, looking around, and Victoria found herself nudging her horse up next to them. Her leg brushed against Max’s as she maneuvered near him, watching the bird as she gave a soft, throaty coo.
Suddenly, the soft beat of wings and an answering coo announced the arrival of another pigeon. And then the clip-clop of rapid horses’ hooves as Brim and Michalas appeared from around a corner.
Myza and the new pigeon, who was called Thrush, seemed to be having some sort of avian conversation, and at once, the second bird flew up into the air and began to circle around them. Then it swooped down and nipped Max on the ear, fully gaining his attention and understanding. They would follow the uninjured pigeon, who would receive navigation from Myza.
Making much better time now, the five of them and one pigeon thundered through the streets, following the speedy Thrush away from the more populated areas. Often, Thrush had to stop and circle back, flying just above Max, because the horses had to follow a less convenient route-by road. At last, after more than an hour of hard riding south of the Thames, they reached a small graveyard at the edge of a dark-windowed village.
Black iron spikes fenced the cemetery, studded with masonry columns taller than Max. In the moonlight, what had been bone white stone gleamed from beneath eerie black moss and dirt stains. A stand of trees cast long shadows from the north side of the graveyard, mingling with the gray and ash colors of the headstones.
Thrush circled now, silent as the bats that darted and dodged around with him, sending sweeping black shadows over the horses and their riders. Victoria urged her mount closer to the fence, looking for the gate. It was clear from Myza’s reaction that Wayren was nearby. The pigeon had raised her head, warbling quietly, and attempted to take flight.
Max released her, and the pearly pigeon settled in the low branch of a tree, unable to get enough height with her injured wing to fly over the fence.
As she searched the enclosure, Victoria heard the others separate, some riding in her wake, the others starting in the opposite direction to circle around and meet her. Once she reached the west side of the fence, Victoria saw a small mausoleum near the north side, buried in the thick thrust of shadows.
The hair lifted at the back of her neck-not the same chill that portended the presence of a vampire, but a different, uncomfortable feeling. At the same moment, she came upon a small gate, barely a man’s width if he should move sideways, between two of the stone columns.
She was off her horse as Sebastian thundered up, and he swung himself off to land light-footed on the ground next to her.
One brief glance told them the gate would need to be forced open, or the wall must be scaled. The iron bars were topped with spikes much sharper than necessary for mere decoration; they looked wicked enough to slice through flesh and even bone, given enough force. Forcing the gate would be the most prudent option.
Victoria and Sebastian examined the gate more closely as Max and the other two Venators rode up, having circled the rest of the graveyard.
“No other entrance,” Max said. “It’ll have to be here. Any undead?” Of course, he could no longer sense the presence of a vampire, unlike the rest of them.
“No,” Victoria replied, stepping away from the gate to look around. Her attention focused on their target: the low, squat building cloaked in shadows only fifty yards away. “But something. Something…” Her voice trailed off, and she paused as she drew in a breath.
No.
She sniffed again, and her stomach pinched. An unmistakable scent of malignance and death simmered under that of moist peat and horse sweat.
Victoria looked up and met Max’s eyes, then looked at Brim. The tall, ebony-skinned man who wore his vis bulla through the corner of an eyebrow had lifted his head as if to scent something on the air as well. He nodded and looked at her, his dark eyes black pits.
Demons.
Not every Venator could sense the presence of fallen angels, or demons, but Victoria and Brim were both capable of recognizing the malevolent scent that lurked beneath everything else.
They would need swords along with stakes, then, for demons had to be beheaded in order to be completely destroyed. Being prepared for any eventuality, the Venators had armed themselves not only with stakes, but also with firearms and swords, which hung from the horses’ saddles.
At that moment, a low screech tore Victoria’s attention to Sebastian and Michalas, who’d used their Venator strength to work an iron hinge loose from its hasp embedded in the masonry. As they pushed, the long-abandoned gate creaked and moaned as they worked to free it. When Brim, the bulkiest of them all, added his muscle, the gate gave another long, low moan as it bent nearly double. Still attached by a lower hinge and by its heavy metal bolt on the opposite side, the gate had now been rendered impotent and scalable.
After retrieving the sword from her saddle and buckling it around her waist, Victoria scrambled over first, using Sebastian’s offered hand for stability. As she slid down to the other side, she eyed the mausoleum, watching for any sign of movement.
All was quiet except for the faint shuffles of the others as they joined her inside the cemetery wall.
Victoria stepped toward the building, and as she drew closer, more of its details became apparent. The structure stood no taller than the midpoint of a single story, with a low peaked roof and plain, blank sides. Perhaps half the size of a carriage house, the mausoleum was situated with the stand of trees curling around and behind it.
Beneath her feet, the ground was soft and damp, littered with stones and larger rocks, embedded brick boundaries outlining family plots, and tufts of grass poking out. As she drew closer to the building, the faint scent of demons grew more discernible, though not strong enough to clog her nostrils. Something stirred in the air. Not a breeze but… something.
Then she saw it. Above the low pitched roof of the mausoleum, not far above her head: a faint swirl of… fog? Smoke?
No, the threads were too dark for fog. Or smoke.
Her throat tightened, and she swallowed hard.
Thin clouds of black whispered in and out of the glowering trees, tangling like tendrils of hair above the mausoleum. Circling.
Victoria stopped and felt someone behind her. She turned. It was Sebastian, who was looking up over the mausoleum just as she had. Her heart thudding, she grasped his arm as she waited for the others to draw near.
When they came closer, Victoria sought Max’s gaze in the meandering light. His face held the same arrested expression as hers. “What is it?” she asked, looking at him, but speaking to them all.