"We've found it," she said, deepening her voice. "We'll be on our way now." Verbena bumped into her again, and Victoria resisted the urge to bump her back. She didn't need a clinging maid knocking her off balance if she had to shift into a fighting stance.

"Ye cannot enter without a token," said the third of the men. He'd needed a shave at least three weeks ago, and his forehead and cheeks shone grimy and sweaty in the low light. "If ye two lovely men wish to come with us, we'd be pleased to 'elp ye pr'cure one."

"For a fee, I presume," Victoria replied. Verbena bumped her again, and she nearly turned to shout at her… then she realized why the girl was standing so close when she felt something cold and heavy next to her hand. She wrapped her fingers around it. A pistol.

Victoria shifted and suddenly had the weapon pointing at the closest of the three men. She was calm, her breathing steady, but her fingers trembled. "I don't believe we'll be paying you gentlemen any fees this evening. Now, disperse yourselves, sirs, before my finger becomes impatient."

Although Aunt Eustacia had never taught her to use a pistol in her training, Victoria knew how to handle one. She'd seen it done. Pull the trigger and the thing would spit out a bullet whilst kicking back in her hand. Whether she would actually hit anyone was another matter; but the three men were so close, she was not concerned.

Of course, that was assuming Verbena had loaded it.

The men apparently believed her threat, and although they didn't disappear, they did melt into the darkest shadows of the stubby building next to the burned-out ruins above the Silver Chalice.

Victoria slipped the pistol into the deep pocket of her cloak and, gripping the walking stick, started toward the double doors that led, she hoped, to the Silver Chalice.

The doors were closed, but when she and Verbena each pulled on one, they opened easily to reveal a steep staircase leading down into the earth. At the bottom was, fortunately, a dim glow of light, but certainly not enough to easily light their way.

But vampires had excellent night vision, so it likely wasn't a hardship for them to make their way down a stairway so dark and straight one couldn't see two steps below. Victoria's neck was painfully cold, and the chill was beginning to creep up into the back of her skull. She reached back automatically to touch it, rubbing her fingers over her nape in hopes of easing the frigidness, but it made no difference. With a last look at Verbena, she started down the steps, thankful again that she wasn't wearing dragging skirts.

As she descended the twenty stairs, sounds from below became louder and more distinct. People talking, laughing, shouting… the clinks of metal tankards clattering together… the thuds and thumps of hands slamming onto tables or walls… and a wistful sort of music coming from a perfectly tuned piano.

When she reached the bottom, she had to turn a corner, and then she found herself in the Silver Chalice.

Although Victoria's experience with inns and pubs wasn't extensive, she had dined in two during her travels, and this one didn't look all that different from what she'd experienced in the mortal world.

Tables crowded the stone-walled room, which had a lingering dampness from being below the ground. Lanterns hung from ropes and chains from the planked ceiling, and the floor beneath was hard-packed dirt. Along one side, to the left and around the corner from the entrance, was another doorway that likely led into another room; although it was possibly another exit. Next to that door was a long bar, behind which two women hurried back and forth, filling tankards and slamming them onto the counter.

No, if it weren't for the frozen feeling on her neck, Victoria would think she'd merely stepped into a travelers' inn that was just a bit darker and danker than she was used to.

No one seemed to have noticed her and Verbena, and for that she was thankful. Wanting to get a feel for the establishment and its clients, she hoped to remain incognito for a bit longer. She scanned the room, identifying which people were vampires and which were not. To her surprise, a good portion of the clientele weren't undead blood drinkers, perhaps as many as half was her guess. That portended well, for Victoria had been wondering what they might serve to drink at this establishment. Though she'd had more than one sip of brandy—the most notable time was after her father's funeral—she wasn't the least bit interested in partaking of anything vampires might drink.

At last she saw a small table stuffed in the corner a short distance from the piano. Grabbing Verbena's cold fingers, she tugged her to follow, and began weaving her way to it. As they passed the piano she noticed the musician, who hadn't stopped playing since she and Verbena had walked in: a female vampire with a long fall of silvery hair and an unhappy face, alternately bending over the keys, then turning her face up to the ceiling as if completely enraptured in the music. The song was sad and longing and beautiful in a haunting way.

When they sat, Victoria chose a chair so that she could see the rest of the room. It was rather a letdown that they had walked into this pub and found a seat with nary a glance or flare of interest from anyone in the room.

That, then, answered a question Victoria had been meaning to ask Aunt Eustacia: Could vampires sense the presence of a Venator? The answer, apparently, was no.

Now that they were in the Silver Chalice, surrounded by vampires who might possibly know about the Book of Antwartha, Victoria realized she had planned no further than this. Perhaps she'd never quite believed she would actually get to this position. But she was… and she needed to act before Verbena fainted with fright.

Apparently they hadn't arrived completely unnoticed, for they'd barely settled in their chairs—it was much easier to flip up the tails of her coat while sitting, rather than gently lay out the skirts of a gown—when a serving wench elbowed her way to their side.

"Wot'll it be." It was decidedly not a question—a bored, impatient statement, more like. Victoria looked at Verbena, at a loss for how to respond. Since she'd left her reticule at home, she had no coin with her.

"Two house ales," Verbena responded smartly. She slapped two coins onto the sticky table, a proud grin ticking the corner of her mouth.

Victoria looked at her. That was twice tonight Verbena had come to the rescue of the Venator. Perhaps Victoria had been a little hasty in deciding to come on her own.

But now… now that the niceties had been handled, Victoria could decide the next step. She was going to prove herself to Aunt Eustacia and the sullen Max and the waiflike Wayren, who looked at Max with such big blue eyes it made Victoria's mouth curl. It was abominable that he should lecture Victoria about being distracted from her mission.

As it turned out, Victoria didn't need to decide any next steps, for just as she finished patrolling the room with her eyes, a movement came into her peripheral vision, and a man sat down at the table with her and Verbena.

At first she'd thought it was Max.

But no. Not Max. No, this gentleman was most definitely not Max.

"Good evening, gentlemen."

The dulcet voice, flavored with a Parisian accent, belonged to a handsome man who immediately struck her as being an intriguing mixture of gold and bronze—from his tanned skin and amber eyes to his blond-tipped auburn hair and the chocolate-colored waistcoat and fawn breeches that were clearly stitched by a tailor of immense talent.

He sat next to Victoria, very close; she wondered if men normally sat this close to each other at their private clubs. His leg touched hers under the table and it felt uncomfortable. Yet she didn't move hers away.

She made certain her voice matched his tenor when she replied, "Good evening, sir." When men were alone, did they require to be introduced before they conversed? Or did they simply have the freedom to talk without such formalities?

"You appear to be newcomers to the Silver Chalice. Since it is so difficult to find, we don't often have the pleasure of new faces. Have you come for any… particular reason?"

Was he warning them off or merely attempting to be friendly? Victoria did not know the appropriate way to respond, so she decided to be direct. The sooner she learned whether the inn would be helpful to her, the sooner she could get Verbena back to Grantworth House. "We are looking for information."

At that moment the server reappeared and slammed two metal tankards down in front of them. The ale sloshed out onto the table, slapping onto the man's wrist and the edge of his sleeve. "Damn, Berthy, can you not have a little care? This is alençon lace!"

"Ye shouldn't wear such fine things in a place like this," Berthy snapped, swishing away with a twitch and a twaddle.

The man whipped out a handkerchief and dabbed at the lace edging of his cuff. "If she weren't so damn good at her job, I'd toss her into the streets."

Good at her job?

Toss her into the streets?

Victoria wasn't sure which statement surprised her more, but she chose to focus on the latter. "Do you own this place?"

"Indeed I do, though I'm not always proud to admit it. Among other establishments, might I add. Sebastian Vioget… sir. At your service." He extended a hand, his attention focused on her so heavily Victoria nearly forgot to offer her own.

"Victor Grant… son. Victor Grantson," she repeated more smoothly. His fingers closed around hers, swallowing them tightly for longer than she thought necessary. Or perhaps it was just the discomfort of knowing that her slender hand, even cased in black gloves, must feel much more fragile than most hands he'd shaken.

"And what kind of information might you be looking for… here?" His attention did not lessen in intensity; Victoria felt as though he were looking deep into her mind. The only thing that kept her from being apprehensive was the knowledge that he wasn't a vampire.

He most definitely wasn't a vampire… yet that did not explain the odd pull he had for her. It was not unlike the sensation she'd felt just before the Guardian vampire sank his fangs into her neck.

Victoria resisted the urge to shake her head; but she did shift slightly away from Sebastian Vioget under the guise of reaching for her mug of ale. Should she come right out and tell him what she was looking for?