Flames leapt, hungry to strip the bones of the old building. Upstairs, Violette’s dancers and staff slumbered, more precious than her own life. She was the line between their survival and death…
Buckets of sand and water stood in the corridor, though she’d never dreamed she’d have to use them. Lifting the first two, she shouted at the top of her voice to wake the caretaker, who slept on the ground floor.
“Herr Ehlers! Fire! Herr Ehlers!”
Hefting the buckets inside the storeroom, she slammed the door, shutting herself in with the fire. Walls and ceiling were carbon-black. A great bubble of hot gas teetered towards the ceiling, burst into flames with a whump. Sheets of fire consumed the air and the smoke was thick with ash, but it couldn’t touch Violette. Her unnatural body would not suffocate or burn. She faced the fire in semi-paralysed horror, as if about to witness a fatal accident happen to someone else.
She flung the contents of the buckets on the worst of the fire. Not enough. The flames only shied and flared up elsewhere.
Rather than open the door and risk unleashing the blaze, she entered Raqia to slip back into the corridor. She risked someone seeing, but it didn’t matter.
“Fire!” she yelled. “Fire!”
A vampire’s voice at full volume was piercing. The elderly caretaker and his wife came shuffling down the corridor through clouds of smoke, pulling on dressing gowns as they came.
“Madame!” Ehlers cried, turning white. “What are you doing? Go outside immediately!”
“Call the fire brigade!” she snapped. Then she was past the couple, running upstairs to her apartment, shouting for Geli.
The maid opened the door as Violette reached the top of the stairs. Geli looked astonished. She held a hand to her mouth as her eyes began to water from smoke.
“Don’t stand there!” said Violette. “Down the back stairs and out through the kitchen!”
The fifteen girls who formed her corps de ballet, and their ballet mistress, lived in the attic rooms. Violette woke those who hadn’t already heard the commotion, accounted for everyone, ushered them downstairs and outside to safety. It was done in minutes. The girls coughed and clung to each other. Some were crying, others staring in amazement at the inferno, at smoke and ash whirling into the night. Musicians, the handful of male dancers, household staff…
Minutes, Violette thought, as she heard fire wagons trundling along the road, bells clanging, galloping hooves striking the cobblestones. If I hadn’t come home at that precise moment they could all have died. Fire would have roared up through the wooden floors. But if only I’d been earlier!
Shock and rage hit her like the barrage of heat.
I could have prevented this. Caught the arsonists and torn out their throats. If I hadn’t gone to find Rachel and Robyn, this wouldn’t have happened. All the time Cesare was taunting me, he must have known!
The fire brigade took too long. Losing patience, she rushed back into the building. Behind her, people yelled for her to come back, but no one could stop her. The inferno engulfed her, but she was an ice-statue that couldn’t melt.
Under the fire’s crackling roar, she heard a tiny voice crying.
A commotion began outside. Figures loomed outside the storeroom and water jetted through doors and windows. Violette, meanwhile, began methodically to smother the fire with her hands and feet. It was the swiftest, most desperate dance she’d ever choreographed.
Her dress caught light and blossomed into flame. Violette cried out. Heat seared her and human terror kicked in. She beat frantically at herself, while the material fragmented and floated away – yet, when the flames were extinguished, she found her flesh undamaged: carbon-black, but whole and perfect underneath. Her fear fled, but she hated this: the stench and wanton destruction, the stupidity and waste.
Tears made trails down her sooty cheeks.
She heard the firemen shouting for her. Now I’ve given everyone a heart attack, on top of this, she thought. Water rushed in and drenched her, soaking the tatters of her clothes. At last the fire surrendered, leaving the costume store in saturated ruin.
The little voice grew louder. Something black and white darted from under a sink and leapt into her arms. A terrified and bedraggled cat.
“Which of your nine lives was that, Magdi?” Violette whispered. “And which of mine?”
Two firemen came stepping over the wet debris towards her, plainly relieved and shocked to see her. She was smeared with soot, nearly naked. Then they were businesslike.
“Come outside, Madame,” said one, putting his coat around her shoulders.
As she emerged from the house, with the cat in her arms, the crowd gathered in the street gave a huge cheer.
Suddenly she was surrounded by her dancers, who touched and embraced her as they would never normally dare. “Madame, you shouldn’t have gone back in! What if you were burned, your face, your lovely hands? You might have died! How could you risk yourself like that? So brave!”
Brave, Violette thought, extricating herself to escape the throb of their blood. If only they knew… I drew this trouble.
The fire brigade took charge. Violette and the others huddled outside, surrounded by what seemed half the town, watching the men pumping river water to drench the building.
The flames died. Wisps of smoke and steam carried a black stench into the night. Geli leaned on Violette’s shoulder and cried, but Violette was numb.
The fire chief, a big stern man with an old-fashioned moustache and whiskers, wanted words with Violette. She gave Magdi to Geli, and turned to him.
“Doctors are on their way, Madame. The smoke is more dangerous than flames.”
“I held my breath,” she said truthfully. “I’m perfectly all right.”
He looked sceptical. “All the same, you need an examination.” He was stern, even furious in a controlled way. “It was foolhardy in the extreme for you to re-enter the building. It’s a miracle you survived. Did it cross your mind you were putting my men’s lives at risk?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, gazing into his eyes, willing him not to question her any more. “I’m truly terribly sorry. But it’s my ballet.”
He cleared his throat. “I appreciate your feelings, Madame. And your prompt action on discovering the fire undoubtedly saved your girls’ lives.”
“Is it safe to go back inside?”
“Out of the question,” he said severely. “The damage must be assessed. If there’s structural damage…” He shook his head.
“Thank you,” said Violette, and walked away.
All around, neighbours were offering her staff beds for as long as they needed. Such kind people, Violette thought. Once she had calmed her girls and ensured that they all had somewhere to sleep, she changed into a borrowed dress and coat and slipped away. Violet dawn was glimmering under the edge of night. The air was chilly. Ashes of anger were bitter on her tongue.
Cesare, you damnable cowardly pig.
Attack me, if you must. I can look after myself. But my dancers can’t and you knew it, you bastard. You knew.
And I can’t protect my ballet single-handed. It kills me to ask for help, but for their sake, I must.
Violette raced through the Crystal Ring. It was turbulent, the dreamscape flowing like indigo rags across a sapphire void. She sensed the dark knot in the Ring’s fabric above her, a black moon trying to pull her into its orbit, a black sun radiating death.
Karl and Charlotte weren’t at home. She paced around their drawing room until the grey dawn in the balcony windows brightened to blue. Appearing from the Crystal Ring, they greeted her with astonishment.
“What’s happened?” cried Charlotte, rushing to her. Violette had washed hurriedly at a neighbour’s house, but the fire-stench clung to her.
“I hate asking for anything.” She clasped Charlotte’s hands. “But I need your help. We had a fire. No one was hurt; I got them out in time, by pure luck. How can I admit the fire was my fault? I made the enemies who attacked us.”
“You are sure it wasn’t an accident?” said Karl. There was never kindness in his face when he looked at her – not that she expected any. Each resented the other’s hold over Charlotte, and always would.
“No, it was Cesare. I met him and he virtually admitted his intention, only I didn’t understand what he meant at the time.” She told them about her journey to America and back. “I sensed two people running away from the ballet premises as I arrived. Humans, not vampires. He hadn’t even the courage to start the fire himself!”
Suddenly she couldn’t speak. Hurt rage. Terror of what might have been.
“Violette,” Charlotte said, hugging her.
“Everyone thinks I have no feelings, but if anything happened to my dancers I should die.”
She turned her face into Charlotte’s shoulder. “It’s all right,” Charlotte said gently. “We’ll help. It goes without saying.”
Karl made no comment, but at least he didn’t object.
“Cesare knows he can’t touch me – but he can threaten everyone around me. That gives him complete power over me. Of course, that’s what he wants. The fire was a warning.”
A silence. Then Karl said, “He may be trying to provoke you into attacking him.”
“He’s making a fine job of it!”
“So don’t take the bait.”
“I suppose Pierre, John and Simon condoned his actions,” Violette said acidly. “And Ilona? But why can’t they fight their own battles? I never meant to make enemies of them – but their weakness is precisely what makes me despise them!”
Their shocked expressions took her aback. Do I sound so bitter?
“Forgive me,” she said. “I forget I’m talking about your daughter, Karl. You have every reason to be on Cesare’s side.”
“I am on the side of common sense,” he replied with his usual cool restraint. “Charlotte, will you go to Salzburg with Violette? I am going to Holdenstein to have a word with Cesare.”
* * *
“The damage doesn’t look too bad,” said Charlotte. “Will you go on with Witch and Maiden?”
Violette couldn’t reply. How sad the house looked in the revealing light of day, the milky-green rendering blackened by smoke, the lower windows boarded up. Perhaps it can be repaired, she thought… and then, will we have to make it a fortress?
“I don’t know,” she said bleakly. “I’m not sure it’s worth it.”
Then, to her surprise, Violette saw a woman outside the front door, dithering as if she didn’t know whether to stay or go.
“That’s Ute!” exclaimed Violette, hurrying to meet her.
Ute was on the doorstep, suitcase in hand, looking distressed. Seeing Violette, panic came into her eyes.
“Madame, I want to come back,” she said in a rush. “But no one answered, and I saw there’s been a fire, and I was so afraid… Is there still a Ballet Janacek?”
“Yes, there is,” Violette said firmly.
“Then will you have me back, please?”
Violette saw no fang-marks on the ballerina’s neck, no trace of bad memories in her face. Yet the attack had effected a subtle change in her.
“What about your father?” she asked coolly.
“I decided to defy him. While you were in America I cried myself to sleep each night, knowing I should have been with you. I had time to think… and suddenly, a few days ago, I realised I’m not afraid of him anymore.” Her eyes were large with hope. “Madame, is it too late?”
“It depends how much condition you’ve lost.”
“I practised in secret every day!”
“Good. I have a role for you but you’ve missed so much rehearsal time,” Violette said brusquely. Ute’s face was radiant, but Violette couldn’t afford to show any emotion. If she did, she would break down, or worse, express it disastrously as blood thirst.
“Madame, thank you. I don’t know what to say – but where…?”
“We’ll find you a hotel for now. Things will be difficult for a time; we need alternative accommodation and a rehearsal room until the building is repaired – but we will come back. Witch and Maiden will be performed as scheduled.”
Violette glanced sideways to see Charlotte’s brilliant smile mirroring Ute’s.
“One thing,” Violette murmured, “just one thing has gone right today. Ute, I never gave your place away.”
* * *
“Tell me the truth, Pierre,” said Karl. “Cesare isn’t bringing young men here for your sole benefit, is he?”
“Like bringing grapes to an invalid?” Pierre sat at a rough-hewn table, reading by candlelight. In shirt-sleeves and grey trousers, he looked clean, at least. He seemed better, but shadows of fear lingered in his eyes. “Well guessed, Karl. If he was doing it for my benefit, he’d bring women. Actually, he’d bring Violette, on a spit, with an apple in her mouth.”
“You seem more like your old self, at least.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
Karl sat on the bench beside him. “What does he want with these humans?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“I’ll guess, then. I know Ilona is recruiting them.”
“Of course,” Pierre said sarcastically. “Young, strong, heterosexual men are what he wants.”
“As slaves, worshippers, an army?”
Pierre shook his head, looking away. “Stop this, Karl. He’ll hear us.”
“Are you afraid of him? I’m not.”
“You don’t have to live here.”
“Neither do you.”
Pierre sighed. “Leave it alone, mon brave. What happened to your policy of non-interference?”
“I simply want answers. Cesare feels so threatened by Violette that he’s forming an army against her. And sending human agents to terrorise her by setting fire to her property.”
“I know nothing about that.” Pierre hung his head, but Karl grabbed his collar and dragged the vampire around to face him. Pierre’s eyes fluttered with alarm.
“Answer me.”
“Why didn’t you kill him when you had the chance?” Pierre burst out. “You let him live, so whose fault is it that he runs amok?”
“Well, he’s a fool if he thinks a human army can protect him from Lilith,” said Karl.
He released the collar. Pierre put his head in his hands and groaned. “Oh, Karl, Karl. Use your imagination.”
Candlelight gleamed on Pierre’s brown curls, on the pallid fingers entwined through them. Karl released a horrified breath. “Liebe Gott. He means to transform them?”
Pierre gave a single nod, not looking at him.
“All of them?” Karl was aghast. Right or wrong, he believed in preserving the exclusivity of vampires, both for their own benefit and that of mankind. The creation of even one vampire required grave consideration. His own pain, Charlotte and Ilona’s suffering, Katerina’s death, Kristian’s megalomania and Violette’s madness… all proved that the initiation of a single vampire could bring disaster.
“A few at first, but maybe hundreds by the time he’s finished. Even thousands.” Pierre sounded off-hand, but he was shaking.
“Do you approve of this?”
“Of course not, but what can I do?”
“The Earth can’t support that many of us. What the hell is he trying to do?”
“Destroy Lilith, exterminate his enemies, conquer the world,” Pierre said with a sneer. “Just the usual. Cesare’s an evangelist now. Kristian liked to keep his little dark empire cloistered here, but Cesare wants to take it to the masses. Imagine it, a race of golden immortals, eager to do his will. What heady nourishment to the ego! The inferior mass of humanity to be kept as cattle, of course. Us and them, to the extreme.”
A nightmare, Karl thought. Hell on earth. “Has he transformed anyone yet?”
“No, he’s training them first. He’s learned by Kristian’s mistakes. John breaks them, then Cesare becomes their golden saviour. A few proved unsuitable, so…” Pierre drew a fingernail across his throat.
“And he’s using only men?”
Pierre shrugged. “He doesn’t like women, does he? They’re useless, except as tools to further his cause.”
“He has to be stopped,” said Karl.
“I’ve told you too much.”
“Then leave here with me now!”
“I’m a lost cause, my friend.”
Karl stood, put one arm around Pierre’s shoulder and leaned down to his ear. “If you don’t face whatever it is Violette has done to you, you’re going to die. Is that what you want?”
Pierre shrugged again. “Where is Cesare?”
“In Kristian’s rooms. He’s usually there.” Pierre looked up suddenly. “Don’t…”
“What?”
“Take any stupid risks.”
Karl whispered so softly that even a vampire could not overhear, “I won’t, my friend. I have unfinished business, that’s all.”
He found Cesare in the meeting chamber, as Pierre had suggested. There were humans guarding the door and flanking Cesare’s carved ebony chair. No one tried to stop Karl. Cesare watched him approach, as if he’d carefully arranged himself in this relaxed posture – in Kristian’s throne. Obviously he knew I was here, Karl thought wearily.
“I trust you had an interesting conversation with Pierre?” said Cesare.
“I’m sure you heard every word.” Karl ignored his musclebound attendants.
Cesare’s smile was one of benign wisdom. “Pierre told you a lot, and you may have guessed the rest, but the extent of your knowledge is irrelevant. You can’t stop us.”
That’s true, Karl thought, unless I break my vow not to interfere. At this moment, killing Cesare seemed perfectly desirable. Whatever he felt for Violette, he couldn’t countenance terrorism against her dancers, or other innocent humans. It stank of Kristian’s methods. Blackmail.
Killing another vampire wasn’t easy. To drain him of blood then behead him was the most straightforward method. Karl had found it nearly impossible to kill Kristian because he’d been so physically strong. But Cesare was weaker than Kristian, an easier target.
“You must realise that to create vampires in large numbers would be obscene,” said Karl.
Cesare’s expression was obdurate. “You condemn us because you don’t understand. If I could make you see! Stay, Karl, and you’ll come to realise…”
Karl sprang, swift as light, and pinned his wrists to the chair arms. Cesare seemed paralysed. His head strained backwards, eyes flicking back and forth under half-closed lids. A fist struck Karl’s back and hands clawed his arms, but he ignored the men trying to protect their master. He nipped Cesare’s smooth pale neck, feeling distaste. The priest-vampire’s robe smelled musty, like the castle, but the blood in his veins was fiery enough.
“Violette is not the Devil,” Karl whispered through the blood, “and you will leave her alone.”
Cesare tried to escape into the Ring, too slow. Karl went with him, still feeding, and pulled him back into the real world.
Something changed. Karl sensed it even through his blood-frenzy. Radiance filled the corner of his eye, a new presence that lit the whole chamber.
Karl was wrenched off his prey and flung aside. He hit the flagstones with Cesare’s scream filling his ears; his fangs must have torn the tender flesh. Karl landed on his back, gazing up at a golden-haired immortal, as splendid as a lion. Next to this being, Cesare seemed a colourless sibling.
Simon. Archangel, envoy of God, deceiver. And beside him was John, a scarred crimson bull of a man.
Karl made to regain his feet, only for Simon and John to lunge and hold him down. He struggled fiercely, but John’s strength was bizarre, as if he were massively heavy. Simon caught Karl’s throat and exerted vicious pressure, enough to break flesh, to snap tendons, crush the spine… to remove his head with one hand, if he chose.
No point in entering Raqia, because they would follow. As Simon smiled into his eyes, Karl experienced a fear that he hadn’t known since Kristian’s death.
“You won last time. Now it’s my turn, Karl.” Simon’s nose was an inch from his. “Circumstances change. I used to be as weak as you, but now I’m stronger. Don’t delude yourself; Cesare’s right, you can’t stop us. So if you’ve any sense you’ll join us, you and the lovely, obliging Charlotte. You must become my lovers because you’re too wise to be my enemies… aren’t you?”
His eyes were burning amulets, hypnotic. Karl felt the onward rush of a terrible philosophy, a monumental change that could not be averted. Soul-destroying. He closed his eyes in despair.
Simon slid his hand over Karl’s collarbone and under his shirt. Then he struck. Sharp pain pierced Karl’s veins. He felt his vitality flowing into Simon, while the angel-demon pressed his body hard to Karl’s, flattening him along the floor.
Over Simon’s shoulder, Karl saw Cesare smiling. He resembled a boyish monk, his hair a crisp halo.
“You can’t leave now, Karl,” said Cesare. “You’re ours.”
Karl was floating in euphoric weakness, enmeshed in pain. Simon finished at last and raised his head, his mouth crimson, his eyes sultry flames. His body shuddered against Karl’s like a fulfilled lover.
“Oh, Karl,” Simon breathed. “I have wanted to do that for such a long time.”
* * *
Charlotte was alone in Violette’s apartment above the studio, arranging bowls of white roses in hopes of sweetening the air. It was a room of silver-greys, muted lavender and ashes-of-roses tints; soft, luxurious, melancholy – and tainted by the bitter-sour smell of dead fire.
The blaze hadn’t reached the upper floors. No one was meant to re-enter the building, but there was no danger to vampires, and the fire chief would never know.
At this moment, Violette was downstairs, convincing the police and the fire brigade, as only she could, that the fire had been caused by an electrical fault.
And Violette was a fresh heroine for the newspapers. BRAVE BALLERINA FIGHTS FIRE TO SAVE THIRTY LIVES – AND CAT exclaimed the evening papers. Charlotte had been protecting Violette from reporters all day. The blood of three now sang sweetly through her veins.
She was waiting impatiently for Karl. She tried to resist checking the clock, but her anxiety was increasing. What kept him so long at Schloss Holdenstein? He can look after himself… But memories of the castle chilled her. Even with Kristian dead, I still feel it’s dangerous, she thought, stripping leaves from a rose stem. A thorn pricked her finger. A drop of blood oozed out. She looked at the perfect red cabochon on the pearl whiteness of her skin, then absently licked it away. A tiny fork of lightning struck her tongue; strange, disturbing, that even the taste of her own blood could electrify her.
I should have gone with Karl, she thought. If only Stefan had stayed, he could have helped protect Violette… Whatever he thinks of her, he would have done so for me. I wish Karl wouldn’t insist on taking such risks alone! But I admire his independence, so I cannot complain.
She watched the tiny puncture heal and vanish.
An unsettling feeling crept over her… A frosty, unnatural presence lurking behind a bedroom door. Waiting for her or for Violette? Charlotte went to the panelled door and turned the handle. The presence was radiant yet cold, and eerily familiar.
She opened the door and halted on the threshold, transfixed.
The being was white, obscured by a veil of opalescent light. Far from threatening her, it lay half on the bed, as if it had fallen and couldn’t get up.
It stretched out a glowing arm and said, “Help me.” A heavy accent, perhaps Russian. “Help me.”
A trap? Charlotte approached cautiously, all her senses poised. She knew this creature… Through the glare, she made out a narrow face and long silver-white wisps of hair.
“Who are you?” she said.
“Fyodor,” said the hoarse voice. “You know me, Charlotte, friend of Lilith.”
So it was him! She remained out of reach, suspicious. Fyodor: lover of Simon, enemy of Violette.
“Help me,” he said again. “So weak. Took all my strength to find you.”
Reluctantly, she gave him her hand. She was ready for treachery, but he only leaned on her, rose and collapsed onto the bed. His glow faded as if sinking back into his pores, leaving his flesh so white that hers was golden-pink by contrast. His white shirt and cream-coloured flannels were rags. Bloodless and emaciated, he resembled a blue-veined albino ravaged by addiction. The vampire she remembered, full of arrogant mirth, was gone.
“What do you want?”
“To talk. You created Lilith, so listen to me.”
“Are your companions with you?” she said harshly. “Are you planning to kidnap Violette again? Why can’t you leave her in peace?”
Fyodor held up his hands. “I’m alone. The trinity is broken. You could drain my blood, break my neck and throw me to the hounds of hell, Charlotte, if you wished. Since Simon left us, I have no strength.”
She sat on the bed, arms folded.
“Do you expect sympathy? My God, you should kiss Violette’s feet and beg forgiveness for the way you treated her!”
Rage glinted in Fyodor’s eyes, a silver lash. “Love is blind,” he said. “You are in love with a serpent, but a serpent can’t feel love. It can only bite. We obeyed God’s will!”
“When you half-killed us, coerced Violette into nearly being raped by Lancelyn – that was God’s will?” Charlotte said bitterly. “What a charming God you serve.”
His head tipped listlessly to one side. “I agree. That so-charming God abandoned us. You are so young, Charlotte, a baby in vampire terms, but Simon, Rasmila and I are very old. The older we grow, the closer to the Crystal Ring we become, too confident of our powers. That’s when the Ring moulds us to its own designs. We become what it wants: angels, devils, gods. And when it’s finished with us, it spits us out. Raqia has a use for Simon again, but no use for me.”
“Oh,” Charlotte breathed. Energy filled her, a revelation. “That’s what I believe, too. God didn’t make the Crystal Ring; it’s the Ring that creates gods! And you’ve found this out at last? You’ve lost your faith.”
His silvery face creased with pain. “And loss of faith is our punishment. It hit Simon hardest. I could accept it, be a simple vampire again, with no reason for my existence except nature’s caprice. But Simon can’t let go. He needs power and influence, but he can’t use Rasmila and me any longer, so he fastens onto someone new.”
“Cesare,” said Charlotte. “I know.”
Fyodor sneered. “Cesare isn’t enough for him. Simon still needs me but won’t admit it.” He touched her thigh, and the touch tingled unpleasantly. “I don’t care about Lilith or Cesare. I want Simon back, that’s all. I want Simon.”
Charlotte moved out of reach, almost laughing. Lovesick, this poor creature. Simply lovesick. “What do you think I can do about it?”
Fyodor sat up, long milky hair hanging down to his lap. He was frail, androgynous, not the exuberant creature she remembered. “You are keeping him from me, you and Karl!”
“No, we’re not,” she said. “I gave Simon no encouragement. He tried to use us, that’s all. That’s not love. He has no soul. He’s empty, and emptiness breeds mischief.”
Fyodor appeared not to take offence at her judgement. “Simon gave you his blood,” he said quietly. “Didn’t that make you adore him?”
“No. I wish he would take you back and leave us alone.”
Fyodor seized her hand, making her start. “Then come and fetch Karl!”
“What?” Waves of fear shivered over her.
“They’re holding Karl at Schloss Holdenstein.”
“Why didn’t you tell me when you arrived?” Charlotte was on her feet, distraught. “We’re wasting time!”
She was out of the apartment and running downstairs, not waiting for an answer. The scent of singed timber rose, choking her. On the landing, she met Violette running up from a lower floor, as if she’d heard Charlotte’s cry.
Charlotte rushed back up to the apartment, Violette following, only to find that Fyodor had vanished.
“He was here,” Charlotte said. “Fyodor. He said they’re keeping Karl prisoner at Holdenstein. We must get him out!”
Violette was unmoved. “No, Charlotte. It’s a trap.”
“So? If Karl’s in danger, I have to help him. Will you come with me?”
She was about to step into Raqia, but Violette said, “No.”
Charlotte stared, incredulous. “You’re refusing to help Karl? But he went there for your sake!”
“It’s a trap,” Violette repeated, “and if you’ve any sense, you won’t fall for it.”
Charlotte was floored.
“Don’t you care? I know you and Karl don’t get on, but what does it matter? After all we’ve done to help you, despite receiving nothing but threats in return? Maybe Cesare and the others are right about you. I’m the one who’s blind, not them.”
She couldn’t look at Violette, couldn’t bear her glacial eyes and heartless words. Furious, betrayed, but dry-eyed, Charlotte turned away and arrowed into the Crystal Ring.
* * *
John had wanted to lock Karl in a cell and torture him, but Simon, disgusted, wouldn’t hear of it.
“You don’t know Karl as I do,” said Simon. “He’s not one of your ox-headed young men. We’ll win him only by affection and reason, not cruelty.
But it was torment, Simon mused, to treat Karl as they had. After Simon drained his blood, they took him to the meeting chamber and sat him on a low chair, with John on hand to prevent any escape attempts. They kept him there for hours, starving.
Few things caused more agony to a vampire than blood-deprivation. Yet Karl bore the ordeal with extraordinary composure. Simon was impressed.
Torchlight made the stone walls appear bathed in sweat. John stood guard beside Karl, while Cesare paced in front of him, expounding his beliefs with enough force to bring anyone, mortal or vampire, to his knees. Simon quietly watched.
The bliss of stealing Karl’s blood had whetted his passion. Simon was in love. He knew now the mystery that made everyone love Karl. He saw why even Kristian had lost all common sense over him. The secret was distilled in Karl’s beauty: a poet’s face, amber eyes like fire captured within the shadows of his brows and lashes. He was like a panther, caged without losing one mote of dignity.
Oh, why did you refuse me? Simon thought. What a leader you would have made! Cesare will do – oh, but you with Cesare’s vision, Karl! What perfection that would be. I’m truly sorry for causing this pain but I can’t help myself…
Simon’s fingers played on the chair a hair’s breadth from Karl’s arm. Karl ignored him.
Then Cesare brought in the humans. Handsome recruits, with bronzed skin and blue eyes. Their tans were fading. A long time would pass before they saw the sun again.
Simon felt Karl tense as the mortals were paraded in small groups. Simon’s own fangs ached and his body yearned towards their moist heat. How much worse it must be for his captive! But Karl remained immobile, expressionless.
“Are they not magnificent?” Cesare said. “What glorious immortals they will make! You don’t begrudge them eternal life, surely?”
“They will turn against you,” said Karl, “as Kristian’s children turned on him.”
“Never,” said Cesare, “because I rely not on vague hopes of love, but on sure foundations of discipline. They are mine already, through life, death and eternity.”
“Are they to have no thoughts of their own?” Karl’s voice was steady but tense with thirst.
“What thoughts could they have that are better than mine?” Cesare asked. “Your misguided obsession with freedom leads to depravity and anarchy, the dark path to Lilith’s domain.”
“They’ll begin to age unless you transform them soon.”
“The time of transformation is mine to decide.” Cesare looked reprovingly at Simon. “You haven’t weakened him enough. He hopes to discover our plans. But it wouldn’t matter, Karl, if you knew the time of initiation to the minute: you can’t stop us.”
“And it won’t matter if you keep me here for a hundred years,” Karl said flatly. “You will never persuade me to your cause.”
“Will this not persuade you?” More human males came in, bowed, walked away. Delicious blood-heat wafted from them. “Or this?” Another group. “Or this?”
Two vampires marched in, holding between them an exquisite young woman with dishevelled russet hair. She was afire with indignation.
Charlotte.
That, Simon noted with satisfaction, made Karl react.
* * *
When Charlotte saw Karl seated between John and Simon, his face gaunt with blood-loss, she broke free of her captors and ran towards him. John stepped forward and stopped her. It was like hitting an iron gate.
John’s grotesque appearance shocked her. His hands on her arms were thick and powerful, like snakes. But it was the emanation of his soul that horrified most; there was nothing in his eyes, nothing but hellfire.
She could have fled into Raqia, but escaping would not help Karl.
No sign of Fyodor. She wondered, Was he sent by Simon to trick me here? Not that it mattered now.
“Karl, have they hurt you?” she said.
“You shouldn’t have come, Charlotte.” Karl glared at Simon, who waved John aside and let Karl go to her.
“How could I not?”
“But now they have us both prisoner. What does that achieve?” He stroked her arms, his expression as sombre as death. And Charlotte knew – as if she’d never believed it before – that she and Karl were not invulnerable, that Cesare’s powers were real. The new order forming within the castle walls would roll onwards, an iron-wheeled leviathan.
“It achieves this,” said Simon. “Time for you both to think. Time to accept that you can either join us or die. What holds you back? Pride? But a vampire’s greatest priority is survival. And then… love.”
Simon came too close, put one hand on Karl’s shoulder, stroked Charlotte’s cheek. She wanted to feel disgust, but instead she felt soporific. On the edge of surrender again.
She wondered if Cesare was jealous, as Fyodor had been.
“Did my blood call to yours, after all?” Simon asked, smiling.
“No. Your white-haired friend came and said you had Karl here.”
“As I intended. Good.”
“Let Karl go! I’ll do anything, put myself in his place…”
“But we want you both.” Simon’s tone became persuasive. “I won’t impose unreasonable conditions. You won’t be separated or enslaved. No, you’ll be treated as gods by our followers, like Cesare and myself. All we ask is that you listen. Is it really so wonderful to be out in the cold with only Lilith for company, when you could be with us, warm and loved and safe?”
Charlotte pressed her palm to her forehead, recalling Violette’s refusal to help rescue Karl.
“What is it, liebling?” Karl asked, but she shook her head.
“Nothing. All of this.” But she thought, Maybe Simon’s right. Violette is a monster. I’ve always known. She cares nothing for Karl or me. Why go on defending her, when we may be killed for our efforts?
“May I speak to Karl alone?” she asked.
“As you wish,” Cesare said graciously.
She and Karl went to a corner behind the ebony throne. She put her mouth by his ear, whispering so faintly that even vampires would not overhear.
“What if we appear to do what Simon wants? Pretend we’re on his side, then seduce him away from Cesare?”
“No,” said Karl.
“It could be our only chance. Win some time, set them against each other…”
Karl hugged her close. “You’re probably right, but I can’t. Yes, it worked with Kristian; I pretended to love him in order to betray him – and that’s why I cannot do so again. It leaves a stain in the soul… And I can’t watch you do that, either.”
Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut, ashamed that she’d asked. “Either we prostitute ourselves, or we die.”
“Not yet,” he whispered. “We’re too precious to Simon for him to dispose of us easily. If we stay, at least we may subvert others to our cause –”
“Enough,” came Cesare’s sharp voice. “How went the fire, Charlotte?”
“No one died,” she said, turning to him. “Hard luck.”
“I didn’t intend anyone to die. It was a warning, as Violette knows.”
“What else will you do to her?”
“Anything, everything. Whatever it takes. Simon insists she cannot be destroyed. But I say she must be contained. And one day she’ll wither and die of self-loathing.”
Charlotte took a breath. “Look, we can’t escape, and Simon doesn’t want us ill-treated. Couldn’t you let Karl feed?”
“I could,” said Cesare. “But not until he’s expressed contrition and willingness to co-operate.”
Charlotte looked at Karl. However well he hid it, she knew he was in anguish.
“This is inhuman!” she cried. Simon broke into laughter.
“No, it’s simple,” Cesare said serenely. “You can be tortured until Karl surrenders, and vice versa. John will find it no trouble: torture is his vocation. Or you could give in now, which would be less fun for John but easier for the rest of us.”
Karl embraced Charlotte protectively, his face in her hair.
“Leave, while you can,” he said.
“Not without you!”
Simon came and took Charlotte’s hand. Karl glared icily at him, but as Simon drew Charlotte away, John seized Karl. Separated, they were bundled to the centre of the chamber. Charlotte was aware of Karl struggling, but he was powerless to prevent Simon putting his fangs to her neck.
“It’s over,” Simon murmured. “You’re angry now, but in time… We’ll be angels together, Charlotte.” His fangs were icicles pressing her throat. “Am I not as beautiful as Karl? Can you love me?”
“A bottle of poison wrapped in beautiful paper looks like a desirable gift,” she said. “But it’s still poison.”
His arms tightened savagely. She closed her eyes, waiting for him to strike, but the pain didn’t come. He paused; then his mouth left her throat, and he looked up.
Charlotte felt the air tremble and the temperature drop.
The sound began like wind groaning around the castle. And then the air was full of wings, beating at the air unseen. She froze in dread, as if all Kristian’s victims had stepped out of the walls to take revenge…
Everyone was looking around, eyes glazed with alarm; Cesare, John, Simon, Karl, the unfamiliar vampires – one male, one female – who’d brought Charlotte in. Cries echoed from other parts of the Schloss. More vampires and humans came running in through the archways as if to beseech their leader for reassurance.
The walls shook. A mass of air was displaced as if by some vast primeval beast with ribbed wings. Night fell. Someone screamed.
When torchlight flared again, the female vampire and one of the human males lay dead. The vampire’s head had been severed, still in its hood. The male’s blood had sprayed everywhere.
And Lilith was in the room.
Charlotte’s heart flew in loops. Mortals and vampires were crying out and clinging to each other, while Cesare crossed the chamber towards the ebony throne, stumbling as if he might expire with fury and fear.
The terror Violette inspired was tangible, like booming sound waves. Charlotte, though, was not afraid; she was inexplicably part of it. She thought, Violette followed us after all! What else matters?
Simon and John kept their grim hold on her and Karl.
Violette faced Cesare, her jet hair tangled with static, her eyes blue comets. Cesare stepped behind the throne, clinging to the back as if it were a shield. His voice, when he found it, was loud and commanding.
“Surrender to us,” he said, pointing at Karl and Charlotte, “or your friends will suffer.”
Violette blinked. Then she moved so fast that Charlotte hardly saw her, but somehow she had Cesare by the throat and was dragging him from his refuge. His attempts to shake her off were pathetic. His eyes bulged like huge grey pearls.
“On the other hand,” said Violette, glaring at Simon, “let my friends go or Cesare dies. Perhaps you’d like him to die, I don’t know.” She squeezed. Blood oozed between her fingers.
“Do as she says!” Cesare rasped. “Let them go!”
Karl and Charlotte were thrown suddenly together.
Lilith’s wings filled the chamber. She gathered Karl and Charlotte against her, and swept them into the Crystal Ring.
* * *
They had each tried to destroy the other, each tried to win, or at least to end the affair. Hopeless. Robyn and Sebastian remained fastened on each other, gorging on dark sensuality. A horrible and wondrous feeling, like opium addiction, wanton and irresistible.
“I’ll take you away from here,” he whispered, but she only laughed.
Sebastian began to despair of persuading Robyn to leave Boston. He wanted to free her from the chains of her past, her responsibilities, her lovers.
“No, this is my home, I belong here. Why should I move?” she would say, as if she had a choice.
He could not admit the truth: “Other vampires know where you live. I must protect you, keep you to myself.”
If persuasion wouldn’t work, it followed that he must use force. Place her in a position, he thought, where she can’t refuse.
“I can’t see you tonight; don’t come to the house,” she said one evening, but Sebastian went anyway.
He melted through the locked French windows, and found Harold Charrington, dressed up for an evening out, sitting in the parlour on his own. He was in an armchair by the fire, smoking a cigar and looking thoroughly at home.
If Harold had seen him appear from nowhere, perhaps he would have been less nonchalant. As Sebastian approached him, though, he didn’t turn a hair. He merely looked the vampire over with a knowing, worldly air that infuriated Sebastian.
“So, you’re the one,” said Harold. “The other man, the young lover. Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.”
He rose briefly to shake Sebastian’s hand, sank back into the chair. Sebastian thought, How can she let those hairy, veined hands touch her?
“And you, sir, must be Mrs Stafford’s grandfather.”
Harold laughed. “I may be well struck in years – but she ain’t thrown me over for you, has she?”
Despising him, Sebastian sat down opposite. “Well, I’m glad of this opportunity to insist you stop seeing her.”
Harold laughed harder.
“I’m serious,” Sebastian added.
The old man shook his head in amusement. “Sure you are. When you get to my age, you learn tolerance. I know that to keep her, I have to accept she has other admirers.” He chuckled. “You’ll learn.”
Sebastian stared, smelling Harold’s musty body-heat, his pulsing arteries.
Harold threw his cigar stub into the fire. “I guess one of us better leave. Wouldn’t want to embarrass the lady.” He looked pointedly at Sebastian, then at the door. No doubt his iron self-assurance terrified his employees.
Sebastian stood. “Allow me to point something out.” He beckoned. Harold rose, puzzled, the top of his head level with Sebastian’s chin.
Sebastian seized him. Harold cried out. His spectacles fell to the floor.
“Wouldn’t it be terribly embarrassing for your widow,” said the vampire, mimicking his educated accent, “if you were to be found dead in the house of your mistress?”
Harold gaped like a flatfish.
The vampire struck, feeding swiftly and neatly. The old man’s blood was thick with potential clots; his heart thundered, stumbled, exploded long before blood-loss would have killed him. When Sebastian dropped him back into the chair, he looked as if he had simply expired there. His expression was oddly indignant, his lips slate blue.
Sebastian replaced the spectacles on Harold’s nose and left, silently, the way he’d entered.
* * *
“I’m ready, dear,” said Robyn, entering the parlour in cream satin, with pearls in her hair: virginal, old-fashioned, just as Harold liked her. But Harold failed to leap to his feet. His head lolled and she thought, I took so long he’s fallen asleep.
Then she saw his livid pallor. Saw two tiny marks in his throat, only because she knew to look for them.
“Mary,” she said, her voice hoarse but steady. She fumbled her way backwards to the door, and called again. “Mary, get the doctor, will you?”
Robyn managed to stay calm throughout the doctor’s visit, but inside she was in turmoil.
“He didn’t look well when he arrived,” she lied.
The doctor failed to notice the marks. They were flea bites, not gaping wounds. “Looks like a heart attack,” he said grimly, frowning at Robyn. He knew Harold’s family, and disapproved of infidelity. “Happens to men of his age, especially if they overindulge their… appetites.”
“Could you please arrange to take him away?” Robyn said sweetly. “He’s not my husband, as you know. He really shouldn’t be here. You understand.”
Once the body had been removed and the grumpy doctor was gone, Robyn sank down on a sofa, head in hands. Mary hurried to make tea, but Alice stood over Robyn like a prison wardress.
“Well, you’ll see sense now,” said Alice.
Robyn looked up, aggravated. “What are you talking about? He had a heart attack.”
“But you and I know damned well what really happened!” Alice retorted. “That devil almost killed me and Mary. Now he’s actually murdered someone. He’s killing you too. What will it take to make you stop?”
“Leave me alone,” was all Robyn could say. “You’re giving me a headache.”
She went to bed and lay awake, waiting for Sebastian. He never came.
The next day Robyn was calm and controlled. Yes, like someone walking a tightrope over a fire-pit, she thought.
She hoped Harold’s death would quietly be forgotten, but knew she couldn’t be that lucky. The following days were chaotic. Harold Charrington had been eminent in the business community. The fact that he’d expired in his mistress’s house could not be kept secret. Scandal broke and spread through the puritanical hierarchy of Boston society.
Robyn tried to brazen it out, but each day brought fresh horror. Reporters haunted her doorstep. Friends failed to call. The church congregation shunned her and she was discreetly asked to leave. The same happened everywhere she went. A hand on her elbow, the obsequious whisper, “Ma’am, your presence is causing, er, embarrassment so if you wouldn’t mind… I’m sure you appreciate…”
Jesus, I hate this! she would rage in the privacy of her bedroom, withering.
One afternoon, Harold’s widow arrived, hysterical and baying for blood.
Thankfully, Alice and Wilkes saw the wretched woman off and spared Robyn a confrontation. Robyn was being forced into seclusion, and she couldn’t tolerate it. Next the Beacon Hill Civic Association will be demanding I clean up the neighbourhood by moving out.
I don’t blame them. I blame myself. But most of all I blame you, Sebastian, you demon.
Sebastian hadn’t reappeared, which was as good as an admission of guilt. He must know the trouble he’d caused, realised she was fond of Harold. In fact, she missed Harold more than she believed possible; even wept for him, once.
On the fifth morning, she slept late and came downstairs to find her parlour full of visitors. Mary, Mr and Mrs Wilkes, the doctor, several police officers and a minister from Trinity Church. At the centre, radiating the grim resolve of a woman who’d reached the end of her rope, was Alice.
“I’ve told them, madam,” Alice said as Robyn halted in the doorway.
“Told them – what?” Her eyes raked over the grim faces of authority. She felt horribly exposed.
“That I believe Mr Charrington was murdered by your friend, Sebastian Pierse.”
Robyn gaped. This was so hideous she almost laughed.
“Why is the minister here? Have you explained you believe Mr Pierse to be a vampire?”
The visitors stirred. Mary hung her head. The minister looked into the middle distance, betraying that yes, Alice had told him.
Robyn addressed the officials.
“I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey, but my companion hasn’t been well. She sometimes has… ideas that are only loosely connected to reality.”
Alice glared back stonily. Now the betrayal was mutual. “I’m doing this to protect you, madam. I won’t stand by and watch him destroy you!”
One of the police officers cleared his throat. “We need to hear your side of the story, ma’am.”
“I assure you, officer, no one’s destroying me,” Robyn said firmly. She sounded calm, Alice the hysterical one. “As the doctor will confirm, Mr Charrington suffered a heart attack, which was unfortunate, but not uncommon. I’m grateful for you taking this trouble, but I don’t want to waste any more of your time, so if you don’t mind…”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” said the officer. “It’s not that easy. This is a very serious allegation. Our duty is to pursue it until we’re satisfied there are no suspicious circumstances.”
“What can I say to reassure you? Mr Pierse didn’t know Harold Charrington and had no connection to him. On the night of Mr Charrington’s death, he was alone only for a few minutes while I was getting ready. The doors were locked, there was no break-in. And when Mr Charrington first arrived, I’d noticed he looked unwell.”
The doctor nodded. “Mrs Stafford did say that.”
Alice’s eyes blazed with silent accusation. Liar!
“Well, how do you answer the allegation that Mr Pierse on one occasion assaulted both your housekeeper and your maid in their beds?”
Robyn shook her head. “Impossible. Mr Pierse is a gentleman. His visits were spent in my company. Mary, do you recall Mr Pierse ever entering your bedroom?”
Mr and Mrs Wilkes sat in silence, their chins drawn in with puritan denial. The maid’s face was a mask of tense bewilderment.
“No, ma’am, I don’t.”
Robyn looked pointedly at the policemen, her eyebrows raised. “I hope this has cleared things up.”
“Not really,” the officer said heavily. “There may be an autopsy, and we need to question Mr Pierse. If you’d tell us where to find him?”
“I’m afraid I can’t.”
“It’s not in your interests to withhold information, ma’am.”
Fear and indignation slithered through her. She felt judged as an accomplice, if not a criminal. “I’ve nothing to hide, but I don’t have his address.”
Silent disapproval hung heavy in the room. She felt invaded, violated under her own roof.
“You were seeing a man,” said a second policeman, “without knowing his address or circumstances?”
“He’s a visitor from Ireland,” she said quickly, knowing most of them had Irish blood. “You could check the hotels.”
The police made to leave. “You’ll be sure to notify us immediately if you see him, ma’am?”
“Of course, officers,” Robyn said graciously. “If there’s anything else I can do—”
“Don’t plan any vacations. We’ll need to see you and your housekeeper again.”
Mary saw out the policemen and doctor, to Robyn’s great relief. Her head ached. She sank down on a chair arm, rubbing her forehead. She couldn’t turn her wrath on Alice because the Wilkes and the minister were still there.
“Mrs Stafford,” the minister began in a voice of oak and honey, “I’m here to help you. Anything you wish to talk about…”
“There isn’t, thank you.”
“None of us is perfect, you know. We’re all faced with temptation and it is only human to succumb once in a while. Satan has all manner of tricks, but God is merciful. You’re a devout worshipper, Mrs Stafford. You know the church is always here to help.”
Robyn shot to her feet, feeling homicidal.
“I came to church last Sunday and was asked to leave! There’s no more to say. So if you’ll excuse me?”
The minister left, looking grave and shamefaced. No sooner had he gone than Mr and Mrs Wilkes came to her and offered their resignations.
“You’ve been so good to us, ma’am,” said Mrs Wilkes, in tears. “But under the circumstances – we’re sorry, but –”
“I’m sorry, too,” Robyn sighed. “Alice will arrange your final payment. A generous one to reflect your hard work and loyalty. But I’ve a headache and I need to rest.”
With that she left, barely glancing at the stunned Alice. In her bedroom, she sat at her dressing table, temples resting on her fists, trembling. After a few minutes, the door opened and Alice came in, her face as grim as thunder.
“You made me look a fool downstairs, madam.”
“And you made me look like an accomplice to murder!” Robyn flared. “How dare you drag the police into this! Have you gone completely crazy?”
“But that creature really is a murderer!” Alice struck the edge of the dressing table, scattering perfume bottles like skittles. Robyn had never seen her so angry. “I’m trying to save you from him. But you, God help you, are trying to protect him! That makes you an accomplice to murder. So tell me, which of us is crazy?”
“Get out,” Robyn grated. “If you want to lose your job, home and generous salary – you’re going the right way about it.”
“You ungrateful b–” Alice closed her lips on the last word. Eyes brimming, she marched out.
Robyn dropped her head onto her arms, drained. She was too depressed even to cry. Why am I doing this? she thought. I’m mad, because I know Alice is right. Why am I protecting Sebastian and attacking her, when all this is his fault?
She sat without moving for an hour or so. Mary brought a tray of coffee, set it down with trembling hands, and left without a word. Robyn roused herself to pour a cup, stirred in too much sugar and winced at the cloying sweetness.
That was when Sebastian appeared. She saw a dark movement from the corner of her eye and stood up to face him, livid.
“Have you the remotest idea what you’ve done to me?”
“What is it?” He moved like a shadow towards her, beautiful, gentle, self-assured, infinitely more real than her accusing visitors. “The idiots in your parlour? For the love of heaven, Robyn, don’t let the likes of them upset you.”
“They want to question you about a murder. The minister wants to save my soul. They know about you.”
Sebastian shrugged. “I’m a jealous lover, child. You know that. I told you to stop seeing Harold. You didn’t really care about him, did you?”
Her head ached to the bone. “Not as much as I should. I suppose that makes me no better than you.”
“Those policemen are no problem. They could all have heart attacks, you know.”
“Don’t you dare! You don’t understand how bad this is! By seeing you, knowing what you are, it’s as if I murdered Harold myself – and there are people in this town who’d love to see me in prison. Even if they can’t prove anything, there’s the scandal, the newspapers. I’ve got away with a lot over the years, but beauty and charm wear thin if it’s just too scandalous to be acquainted with me!”
“You’re certainly a realist.”
“Damn right I am. But I’m damned if I’ll let them drive me out of my home. I won’t let them win. I’m going to face them down.”
“Why?” He pulled her onto the foot of the bed, his alluring eyes on hers. “Just come away with me, Robyn.”
“I’d be admitting defeat.”
“If you come with me, no harm will come to Alice, Mary or anyone.”
“That sounds like blackmail.”
“That’s as maybe. They can’t touch me or even prove I exist; you’re the one who will suffer. I’d have no choice but to protect you. But leave with me now, and everyone will be safe. All this will fade away and be forgotten.”
Robyn exhaled. For all her fighting words, she was surrendering. She lacked the energy for a day-to-day battle with the police, the church, Alice, society. Her crusade against men had turned sour. Only one man was left now against whom she could aim her thirst for revenge. Only one whose defeat would truly satisfy her: this creature of darkness who had ruined her life.
“All right. You’ve got your way again,” she said. “Why do I feel I’m being abducted by the King of Elfland?”
He smiled. “Pack your suitcase. I’ll come for you after dark. Let me show you what it is… to disappear.”