“Now do you believe I’m not human?” she whispered.
* * *
Charlotte lit candles on a low table, each flame adding a new wash of light to her golden-pale skin. Fragrant incense smoke coiled through the glow.
Karl watched her. There was silent reverence between them, for what had gone before and what would surely follow.
The drawing room took on the feel of a church prepared for midnight mass. This was a kind of ritual; dream-like, unplanned, but inevitable. A celebration, or wake, for the death of delusion.
Karl, seated in an upright chair, felt the familiar curves of the cello between his knees. Scents of old, varnished wood mingled with the peppery incense. He set his bow to the strings and began to draw out deep, warm notes. He played a nocturne in a minor key, mournful and evocative. Charlotte, arrested, blew out her match and closed her eyes. He saw her body tauten, saw the tip of one fang indenting the rose-red curve of her lower lip.
The solitary line of music expressed all that had happened this evening. The mad leap from the mountain, the mutual bliss of killing. How easy it was, he thought, when we hunted alone, to pretend we’re better than we really are. Until thirst comes in a primitive rush and we fall on our prey like animals… And, dear God, it was so like making love. Devouring each other while that poor woman faded between us…
As Karl played, Charlotte rose to her feet and began to dance. So hard, even now, not to see her as the sweet young mortal he had first met. So hard to believe she had shared the kill with him! In a dress of cream, rose and gold lace she was slender and graceful, her upright back and neat square shoulders swathed by waist-length hair. Her hair was a shimmering wreath of soft brown and gold, framing her lovely, ageless face. She smiled as she danced. She looked so carefree, so heartbreakingly pretty, no one would believe that blood had ever touched her lips.
Only her eyes had changed. The amethyst-grey irises were layered with experiences and sorrows that no mortal could imagine.
She was an elemental, a nymph, an enigma. Karl watched her rippling hair, the subtle roundness of her breasts, hips and thighs moving beneath the lace. He felt an intense longing to make love to her… but that could wait. They had all night.
The nocturne wound to its sombre end. Charlotte curtseyed, her arms stretched behind her like wings.
“I’m not Violette,” she said apologetically.
“Thank God for that,” said Karl.
She came to him and stroked his hair. “Do you still dislike her so much?”
“Liebchen, as I keep telling you, I don’t dislike her. I meant that I want to be with you, no one else. And I do not want to talk about Violette.”
“But we must.”
“Why?”
“Well, we can’t talk about…” She gestured at the window, meaning the outside world, the forest, the shared feast. “Can we?”
He folded his fingers around her hand. “Not yet.”
“I’m sure Violette will be all right. As long as she goes on dancing, there’s hope.”
“That she won’t destroy us?”
“That she’ll keep her sanity, and not be unhappy.”
“And not carry out her threats against us?” Karl said.
“Dear, she wasn’t herself.”
“Yet she said it. She threatened to take you from me, and change us both into people we would not recognise. I can’t afford to ignore that.”
Karl wished Charlotte would forget Violette, but it was Charlotte’s obsession that had made her into a vampire. Now she felt endlessly responsible for the dancer.
“However,” he went on, “I won’t live under the shadow of any threat. I had enough of that with Kristian. We’re free now. I refuse to fear Violette.”
“I’m not afraid of her. I made her.” Charlotte knelt beside him, her face shining in the candlelight. “She’s like my mother, daughter, sister –” Karl was glad she didn’t add lover “– and I won’t turn my back on her.”
“Of course not, but that doesn’t mean she’s not dangerous. The last time I saw the three supposed ‘angels’, they warned me against her. Although I don’t trust them, I think the warning was genuine.” Memory enveloped him. He felt the frost-burn of the Weisskalt and saw the three – angels or devils, they had been more than vampires – leaping like jets of fire into the black cauldron of space. Simon, Fyodor, Rasmila – who also called themselves by mythical names: Senoy, Sansenoy, and Semangelof.
Karl wondered what had become of them.
“We should be cautious, that’s all.”
Her hand, rosy with stolen blood, rested on his thigh. “Yes, but we must remain friendly with her. If we avoid her, that may make her more dangerous.”
She looked anxious for his reaction, but for once he agreed with her. “You’re right, beloved. Safer to keep an eye on her, no?”
Charlotte relaxed. “It will be all right, Karl. Play for me again.”
This time she remained beside him, sitting on the carpet with her head resting on his thigh as he played. The strings were responsive under his fingers; he’d lost none of his once-human touch. The slow melody drew them deeper into the lake of sensuality. Sharing a victim had generated a richer desire that they could only sate on each other. Each felt the moment drawing nearer… the unutterable joy of fulfilment becoming deliciously, languorously inevitable.
Karl played the last note, and leaned down to kiss Charlotte. Her tongue touched his lips, parted his teeth; he tasted blood in the sweetness of her mouth.
“I always remember the first time you kissed me,” she whispered. “Do you?”
“In the garden at Parkland Hall, on the bridge. I had tried for so long not to give in.”
“And you said that you were bound to hurt me.”
“But that night you came to my room anyway,” he said, his words running into hers. “I knew that if we went any further I might be unable to control the blood thirst, but I couldn’t stop.”
“Nor could I. I didn’t care about the consequences, my reputation or anything. Even when you said you couldn’t marry me. The secrecy was terrible. It almost broke my heart, knowing it couldn’t last, but not knowing why.”
“I could hardly have told you I was a vampire.”
“I wish you had, instead of the way I did find out! But I can’t regret it. The secrecy was also delicious, knowing we shared a bond that no one around us guessed.”
“Your father would have wished to kill me,” Karl said, smiling.
“And I thought David had killed you. Gods, when I thought I’d never see you again – I’ve no idea why I didn’t die of a broken heart.”
“Because you’re strong.”
“No… because I couldn’t bear to believe you were gone forever. I thought if I hung on long enough, I could will you back into existence.”
“In a way, you did. Ah, but I would not have put you through what happened for anything.”
“But it was inevitable,” she said, “from that moment on the bridge…”
Their mouths touched. A faint, unwelcome sense of intrusion made Karl draw away from her. He sat back in the chair, sighing.
“What is it?” she asked, puzzled.
“You are not concentrating,” he said. “We have visitors.”
* * *
Not visitors, but a deputation, Charlotte observed, trying to be as effortlessly courteous as Karl. Ilona, Karl’s wayward daughter; blue-eyed, callous Pierre; Stefan and his mute twin, Niklas. With them came two immortals whom Charlotte had never met: Rachel, a white, rarefied creature with scarlet hair, and a small, monk-like man named John.
Charlotte was always pleased to see Stefan. She greeted him with a kiss. He smiled, but his bright, cornflower-blue gaze avoided hers.
“What brings you here?” she asked.
“This is a little awkward,” he said softly, moving to Niklas’s side. Both blond and china-skinned, their only physical difference was eye-colour. Niklas’s irises were pale gold. His movement
s echoed Stefan’s in mindless, silent reflection of his twin.
“Don’t be coy,” Ilona snapped. “We’re here to talk about Violette Lenoir.” As always she looked exquisite, a perfect fashion plate with her bobbed hair, a sleek unstructured dress of dusky red flowing to just below her knees, a black silk rose on one hip.
“What is there to say about her?” Charlotte was instantly defensive. Karl quietly took the visitors’ coats, betraying no reaction.
“You tell us,” said Ilona, “what there is to say about Violette.”
Without asking, Ilona wound up the gramophone and put on a record. The thin, cheerful lilt of a jazz band made an incongruous background as the vampires seated themselves around the drawing room. How awkward, Charlotte thought, that they had no social niceties to ease the atmosphere; she couldn’t even offer them a drink. Like birds of prey they settled and gazed unblinking from lovely, piercing eyes. All watching her.
Charlotte busied herself stoking the fire and lighting lamps. As she finished, Karl came to stand beside her near the fireplace. Rachel, too, remained on her feet. She seemed restless, repeatedly touching her neck with both hands.
“Do you really think it’s fair,” Charlotte said, “to discuss Violette when she’s not here to speak for herself?”
“You wouldn’t want her here,” said Rachel. “Believe me.”
“Why?” Charlotte glanced at Karl, chilled.
John, the hard-eyed stranger, said, “Tell them.”
Again Rachel scratched at her throat. “A vampire who places herself in the public eye is unnatural. We should exist as chameleons in the dusk. No human should know our faces or names. She’s breaking the laws.”
“There is no law,” Charlotte said impatiently. “What does it matter if she’s famous? No one will guess what she is.”
“Someone might, if she reaches seventy or eighty without a line on her face,” Pierre drawled. He didn’t appear to be taking this seriously. Rachel shot him a vicious glance.
“It’s not just that,” she went on. “There’s something wrong about her. It’s no secret that she believes herself to be Lilith, the progenitor of all vampires. She’s plainly mad and too powerful for her own good.”
Charlotte’s anger was fuelled by guilt. She feared Rachel was right, but couldn’t accept it. “You don’t even know her! At least give her a chance before condemning her.”
“Oh, we gave her a chance,” said Rachel. “We went to see her. We asked her politely to stop dancing, to stay well away from humans and vampires alike.”
“Well, I can imagine how she reacted to that. Who went, exactly?”
Stefan answered uneasily, “Niklas and myself, Rachel, John and Matthew.” Cautiously he met Charlotte’s eyes. She glared, but he held her gaze.
“Not Ilona and Pierre?”
They shook their heads. Ilona said, “We’re only here now because Stefan seems to think it’s so important.”
“Much ado about nothing,” Pierre added, “but amusing.”
“Nothing?” Rachel’s chalky face lengthened. “I tried to set aside the fact that she murdered my friend Katerina –”
“Katerina could be very provoking,” Ilona put in flippantly. Charlotte could have struck her for saying this in front of Karl, who had loved Katerina.
“I tried to be fair,” Rachel continued, “but she wouldn’t listen. John, you tell them. I can’t.”
John leaned forward, his eyes black with hatred. His modern but shabby suit hung on him like a stage costume. “Matthew is dead. She killed him. He was the dearest companion of my heart, my only refuge from the madness of this century, and she slew him. She tore off his head with her hands.”
Charlotte gaped. “How? Why? What did he do?”
“Nothing!” John flared. “She flew into a rage and attacked him for no reason!”
Stefan added quietly, “Actually, Matthew suggested that unless she took our advice, her ballet dancers might be in danger.”
“Oh, God,” Charlotte gasped. “He threatened their lives, and you’re surprised that she reacted? She would give her life to protect them!”
“But it was only a threat, mere words,” said Rachel. “She didn’t argue, she tore off his head. And that proves my point. She’s insane, capricious, a danger to all vampires.” Again she rubbed her neck, fingers tangling in her flame-red hair. “She attacked me, too… and I’ve lost myself. I’m so afraid.”
A long, heavy silence. Charlotte watched Rachel in dismay, realising she was not merely agitated but in torment. She thought, Violette has done this.
Controlling her emotions, she said, “What do you expect us to do?”
“You made her immortal,” said John.
“But I didn’t act alone.” She willed Stefan to come to her defence, but he only shook his head, looking helpless.
“It’s no good appealing to him,” Ilona said tartly. “Stefan may have helped in the transformation, but we all know you initiated it. And the fact that Katerina also took part did not inhibit Violette from slicing off her head.”
Charlotte couldn’t look at Karl. “She acted to save my life. And I can’t know the truth about Matthew unless I hear Violette’s side of the story. Why are you trying to turn me against her?”
“We don’t want another Kristian!” said Rachel.
“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s not seeking to rule you.” As Charlotte spoke, a ghastly memory rose of the way they’d banded together to assassinate Kristian. She felt Karl’s hand on her shoulder and knew he was sharing her memories. Gods, were they proposing a similar lynch mob to destroy Violette?
John said, “We need to know why you transformed her.”
“What business is it of yours?” Charlotte said indignantly, but Karl’s hand grew heavier.
“Tell them,” said Karl. “We have nothing to hide.”
“All right.” Charlotte composed herself, determined to outface them. “It was my fault. I forced her. I can’t justify what I did. As a human she was beautiful and I was drawn to her… you know how it can be. But I never planned to change her – until I learned she had arthritis that would eventually stop her dancing. I couldn’t bear her talent to be lost, or to see her grow old and crippled. Was I selfish? I wanted her to stay perfect forever.”
Karl’s fingers were now so tight that they hurt like the kiss of fangs.
“And then she went crazy,” said Pierre. “Stefan told us.”
Charlotte felt betrayed that Stefan had told others about such intimate and painful events.
“Which of you didn’t go mad in the first moment of becoming undead?” she said. “Who wasn’t horrified by the blood thirst, who didn’t believe themselves damned?”
“Damned, yes,” John said thinly, “but none of us became Lilith, the queen of vampires.”
Charlotte said helplessly, “I can’t explain. It’s too complicated. I could theorise all night, but I have no answers.”
“When you made her,” said John, “every vampire felt a darkening of the ether. Everyone knew! She’s sown a seed of darkness in the Crystal Ring that will destroy us all.”
Charlotte didn’t reply. She had noticed changes in the Crystal Ring but couldn’t talk about them, even to Karl.
“And what of you, Karl?” said John. “Have you nothing to say?”
“Like Charlotte, I prefer to reserve judgement until I’ve spoken to Violette,” Karl said like the diplomat he was. Charlotte wished he would defend her wholeheartedly. She understood his distrust of Violette, but all the same, she hated it. He added, “Violette may present danger. However, I trust that you are proposing caution rather than assassination. We are not extremists, and like Rachel we all prefer a quiet existence. That is why we opposed Kristian. Let’s remember that we’re all on the same side.”
“Of course we are!” said Stefan. John’s expression remained closed.
Charlotte decided to speak plainly. “Yes, it’s my fault Violette was initiated, and I take full responsibilit
y. You don’t know her! Until you understand her reasons, don’t pass judgement on her. All she cares about is dancing; why should she be remotely interested in any of you? Don’t pester her, and she won’t touch you. But if you approach her with threats, what do you expect? Leave her in peace and you’ll be safe. You have my word.”
“You must be very sure of your influence over her,” Rachel said acidly.
“I cannot forget Matthew,” said John. “An eye for an eye…”
“If you go anywhere near her –” Charlotte flared, close to losing control.
“I support Charlotte,” Pierre broke in. “The whole thing is ludicrous. What’s become of us, that one neurotic fledgling sends us screaming for maman? Grow up and leave Violette alone.”
Charlotte ignored him. Why was it callous, sarcastic Pierre who came to her defence, not the ones she really cared about, Stefan and Karl?
“Do whatever you like,” Rachel said, her voice faint. She leaned against the windows, ghostly pale against the night. “I want nothing more to do with Violette. I want…”
“Where are you going?” John cried.
“I don’t know. Away.”
And she vanished into the Crystal Ring.
“It appears the case for the prosecution is collapsing,” said Charlotte, looking pointedly at Stefan. “I think you’d all better leave.”
Karl, expressionless, brought their coats and distributed them without ceremony.
John left without a word, but the look he gave Charlotte was sourly threatening, almost deranged. He seemed entrenched in age-old dogma of God and Satan, as Kristian had been. I don’t know you, she thought. I don’t care what you believe, just get out of our house and leave us alone!
Ilona, unperturbed, presented herself to Karl. He kissed her forehead. Charlotte was learning to read his feelings, for all his skill at hiding them. She saw his ancient sorrow and the bittersweet love he felt for his daughter.
Charlotte said, “Ilona, you don’t agree with them, do you?”
Ilona turned to her with a cool smile. “Very little frightens me, dear, except Violette. For some reason she scares me to death. But I won’t give in to her.”
The Dark Blood of Poppies Page 4
