Pierre greeted her with world-weary flippancy, but his acting was lamentable. Fear had gnawed holes in his sanity. As she looked around his dank, rushlit chamber, he suffered an unravelling sensation that felt suspiciously like an urge to embrace Ilona and cry his eyes out.
“It’s taken me an age to find you,” she snapped. “What the devil are you doing here?”
“Exactly what there is to do here,” he retorted. “Nothing.”
“What’s wrong with you, Pierre?” She moved closer, studying him shrewdly. “You weren’t in your usual haunts. I can’t believe you’re here, but I had an intuition… Have you lost your mind? You hate this place.”
“What do you want?” He was fractious now. Since Violette’s attack, everything irritated him.
“There have been rumours,” she said, “about you and a certain ballerina.”
“Rumours? The bitch tried to kill me!”
“Shame she didn’t do a better job,” Ilona said crisply. “So you ran to Cesare?”
“Not to Cesare.” He almost enjoyed the familiar joust. Anger was easier to manage than fear. “He doesn’t own this place. I had to go somewhere.”
“To hide?”
“You didn’t see her! She was crazed!”
“I’ve met her. She is crazy, but really, Pierre, she’s only a slip of a thing. How did she reduce you to this state? You don’t look fit to scare the birds out of the fields.”
Pierre lacked the strength to answer. He sank down onto a bench, where he’d been trying to read some rambling religious tract left behind by Kristian. Ilona stared at him with contempt.
“Where is Cesare, by the way?” she said. Her tone softened, as if she were genuinely shocked by Pierre’s appearance.
“He went to look for Violette. He’s been gone for days, so perhaps she’s slaughtered him too.”
“You told him about her?”
He shrugged. “Yes, everything. Why not?”
“Well, he won’t find her. She’s in America. Karl and Charlotte went too, to keep her out of mischief.”
“Good luck to them,” Pierre whispered. “She should be kept out of trouble. Permanently.”
She sat beside him, her velvet-brown gaze fastening on his. “Do you really think so?”
“Do you?”
She didn’t answer. He wondered if Ilona, cavalier as she was with human life, had it in her to kill another vampire… then he remembered Kristian. We are all capable, he thought. But not acting alone.
“What does Cesare say?” asked Ilona.
“He’s been quite agitated. John got here before me.”
“I know. I saw him on my way in.” Ilona pulled a face. “What has he done to himself? He could star in Nosferatu.”
“He’s sick. They’re all sick here. Cesare wants to launch a crusade against Lilith.”
“He wouldn’t dare set himself against the supposed Mother of Vampires, would he?”
“Oh, he has an answer for that,” said Pierre. “Lilith is the demon mother who will devour her children at the end of time, unless the sons of God defeat her, or something.”
“Aha. Of course. Matricide. I can see Cesare as someone who hated his mother.”
At her words, Pierre wilted. He remembered a conversation with Karl. “I was not like you, Karl, wanting to stay human for love. I was greedy for what Kristian offered… My first victim was my mother, and I fed on her without a qualm. The silly witch had already made herself a martyr for me, so what better way to go than to give me her last drop of blood?”
Oh, how flippantly he’d uttered those sentiments! Now they haunted him. What he felt was long-delayed guilt, a horrible, twisting pain imposed on him by Violette-Lilith.
“Are you listening?” said Ilona.
“Yes,” he said savagely. “Could you feast on your own mother?”
“I don’t know,” she said in a thin tone. “I never knew her. Kristian had her murdered when I was a few months old, so that he could take Karl away. So I have no feelings about mothers, though I have often felt like strangling my father. I once thought I’d like to become a mother, but what’s the use, when your children turn on you?”
“You sound like Violette.” Her words filled him with creeping dread. “Stop.”
“My God, she’s really got to you, hasn’t she?” Ilona touched his shoulder. “Poor Pierre. You so badly wanted to be heartless and gloriously wicked like Sebastian, but it’s not in you.”
“Oh, yes, him,” Pierre said, stung. “I should like to see how Sebastian gets on with her. She’d tear him to shreds.”
“Why didn’t you come to me, instead of baring your sorry soul to Cesare?”
“Thrown myself on your sweet sympathy? I think not. Why the hell does it matter?”
“Because Cesare’s deranged, and so is John. Couldn’t you leave this band of halfwits to fester in their ignorance? Why stir them up? We have enough troubles without them blundering into our world.”
“Cesare’s harmless. He’s actually been quite nice to me.”
“Well, I can’t see him joining forces with Stefan; they loathe each other,” said Ilona. “The opposition to Lilith seems to have collapsed. Everyone she touches falls apart. Matthew’s dead, Rachel’s vanished, and here are you, cowering in this pit.”
“Don’t be kind, Ilona. Gloat a little.”
“You used to like being teased.”
“I’ve lost my sense of humour.”
“I’m not surprised, in this place.” She stroked his cheek. “Good God, you’re freezing! Come with me and hunt.”
“No, Ilona…”
“You need blood.”
Pierre shrank back, shaking his head. “I can’t leave the castle.”
“Why not? Do you need a note from Cesare? I see no shackles or locked doors.”
“I can’t, because I’m frightened.” His words crackled like dry leaves.
Ilona stood, looking at him in disgust. “I thought you were like me, Pierre, but you’re a coward. I know she’s dangerous, but we can’t let her win! She humiliated you, that’s all. That’s what you can’t face. Ooh, bruised pride.”
When he didn’t reply, her face darkened.
“This is my plan,” she said. “I’ll follow her to America, on a later sailing so Karl and the others won’t know I’m there. And I’ll prove, to myself and everyone, that she’s no one to fear. Talk of destroying her is exactly the same as hiding from her. It gives Madame Lenoir power and status she doesn’t deserve.”
“Be careful,” he said, with a touch of his old mockery. “Stefan says she has a grudge against you.”
“Oh, that. She claims I attacked and mutilated her father, years ago, which drove him out of his mind. So I am responsible for all the family problems that sent her mad. Have you ever heard such nonsense? She has no proof that I ever met her damned father, but if I did, he should have been grateful I didn’t kill him. Men,” Ilona spat. “Boys!”
She vanished abruptly into the other-realm, but not before Pierre had seen the look in her eyes. For all her brave words, Ilona, too, was terrified of Violette. And that made him want to huddle around his own fear and beg her not to leave him alone.
* * *
As the ship surged across the Atlantic, Charlotte found relief in being among strangers, journeying to a new land. No other vampires – apart from Violette – were here to come between her and Karl. Kristian, Katerina, Andreas, Ilona, Pierre, even Stefan and Niklas, had all tried to weaken the bond between Karl and Charlotte. How good it was to leave those struggles behind.
Neither she nor Karl had been to America before. Karl had said that travelling through the Crystal Ring was impractical. A long, exhausting journey through the firmament would put them at risk of starvation and becoming too weak to return to Earth. Charlotte had broken impatiently into his explanation.
“It doesn’t matter. We’re going to another continent! I want to experience the journey in earthly time and reality, otherwise it won’t s
eem… real.”
All the same, she’d nearly swallowed her words. Charlotte was used to skimming from one place to another through the unearthly Ring. She was aghast to discover how unbearably slow the liner’s progress seemed. At first she was agitated, impatient to dive into the sky and fly ahead.
After a few days she attuned to the gentle pace. She began to relish the ship’s steady progress, the daily rhythm of life in this elegant, self-contained community. Her anticipation of America heightened to an exquisite degree.
She delayed telling Karl that Josef was on board. It was a delicate subject. The liner was so large she could probably avoid Josef for the whole voyage – but she wanted to be honest with Karl. I’ll tell him soon, she kept promising herself.
She and Karl fed discreetly and sparingly on the other passengers, leaving members of the ballet company strictly alone. There was a minor outbreak of “illness” causing lassitude and fever, but no deaths.
Violette, meanwhile, was barely seen throughout the voyage. She remained in her suite, attended only by her maid, Geli, who was used to her odd behaviour. Presumably she attributed it to Madame’s artistic temperament.
Violette appeared twice a day to supervise a ballet class – essential to keep her dancers in peak form – then retired again. Even Charlotte barely spoke to her. She knew that Violette’s turmoil over taking blood was worse in the confines of the ship, and that she was starving herself. Nothing Charlotte said made any difference. Eventually Violette lost patience and refused to see her.
The talk among the passengers was of the legendary Madame Lenoir. Greatly excited at the prospect of meeting her, they were to be disappointed. Charlotte gave up hope of Josef even glimpsing her before they reached New York.
Some months ago, Charlotte had told Karl about Josef. “A friend of my father,” she’d said. “We met by chance and he recognised me. I tried to pretend he’d made a mistake but he saw through me… and yes, he knows I’m a vampire.”
Karl had warned her against making human friends, so she’d been nervous of his reaction. To her surprise, he’d been sanguine about it. She was touched that he still trusted her, after her relationship with Violette. But that was Karl.
For him to be confronted by Josef in person, however, was a different matter. She dared not tell him before the ship sailed, in case Karl persuaded her to leave Josef behind. So she’d said nothing.
No use delaying any longer, though. On the fourth night, at a cocktail party in a large mirrored stateroom, with the floor rocking gently beneath them, she took Karl to meet Josef.
Josef greeted her warmly, his kind face suffused with pleasure. If Karl was disconcerted by this show of affection, he didn’t betray it. Smiling to hide her apprehension, Charlotte said, “Josef, may I introduce Karl Alexander von Wultendorf. Karl, this is Dr Josef Stern.”
The men’s reaction to each other was formal and guarded as they exchanged pleasantries. Watching them together, Charlotte’s head swam. Both lean and elegant in evening dress, they could almost have been father and son.
She only wished they liked each other. They clearly did not.
As Karl didn’t know why Josef was here, nothing important could be discussed. Instead, a neutral conversation about the ship’s magnificence concealed an ice-edged game. Josef knew Karl’s true nature, which made the exchange even more difficult. And Karl, aware that this stranger knew his secret, was also wary. They were polite, but she saw the icy gleam in their eyes.
When Charlotte found an excuse to end the exchange, the two men parted with the impeccable courtesy of old friends.
Then Karl took Charlotte’s arm, led her through the crowd and up on deck. The ocean wind was damp and chill. No one else braved the night air.
“So tell me, dearest,” Karl said lightly, “What is Josef doing here?”
“I should have told you.”
“Ah, so it’s not a coincidence.” His eyes were dryly reproachful.
“No. I invited him.” She looked sideways at him, gauging his reaction. “I thought he might help Violette.”
Karl rarely showed any immortal arrogance – the assumption that humans had nothing to teach vampires – but she sensed a touch of it now. “In what way?”
“He was a physicist – that’s how he knew my father – but he also worked in psychology and he’s familiar with Hebrew writings about Lilith.”
“And this qualifies him to psychoanalyse Violette? I wish him luck.”
“What else can we try? He might perceive something we hadn’t thought of.” Charlotte felt defensive, and wished she didn’t. “Also, he has a niece in Boston. This is a perfect chance for him to visit her.”
“You are very considerate.”
“Are you jealous?” she said, suddenly amused.
Karl smiled, almost. “Charlotte, the man is in love with you.”
“Perhaps,” she said, with a slight shrug. “But he knows we can only be friends. He accepts it.”
“A mortal friend,” he said gravely, “who knows what we are.”
“I hope this isn’t another lecture about the dangers of human friends.”
“No lecture. Have I not left you to learn by experience?”
The remark was subtly barbed. Her friendship with Violette had proved disastrous. “You can be such a beast, Karl, without even trying.”
“Not to you, beloved.” His tone softened. “I wish you’d told me of this plan, that’s all.”
“I meant to. But I knew you’d warn against it, and of course you’re right. I shouldn’t have involved Josef. Should never have let him see what I am. But he seemed able to accept it without horror, that’s all.”
Karl leaned on the ship’s rail, arms folded, eyelids veiling his seductive eyes. “And it means so much, to be accepted by one mortal?”
“Of course.” She laid her hands on his sleeve. “Did you never need a human to accept you?”
“Only you.” He trailed one hand gently down her back. His touch made her shiver with pleasure, like the very first time he’d touched her.
“He isn’t my secret lover, Karl. Perhaps he’d like to be – but he isn’t.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said with a wry smile. “But my concern is for him. I welcome anything that could help Violette, but how will she react if you present her with a psychiatrist?”
“She’ll be furious. That’s why I must handle this with extreme care.”
“Quite,” said Karl, “because Josef is the one who’ll suffer if Violette reacts badly. You’ve put him in danger.”
“I know.” She exhaled. “But I’ve warned him, and I’ll protect him.”
“I hope so.” His long fingers pressed into her shoulder; the fingers of a musician, precise and strong. “For his sake.”
In the hour before dawn, after Charlotte had fed, she stood alone at the rail, cold salt spray on her lips echoing the hot salt of blood. Watching the waves, she thought about her family. Those few words, “He was a friend of my father,” led her along a thread of memories. She remembered her father, a gruff and imposing figure in his shapeless tweed jacket; a man with the modern mind of a scientist and a Victorian heart. She recalled quiet, happy times in his laboratory, Charlotte assisting as he teased out the secrets of the atom. His laboratory had been her refuge from the outside world.
She and her father had been close, yet unable to communicate. He couldn’t endure losing his beloved daughter to Karl… and how could she justify her decision to put her love for a vampire before her own family?
Her behaviour had been unforgivable. She knew her father’s health was poor; part of her was still human enough to worry. At least he wasn’t alone. Her younger sister Madeleine, their brother David and his wife Anne, once Charlotte’s best friend, would always take care of him. She still loved them… But she’d hurt them too badly ever to go back.
The price of being with Karl was to leave my human life behind, she told herself. Oh, why’s it still so hard to let the memorie
s go? But I can and I must.
This is where I belong. Leaving the past behind. Travelling to New York, Boston, a new world.
She watched the grey-green waves rising and falling, drawing the ship slowly towards the horizon. She let her imagination flow forward in time to the grey bowl of the harbour, towers rising through the haze, and the great oxide-green statue in all her grace, the flame of liberty making its eternal promise.
* * *
The real world came as a massive shock to Cesare.
With every step he took from Schloss Holdenstein, he became more aware of his own naivety. All his vampire life he had sheltered in the monumental dark temple of Kristian’s theology. After the master’s death, he’d stayed there, believing that one day Kristian must return, or eternal life had no point.
For centuries Cesare had seen the world only by moonlight. He’d seen his victims as prey, lacking inner life. He knew nothing of world events, war or politics. He was unaware that fashions had changed, that the motor car was supplanting the horse, that women were questing towards equality with men.
Even without Kristian, in his steady state of despondency, he had been at peace. He’d lived a monkish life. His mind had become small and cramped, a walnut shell sealed around nothingness.
But the shell was cracking.
Venturing from the castle was like walking on knives. How the sunlight dazzled. How strange people looked in daylight, busy and oblivious to him. He was used to being his victim’s universe, the last thing they ever saw! He hated being ignored. Yet he bore it, forcing himself to observe and learn.
A dreadful feeling grew inside him. Fear. His ignorance was a thick fog between him and the unfamiliar world.
Cesare knew Violette lived in Salzburg, but he didn’t wish to face her without an armoury of knowledge. Instead he travelled through Switzerland to Italy, once his native land. There people took him for a priest and called him Father. Cesare liked that. It restored his sense of self.
The Dark Blood of Poppies Page 11
