He took a last swallow of her burning blood and withdrew, leaving Ilona more indignant than hurt. She began to speak but he pushed her away, slamming her back into the tree so hard that she gasped and fell to her hands and knees on the tree roots. Oblivious to her curses he left her there, and walked softly away into the darkness.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HOUSE OF THORNED VINES
Charlotte’s father, a philosopher and scientist, had used to say that the microcosm contained the macrocosm; that if they could understand the physics of the atom, they would understand the universe itself. This theory, Charlotte thought, also held true for social gatherings. Several times in her life a party had become a central event, a small universe complete in itself, its relationships and emotions forced in a hothouse of artificial contact.
As a human she’d hated these events. Tonight, though, as she and Karl entered the mansion, the prospect of the evening ahead excited her. They would move among unsuspecting humans, who would be captivated without knowing why. They would have innocent conversations with mortals while acutely aware of the blood beating beneath their fresh, unbroken skin. Such electrifying pleasure. And Charlotte would think, All I’d have to do is say the word and you’d gladly permit an embrace that might end your life… Yet she would spare them.
Most of them, at least.
Karl met her eyes, and she saw her anticipation mirrored there. Often she was still shocked to know that he shared her passions, that his gentlemanly detachment was a mask. This unity was only a step away from their shared feast; wondrous, horrific, forbidden.
The party followed the first performance of Swan Lake, the one night that suited the ballet’s schedule. Karl and Charlotte were introduced to the host, an imposing patriarch named James Wilberforce Booth, patron of the arts and a major figure in Boston society, so Violette said. Then they entered the ballroom, a grandiose marble hall that sparkled with mirrors and chandeliers. The space was already crowded, dancers mingling with wealthy socialites. Glass doors stood open to the garden.
“I like this city,” said Charlotte. “It feels familiar, yet so different.”
“I love the subtlety of the differences,” Karl said softly. “Their accents, the way they dress and move. These old Bostonians pride themselves on being of English stock yet they are completely American. Here we are in this aristocratic fortress, but we could walk outside and enter a different world: Irish, Italian, Chinese. There’s such energy here.” He paused, as if contemplating all that seething human heat, life and blood. “This land seems full of possibilities that have died in Europe. They are not jaded by the weight of history.”
“When we walked down by the harbour,” Charlotte murmured, “I imagined immigrants walking off the ships through the sea fog. Like ghosts, but full of hope. Everything is so different and exciting, but it feels like home.”
The gleam of fascination in Karl’s eyes reminded her that vampires thirsted for more than blood. She’d seen that look when he helped her father with his research. Karl often warned her against befriending humans, but the truth was that the mortal world intrigued him.
“Did you invite Josef?” he asked as they wove between guests.
“Of course. Tonight’s ideal for him to meet Violette. She might even be receptive.”
“And have you told her about Josef?”
“No.” Charlotte sighed. “I’ll say he’s a friend, that’s all. He may learn something from talking to her. I don’t like subterfuge, but if I tell her the truth – I can imagine how she’d react!”
Karl shook his head. “You do like playing with fire, beloved, don’t you?”
“I can’t see either of them, anyway. Violette’s bound to be late.”
“If she comes at all,” said Karl.
“Oh, she will. She has a strong sense of duty towards her admirers.”
“True,” he said. “She is never ungracious to strangers; only to her friends.”
Charlotte ignored this barbed remark.
Glancing towards the doors for a sign of Violette, she saw Josef with an attractive woman on his arm. She caught his eye and he came over, introducing his companion as his niece, Roberta Stafford.
“Call me Robyn,” she said. “Josef gave me the name, that’s why I like it.” And she smiled affectionately at her uncle.
Charlotte liked her immediately. She seemed friendly, mischievous and irreverent.
“I hope you won’t find us all as dull and proper as our hosts,” Robyn said, looking pointedly at Mr Booth senior and his sons, two rigid, unsmiling men in their twenties. “No liquor in the fruit cup, no champagne. You must think we’re hideously uncivilised.”
“Isn’t Prohibition a civilising influence?” said Karl with a half-smile.
“The exact opposite, if you ask me,” said Robyn. “Oh, liquor can be had at a price. But the Booths are teetotallers. If they can’t enjoy themselves, they’re darned if anyone else will!”
“I hope we’re allowed to dance,” said Karl.
“Oh, sure; dance, smoke, anything.” She touched Karl’s arm conspiratorially. “Just don’t look as if you’re enjoying it.”
While Karl spoke to Robyn with his usual charm, Charlotte watched keenly for her reaction. His effect on women could be devastating. Charlotte herself had fallen heavily, after all. Robyn, though, seemed too worldly – or cynical – to be easily impressed. Her manner was relaxed: friendly, not flirtatious. Only a flicker of her eyes betrayed uncertainty.
I knew Josef wouldn’t tell her what we are, Charlotte thought. She senses an indefinable strangeness about us, has no idea what it is.
Josef was the one who reacted. As Robyn touched Karl’s arm and he laughed with her, Charlotte saw Josef turn white. She knew he was suddenly seeing Karl as predator, Robyn as prey. Taking his niece’s arm in mid-conversation, Josef stammered an excuse and steered her away.
“A shame,” Karl sighed. “Even if I reassured Josef that I’ve no intention of touching her, he wouldn’t believe me.”
“Not in a million years,” Charlotte said wryly, “because you were tempted, weren’t you? And so was I.”
The image of the shared feast blazed like blood-red flame between them, and when their hands met, the touch was like lightning. But no one around them suspected a thing.
* * *
Despite what Sebastian had said to Ilona, he found himself walking along the broad, imposing Commonwealth Avenue until he found a grand red-brick house alive with light and music. THE CITY OF BOSTON WELCOMES THE BALLET JANACEK announced a banner draped above the front door.
His intention to avoid the party had been genuine… yet now the idea drew him like an oasis. A sea of fascinating strangers. Arriving early, before any other vampires appeared, he circulated freely for a time. He watched the women, listened to their chatter and breathed their perfume. In New York he’d been intrigued by the so-called “flappers”, their unstructured, revealing dresses and the undignified exuberance of their dances. The ladies of Boston and their debutante daughters were more conservative. He took in the subdued brilliance of their jewels and beaded gowns like an observer from another age.
Sebastian felt like a foreign visitor, unsure of the customs, but he liked the feeling. That was as it should be. How easily women fell for a mysterious stranger.
Presently the dancers began to arrive. Women and men alike rushed to them in a fawning flock. Sebastian decided to stay, and enjoy the party from a distance, from the shady recesses of the house.
Leaving the ballroom, he went to explore, stepping in and out of the Crystal Ring to avoid being seen. He could tolerate crowds for only a short time. Sometimes he craved solitude more than blood.
On an upper floor, his attention was caught by a lone human in a nearby room. Curiosity drew him. He opened a door and found a young man sitting in a darkened study.
Sebastian walked to the leather couch where the man sat. Faint light from the windows sheened expensive dark furniture, the man’s hunched
shoulders and his thick, light-brown hair.
He was quite handsome, Sebastian noted, and very unhappy. A gold cigarette case lay at his feet, cigarettes scattered on the rug.
“Are you not in the mood for a party?” Sebastian asked softly.
The man looked up, as if resenting the disturbance but too depressed to care. His collar and tie were undone, and he gripped a glass of gin on his knee. The smell was distinct. So much for Prohibition, Sebastian thought, amused.
“I tried, but I couldn’t face it. Someone turned up who… I know I ought to show my face for my father’s sake, but I can’t. My brothers said it would cheer me up, but…”
“The contrast between their happiness and your sorrow is unbearable.”
The man uttered a huge sigh. His face was flushed, his eyes lifeless. “Yes, unbearable. You put that well.”
Sebastian bent down, gathered the spilled cigarettes into the case, and handed it back to him. “Thanks,” said the young man. “Clumsy, my hands were shaking.”
“Shall I light one for you?” the vampire asked.
“I’d appreciate it.” Sebastian obliged; the man sucked deeply and blew out clouds of reeking smoke. “Thanks. You?”
Sebastian declined. He sat on the rolled arm of the couch and looked down at the bowed head. “Would it help to talk about your troubles?”
“Did my father send you up here to persuade me out?”
Sebastian had seen the moustachioed patriarch greeting guests in the ballroom, flanked by his wife and two humourless sons. This wretched creature, he guessed, must be the black sheep. “No, but I’m sure he’s concerned.”
“Concerned, hell. You won’t tell him about this, will you?” He held up the glass. “He thinks liquor is the devil’s work.”
“Our secret,” said Sebastian. He thought up a false name and said, “I’m John Waterford.”
“Russell Booth.” They shook hands. The young man named Russell took a loud swallow of his drink and stared at nothing. Then he said, “It’s a woman, what else?”
“And she let you down.”
“That’s an understatement. Bitch! No, no, I take it back. I loved her. She was older than me, a lot older, but I didn’t care. I wanted to marry her. My family were dead against it. Said she was married before, as if that matters! Said she had a reputation, but I wouldn’t listen; I thought she’d be different with me. God, I worshipped her. The clothes I bought her, jewels, a car. Even made business investments for her.”
“Ah. That sounds like a bad idea.”
“Sure, she took me for a fool. I think she would’ve stayed as long as my money lasted, if I hadn’t found out she was seeing someone else. Not just one man, a string of them. She can pick and choose, and she only chooses the rich.” He laughed bitterly, on the edge of tears. “I make her sound like a whore, but she’s not. I can’t explain. You’d understand if you met her; men’d just die for her.”
“So, has she ruined you?”
“Oh, the money doesn’t matter. Father isn’t speaking to me, but he’ll come round. I loved her, that’s the problem. When I found out about the others, I went crazy. You know what she did? She laughed. Can you believe it? After everything, she called me an idiot, said I’d got what I deserved. It’s her living, see; she bleeds rich men dry, and if she breaks their hearts in the process, that makes her even happier. My brothers tried to warn me, she’s done it countless times. What she likes best is to take fools like me and ruin them for any other woman.”
“She sounds charming, and not especially unusual.” Sebastian was growing interested, despite himself.
“She’s one on her own, I’m telling you. But the thing is…” He paused, struggling. “She’s here. Came with the ballet folks. After what she did, she walks in with her head in the air, laughing at us!”
“What a nerve,” Sebastian said admiringly. “So that’s why you’re hiding?”
“Couldn’t face her.”
Sebastian shook his head. “You should have done, to show you don’t care.”
“But I do! I still love her.” Russell looked up with hollow, desperate eyes. “I hate her too. I’d like to kill her, then myself.”
“Romantic.”
“If you think this is funny, you can go to—”
“Please, my friend.” Sebastian took Russell’s clenched fist and pushed it away. “I feel for you. But you’ve made yourself her victim, when you should forget this sentimental nonsense of love and think instead of cold-blooded revenge.”
Russell stared at Sebastian, jerked out of his self-absorption. Then he slumped. “I can’t. It’s pathetic, but I’m beyond it.”
“Then perhaps I could do it for you.”
“You?” Another flash of life, tinged with alarm. “How?”
“I could do to her what she has done to you. A taste of her own poison.”
The man’s eyes were huge, his mouth slack with astonishment. Sebastian smiled. Russell plainly realised that it was not an empty threat. Terror sobered him. “No. I couldn’t do that to her.”
“Describe her and tell me her name.”
“No. No.”
“Why not? How will she understand what she’s done, unless she suffers as you have?”
Russell hesitated, trembling. Sebastian saw an instinctive desire to protect his ex-lover warring with unholy excitement. Then he whispered, “Her name’s Roberta Stafford. She lives on Chestnut Street. You’ll know her – she’s so beautiful, with brown hair like all the colours of fall. Her friends call her Robyn, with a ‘y’.” He caught his breath, as if to suck back the information he’d spilled.
“I look forward to meeting her,” said Sebastian. His hand slid along Russell’s shoulder to the damp skin of his neck. “No regrets, now. Remind yourself that she deserves it.”
“Yes. But…” There was desperate anxiety in his eyes. “You won’t hurt her? Physically, I mean.”
“No more than this.” Sliding down on to the couch, Sebastian covered the strong young body with his own. He felt his fangs spring through the tender skin.
“What–?” One feeble protest, then surrender. Sebastian was already drinking his hot, pulsating blood, absorbing the ambience of smoke and stale alcohol and despair.
I doubt they’ll find the body until after the party, thought Sebastian. And they’ll think the poor heartbroken boy drank himself to death.
* * *
Robyn was happy tonight. She’d been content on her uncle’s arm as they’d taken their seats for Swan Lake; nothing to prove, no one to impress. The ballet was a delight. As for her guilt about letting Alice down, she’d assuaged it by buying Alice tickets for a different night.
Leaving the theatre afterwards, she saw Harold with his wife in the crowd. Robyn amused herself by catching his eye. How satisfying to see his eyes bulge in sudden terror, blood engorging his face! She heard his wife – a formidable matriarch – exclaim in annoyance as Harold steered her at an abrupt right angle.
“Someone you know?” asked Josef.
Robyn laughed. “Not officially.”
Harold, thankfully, was not at the after-show party.
Although Robyn was unimpressed by status, money or talent, she found the idea of mingling with the dancers oddly thrilling. On stage, they’d seemed too ethereal to be quite human… particularly Violette Lenoir.
“This is wonderful,” she whispered as she and Josef entered the ballroom.
“Very impressive,” said Josef, looking around.
“No, not the room. James Wilberforce Booth has three sons: Russell, Victor and William. I had an affair with Russell. Now his family loathes me. Watch them looking daggers at me! I shouldn’t be here, but there isn’t a damn thing they can do.”
“Oh, Robyn,” her uncle said sadly. The narrow eyes of Victor and William poured venom in her direction. “Don’t you mind them glaring?”
“No, I love it. They’re the ones tearing themselves apart, not me.”
“But what if you bump i
nto Russell?”
“What if I do? I might lead him on and drop him all over again. Don’t look at me like that! I am joking.”
“Are you?” said Josef, shaking his head. She only smiled, knowing he loved her too much to condemn her.
Russell, however, did not appear. The Booth family ignored her, as if it were beneath their dignity to make a scene. Robyn relaxed.
There were people here she knew. Some shunned her, but there were plenty of others prepared to overlook her scandalous reputation, simply because she was attractive and good company. They found genuine sweetness in her character, and couldn’t believe the worst.
The evening was convivial, until Josef took her to meet his friends. The moment she saw them, the atmosphere changed.
The strangers made a strikingly attractive couple. Charlotte was the daughter of an old friend, said Josef, but his excuse was transparent. So, Robyn thought, this is the mystery woman! How sad that he loves her without hope… Robyn read their stances and gestures like an adept. Charlotte, although clearly fond of Josef, had an unbreakable bond with the man at her side. Meanwhile, Karl and Josef quietly resented each other.
Her impressions went deeper. Karl and Charlotte were not merely beautiful but curiously vivid. Charlotte’s solemn face and violet eyes were wreathed by gold-frosted hair, her arms pale and slender against the russet velvet of her dress. And Karl could well be one of the male dancers. He had that slender strength and grace, a dark presence that was quiet yet overwhelming. To Robyn it seemed the ballroom and guests were sketched in watercolour, while these two were painted in rich oils. They had luminosity, beauty and depth more extreme than reality.
Unnerving. Accustomed to being the centre of attention, for once Robyn felt invisible. She made light-hearted conversation, trying not to give away how irrationally disturbed she felt. Perhaps Josef sensed it too. He ended the exchange abruptly and led her away, suddenly pale.
“What’s wrong, dear?” she said. “Are you unwell?”
“No, no, I’m quite all right. But we can’t keep them all evening, they have to circulate.”
The Dark Blood of Poppies Page 14
