“This woman Emil is seeing, Fadiya – she’s a vampire. I’ve just told Violette, who welcomed the news with all the rapture you’d expect.”
She described her trip to Paris, adding, “Fadiya appears to be part of Reiniger’s wider circle. Amy said she works as his make-up artist. She’s been there only a few weeks.”
“He said nothing of any other vampire. I sensed no one…”
“Did he explain anything about the knives?”
“Almost nothing. He told me only what suited him, kept the rest secret.”
“I need to ask Stefan about Fadiya,” Charlotte said. “I think we should tell him and Violette everything.”
“Don’t expect too much,” Karl said with a grim smile. “Stefan tends to flee at the merest hint of danger.”
“Not this time. I won’t let him.”
“Well, let us see if he finds his courage, because we are going to need every friend we have.” Karl kissed her temple, rested his cheek on her hair. “Love, I’m so sorry to distress you with this.”
“Don’t you dare apologise. Heaven or hell, we share it all.” She turned her head to study his expression, wishing she could read him as easily as he read her. “You’re not afraid of Godric Reiniger, are you?”
“Not as such. He’s human, after all. But as you’ve pointed out, certain humans have power over us. The massed energy of their dreams and nightmares brought us into being, so how could they not? Godric seems to know more than any human should. He wants to change the world. And he might manage it, by subterfuge or propaganda.”
“Do you think he’s truly dangerous?”
“If he only made bad films, I’d be less concerned,” said Karl. “But there’s something very dark going on inside him.”
Charlotte thought of the Crystal Ring’s storms and apparitions. She pictured her lamia, haunting her even as she took Ochsner’s life. Reiniger’s crew, savagely beating Emil.
“Remember how we feared Violette-as-Lilith biting us, because we knew her bite would change us?” she said. “But when it finally happened… when we surrendered, there was nothing to fear after all. The change brought self-acceptance, not loss of love.”
“I know, but this isn’t the same. I didn’t lose my conscience entirely: I would have turned into Kristian or Sebastian, had that been the case. I don’t feel guilty. Disturbed is a better word. Are you asking why I’m so troubled by this?”
“Why we’re both troubled. Perhaps even Lilith’s power isn’t enough to shield us.”
“Not if some fresh demon can force its claws beneath our armour,” he said softly. “One thing I know for certain: Godric Reiniger is a far greater danger than the threat he poses to Emil or to me. The last thing I want is to see him again, ever, but I shall have to. It’s time we dragged him out of his lair and into the light.”
“You spoke of our misdeeds catching up with us. Is that what’s happening?”
No answer. Karl went quiet again, staring at the lake. He held Charlotte’s hand folded against his chest, his grip tightening until it hurt.
* * *
“So this vengeful adversary waited thirty years to show you a film? Terrifying!”
“I’m glad you find this amusing, Stefan,” said Karl. “I expected no less.”
The twins had been out to hunt, returning rosy and bright-eyed from feeding. As Karl and Charlotte explained, as briefly as they could, what they had already told each other, Stefan went around lighting oil lamps. He trimmed the wicks, then sat on the arm of the couch to listen to the rest of their story. The room brightened from dim red to golden.
“Godric sounds delightfully eccentric,” said Stefan. “I’m growing more intrigued by the moment. Aren’t you, Niklas?” He stroked his silent doppelgänger’s cheek.
“Eccentric is an understatement.”
“Karl, you have a faraway look in your eyes. Might you be caught in the snare that you’re always warning Charlotte to avoid? Becoming entranced by a human?”
Karl gave a soft laugh, no more than a breath.
“Not in the sense that I’m yearning for a romantic relationship with him.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Charlotte said with a smile.
“Not even in the sense that I crave his blood – it smells so contaminated that I couldn’t touch him. He’s intriguing mainly because he unnerves me. I killed his father, ruined a child’s life or at least changed its course… and he wants revenge, naturally, but of what kind?”
“So you finally admit that you need my help.” Stefan rubbed his palms together. “Did I not suggest the simple ruse of inviting him to a party? You sneered!”
“I didn’t sneer. I just don’t believe he’s the type to attend a social event unless there is something in it for him.”
“Is he good-looking?” Stefan grinned.
“What has that to do with anything?” said Karl, eyebrows raised.
“I’m not as fussy as you. I might be able to prise out his secrets.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you to try,” said Charlotte. “But what about Fadiya?”
“She’ll have to wait her turn, but yes, I’ll happily seduce her too. She sounds irresistible.”
“That is not what I meant.” She struggled not to smile. It would only encourage him.
“Very well,” said Stefan. “She sounds lovely, but no, I have no idea who she is. So let’s invite her too, by all means. But can’t you just warn Emil about her? If Emil was seeing me, I wouldn’t trust me, either.”
“Of course we can’t warn him!” Charlotte retorted. “He mustn’t find out what she is, or what we are, for that matter. We need to make Fadiya vanish before Emil comes to any harm.”
Stefan gave her his charming white smile, eyes shining. She loved his good nature, but sometimes his frivolous attitude made her want to throttle him. “What are you grinning about?” she said.
“The prospect of planning this party. Our housewarming. Has it not occurred to you that it might be fun? Humans become drunk on cocktails, cocaine, vampire glamour, and vampires become intoxicated on humans. I’ll invite everyone: Godric Reiniger and his crew, and a few dozen guests to make up a splendid crowd. The sinister Godric and Fadiya will simply add spice!”
“Reiniger won’t come,” said Karl.
Stefan gave a slight frown. “Not even if you ask him?”
Karl laughed. “After our confrontation? He’d think it completely bizarre.”
“I know how to make sure he turns up.” Charlotte spoke softly, hesitant with a sense of foreboding. She was still uncertain of Violette’s cooperation. “If it were presented as Madame Lenoir’s party – if she issued the invitations – they’ll all be too star-struck to dream of refusing. If it means a chance of cornering Fadiya, Violette just might agree.”
“Perfect.” Stefan gave his irresistible, wicked grin. “You read my mind, Charlotte. Wine will flow, tongues will loosen. The lengths I go to, to make you two smile again!”
* * *
Emil stood in the grand hallway of Godric Reiniger’s house, Bergwerkstatt, gazing up at the high white walls and sweeping stairs. The place was like some dictator’s palace, as if Reiniger fancied himself a Roman emperor. Fadiya’s hand clasped his arm. He wondered how on Earth he’d let her persuade him to come here.
This was not where he belonged. He felt powerfully that he should be in the ballet studio, rehearsing, yet he couldn’t seem to move. Fadiya had woven this honeyed spell over him.
“Here he is,” she said.
Godric Reiniger came strutting down the stairs with a couple of other men. Emil recognised Reiniger from the occasion he had pestered Violette in the street, and from the ghastly night at the Bierkeller. The freckle-faced man with short red hair on his left was the one who’d spoken passionately about Swiss nationalism, until they’d fallen into an argument about Mussolini. His name… Wolfgang Notz?
The other man was one of the ruffians who’d attacked Emil in the alley. Name unknown. He was s
hort but wiry. Emil thought, How in hell did I let such a weasel get the better of me?
“Ah,” said Reiniger, all friendly good cheer. “The celebrated Emil Fiorani! Delighted, privileged to meet you, sir! May I introduce two of my key assistants, Wolfgang and Walti?”
“We’ve met,” Emil said under his breath, but Reiniger seemed not to hear.
“I believe I shall have the honour of filming you in rehearsal and performance of Madame Lenoir’s ballets quite soon.”
Emil stared at him in disbelief, thinking, No, she turned him down. Has something changed?
“Isn’t he magnificent, Godric?” said Fadiya, eyes shining as if she’d brought home a prince. “Wouldn’t you like to try him out in front of the camera?”
Wolfgang cleared his throat. He looked displeased, but said nothing.
“If he’s willing,” said Reiniger. “He looks as if he’d make a splendid leading man indeed. May we offer you a drink, sir, or will you come straight through to the studio? A little screen test – it will not take long.”
Emil stared back, taking a long breath. Eventually he managed to speak. “Are you all mad?”
“I beg your pardon?” Reiniger took off his spectacles, rubbed them on a cloth, replaced them. He looked at Fadiya, and back at Emil.
“You.” He pointed at Wolfgang Notz. “You were in the Bierkeller, preaching the same nonsense that inflicted Mussolini on Italy. When I objected, I was physically attacked. Herr Reiniger was there, watching. Filming. I saw you!”
Reiniger’s eyes went cold. “I assure you, we are no supporters of Mussolini. He’s inspirational – in that he understands the power of art to spread his message – but he’s flawed. I don’t see what that unfortunate encounter has to do with this. Look, men argue after a few drinks. We can set all that aside, can’t we?”
Emil pointed at the other one, Walti. “And he was one of the gang who beat me to a pulp outside. They spat on me and called me a homosexual.”
“Emil is not homosexual, I promise,” said Fadiya. She pinched his arm, as if to quiet him.
“One moment I am Italian communist filth, fit only to be brutalised. Now you want me to appear in your movies? Are you out of your mind?”
“If what you suggest happened, it was a dreadful mistake and no doing of mine,” said Reiniger. Sweat glistened on his high forehead. Wolfgang Notz looked uncomfortable, but Emil felt pure raging fury.
“What in hell makes you think that Madame Lenoir ever wanted your services?”
“We’ll see about that. I have a party invitation from her, which rather indicates that she wants to make peace.” Reiniger gave a small, tight smile. “There have been misunderstandings.”
“I don’t think so,” said Emil. “You shouldn’t have brought me here, Fadiya.”
“Yes, why did you bring him?” said Wolfgang. “The last I heard, you were a make-up girl, not our casting director.”
“I thought… Clearly I’ve made a mistake,” she said thinly.
“Wait,” said Reiniger.
“You can go to hell,” said Emil. “You can all go to hell!”
With that he made for the door, slammed it behind him, marched down the steps. He heard the door open again. Fadiya came running after him and grabbed his elbow.
“What’s wrong with you?” she snarled. “You’ve made me look a complete fool – I thought you’d be magnificent on screen – what was all that?”
He sank down on the bottom step and dropped his head on to his arms.
“I met you covered in the bruises they’d left on me! How can you work for those men? They’re evil.”
“I only do the make-up. I don’t know about their political views. They don’t tell the womenfolk anything. We’re expected to smile and agree with everything they say – that doesn’t mean I care about it. It’s nothing to do with me.”
Tears came. He couldn’t stop them. He began to sob, shoulders heaving.
“Emil? What’s wrong?”
He wanted to be angry with her, too, but her arm across his shoulders felt comforting. She was the only friend he had.
“My older brother, Alfonso,” he said at last. “I never talk of this. It’s not safe. He opposed Mussolini. He tried to assassinate him – and he wasn’t the only dissenter who’s tried in the last couple of years – well, Alfonso took a shot at him and missed. The crowd lynched him in the street. Before the police even got to him, he was dead, hanged from a tree.”
“My dear, I’m sorry.”
“That’s why I despise Godric Reiniger and everyone like him. Once they get into power, anyone who opposes them is scum to be killed like a dog. And no one ever sees the danger until it’s too late.”
* * *
Godric walked high into the hills, alone, welcoming the chill of the wind. Usually the low music of cowbells soothed him, but not today. The green meadows and the dancing wildflowers of spring failed to lift his spirits. He was furious with Amy, irritated at Dr Ochsner for dying so inconveniently, annoyed by Emil Fiorani’s ridiculous outburst.
Those concerns were gnat-bites when he thought about Karl von Wultendorf. He could not get Karl out of his mind. Godric dissected every moment of their meeting: satisfied that he’d forced him to watch the film, then seething when he remembered how calm Karl had been afterwards, his face tranquil, his eyes dark and cold. The way he’d left without a word.
Godric had simply let him go. There must be more to say, but what?
Far below, on a patch of grass behind the house, a curl of smoke went up. He had set fire to the movie he’d made of Karl murdering his father. What was the point of keeping it, now the perpetrator had seen it and barely raised an eyebrow?
“I thought that would be the end of the matter,” Godric murmured aloud. I’d show him, then kill him – or he would kill me. But it did not happen. I have not finished with him yet. This feels like a beginning, not an end. A beginning.
He clenched and unclenched his fists as he stared up at the lace-veiled peaks of the Alps. All his anger fell away and he felt a rush of exhilaration.
“How can this kingdom exist and be anything but mine?”
The power-rush he’d absorbed from Bruno’s death had not faded. It felt like bristling white energy, so strong he almost expected it to burst through his skin like porcupine quills. Everything was changing. The Eidgenossen respected him more, now they’d seen how far he was prepared to go. They’d always treated him with deference; now they were downright terrified, but that was good. They knew he meant business.
Godric had no intention of replacing Bruno, even if the missing sikin was found. In fact, he might have to cull more of them. Each sacrifice would increase his power, until all he had left was a tight core of, say, ten men. His ten strongest supporters.
He paid lip service to the Rütlischwur oath of fellowship, the confederation of equal partners on which Switzerland was founded. History was all around him: the Rütli meadow in which the vow was made overlooked Lake Lucerne, and the three oath-takers were nicknamed the “Three Tells”, the legendary figures from whom he derived the title of his next film.
Secretly, though, Godric had had enough of confederations. He insisted on comradeship between his followers, but in his visions they all turned towards him: the glowing white sun at the centre.
Lucerne would become the seat of government, Bergwerkstatt his presidential palace, and Godric himself a new kind of god-emperor.
A very modest, artistic god-emperor whose work will be revered and adored. He gave a tight smile. Anyone who dares to laugh will himself become a work of art, like Bruno.
A shadow darkened the corner of his eye. Fadiya tended to appear obliquely from nowhere, as if she just happened to be strolling in the same area.
He sat down on a fallen tree trunk and waited with grim patience. She approached like a piece of night intruding on the day, appearing to draw closer frame-by-frame rather than in a smooth continuous motion.
“Godric,” she said, sittin
g down beside him. They looked across the town and the lake, not at each other. “I must apologise for bringing Emil to the house.”
“Why did you?”
“I wanted to steal him from Violette. However, I misjudged his state of mind. I’m sorry. It will not happen again.”
Godric gave a hmph of caustic indifference. “I’m not interested in what you want. Why should you be jealous of a mere human, regardless of how beautiful and famous she is?”
Fadiya paused. Although he had no love for her, she was quiet, sombre company, and he’d grown to appreciate that. All the same, his hand slid around the handle of the sikin that he kept sheathed in his pocket.
“I know it seems foolish to you, but Emil loves Violette so yes, I am jealous of her. And I wanted to bring you a gift: Emil.”
“A gift for me?” Godric was so surprised that he laughed.
“He would have been wonderful in your movies. I’m sorry it went wrong, but you have no liking for Madame Lenoir, either, do you?”
He shrugged. “I am indifferent to her. However, something odd has happened. She has invited me to a party – invited my whole household, in fact – which suggests she’s reconsidered her hasty rejection of Reiniger Studios’ services.”
“Will you go?”
“Why not? My personal power is all very well, but of no use unless I gain support from, or influence over, every person of importance that I can draw into my orbit. So if she’s of a mind to befriend me, you had better not sabotage things.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said in the same cool velvet tone. “If you want to court her favour in order to advance your ambitions, I support you, completely.”
“Indeed?”
“I said we could help each other.” Another long silence, then Fadiya asked, “Who was that man the other night?”
“Which one? I have many visitors.”
“You know who I mean.”
“Do you ever stop watching me?” he growled.
“You are not that fascinating. Most human activities are so dull that only one in a thousand is worth a second glance. But when something of interest happens, I am there. Did you know he’s a vampire?”
The Dark Arts of Blood Page 27
