A Dance in Blood Velvet

by Freda Warrington

  “No, Charlotte. I don’t want you to go. But if I let people near me, they take parts of me away!” She twisted onto her back. “Don’t you see how helpless that makes me feel? I hate you and I want you... and I don’t understand why.”

  Charlotte was unfurling her vampire bewitchment on Violette without trying, unable to keep it from shining palely in her eyes, in her touch and voice. “I’m afraid of what I feel for you, because I don’t understand it either,” she whispered. “And you only pretend to be cold because you are frightened too. But there’s no need.”

  With one forefinger, softly bent, she traced the curve of Violette’s small breasts. She didn’t mean to. It was like being in a trance.

  With a sound that was half-sigh, half-gasp, Violette put her arms around Charlotte’s neck. Her grip was tight, strong, filled more with tension than affection. Her soft perfume, mingled with her natural fresh scent, filled Charlotte’s head. The way her hair pooled in black whorls on her collarbones was breathtakingly seductive. Charlotte hugged her with pure tenderness.

  As if she had not learned how deceptive the feeling was.

  She found herself kissing Violette’s neck. Silken lips on silk. Violette pulled Charlotte down until she lay on top of the dancer with one knee between her thighs. And she went on kissing the smooth throat, only kissing, touching with her tongue... and, without conscious will, she felt her fangs slide down and into the flesh; without effort, like biting into a peach.

  Violette made no sound; only the tautening of her body betrayed any feeling. Charlotte drew her blood slowly, passionately... a succulent juice laced with fire.

  This divine pleasure... she remembered how it bonded her to Karl, how deep it could reach when it happened not from appetite or violence, but in pure love...

  Violette’s ribs began to heave. She held her breath between gasps, moving, convulsing. Charlotte held her tighter, trying to soothe her as she drank, and suddenly it seemed that the dancer was all around her and inside her; midnight hair writhing, white limbs and red blood snaking out to enmesh her... eyes flying wide open, her pupils expanding sightlessly. She clutched at Charlotte, rocked against her, and fell back, drained, expelling all her breath in one long sigh.

  It was easy then for Charlotte to stop and let her sharp teeth slip back into their sockets. She had not taken much and yet she felt sated, glowing from head to foot, deliciously happy. With butterfly touches of her tongue she licked the fang-wounds clean and watched them fading to silver-mauve crescents. Violette lay languid in her arms. And to realise that the dancer had experienced rapture, not pain - that Charlotte had given her pleasure equal to her own - filled her with relief and inexpressible joy.

  “Dearest,” Charlotte whispered, bending to kiss the hollow of her throat. Violette jumped and began to shudder. After a moment Charlotte realised that she was sobbing.

  She propped herself on one elbow and looked down at the dancer’s closed eyelids and the trails of tears on her cheeks. “Why are you crying? Don’t. There’s no need to be afraid.”

  Violette’s eyes half-opened and slid to stare at the vampire under a shimmer of tears. There was no surrender, no warmth in them. To Charlotte’s shock, her eyes spat fury and revulsion.

  “What have you done to me?” Violette hissed.

  Her voice and her eyes slammed into Charlotte, breaking the spell into shards. She drew back, speechless, as Violette struggled from under her, exclaiming, “What are you? Get out of here, get out!”

  Violette was on her feet and staggering to the door, dizzy with alcohol and blood-loss. She snatched her robe, holding it close around herself with one arm. Reaching the door, she faced Charlotte, her free hand on the brass handle.

  “Wait,” said Charlotte. This wasn’t what she’d envisioned at all. “Violette, please. Let me explain. Come back and sit down...”

  “I do not want to hear an explanation.” The dancer’s voice was low, stiff with cold spines of rage. “I never want to see you again.”

  “You don’t mean it.”

  “I do!” Her hand flew to the fading marks on her throat. “What in hell are you? You used me! God, I was right, why didn’t I listen to myself?”

  “No!” Charlotte, now on her feet, went towards her. To her dismay Violette drew back, flattening herself against the door.

  “You betrayed me! I thought - I thought a woman could be a friend as no man could, that she might heal when men only try to possess. That’s what you told me yourself. Liar! You’re just as bad as them. I hope my blood poisons you, I hope you go to hell!”

  Nothing Charlotte said could placate her. No words, no hypnotic looks would win her over. Violette’s disgust and sense of betrayal went right through to her soul.

  Misery flattened Charlotte like a hammer. In a last desperate gesture she held out her hand, but Violette’s reaction was to wrench open the door, holding it against herself like a shield.

  “Don’t touch me!” she snapped. “Get out, get out!”

  Charlotte wanted to say sorry, but could not. She picked up her coat and hat and walked through the doorway, her face blank.

  “If it’s what you want,” she said quietly, “I won’t trouble you again.”

  * * *

  Afterwards, walking for hours with little awareness of the city around her, Charlotte came to understand that the dancer was right. She had betrayed her. The treacherous thirst that masqueraded as love had betrayed them both.

  That’s all it was, Charlotte thought. I fell in love with her because I wanted her blood.

  Violette never wanted to know me. I forced my company on her, I killed to get closer to her, I cajoled, I played on her vulnerability and, God help me, I even got her drunk like some second-rate libertine. She never wanted me; not as a simple human friend, not even with all the supernatural allure. How could she be immune? She asked what I was, but God, what is she?

  All she wanted was for me to leave her alone but I couldn’t. I seduced her.

  I violated her.

  That horrific thought hung in Charlotte’s mind, painfully bright. She couldn’t see beyond it. It was like the sword of God hanging over her, the terrible vengeful God she thought had died with Kristian. And she wished the blade would fall. Cleanse the Earth of the obscenity of a vampire’s presence.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE TWISTED BLACKTHORN

  Benedict stood on the stairs, frozen there by the piercing sounds from above; the echo of wood splintering, dry flesh slithering across broken glass on floorboards, the open-mouthed, mindless groans of famished vampires.

  His head ached with terror. He wanted to flee, slam the door, and run. Save my skin or I’m going to die...

  Andreas was down in the hallway, flattened against the front door, still here only because Ben forbade him to go. He said in a hollow voice, “I wouldn’t desert you, Ben. But come away with me, please.”

  Ben didn’t move. He heard the dull thuds of something sliding down the attic stairs.

  Not breathing, he climbed slowly to meet it.

  “Don’t go up!” Andreas called. “Leave them, let’s get out!”

  Andreas’s panic was contagious. A head and torso appeared at the top of the stairs; a skeleton clad in rags and ash. It reached down to him with a taut, bony arm.

  Andreas ran up the stairs and grabbed Ben’s elbow. “What the hell are you doing? They’ll kill you!”

  “You tried, but I stopped you,” Ben said grimly.

  “I was alone and weak, but it was still a near-death struggle between us.” Andreas held him back. “How can you fight so many? They’ll be stronger, more desperate -”

  Ben shook Andreas off. His throat stung with fear and rage. “Don’t you see, I must prove I control them by will alone, without help from the Book or Lancelyn. If I can’t, I may as well die anyway!”

  Andreas stepped back, amazement in his pale marble face. “You’re crazy. Why am I trying to protect you?”

  “If you are so keen to leav
e and you want to help - go to Lancelyn’s and get the Book. Don’t hurt him, just bring it back as fast as you can. Go!”

  Andreas glowered. He began to retreat, moving backwards, turning as he went. Then he was gone so fast, it was as if he vanished in a rush of blackness, the slam of a door.

  Now Benedict was completely alone. A demon that consisted entirely of appetite stared at him from round, black sockets.

  With the self-discipline of training, Ben pushed all emotion from his mind. If I die, he thought, it doesn’t matter. Not to me, at least; but it will matter to others. If they feed on me, it will give them the strength to escape and feed on innocent people. Maybe Holly, dear God, Holly...

  I must win.

  Normally he needed careful preparation to connect with Raqia. Now he had no choice but to do it cold. He flung himself into a higher state of mind, seeing two worlds at once; one with his eyes, the other with his mind.

  The skeleton above him showed no sign of life. Holding his breath, Ben took one step - and it rose and surged at him like the impossibly long tongue of a frog.

  Its hands closed on his upper arms like rings of freezing metal. Shocks ran along his nerves. His limbs went numb. He stared into huge, hollow eyes in an ivory face; a beast fighting frantically for survival, moved by dumb instinct.

  “I summoned you,” Ben gasped. “By the power of Raqia, you are subject to me. There is a chain around your neck. If you touch me, it will strangle you until it severs your head.”

  The creature took no notice. Open-mouthed, it strained towards his neck. His arms were pinioned but he flung up an elbow against its chest and held it off.

  Ben was beyond fear now. There was only the incandescent fight for life. A battle of wills wouldn’t work this time. He needed a real weapon.

  He opened his mind to the astral world, caught and moulded it, set the firmament shimmering like a harmonic to his thoughts. With all his will he shaped the idea and projected it into the vampire’s skull. “I control the Crystal Ring and therefore I control you.”

  The fanged mouth snapped shut. Still it leaned into him, but Ben began to force it back upstairs. He was winning! But in that breath of victory he slackened his guard and was pulled around, twisting, falling.

  The attic stairs caught him painfully across his spine. Another skull-face arced down from above and he turned ice-cold, convulsing.

  “No!” Ben screamed, flinging up his arms. He drew down the Crystal Ring like a curtain, caught the creatures in its folds, bundled them away. “I am the master of your realm and I control you, all of you. Go back where I command you. Go back!”

  The effort turned his body into a sheet of pain. He crawled upwards, driving the two demons before him. The battle raged on every level. He tried to banish them into the astral world, but they wouldn’t go. He could only use his power like a whip to subdue them. His head sang with hideous pressure.

  There were three more on the attic landing. They writhed like white beetles, pitiful yet repulsive. With sheer force of will he drove them back into the ruined temple, the effort leaving him sick and drained.

  Finally all the vampires were inside, and Ben sat cross-legged in the doorway. He was their master, by the merest paper-edge. He trembled with exhaustion.

  Appalling knowledge seeped through him. The heat of his blood maddened them. They clawed the air and shrieked, their hunger a force that plucked at his control, threatening to unravel him.

  He thought, I cannot ever leave this spot. If I relax my guard for one second they’ll break loose and destroy me. If Andreas can’t find the Book, I shall have to stay here until...

  Sweat poured from him. I can’t do this. But I must.

  Come back, Andreas. For God’s sake, come back.

  * * *

  When Karl returned home, he knew Charlotte had been there. The note had been picked up, slightly crumpled, dropped; but she’d left no message in return. Smoothing the paper under his fingers, he sighed. This set a seal on the empty horror of looking for Kristian and the lost Book.

  “Don’t be sad, dearest,” Katerina said behind him. “If she’s been home, she hasn’t come to any harm. She must still be with Violette; you know how enticing humans can be, how hard it is to leave them alone.”

  Saying nothing, Karl took a fresh sheet of paper and wrote the date.

  “Why leave messages, if she can’t be bothered to answer? It’s a waste of time, she won’t come. She doesn’t seem to realise the importance of our search.” Katerina’s voice was gentle, consoling. “She’s making things so difficult for you. I’m sorry.”

  Karl, however, did not want sympathy. Grimly, he went on writing. An impersonal note; no affection, no recriminations.

  Charlotte,

  I have called our friends to meet me at Schloss Holdenstein tonight. If you read this in time, join us there. It is vitally important; please don’t fail me.

  K.

  Age softened the outlines of Kristian’s Schloss, making it seem organically fused to the ridge on which it stood. A mass of dark walls, turrets and chaotically angled roofs, it resembled a dozen such castles on the Rhine; a dreamlike place to inspire fairy tales. To Karl, though, its silhouette against the lavender sunset looked inexpressibly malevolent. Such grim memories. He and Katerina stepped from the Crystal Ring at the base of the ridge, and climbed the steep wooded hillside towards the castle. On their left the river lay dark as iron.

  Spring flowed towards summer; grapes were swelling on the vines all around, trees danced in rags of green taffeta. The castle remained chill and barren.

  Katerina said, “It seems a century since I was last here. How desolate the Schloss looks. Does anyone still live here?”

  “I’ve no idea,” said Karl. “I haven’t set foot here since Kristian’s death.”

  “Did anyone tell Kristian’s followers of his demise?”

  “Not to my knowledge. I certainly had no intention of admitting my guilt.”

  “So it’s possible they don’t know?”

  “They must have found out by now,” Karl said indifferently. “I had no reason to care what his acolytes thought. Some would have been glad.”

  “And the others?”

  “Would want to avenge him, I imagine.”

  He began to climb faster, moving sure-footedly over outcrops of rock and near-vertical paths. Katerina hurried to keep up. “And if anyone’s there,” she persisted, “what shall we tell them now?”

  Karl did not reply.

  It hadn’t been difficult to contact the vampires who’d helped him to kill Kristian. Ilona had readily offered to help. Pierre liked Vienna and Paris; Stefan and his twin Niklas were usually in London. While it was unlike Ilona to be so helpful, Karl knew she was more concerned about the consequences of Kristian’s death than she would admit.

  Karl made sure, though, that he and Katti arrived well before the others. He wanted to know what danger waited at the Schloss before anyone else walked into it.

  Reaching the walls, they entered the Crystal Ring to pass inside. Even in the ghost-world, the stonework felt dense and coarse, holding them like molasses. As they pushed through, Karl sensed the presence of several vampires, like jewel splinters in his mind. Walls of bare stone hardened around them, becoming a corridor with a low roof and sloping floor. No luxury here; Kristian had kept the castle as plain as a monastery. The flagstones were spotless, freshly swept.

  Karl and Katerina looked at each other. “Well, let us see who is here,” he said.

  As they walked towards the heart of the castle, the atmosphere was that a crypt; an echo of the manor house tunnel. The lingering agony of victims had soaked into the ancient walls like blood. This can happen anywhere, he thought. Wherever vampires dwell for too long... the curse will rebound on us.

  They descended a curving flight of steps. At the bottom, in the doorway to a chapel, a female vampire stood looking at them. She was slender, almost childlike, with straight dark-gold hair. In her dark hooded ro
be, with a broom in her hands, she seemed part nun, part fairy-tale witch. Karl remembered her. She’d rarely spoken, never smiled, and had obeyed Kristian with fanatical devotion.

  “Grüss Gott, Maria,” he said.

  She gave a minimal nod of respect. She didn’t appear surprised to see him, he’d stayed away far longer in the past. But then her gaze moved to Katerina, and the broom fell from her hands.

  “Katerina,” Maria whispered.

  “Yes, dear,” said Katti. “Back from the dead.”

  Maria had been trained never to question Kristian, with the result that she never questioned anything. She only blinked solemnly.

  Karl said, “Kristian is not here, is he?”

  “No.”

  “When did you last see him?”

  Maria’s eyes hardened. “He has not been here for a long time.”

  “Almost two years?”

  “Calendars are props for mortal insecurity. We are timeless.”

  A phrase straight from Kristian’s mouth. Karl sighed inwardly. Maria had been a true believer, forbidden to think for herself. Now, with no inner resources, she was worn thin by her master’s absence. Karl wondered, Is it too late for her to change?

  “Surely you notice the seasons passing. In your estimation, how long? Many months?”

  “Yes, many,” she conceded. Her hard mouth turned down at the corners. “We thought our lord Kristian was with you.”

  “Well, he is not,” Karl said softly, thinking, I cannot tell her, and break her heart... not until I’m certain that he’s truly dead. Sensing other vampires converging from different parts of the castle, he tried to count them; three, four...

  “Where is he, Karl?” said a voice behind him. Karl turned and saw a young man with a cherubic face, fair hair, clear grey eyes; the look of a keen young priest about him. Cesare. He, too, was a passionate follower of Kristian’s creed; unlike Maria, fiercely evangelical.

  “Have you not seen him?” Karl said lightly.