A Dance in Blood Velvet (50 page)

“So should we help Benedict against these great shadows?”

“I think you should listen to him, yes,” Holly riposted.

“Thank you,” said Rachel. “We shall.” She turned and swept away, the others following. Holly almost collapsed into Andreas’s arms.

“But you did beautifully,” Andreas said, steadying her. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m furious that I’m still afraid of them,” she sighed.

“Well, that is common sense.” Again she felt the chilling fascination of being too close to him. He only stroked her shoulders and withdrew rather fastidiously from her. “Don’t tell Benedict they asked your advice,” he said, amused. “What would it do to his pride?”

* * *

Violette became a vampire in anguish and fire. Charlotte was the reluctant witness to every birth-pang; the fire lashed her, too, for she had engendered it.

Even as the Crystal Ring’s fierce energy filled Violette, she shrieked with agony and denial. As her initiators drew her back to the real world - her human life extinguished, a new light blazing in its place - she went on writhing against them, clawing at her own hair and arms.

Her screams pierced Charlotte to the core.

They tried to soothe her, but Violette was beyond consolation. White as quartz, as strong as a snake, she threw off their hands and broke loose. Charlotte thought she would fling herself through a window, but once free of them, her agitation died. In the centre of a Persian rug she crouched in sudden, deathly silence, a changeling under a wreath of wild black hair.

Stefan, Charlotte and Katerina watched her.

Eventually Stefan said, “I’ve never seen anyone react so violently. Usually they are too stunned even to speak.”

“Well, it is done,” said Katerina, her voice dry.

Stefan said, “She needs to feed. We’re all insane until the first taste of blood.”

Charlotte sensed human heat in another room. Stefan was never unprepared. Memories flared of her own initiation; the cadaverous artist who’d offered himself eagerly to her, and the uncontrollable compulsion with which she’d leapt and gorged on his blood. The horror of it...

“You’d better bring him in,” said Charlotte. Her own thirst rose. Violette’s blood was in her, but the transformation had exhausted her. It had been exhilarating, but now she felt scoured.

Stefan and Niklas went to another room and brought out a young man between them. He looked dreamy, as if drugged. He was the one who’d invited Stefan to the party; Charlotte recognised his eager face and feverish, rapt eyes. He adored Stefan and Niklas. He did not realise - or care - that he was about to die for love.

Stefan led the man to the edge of the rug. Violette looked up, her face wild; Charlotte thought,
She scents his blood. Even his sweat is a lure. I remember. It’s so alien and repellent, yet you can’t resist
...

“Take him,” said Stefan.

Violette’s eyes opened wider. Her eyes were unchanged, still bright and preternatural. Expressive, tormented, as if she were forever balancing
en pointe
on the lip of a pit.

One emphatic word burst from her throat. “No!”

“He won’t mind. He’s willing. See, it is easy...” Stefan bent and pressed his lips to his friend’s throat, took a swallow. A string of red pearls oozed out. “I’ve made the wound for you. Taste it.”

She flowed to her feet. Her eyelids flickered; clearly the blood-aroma was tormenting her. “No,” she repeated. The hard edge to her voice was impossible to disobey. A tone Charlotte had often heard her use when schooling her dancers.

“It is horrible the first time, but it will soon be over,” he said. “Delaying the moment will only increase your distress.”

He pushed the human towards Violette. Her eyes grew round, her eyebrows crimped with rage. “NO!” she cried, and fled to the door.

Stefan and Niklas followed, caught her before she touched the handle. She struggled, but Stefan held onto her and looked at Charlotte. “We should leave her alone with the victim,” he said matter-of-factly. “She’ll take him eventually.”

“What if she escapes into the Crystal Ring?” said Charlotte.

“She won’t. No one can enter straight away, it’s too overwhelming.”

“Violette is capable of anything,” said Charlotte. “I’m not leaving her like this.”

“Don’t talk about me as if I weren’t here!” Violette said fiercely. She broke free of Niklas and stood rubbing her hands together as if trying to scrape off the skin. She looked from Niklas’s blank face to the feverish human, seemingly horrified by everything. “I don’t care how long you leave him there, I won’t do it!”

“This is regrettable,” Katerina said, “but I must leave.”

“Where are you going?” said Stefan.

“Back to Karl. He wants you to come too, but I fear your hands are full here. I wish you luck with her; you’ll need it.” With that, Katerina vanished into the Crystal Ring.

Charlotte and Stefan were alone, staring at the apparition that was Violette. Charlotte felt no resentment at Katerina’s departure; after all, she had not asked for Katerina’s help, and had no reason to demand it now. Violette was her responsibility alone.

The prima ballerina who made audiences weep, who shone in the spotlight as she gracefully gathered more bouquets than she could hold, now crouched like a lunatic and began to rip out strands of her lovely black hair.

* * *

“What do vampires fear?”

Simon moved towards Karl across the darkened study as he spoke. One lamp burned under a red shade, dimming Simon’s blond radiance to copper and earth tones. For a vampire, he had an attractive openness that reminded Karl of Charlotte’s brother David; decent, trustworthy. Unnerving qualities in a predator, Karl thought. He must seem godlike to mortals.

“What have vampires to fear, really?” Simon asked again.

“Everything,” said Karl. “Pain, death, not dying. Discovery by humans, if only for the anguish it causes. Hating what we are, fearing ourselves damned. The loneliness of the Crystal Ring; imprisonment in the
Weisskalt.
And discovering humans who have power over us.”

Simon started to laugh. “Yes, you are right! But you’re the first vampire I’ve heard admit it.”

“I’m merely being realistic,” Karl said with a smile.

“And the entities that Lancelyn has supposedly summoned against us; should we fear them too?”

“I believe so,” said Karl. “They appear to be far older than us. But you have lived for centuries too, haven’t you? Surely you must be aware of such creatures?”

“Yes, I am old. I remember Greece in its glory.” Simon ran his fingernail along the edge of the desk, extruding a line of dust. “And I’ve heard of vampires more ancient still, possessed of unknown qualities. Alas, I know nothing of them.”

“Kristian was rumoured to have been transformed by three ancients,” said Karl. “Perhaps that was what gave him such power.”

“Perhaps.”

“It’s said he destroyed his own creators,” said Karl. “I assume that means he put them in the
Weisskalt
.”

“He must have been inconceivably strong to have done so.” The fair vampire gazed candidly at him. “So, Karl, to have destroyed Kristian - you must be even stronger.”

Karl sat back in his chair, eyebrows raised. Then a savage memory took hold and he said, “No. Love brought him down. There, something else to fear. Love, the subtlest weapon of all.”

“Why so melancholy?” said Simon. “I’m simply glad to be alive again!”

“Then I’m pleased for you,” Karl said drily. “But what if Kristian’s creators woke when you did? Are they the ones attacking us?”

“Possibly.” Simon paused in thought. “But these self-styled occultists, Benedict and Lancelyn - how would Kristian have dealt with them?”

“Killed them outright,” said Karl. “He wouldn’t have cared about the loss of potential knowledge.”

“Ah, prudence was never among his virtues. Benedict seems to control us all...” A pointed stare. “Except
you,
Karl.”

“Are you suggesting I kill him? I could, but I won’t. This isn’t finished yet. Surely you don’t agree with Kristian’s attitude that slaughter is the answer to everything?”

“No, my friend.” Simon looked amused. “I was simply trying to judge whether you and I are in agreement. We are, to some degree.”

“How do we differ?”

Simon half-sat on the edge of the desk, arms folded. “Whatever we tell ourselves, vampires need a leader,” he said. “We need guidance.”

“Not you, too,” Karl said, dismayed.

“What?”

“There are still vampires at Kristian’s castle who can’t accept his death. They seem unable to exist without a master telling them what to think and how to live.”

“Don’t despise them. Not everyone is perfect.”

“I wasn’t implying that I think I’m perfect,” Karl said thinly, “but there will never be another Kristian.”

“Do I detect sadness?”

“I loathed him, yet I understand why some needed him to say, ‘It is acceptable to be a vampire, because you are the Chosen of God.’ But he lied. His whole existence was a lie! He filled himself with his ideas of ‘God’ because he was empty... I don’t want to pursue this. He’s gone, and they cannot make me, nor anyone else, into him.”

“So, it’s time to seek new strategies.”

“But I have no desire to meddle in anyone’s affairs. I wish others, human or vampire, felt as I do.”

“How marvellous that would be!” Simon struck the desk. “No wars, no commerce, no art, no marriage; the human race would be dead in a generation. Impossible. Every time you feed, you affect someone’s life!”

“Of course,” Karl said wearily. “Since that is the case, we can only exploit this situation to gain knowledge.”

“You feel as I do,” Simon murmured. “Wisdom, that’s the goal.”

“Aren’t you wise already?”

“I’ve seen generations rise and pass away, and I have learned that true wisdom is to set yourself apart and simply
watch.
Isn’t that what we’re doing? And it’s a great deal more interesting than lying undead and mindless in the
Weisskalt.”

Karl heard light footsteps in the hall, and knew it was Katerina. The study door opened; her face appeared in the gap, her brows drawn together in worry. Seeing Simon, her expression brightened. She came in and kissed him before she kissed Karl.

“Where’s Stefan?” said Karl, ignoring her blatant transfer of affection.

“He can’t come yet,” she said. “He will, as soon as possible, but Charlotte needs him.”

“Why?” Karl tried not to betray his concern. “Is anything wrong?”

Katerina unpinned her hat and smoothed her hair. Then she sighed. “I’d better tell you. You will find out soon enough, and I’d rather you heard it from me. Charlotte has brought Violette into the Crystal Ring.”

Karl had guessed she was going to say this. For a few moments he felt nothing, not even surprise. Then sorrow rolled in, like heavy black sand on a slow tide.

Then she added, “I helped her.”

“Helped? Katti, why?”

She turned to him, passionately defensive. “Because Charlotte would have done it anyway! I thought that if she was so determined, perhaps there’s a deeper reason and it should happen. Fate, if you like.” Reading the dismay in his face, she said, “I’m sorry, Karl.”

“Why be sorry?” he asked. “I didn’t forbid you to help her. You’re free to act as you wish.”

Katerina sat on the desk beside Simon, her thigh pressed against his. She looked drained, and humanly distressed. “I am, but I believe you were right after all. Too late, I know. Violette came out of the transformation insane. She won’t feed. I walked out; I feel rather ashamed of deserting them, but I had to. I couldn’t watch; I’ve never seen anyone react so badly. They can do nothing with her. You knew this would happen, didn’t you, darling? Charlotte wouldn’t listen, but, my dear, how I wish I had.”

Karl was silent. There was nothing to be said.

“What will you do?” said Katti. “Will you go to her?”

“No.” Aware that he sounded cold, Karl saw shock in her face. Strange, when Katti had disdained Charlotte for so long, that she now cared about her. “If I seem callous, perhaps I am, but I won’t help her. She wouldn’t want it, let alone expect it. Charlotte’s responsibility lies with Violette, and mine lies here.”

“I wonder about you, Karl,” Katerina whispered. Simon touched her arm. “I wonder if you still have a heart at all.”

* * *

The last vampire to recover was Fyodor, a Russian with snow-blond hair and silver eyes. He’d switched from catatonia to glass-sharp reason in a moment, and had not stopped asking questions since.

Karl had gathered them all into the parlour, which seemed too small to contain so much unnatural beauty. Even he felt uneasy among them.
No wonder,
he thought,
we can so easily unhinge human sanity.
Andreas and Katerina - by virtue of familiarity -seemed pliantly warm and unthreatening by comparison.

Neither Ilona nor Pierre appeared, but Karl had expected nothing of them.

In the glow of electric lamps and firelight, the vampires were luminous. Their shining beauty was magnificent and monstrous, lethal like that of venomous snakes or birds of prey. Karl studied each one in turn. Rasmila fascinated him; she said little but seemed so sweet-natured and cheerful, he could barely imagine her drinking blood. So lovely, the sheen of her fine dark face, the indigo-black hair falling to her waist...
Her victims must love her,
he thought.

John and Matthew had been monks in medieval times. Now they believed they served the horned Devil that had afflicted their mortal lives. Their existence was a struggle to pacify their dark master, paying continual penance for their sins, terrified of the God who’d abandoned them. Thin, rarefied creatures, they seemed too frail to survive the modern world. Their crime against Kristian, as far as Karl could tell, was refusal to accept his belief that God and Lucifer were the same being.

Fyodor, by contrast, believed in nothing but the glory of what he was. He was exuberant, heartless, mocking. His colouring, in contrast to his personality, was ethereal; ivory skin, white-blond hair, irises of bleached silver. Andreas had taken an immediate dislike to him, and Karl understood.
I don’t think Fyodor is very different from the man he was in life,
he thought.
Cruel, even obnoxious.
Fyodor was talking to Rasmila, but she only listened, smiling.