The Dark Blood of Poppies (11 page)

“I thought she’d be happier,” said Charlotte, “deciding to stay with the ballet.”

“Obviously she isn’t.”

“Oh, but it’s worse! Pierre sought her out last night, apparently to warn her we were conspiring against her. I don’t know why. He was just being Pierre, too clever for his own good. But he offended her, so she attacked him. They had a dreadful fight, but he came off the worst. So yes, before you say anything, everyone was right. She’s a threat. She feeds ruthlessly on other vampires.”

Karl was quiet, eyelids falling, his lashes forming dark crescents against his cheeks. “Pierre has a talent for doing precisely the wrong thing. Yet he survives. It is the sordid truth that some vampires prey on others to establish their power. It’s our most tangible proof of superiority. Violette steals Pierre’s strength with his blood, rendering him subservient to her. That’s how Kristian controlled us.”

“You can’t compare her to Kristian!”

“No. She is an anarchist, not a megalomaniac.”

“I suppose Pierre will come here complaining about the injustice,” she said tightly. “But you didn’t see the wound he gave her! I can’t forgive him.”

“Even if he acted in self-defence?”

“Are you defending him?”

“Not at all,” Karl said calmly. “But,
liebling
, Kristian’s bite was a crude demonstration of power. Violette’s bite is something more. That’s why I fear her. Anyone she touches is never the same afterwards.”

Karl could admit, “I fear her,” with unaffected honesty, and yet he had the steadiest nerves of anyone she knew. She loved his courage.

“Well, if she ever harmed you, Karl…” A chill flashed through her and she dug her fingernails into his arm.

“She won’t. She claims we can’t stop her – but Kristian also thought himself invincible.”

Memories made Charlotte catch her breath. Although Karl had loved Kristian, albeit in a twisted way, in the end he had slain him without pity.

“Swear you won’t hurt her!”

Her vehemence appeared to startle him. His eyes were solemn, questioning.

“Charlotte, how can I promise that? I know you love Violette, but you don’t imagine I would put her life before yours, before Ilona’s or Stefan’s?
Liebe Gott
, it doesn’t bear thinking about. If she placed you in danger, I’d defend you. I’d have no choice.”

“I know.” Charlotte felt a wave of emotion crest and fall away, but the dilemma remained. “I’d do the same if she tried to attack
you
. You know, dearest, don’t you? I set you above everyone else, whatever the cost.”

“And it has proved expensive for you, beloved,” Karl said softly. “Almost more than conscience can afford.” He slid his fingers along her cheekbone. “I promise one thing: I will not harm her, as long as she leaves us in peace.”

“And if someone else threatens
her
?”

“Then I would try to protect her – if she needs anyone’s protection.”

Charlotte embraced him in relief. This was the best assurance she could hope for. He added, “Well, I suppose we should accompany her to America. I believe it’s safer not to let her out of our sight.”

“Oh, that will be wonderful,” she said, her heart lifting. “If only to get away from other vampires for a while! God, what else can happen?”

“Ah.” Karl smiled wryly, resting his hands on her hips. “Let me tell you about Simon.”

* * *

By the following night, Pierre had crawled down from the church roof and found a shrub-covered cleft between rocks in which to curl up with his suffering.

He was a victim of the unfortunate fact that, while a well-fed vampire would heal fast, one who’d been drained – as Pierre had – would find the process long and excruciating. Searing pain immobilised him, with no escape into unconsciousness.

Sometimes he hallucinated, and was glad when pain shocked him back to reality.

He hated Violette with passion. He must survive, if only for the pleasure of vengeance.

On the third night, despite his body’s agonised protests, hunger drove him from his refuge. He hunted successfully. First a sour-faced old woman, then a succulent pair of young lovers.

Pierre felt no better.

Blood seeped into his cells like sap through a spring flower, swelling each tiny sac with life and growth. He began to heal so fast that he felt his bones creaking as they fused.

But something was wrong. He remained dizzy and weak. He had terrifying fits in which he would claw at his own body, choking for breath, trying desperately to escape something that wasn’t there.

He realised with disgust that these were attacks of fear.

Soon he recovered his ability to enter the Crystal Ring, only to be seized by vertigo that drove him back to Earth. An oppressive shadow hovered over him, watching. He was afraid to hunt, afraid to enter the vampire realm that was his natural element!

Pierre was disgusted with himself.

He’d never sought help from anyone, but he needed it now. Habitually living between hotels and his victims’ houses, he had no home of his own. Where to go? Kristian, the dogmatic yet comforting father figure, was gone. He couldn’t go to Ilona or Karl in this state – the humiliation would be insufferable! Stefan, perhaps – but Karl would find out.
And all Karl will say
, thought Pierre,
is that I brought this on myself! Sadist.

Kristian was gone, but his castle was still there. However bleak, it still bore a faint concept of “home”. Pierre began to head there, like a wounded animal going to ground.

The meadows of Austria blended into those of Bavaria, Germany, the Rhineland. He wound his way through pine forests by day, passed like a ghost through villages by night, oblivious to the charm of the old timbered houses around him.

Sometimes he ran. At others he fell and could not move. He forgot to feed, then wondered why he was so weak. His finely tailored clothes became crumpled and dirty. Anyone who saw him in daylight would stop and stare. A tramp or a lunatic, he must be, this white-faced creature with maniacal blue eyes.

This was Violette’s curse.

Reaching the Rhine, he followed the iron-grey flow north past the Lorelei, where banks rose steeply above the sinuous water. At last he saw Schloss Holdenstein, a cluster of brown turrets and tiled roofs standing desolate above the vineyards.

Afterwards, Pierre didn’t remember entering the castle. One moment he was staring up at its rain-drenched roofs. The next he was inside, lying face down on chill flagstones, arms outstretched, like a child clinging to an indifferent mother.

Cruel twist. Of all people who least deserved a mother’s love… For his first ever victim had been his mother.

“But it wasn’t my fault,” he moaned under his breath.

Something moved in the rushlit corridor. Looking up, Pierre saw soft black sandals, the hem of a dark robe. Standing over him was a monkish figure of medium height, with a cherubic face, cropped fair hair, pale grey eyes with pinpoint pupils.

“What has the storm blown in?” said the figure. “Have you come back to us, Pierre?”

“Cesare,” Pierre groaned. He had despised Cesare, Kristian’s lapdog, but in despair he reached up and tugged his hem. “You must help me.”

“Must we?” The bland face contemplated him. Pierre half-expected a kick. Instead, to his amazement, Cesare bent down and helped him to his feet. “What brought you to this state, my friend?” He smelled of the castle, of dust, damp, nothingness. “Well, you’re safe now. We’ll look after you.”

Placing a tight, possessive arm around his shoulders, Cesare led him deep into the Schloss. Pierre wanted to pour out his story, if only he could control his chattering breath.

Along the corridor he saw another vampire he knew; a Cinderella figure with straight dark-gold hair and a broom in her thin hands. Maria, another of Kristian’s brood. Others were gathering to witness Pierre’s arrival. It seemed only a few were left – the core of Kristian’s most devoted followers. They lingered in Schloss Holdenstein like a sect awaiting the Second Coming.

No one ever came here now. Pierre supposed his arrival was quite an event.

Things were hazy for a time. Vampires in umber robes moved around him. Someone brought him a human, a small creature that squawked and fought while Pierre fed. Luscious blood, washing away all pain. The body was removed before he even noticed whether it was male or female, adult or child. It didn’t matter.

When his head cleared, he was lying on a couch in a bare stone chamber lit by flaming torches. How familiar it was. There was the tall black chair on a dais where Kristian had sat to hold court. Cesare stood touching the chair, but didn’t occupy it. To do so would be sacrilege.

The other vampires, ten in all, stood grouped around Pierre. Bleached faces, drab robes, no spark of humour. Yet their attention pleased him. They could almost be courtiers, attending a sick monarch.

Pierre felt stronger. He was safe here, certain that Violette could not breach the thick walls. His fear hardened to anger – and now he had an expectant audience to play to.

“What happened to you?” said Cesare. “You were babbling until we fed you.”

“Babbling?” Pierre was affronted. He tried to sit up, but fell back onto the musty cracked leather. Then words started to tumble out. “There’s a new vampire, created only a few months ago, a madwoman called Violette. Long black hair, black like a raven. Loveliest creature you’ll ever see, but she’s crazy, she tried to murder me…”

“Our father Kristian said that a woman’s outer beauty was a sign of inner depravity,” said Cesare. “It seems she has addled your mind.”

“Yes, she has,” Pierre said savagely. He stretched out a hand. “Look how I’m shaking. She did this to me!”

Horror overcame him and his head rolled back. Through a yellow mist he heard the murmur of concerned voices. When his sight cleared, Cesare was standing over him.

“Her name is Violette?” Cesare’s pupils bored into Pierre’s. Beside him, another vampire leaned down. Pierre took a moment to recognise him as John. He had changed drastically since their last encounter. A medieval robe had replaced his modern clothes, and all his hair was gone – ripped out, it appeared, leaving his scalp a bald, livid mass of scars. Soul-sickness pulled his priest-like face into ugly lines.

“He’s talking about Lilith,” said John, before Pierre could ask what had happened to him.

At her name, dread transfigured Cesare’s face. Superstitious revulsion.

“Is it so?”

Pierre nodded mutely. “Has she been here?”

Cesare ignored the question and turned to the others. “Behold, the second one to come here complaining of Lilith!” he exclaimed.

“What does it mean?” said a slender male with yellow hair and black eyes.

“I don’t know yet. But now we have a purpose again. We must find out who she is.”

“John didn’t tell you?” said Pierre. “You’ve never heard of Violette Lenoir?”

They all looked blank. John shook his ravaged head. “The human persona she puts on is a mask. She is Lilith, the demon mother who must be destroyed before she consumes her own children.”

Pierre threw his hands up in exasperation. He liked the modern world. How he loathed all this medieval nonsense of gods and demons, how wretched that he needed the help of these fools!

“When did you last leave the castle, Cesare? If you live like hermits, it’s no wonder you know nothing. You haven’t a clue what goes on in the real world!”

“Of course we leave the castle,” Cesare said thinly. “We have to feed. But your so-called ‘real world’ is one of shadows. Kristian rightly taught us to shun it.”

“I remember. You only go out at night, like the ghosts of monks haunting graveyards. Very gothic. And do you sip only your victims’ life-auras, or have you lapsed from Kristian’s path? Do you steal a little taste of their blood?”

Cesare was thin-lipped. “Kristian was exceptional. Very few can match his high standards of austerity. Tell us of this female, Pierre.”

“She’s a famous dancer. If you ever went out, you would know. She became a vampire because Charlotte – Karl’s companion?”

“I believe I saw her once,” Cesare said dismissively.

“Charlotte became obsessed with her, and brought her into the Crystal Ring. But she came out of the initiation mad, convinced she’s Lilith. I don’t know her intentions, but I do know she’s crazy. She’s already killed two vampires and had a damned good attempt on me! You know who Lilith is?”

“As John said, the Mother of Vampires.” Another spasm clouded Cesare’s face. “Kristian spoke of Lilith as God’s instrument. Her dark thoughts spawned us, and she will reappear at the end of time to destroy us. To cast her own children into hell. Unless…”

The hush that followed his words was charged with fear – and, if Pierre was not mistaken, a bizarre, hungry excitement. He closed his eyes, wishing he’d gone to Ilona after all. Her ridicule would have been comforting compared to this. Cesare’s vehemence was shredding his last hold on sanity.

“Unless we can defeat her. That is our great test! And we can, if we hold true to our faith.”

“Kristian’s great purpose for us!” exclaimed the yellow-haired male, and the others all began talking at once, in a rushing murmur of joy as if everything had fallen into place.

Cesare clasped Pierre’s shoulder. “You can help us, Pierre. Show us where to find her.”

“No!” he cried. “No, I can’t. I’m ill. Just let me stay here. Please.”

“Vampires don’t suffer illness.”

Pierre loathed Cesare’s condescending tone, but he’d asked for it by coming here.
I believe in nothing
, he thought.
I don’t care what this means, as long as I never see Violette again. I’ll do anything for Cesare, sell myself to a man I abhor, if it means gaining protection from the witch!

“The question is this,” Cesare went on. “Is Violette really Lilith, or is she insane? Either way, she must be dealt with. She’s committed heinous acts… Of course you can stay here, my dear friend. And I think that you are right.”

“About what?”

“That I’ve been cloistered here too long.” Cesare’s eyes were unfocussed, his dread of the unknown becoming a hard light of defiance. “It’s time I went out and re-acquainted myself with the world.”