A Dance in Blood Velvet (32 page)

Before she reached him, Katerina stepped between them and caught his attention. She appeared to do so without malice; not trying to exclude Charlotte, but barely even aware of her.

“Karl, I was thinking...”

“What is it, Katti?”

A frown creased her smooth alabaster forehead. “The disturbances in the Crystal Ring - perhaps we should seek them deliberately, try to understand their cause, regardless of any danger.”

“Yes, I agree,” he said. “It’s time to explore, not bury our heads like Pierre.” They were intent on each other, ignoring Charlotte. Swallowing anger, she subtly changed direction towards another room as if their bond was of no consequence to her.

* * *

Karl found Charlotte alone in the darkened library. Normally she loved light, music and company. Something was very wrong; her silence throughout the meeting had emphasised her unspoken distress. She’d lost her spirit, all her bright passion.

Charlotte stood looking out of the rain-dashed window. She didn’t respond as he approached. Her hand was dead to his touch.

“Liebling,
what’s wrong? Why did you leave us?”

“It took you long enough to notice I’d gone. Can Katerina spare you?”

Her words saddened him, but he reacted gently. “I’m here now. I am so glad you came back at last. You sent me no word...”

“You went back to the manor house without me,” she said. “We agreed we would go together.”

Karl was so relieved to see her that he would forgive her anything, but her toneless voice and blank expression woke a sense of dread. “I’d rather you’d come with me. You know that. I’m sorry; we should have waited. What assurance can I give, that Katerina does not come before you and never will?”

“It’s not Katerina!” Charlotte snapped. She bit her lower lip. Blood rushed rose-red into the flesh, making him long to kiss her.

“What, then?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because... you would despise me, and I couldn’t bear it.” Her head dropped forward. He pushed her tawny hair aside and saw that her face was blank with absolute misery. Her skin was white, her eyes deep in shadow. She began to shiver.

“You need to feed,” he said gently. “Come, I’ll go with you...”

She resisted the light tug of his hand. “No. I can’t feed.”

“You must. You will feel better.”

“I know! But what right have I to feel better?”

“Why do you say this?”

No answer. Quietly he said, “Charlotte, I’ve often seen vampires reach a crisis when they are forced to confront their nature, and cannot accept it. Some conquer it, others never do. You seem so instinctive an immortal, I hoped this would never happen to you... but if it has, it’s my fault. You have no reason for shame, but please tell me what’s happened.”

A single shake of her head.

“Is it Violette?” He felt her hands turn colder. Her temperature actually dropped at the question.

Eventually she whispered, “I drank her blood, Karl. Everything I swore I wouldn’t do, had no desire to do...”

“Ah.” He felt no surprise, only sadness. The dragging sorrow grew heavier as she went on.

“What if she can’t dance again, if I’ve made that light go out... because I thought I loved her? I don’t understand. Why should I feel such attraction to her, when I had you? It was terrible. I tried to tell myself it was friendship when in truth it was an obsession. I lied to her.”

She stopped, anxious for his reaction. Karl could not be warm, in the face of what she was telling him. He could only be impartial. “Go on,” he said.

She frowned. “Do you know how cold you sound? But I’m glad. I’m not asking you to forgive me.”

“Forgive you for what?”

“For being unfaithful.”

“Is that what you feel you have been?”

Another silence. Then she said, “I killed the choreographer, because I thought he was keeping me from her. That was insanity, wasn’t it? The truth is, it was
she
who didn’t want me. She didn’t want anyone, but I was hell-bent on breaking down her barriers - and when she surrendered, when she let me in at last, I betrayed her. I took her blood. If you’d seen the horror in her face afterwards... I thought I loved her. Instead I’ve wrecked her life. I can’t run away laughing like Ilona, I can’t make myself not care.”

Karl breathed out slowly. His hands travelled over her arms and shoulders, but she remained like a statue under his touch. “Only strangers, Charlotte. Never look at their faces or ask their names, or they will tear you apart. But it’s no use to say this now. You understand what you’ve done. I can’t condemn you, when I’ve done worse, nor judge you more harshly than you judge yourself. I cannot tell you it doesn’t matter, because it does. But how did you expect your... liaison with her to end?”

“Not like this.”

“Did you hope she would love you after you fed on her? What then?”

“No. I don’t know.”

“One of our most blissful dreams is that the abyss between human and vampire does not exist. How I longed to drink from your throat again and again, without you ever growing sick or terrified... Impossible.”

“But now you can!” Charlotte exclaimed. Her voice was a bayonet; he thought,
Yes, I made her like me so I could keep her, and now here she is in ice-cold anguish because of it...

“And this is the price,” he said. “The pain you are in.”

“But I was willing to pay. I’d have let you take my blood anyway, because I loved you so hopelessly. I
did
let you. But Violette isn’t like me. She isn’t so sick and twisted that she finds what we are... desirable. She thinks I am a punishment, not a prize. She thinks I’m her damnation.”

Violette thinks she is damned?
Karl was mystified, but let it pass. “You saw Violette onstage as a goddess you could never touch or control - so you set out to prove otherwise. It was always her blood you wanted. That’s what the blood is; power.”

Her head drooped. And yes, he felt dismayed with her, whether or not he had any right. He added softly, “You let the dream get the better of you. We all do in the end.”

“I don’t -” she shook her head. “I wish I knew what to do.”

“Do nothing. Let her be.”

“Why are you so understanding?” she said bitterly.

“How else would you like me to be? Violently jealous? Completely unconcerned?”

“That would be what I deserve.”

“Ah, I see. If I punish you, that will alleviate your guilt?”

“Bastard,” she said under her breath.

Karl drew the curtains, lit a lamp. “Well, I have been called worse.” He took her hands and said, “Beloved, I must ask you to make a decision.”

Her tension worsened visibly. “What?”

“We are going to search for Andreas. We may be away for a long time.”

“You and Katerina,” she said woodenly.

“I’d like you to come with us.”

For the first time there was a flash of life in her violet eyes. “It comes to something when you feel you must
invite
me, as if I’m a stranger. Once we would have taken it for granted that wherever you go, I come with you. No longer.”

The truth of her words grieved him. “I’m telling you that I want you with us.”

“Katerina won’t.”

“Does that really matter to you?” Karl was nearly exasperated with Charlotte, but her obdurate manner held him back. He’d seen her distressed or angry many times, but never so impervious. Almost as if she couldn’t see him any more.

“No. I don’t care what she thinks. But I can’t come with you, Karl.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t bear to be with anyone. I can’t love you while I hate myself.”

Karl gripped her hands. “I will not leave you in distress. The search can wait, or Katti can begin on her own. Dearest, don’t let this guilt consume you.”

Charlotte’s shoulders jerked - a single sob, firmly suppressed. “No, you must go. All we’ll do is argue ourselves in circles, and I’ll feel more guilty for keeping you here.” She turned her cool amethyst gaze onto him. “When I was human, and we first grew close, you were terribly kind to me. And secretly I almost hated your kindness, because in my heart I didn’t want you to be ‘nice’ to me; I wanted you to love me savagely. Now you’re doing it again. Don’t you realise it can be the subtlest, most horrible form of rejection? Don’t stay because you feel sorry for me; only stay if you desire me! I wish things hadn’t changed... but they have. Katerina came, and I turned away to Violette. That can’t be undone.”

“While I was being ‘kind’ to you,” Karl murmured, “it was all I could do not to...” He trailed off, knowing, helplessly, that she was right. “Even immortals cannot stop the world intruding on them. I would still rather not go without you.”

“I insist. You have a purpose, and I need to be on my own.”

“On your own?”

She paused. “To watch Violette. Not to trespass on her life again; only to see how she is, if I did her any lasting harm...”

“Ah,” said Karl, releasing her hand. “The truth.”

“Karl, my dearest Karl. I’m sorry.”

“And so am I,” he breathed. Hopelessness settled through him. How had this happened? Like a creeping weed, fate had put out tendrils to drag them apart, unnoticed until it was too late. Neither of them wanted this, but there was no answer.

Tears shone in Charlotte’s beautiful, expressive eyes, but he had no comfort to offer her.

“Go,” she said without expression. “Please go.”

* * *

Andreas looked across the darkened room at the man in bed. Middle-aged, plain; his face was florid against the white pillow, his hair a peppery mix of greys, a sparse beard like lichen adding to the horror. Grim, but his looks didn’t matter. The blood was all that mattered. A fat, juicy heart pumping red elixir through the moist web of his lungs and on through the swollen vessels...

Andreas felt a tugging pain around his neck. He stopped.
Not allowed to touch him,
he thought sourly.
I’m only meant to look for the damned Book.

Nevertheless he took a step towards the bed. He saw his own hand, slender and pale against the black sleeve of his coat, resting on the bedside table.

Stupid, Benedict. I could finish this for you now...

They came out of nowhere; from the floorboards, from the air. Lightless shapes, elongated, hooded. Silver fire blinded him. Andreas fell back, not understanding; swept from quiet reality into a nightmare. The shapes had black wings outlined by pale flame...

Shadows without substance... Yet Andreas heard voices whispering, felt their cold hands all over his body... cried out as their hard teeth drove into his neck and stole the red fire of his life.

* * *

“You’re such a fool, my dear.” Ilona’s voice. Charlotte looked up from her chair and saw her slim silhouette. Firelight from the other room shone plum and scarlet through the edges of her hair. “Such a fool.”

“I know,” said Charlotte. She felt nothing now. Ilona sat on the carpet at her feet and draped her arm over Charlotte’s knees. Musky perfume and a hint of human blood rose from her.

“You cannot be a vampire and live like this. You aren’t mortal, you must stop behaving as if you are!”

“What do you suggest?”

“Don’t agonise over your victims. Laugh at them.” She gripped Charlotte’s leg so hard that it hurt. “Go back to Violette and finish what you started! Don’t flinch and run away from her horror; relish it! Relish your power. Have her completely and leave her behind like a broken lily. Then you can cry. You will sink so deep into your own evil that you will really have something to grieve about.”

“You’re hurting me,” Charlotte said acidly. She plucked Ilona’s hand off her leg, holding her bony, bracelet-adorned wrist tight between her fingers. “I’m not you, I can’t behave like you!”

“You’d better try,” Ilona said, smiling. “If you go on like this, you are going to destroy yourself.”

The rose and poppy are her flowers; for where

Is he not found, O Lilith, whom shed scent

And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare?

Lo! as that youth’s eyes burned at thine, so went

Thy spell through him, and left his straight neck bent

And round his heart one strangling golden hair.

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI, “BODY’S BEAUTY”

V
iolette had what she wanted; Charlotte had gone. So why couldn’t she keep the demon-woman out of her thoughts?

When the day’s rehearsal was over and her dancers had gone to their beds or lodgings, Violette would spend an age in the empty studio. Not dancing, not even thinking. Just staring at moonlight fanning across the floorboards, and the subtle light-patterns made by river reflections on the ceiling. She saw Charlotte everywhere. A motionless shape against the blue glow of the windows; the silver-gold crescent of her hair catching the light; her grey-violet eyes, tranquil as lakes, shining straight through her...

A shift of Violette’s head and the apparition would vanish -only to coalesce in another place, a different play of shadows. A ghost, a fetch... some dead thing masquerading as human. Thin disguise. Charlotte was no human, but a seductive lamia sent to tempt her and gloat at her fall.

Then Violette would rub the ache in her throat where Charlotte had bitten her... and loathe herself for the feelings that ran through her loins, proving her father’s assertion that she was evil.

The day after Charlotte left, Violette had tried to go to confession. Her first time for years. She’d rejected her family’s religion, but Salzburg’s churches were Catholic, and their passionate vision of God spoke straight to her pain. The tiniest chapel held incredible riches. Towering altars of red marble, sunbursts of gold, robed saints yearning towards heaven...

But outside the confessional, a sudden wave of nausea choked her and she had passed out. She’d been unable to go through with it.

Rest, the doctor said. You have worked too hard and you are anaemic.

Violette could not rest. The permanent soreness of her back meant she slept badly at the best of times. Now, when she dozed, she had nightmares; but if she stayed awake, the fearful visions came anyway. Her three shadow-companions were growing taller, more solid and oppressive as they leaned over her, soundlessly whispering...