A Dance in Blood Velvet (49 page)

“Then why risk it, for the sake of this woman?” Katerina asked softly.

“I have no idea,” said Charlotte, bowing her head.

Katerina came to her and stroked her arms. “I’ll help you transform her.”

Charlotte was astonished. “Why?”

“Because she’s important to you. Sometimes the only way to release an obsession is by pursuing it to the ultimate degree.”

“But Karl...”

“What made you think I’m bound by his ideas of right and wrong?” Katerina smiled with real warmth. Sadness, too. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a harpy, Charlotte; can I begin to make it up to you? Go in to her.”

* * *

The bedroom was dark, but Charlotte saw subtle shades of gold, crimson and brown in the shadows. In contrast, Violette was a creature of moonlight, stark black and white. Diffuse light from the main room lay across her creamy arms and ice-maiden face.

Charlotte leaned over her, gently tracing the contours of her body. Knowing the time was here at last, her thirst was so powerful that she shook with the effort of holding back. She pushed her hands under the dancer’s hair, felt the silken weight across her hands. Violette stirred, frowning.

“Shh.” Charlotte bent down, breathing the fragrance of her hair and skin. Faint remains of dusty theatre smells, smoke from the party; lily-of-the valley perfume, the clean sweetness of her skin.

Violette opened her eyes, saw the vampire bending over her.

Charlotte thought she would be afraid, and was ready for a struggle - but the dancer’s eyelids were heavy with laudanum, and she only sighed and whispered, “Charlotte...”

She tipped back her head, revealing her long throat. Charlotte stared, hypnotised, anticipation throbbing and expanding all through her. Then Violette stretched out her arms and put them around Charlotte’s neck. How strong she was! She pulled Charlotte down until they lay face to face, the vampire half over her, vibrating with this moment. She kissed Violette’s cheek, moved downwards to suck the tender flesh of her neck between her teeth; stayed there a moment, telling herself,
Don’t do this, don’t
...
but I must, I can’t wait...

Her fangs lengthened of their own accord, pierced the vein.

The rapturous flood burst into her mouth, a red wave rushing through her. All the time - as if she saw herself from outside -Charlotte was aware that this was horrible, to be drinking blood... and yet too compelling to resist, a dazzling, unholy ecstasy.
Violette... ah, God help me, Violette.
And she felt the rich fluid running into her own veins, branching through her body until she tingled with bliss. She tasted the sacred magic of all Violette’s creations; Giselle, Odette, Odile, Serpent.

Never had she felt such overwhelming love for Violette, nor such ghastly awareness that its fulfilment was killing her.

Through the crimson dream, someone began pulling at her. Charlotte tried to shrug off the irritation. It became more insistent.

“Gently, Charlotte,” came Stefan’s voice. “She mustn’t die yet.”

Miraculously, Charlotte managed to stop. She let the killing teeth retract, licked clean the wounds she’d made, kissed Violette on the neck and lips. Drowsy now. It was not opium but the blood itself, the satiation of desire.

They carried Violette into the candlelit bower of the main room, where Katerina waited.

“A little more,” said Stefan. He took a mouthful from Violette’s neck, passed her to Katerina, who did the same with surprising tenderness.

“Drain her now, Charlotte,” said Stefan. “Take her to the edge of death, but no further until we form the circle. Then, just as we enter the Ring, take her life energy.”

Charlotte wrapped the fainting dancer in her arms. Her violent thirst had abated, but still it was luscious to bite down again, to drink more tenderly now.

As she did so, Violette burst into life and began to struggle with incredible strength. Charlotte could barely hold her, as if this were not a dying human but a thrashing white demon, with serpents for limbs, snakes for hair.

Now they were all fighting to hold Violette. And never would Charlotte forget the look on her face; blanched to silver-grey, skin drawn taut against the bones, and horror glaring from her huge blue-black eyes.

“Finish it!” Stefan cried.

God help me, I’ve done this to her -

She went on sucking, felt Violette’s pulse slowing, her heart rolling to a stop. Yet still she fought! And when Charlotte released her in order to seize her hand and form the circle, Violette nearly slipped from her grasp like soap... but the circle held. Stefan gripped Violette’s other hand, with Katerina between him and Charlotte.

Then, as they hung between the world and the Crystal Ring, Charlotte saw Violette’s aura. Spindles of silver and violet and jet... Impossibly lovely.

The aura was Violette’s essence, cool, tantalising, mysterious... and Charlotte must destroy it. She drew the spines of light into herself. The pleasure was heartbreaking... for with the fulfilment of her last need, Violette ceased to exist.

Fear rushed through Charlotte like a storm.

But Katerina was tugging her hand, the room dissolving. By instinct Charlotte released the stolen energies to flow around the circle and back into Violette as they drew her slender body physically into the other-realm.

And there they began to replace her warm, quick, vulnerable life with a hard cold fire that would endure forever.

* * *

Violette found herself lying in a wild garden. A drift of fallen leaves cushioned her. Beneath, she felt wet soil, mould, crawling creatures.

She had no memory of how she’d come here.

A man lay beside her, his head propped on one hand. A perfect, muscular man with a mane of red-gold hair. A god. He looked like Mikhail, her principal male dancer in the role of Adam in
Dans le Jardin
, yet Violette knew it wasn’t him. His beauty failed to move her. The look in his eyes only made her loathe him.

“God made me from the pure dust of Earth,” the man said reasonably, “but he formed you from filth and sediment. That is why you must always lie beneath me.”

Violette felt that this argument had lasted for eternity. She sat up, dead leaves and mud falling from her. Her hair was full of leaves and cobwebs. Although the man’s words made no sense, they dripped oppression like honey. The pull of nature held her, soil and gravity dragging her down into the Earth’s embrace.

“No, I won’t lie beneath you,” she said. “I will not lie with you at all.”

“But you are my wife,” said the man.

“I am no one’s wife!”

“God gave you to me. He made you for me.”

This was ancient theological myth, the story of
Dans le Jardin,
and yet it was real. Violette felt she’d sunk into a deeper layer of reality. This struggle was fundamental and absolute. It was the substratum of existence, and must be acted out. Again.

“Who are you to call me filth?” she demanded. “Or lay claim to me?”

“Your husband, sweet Lilith.”

“Why should I lie underneath? Dust, sediment: earth is earth. I am your equal!”

Trees clustered thickly above her and she saw the sky only as pin-points of light. Dense, fecund, obscene with life was this garden. A set from a ballet, more vivid than reality. Reptile eyes gleamed among the branches. Spiders and tiny snakes fell on her like rain.

“God ordained that you be my helpmate and subordinate,” said the red-gold man. “If you will not obey, fair Lilith, I must force you. It is my right.”

And he reached for her, this great and terrible bronze statue of a man. As he loomed over her, Violette saw that his face was that of her father.

She tried to scream, uttering not a cry but a word. It flew out like a stream of fire, incandescent, unknown and instantly forgotten. The ineffable name of God.

The forest canopy burst apart. Lilith tore herself out of the Earth’s embrace and Adam’s grasping hands, soared upwards. The sky was a lake of flame, her element, welcoming her back. She flew in awe and exultation.

Adam’s voice followed her, thin and plaintive. “You can’t leave me!”

“I wasn’t made for you!” she cried. “I was created for myself!”

She glanced back to see the man gazing after her, as baffled as an ox.

Now Lilith-Violette knew she had done something terrible. She had broken God’s Law. She had become the Enemy.

Her flight became a fall into sleep. All she could see was roiling fire. The only sound was a heartbeat rolling slower and slower... fingers touching her, voices whispering in another dimension... slower until it stopped...

Violette stood in a desert. The arid beauty made her want to weep for joy. Here was purity. No grasping, moist vegetation, no crawling things, no sweating male to weigh her down. Only a sweep of dry red sand, studded with rocks like giant rubies. A clean glassy sea washed the shore, reflecting a pure, pale lilac sky.

But she was being pursued.

God would not let her alone. He had sent envoys after her. She sensed them hunting her down on heavy, slow wings.

Terror. Yet she would not run away. Now she had found her dwelling place, not even God would drive her out. She would fight to the death for her freedom.

She saw them coming for her: three silhouettes swooping down against the curving void.

“No!” she shouted. “You can’t take me back to the Garden, I won’t go!”

They only smiled as they surrounded her; barely touching the shore with the tips of their toes, like dancers, like angels. She shielded herself, but they were all over her, kissing, stroking her hair. “Come with us. Come now,” they cooed. “You’ll die if you leave us. You’ve gone too far to turn back.”

And Violette saw that the three were Stefan, Charlotte and Katerina. They were dark and divinely beautiful - and she hated them. “No. I won’t. You can’t make me -”

She fought ferociously, but they were stronger. They lifted her between them. Her feet left the lovely sterile desert. She was flying again, this time helpless in their grasp.

They carried her in a great arc over the ocean, and dropped her. She plummeted through thin air, hit the shining surface. Waves swallowed her, and light filled her like water; flooding her mouth, lungs, heart, her whole body. She
was
the light. Yet there was nothing holy in its brilliance. It was hard and glassy, too bright, unforgiving.

Yes. It was her light, completely.

Violette came out of the transformation screaming.

H
olly was in the garden, attacking the ravages of autumn with shears and a rake, when the vampires came to her through the dusk.

Andreas was sitting cross-legged on the grass, watching her with a sleepy half-smile. She still found his presence disturbing, though not unwelcome. As the others approached, he rose to his feet.

Holly strained her eyes to identify their vague, grainy forms; their faces were pearly ovals, wreathed by tendrils. One was Katerina’s friend Rachel; she could tell by the red hair, like feathery flames around her thin shoulders. The two small men who moved like monks were John and Matthew. And behind them came Malik; almost seven feet tall, his face long and serene like a sculpture, his skin midnight black. Holly hadn’t yet heard him speak a word, but his eyes contained frightening intelligence.

She was glad Andreas was with her. “What do they want?” she whispered, but he only shrugged. Facing them, she leaned on the upright handle of the rake as if it were a spear.

Rachel seemed to be their spokeswoman. Her voice was clear and sweet, like a glass bell. “We must speak to you, Mrs Grey.”

“Of course. What is it?”

“Mrs Grey, can you contact the dead?”

Holly was stunned. She gathered her wits and answered honestly, “No. I won’t use my psychic abilities like that. It’s too easy to fool yourself. That’s why I don’t trust the gift. I let others interpret what I see.”

“So, you think mediums fool themselves?” Rachel’s voice, eyes, face, her blade-thin body, everything about her was piercing.

“Some do. And they fool gullible folk, which is cruel. And some may be genuine, but I don’t claim... Why do you ask?”

“Karl and Katti and I wondered if vampires live after death, as mortals are supposed to; if we have anything resembling a soul. Do we go to hell, or float in limbo, or is there nothingness? We wondered if you could contact a dead vampire... such as Kristian.”

Holly was aghast, but felt herself sliding under Rachel’s influence... then Andreas spoke, shaking her out of it. “Why in hell would you want to do that?”

“Perhaps he’d explain what is happening.”

“Are you out of your mind? Make contact with his ghost? He was insane enough in life! I tell you, it’s better not to know.”

“Have you finished?” said the crystalline voice. “Mrs Grey?”

“Andreas is right,” she said. “I’m not sure there is life after death for anyone. I think vibrations remain, but not consciousness... as in the Book.”

“Yes, what did you glean from the Book?”

Gooseflesh made a shivering path down her back. “Annihilation.”

“Of what?”

“I mean that I sensed nothing from it but loss and obsession. Negation of life. But what I picked up was only the effect of the Book on vampires. Isn’t that so, Andreas?”

“Exactly,” he said.

“And when you look at us with your occult vision,” said Rachel, “what do you see?”

Holly’s reply seemed to startle her. She startled herself. “That you are like humans, looking in only one direction. You don’t see the danger behind you. Three huge winged spirits rising over your shoulders...”

“What are they? Lancelyn’s so-called daemons?”

“I think so, but I don’t know
what
they are. You’d have to ask Lancelyn.” Grief stabbed her throat. She swallowed.

“Are you really so afraid to have theories of your own?” Rachel spoke with sudden contempt. “You give the impression of waiting passively - to become Lancelyn’s ‘Dark Bride’, or a sacrifice, or whatever fate holds. As if you’re only here to play a role.”

Her words cut savagely into Holly’s fragile confidence. “You asked what I saw, so I told you,” she said tautly.