“But the moon influences everything, even us. Aren’t you more restless when it’s full? I don’t believe you haven’t noticed.”
“Just tell me, Charlotte, what am I to do? I swore that if ever I harmed one of my company, I’d find a way to destroy myself. It must be possible.” Abruptly she extended her left wrist, palm up, and sliced the tender flesh with a fingernail. A slit appeared, red as poppies.
Charlotte ran to her and prised her hands apart. “Don’t!”
They held each other’s gaze. Even so close, Violette was icy, remote, not human. She looked ready to attack Charlotte without a moment’s reflection. She’d certainly threatened to do so in the past.
Charlotte knew enough to dread the consequences. Lilith’s bite brought unwelcome transformation… perhaps even the death of her love for Karl.
Still, she held her ground.
“I’ve told you the answer. Stop trying to resist the thirst.”
“You don’t understand. I can’t simply give in to Lilith. I can’t feed on just anyone, Charlotte. I’m compelled to choose my victims. And choosing them is agony. So, whether I defy the hunger or not, it’s a fight that nearly kills me.”
Growing braver, Charlotte touched the scar that peeked above Violette’s neckline. “Why ask my advice when you won’t listen? This scar, who inflicted such an injury?”
A pause. “You know Pierre Lescaut?”
“Yes, I know Pierre.” Understatement.
“It was him.”
“What?” Charlotte was mortified. Pierre had been the only one to support her at the meeting. It didn’t make sense.
“You might have told me,” said Violette, “that a group of vampires came here complaining that you’d created a homicidal lunatic, and to discuss what should be done about me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know how. I hoped it would blow over. I would have come to you tonight…”
“Well, you’re too late. Pierre reached me first. He suggested that, far from speaking in my defence, you supported them against me.”
“That’s a lie!” Charlotte didn’t want to argue, but mixed emotions got the better of her. “I was on your side, even after what they said about Matthew. Is it true? Did you kill him?”
Violette’s eyes betrayed no shame. Instead Charlotte saw Lilith’s soul burning behind the sapphire irises. She recoiled.
“It was a warning,” Violette said grimly. “No one threatens my ballet, no one.”
“And Pierre?” Charlotte almost lost her voice. Perhaps the dancer had slain him, too. Obnoxious as Pierre could be, she did not wish him dead. “What happened?”
As Violette related the story without emotion, Charlotte turned away and leaned on the table. Pierre’s behaviour left her incandescent – but Violette’s retaliation had been extreme. Charlotte thought, Gods, what have I created?
“The worst thing,” Violette finished, barely above a whisper, “is that I felt nothing. I wasn’t angry or vengeful, I felt no pity or pleasure. I feasted on his blood, fought him and thrust him through the window, and I didn’t care about any of it.”
Charlotte was trying to form a response when Violette rushed at her. She was too shocked to defend herself as the dancer gripped her shoulders and slammed her back against a bookshelf. Tears glittered on Violette’s long black lashes. “Have you some magic formula to make me care about anything, dearest?”
Her mouth came down on Charlotte’s collarbone, burning. She tried to side-slip into the Crystal Ring, but Violette held her in place without effort. Charlotte closed her eyes, petrified. This is it, she thought. This is where she takes my blood and destroys my soul.
Stefan and the others are right. Violette is insane, a danger to us all. Why have I tried to protect her?
She felt the pressure of fang tips – then a rush of air where the mouth had been. Karl was there, gripping Violette’s shoulder. His usually calm eyes were ablaze.
Karl hadn’t stopped her, Charlotte realised. Violette had stopped herself when she felt his presence in the room.
“Get your hands off me,” she said.
“When you let go of Charlotte,” he replied softly. “Do you wonder that you’ve made so many enemies?”
Charlotte held her breath, certain Violette would attack Karl instead. But the dancer lifted her hands and stepped lightly away.
“What’s the matter?” she said with venom. “It’s only what you’ve done repeatedly, even when she was an innocent human girl. The same violation, Karl. Do you think it’s worse for me to do it? Double standards, or jealousy?”
Trembling, Charlotte peeled herself away from the bookshelf. “Violette, I think you should leave.”
The ballerina stayed where she was, glaring at Karl.
“This time, I stopped. But when the proper time comes, you won’t be able to stop me. No one will.”
“Do you imagine you can take Charlotte from me?” Karl’s expression turned shrewdly thoughtful but his eyes were auburn fire: a disturbing combination. Charlotte couldn’t bear their mutual hostility.
“What do you think?” Violette almost smiled.
“That you would try, not because you love her, but to defeat me,” Karl said levelly. “Am I right?”
“Don’t turn everything to yourself. You fear me, don’t you? I don’t know why. I only prey on the weak.”
“I know,” said Karl. “The legends say you take infants whose parents have neglected to leave an amulet in the cot with the magic names, Senoy, Sansenoy, and Semangelof.”
“And the words, ‘Out, Lilith.’ Don’t forget that.” Violette gave him a bitter look. She came back to Charlotte, rested both hands on her left shoulder, and kissed her cheek.
Charlotte tensed. Incredible to think that those gentle hands were capable of such violence. As a human, Violette had never hurt a soul.
“I’m sorry, my dear,” said the dancer, stroking her cheek. “I didn’t intend to harm you. That’s not why I – you understand, don’t you?”
Charlotte nodded, her throat thick. She understood. The desire for blood dressed up as love, lust, affection; anything but cruelty. Yet, in the end, it could only be cruel. She still adored Violette. After all, only love could make her friend’s behaviour such torment.
“We want to help you, but you’re impossible. Don’t you need any friends?”
“I need you,” Violette whispered. “Don’t desert me.”
Charlotte clasped her wrist. The self-inflicted wound had already healed. “We won’t.”
“I’d like you to come with us on our American tour.”
“Why?”
So lovely, Violette’s cloudy-crystal face; powerful, fragile, compelling. “I won’t survive without you.”
Charlotte knew Karl would not want to go. Aware of his gaze on her, she put Violette gently away from her and said, “We’ll talk about it. Now, for heaven’s sake, go and hunt. Find someone and take them. Don’t hesitate.”
“I think,” said Violette, “that I should do that.”
She vanished. The Crystal Ring received her with a faint hiss, like snow crystals vaporising. Charlotte was alone with Karl.
Shaken, she wanted to run into his arms, but a mixture of anger and shame held her back. She met his eyes, wondering, Does he think that Violette attacked me – or that I invited her embrace?
Karl only said, “Dearest, are you all right?”
“No, I’m not.” She made to sit down at the table, but he intercepted her. One hand went around her waist, the other enfolded her head. She felt his long, delicate fingers sliding through her hair. Divine. She leaned her head into his shoulder, certain he was about to say, I told you so.
“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 go
od. 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, washi
ng 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.
The Dark Blood of Poppies Page 8