The Dark Blood of Poppies

by Freda Warrington

  Stefan went to Niklas and put an arm around his shoulders. Niklas went on staring into space with a faint smile and vacant, gold-glass eyes.

  “Correct. We’re running away. Call me a coward: water off a duck’s back. It’s not for myself, but for Niklas. He may be a vampire, but he hasn’t the wit to protect himself. In a physical confrontation, all my energy would go to protect him, not to help you. The last time, I was nearly killed, and what would Niklas do without me? We can’t live without each other. I don’t want to be a fugitive, but I’ve no choice.”

  Karl sighed. He couldn’t argue with Stefan’s logic. “Do what you must. We’ll miss you.”

  “You’d be wise to come with us.”

  “Perhaps.” Karl met Charlotte’s eyes. “But we must stay.”

  “Then be careful. I don’t deserve such understanding friends. And I don’t want to lose them.”

  Stefan clasped Karl’s hand, and hugged him; then he went to Charlotte, kissed her cheeks and lips, almost with the passion of a lover. Charlotte struggled not to cry.

  “I’ll write,” said Stefan. He placed his arm around Niklas and they vanished into the Crystal Ring.

  Charlotte’s eyes lit up with sadness and rage. “If Cesare thinks Lilith’s so dangerous that he has to raise an army against her, he’s an imbecile!”

  “Without question,” Karl said heavily. “However, I’ll have to visit Schloss Holdenstein and find out what’s happening.”

  “Alone?”

  Karl usually suppressed his instinct to overprotect Charlotte, but for once his sense of foreboding won.

  “This time, beloved, if you don’t mind.”

  He spoke so gently and firmly that she couldn’t argue.

  * * *

  Karl had never considered himself an idealist. What possible ideals could a vampire hold, who had forsaken all morality? Yet now, as he climbed the rugged slopes to Schloss Holdenstein, he realised that he’d envisioned a kind of utopia.

  With Kristian dead, he imagined a world in which vampires were free to determine their own destiny, codes of conduct, relationships. No vampire would interfere in another’s existence… Why should they, unless their behaviour reached unacceptable extremes?

  And that was the trouble. Human or vampire, there were always some who went too far. There had to be laws, and someone to enforce them. Now he understood, with a heavy heart, how misplaced his optimism had been.

  Something worse was rising in Kristian’s place… but was it Violette, or Cesare?

  He walked softly through the castle’s dank corridors, gauging vampire presences around him. And… he hesitated, curious… humans?

  He went into the windowless heart of the castle, where Kristian had held court. The atmosphere had always been stifling, heavy with blood and death. Now there was also a feverish note.

  Karl wanted to see Pierre. He also wished to know if Ilona had come here after leaving Boston so abruptly. As he followed a winding corridor, Cesare stepped out to meet him.

  Karl halted, resigned. He hadn’t expected to reach his friends unchallenged.

  Stefan was right: Cesare had changed. Physically, he remained pallid and deceptively boyish in his drab robe. But there was light in his eyes, new energy and confidence in his bearing.

  Cesare grinned, to Karl’s surprise, and clasped his right hand.

  “Karl, how wonderful to see you. Have you come home?”

  Does he imagine I ever thought of this as home? Karl regarded the pale-eyed figure with contempt. He’d once had a chance to kill Cesare, and now wished he’d taken it. He freed his hand.

  “I am here to see friends.”

  “Be my guest,” Cesare said with a broad gesture.

  “Thank you,” Karl inclined his head with icy courtesy, “but I don’t believe I need your permission.”

  He walked past Cesare into the warren of rooms that clustered around the meeting chamber and the inner sanctum. He sensed Pierre’s presence nearby…

  A cell lay beyond a doorless archway, with candles flickering, stonework blackened by years of candle-smoke. Karl noted a table, a few ancient chairs, and a wooden pallet on which Pierre lay, entwined with a human: a well-built male with fair hair. The male was naked but for a cloth around his loins.

  At the table sat a grotesque vampire, his bald skull a mass of scar tissue. This must be John… and the severed head perched on the table’s corner was Matthew’s. Karl felt a surge of horror and pity.

  John sat writing with a feathered quill, ignoring Pierre’s feast, but Ilona, perched on a stool, watched raptly. She leaned forward over her crossed knees, resting her chin on one hand. Her flapper-style dress was dark plum, like her hair, like the blood that escaped Pierre’s lips to streak his victim’s chest.

  Karl caught the scent, and the musky-salty human smell that lured vampires with the promise of satiation. He responded, despite himself. His fangs slid half out of their sockets with the pressure of desire.

  Ilona turned, her lips in a tight smile.

  “Father! Join us, why don’t you. Pierre, leave some for Karl.” Her eyes were sultry from feeding, but she too had changed, Karl observed. Nothing definable: a dullness of spirit. He recalled, with a stab of pain, how she’d wept on his shoulder and fed from his throat, and he had a fleeting thought, All this hideous misery was caused by Violette…

  “Thank you, I’ll refrain,” he said.

  As Cesare joined him in the archway, Karl again sensed the fevered atmosphere that pervaded the castle.

  “Cesare, aren’t you aware that it’s unwise to kill victims in your own domain? The castle has enough ghosts already.”

  Nothing, it seemed, could dent Cesare’s good humour. “We do not kill them, and they are not victims.”

  “We have to bring Pierre’s supper to him, because he won’t leave the castle,” added Ilona. “You wouldn’t want him to starve?”

  Pierre was oblivious. His eyes were closed, his mouth clamped to the man’s neck, hands locked around the broad, naked shoulders. The man was conscious, rigid in the deathly embrace. Muscles stood out in taut curves along his arms. His hands wagged in the air, thick fingers splayed. His groans might be of agony or rapture.

  “I wouldn’t be confident that this victim will not die.” Karl leaned against the archway, folding his arms. “Have you ever tried to make Pierre cease feeding before he’s ready?”

  “Pierre,” Cesare said lightly, moving to the pallet. “Enough now. We must not damage him.”

  To Karl’s astonishment, Pierre obeyed. He dropped the man, crawled away and knelt on the end of the pallet. He was dishevelled, as if he hadn’t combed his hair or changed his clothes for weeks. Blood dripped from his lips. His expression was full of fear.

  Karl was so shocked that tears sprang to his eyes.

  “How long has he been like this?”

  “Months,” said Ilona. “Since before you went to America.”

  The human curled on his side, groaning. Ignoring him, Karl went to Pierre. “My friend,” he said gently, “what happened to you?”

  “I told you,” said Ilona. “Violette happened.”

  Pierre rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nothing’s wrong. Leave me the hell alone!”

  “Violette seems to be happening to everyone,” Ilona remarked.

  “She is dangerous to those who cross her,” Karl said in a neutral tone.

  Ilona’s face tightened. “I was with a victim. Isn’t there some code of honour that forbids us from interfering with another vampire’s kill?”

  “She’s dangerous to us all,” said Cesare. “I hope you aren’t here to defend her, Karl?”

  “I came to see Pierre and my daughter.”

  “Is there hope for you, then? Can we persuade you to our cause?”

  Karl didn’t reply, but he knew an answer would be demanded eventually. The change in Cesare was alarming. No longer a mere acolyte, waiting passively for Kristian’s second coming, he had found his own path.
Cesare’s new inner light had the power to draw followers to him. To dazzle them so subtly, Karl thought, they never notice they’re blind.

  A sound made Karl turn. Two more humans entered the cell, strong young men in brown robes, barefoot, both fair-haired. They bowed to Cesare, then went to the man on the pallet.

  “Take him away, wash and feed him,” Cesare ordered.

  The newcomers helped Pierre’s victim to his feet. He swayed, but he was clear-eyed and smiling. He gave Cesare a deep nod of respect, adoration in his eyes.

  “Master,” he said.

  Cesare touched his cheek, and the man – big and muscular enough to break Cesare in two, had they both been mortal – looked as if he might faint with delight. “Go and rest. You have earned it.”

  Karl watched with a mild sense of revulsion.

  “Be a gentleman, Cesare,” came Pierre’s hoarse voice. “Offer Karl a drink.”

  Cesare’s expression tightened, but his tone remained gracious. “Let me not withhold refreshment from you.” He gestured towards the two robed humans. “Take whichever you wish.”

  Karl wanted nothing from Cesare, but curiosity overcame him. Young, fresh-faced men in their very prime, their eyes held intelligence, respect and eagerness to please. Even Kristian had never kept humans in the castle. The rush of their blood drew him powerfully. It crossed his mind that this might be a trap, but he thought, Cesare hasn’t grown that devious – yet.

  He approached one of the men, who promptly relinquished Pierre’s prey to his companion and stood as if for military inspection. He was as tall as Karl and much broader, with cropped hair and a tanned, freckled face. Sinews stood out in his wide neck. He showed no sign of fear.

  Karl moved slowly, watching him. What do you see as I approach? Do you understand what I am going to do?

  Karl placed his hands on the shoulders, feeling their muscular thickness through the loose-woven robe. Perspiration broke on the man’s upper lip. As Karl felt his tension increase, he thought, You know what I am, yet you barely flinch…

  Karl struck. The blood hit him like a wave. He felt the hot clasp of flesh around his fangs, salt and fire in his mouth, the seductive softening of the victim’s body against his own. How bestial, this pleasure.

  A vampire could wrestle with his conscience for all time, but it would never be more than a shadow-dance obliterated by the throbbing reality of the kill.

  The first surge over, he let the flow slacken, until he could bring himself to stop. Amazingly, the man showed no sign of weakness. He remained rigid, as if trained to withstand the assault. It was Karl who, half-swooning with pleasure, had to lean on him for a few seconds. This brief loss of control reminded him why he rarely fed in front of anyone, particularly Ilona.

  Regaining control, Karl drew back. The man dipped his head – like a cat questing for his owner’s caress – then collected himself and stood to attention. Karl studied him, trying to read his eyes. All he saw was the unquestioning obedience of a soldier.

  “Who are you?” Karl asked softly.

  “That’s enough.” Cesare’s voice was like gunshots. “Brothers, you’re dismissed.”

  Repeating the ritual bow, the three men left. Karl felt bemused horror, even while he floated on the crimson afterglow of feeding.

  “What is this? Are you keeping captive prey, like dairy cattle?”

  “Only the finest,” Ilona said quietly. “Not cows, but magnificent bulls, actually.”

  Cesare cut across her. “We have nothing to explain unless you come to us wholeheartedly in the service of God.”

  Karl faced him without expression. Recalling Stefan’s fear, he was angry that this creature had driven Stefan and Niklas into hiding. “Why would you want me? You know I destroyed Kristian. I made no secret of it.”

  “But I forgive you, Karl.” Cesare’s eyes glowed like a saint’s. He clasped Karl’s upper arms; a distasteful, over-familiar action. “There are many here who rebelled against Kristian. More come every day. There are even vampires who escaped the Weisskalt when Kristian died. The past is forgotten. God instructs me to unite all vampires against the Enemy. If you join us, you’ll be saved – but stay in the darkness and you will be friendless, an outcast for Lilith to devour.”

  “Is this what you tell everyone?”

  “It’s the truth,” said Cesare. “You’re no fool, Karl. You know how dangerous she is, don’t you?”

  Karl couldn’t reply. He had been denying Violette’s nature, but Cesare’s words cut straight to the core of his fears.

  “We met two vampires named Rachel and Malik,” said Karl. “Are they here?”

  Rachel had not been seen since she vanished after the attack on Violette, and the dancer’s retaliation. As for Malik – a tall, stoic-natured vampire of African origins, who had emerged from the Weisskalt after Kristian’s death – Karl had not seen him for months. He had no idea where Malik’s allegiance might lie.

  “No,” said Cesare. “Not yet.”

  “And what of Simon, Rasmila and Fyodor?”

  Cesare gave no answer. “Well, Karl? Are you with us or against us?”

  “I’m not here to take sides,” Karl said evenly. “May I speak to Pierre alone?”

  “Impossible.” Spines prickled through the fur of Cesare’s voice. “If you can’t give me a clear statement of your intentions, you’d better leave. Take time to think.”

  Ilona slipped to Karl’s side. “Do as he says, Father. It’s not worth arguing with him.”

  Ignoring them, Karl went to Pierre. Cesare followed, adding insistently, “Leave now and do not return until –”

  He touched Karl’s arm. Karl turned, furious, shaking him off. “Don’t lay your hands on me. How long did your throat take to heal, the last time you tried?”

  “I was weak then. I am strong now. This is your last warning.”

  Cesare had acquired a stunning air of authority. No doubt he’d become dangerous. But after what Karl had endured to win his freedom, he would submit to no one.

  “Well, I’m going,” Ilona said impatiently. “Karl, if you’ve any sense, come with me.” She vanished as the Crystal Ring received her.

  Karl turned to Pierre, who was now leaning against the wall, his long legs drawn up under him. “Pierre, I wish you’d come with us. I’m distressed to see you like this.”

  “Why are you so solicitous, suddenly?” said Pierre. “I’ve always done my best to make your life unpleasant. I hope you’re not about to reward me with some nauseatingly sentimental speech about friendship.”

  “Call it curiosity, then,” Karl said patiently. “Tell me what happened.”

  The curly brown head drooped. “Really, there’s no point. I can’t leave, and I’ve nothing to tell you. Do as Cesare says. Get out.”

  Cesare was watching, his smile a strand of wire. Then John rose and stood glowering at Karl. And in him, Karl saw, lay Cesare’s real strength: a brutish power, glowing like hot iron from the gargoyle face and minotaur shoulders. John’s once neat, slender form appeared to have been reforged in hell.

  The horror of this transformation terrified Karl more than any physical threat. He had a nebulous thought: What if the Crystal Ring can do this to any of us?

  “As you wish,” he said evenly. “I shall consider what you’ve said.”

  Returning Cesare’s gelid stare with a smile, Karl stepped into the Ring and went in search of his daughter.

  * * *

  The Bierkeller was a sweltering mass of bodies, noise and laughter, stewing in smoke and lager-yellow light. Werner was already drunk, but not too drunk to be brought up short by the sight of an incredibly beautiful woman sitting alone.

  He’d deserted his student friends, sick of arguing politics with them, frustrated by their shallow refusal to listen. Intellectuals, they fancied themselves: not an idea between them. It broke Werner’s young heart to see what was happening to Germany. Crushed by the Treaty of Versailles, lands and rights confiscated, inflation running
wild, while incompetent bureaucrats floundered and squabbled. Werner couldn’t bear to see his mother working herself to death to put a loaf of bread on the table. He wanted better for his ruined country… wanted more out of life.

  Drunkenness gave the illusion of knowing all the answers; but he knew he’d wake tomorrow still in despair, and that made him want to drown his frustration in more beer… or in a woman’s arms.

  He wished he were not still a virgin, at eighteen. Girls liked him, but his mother had instilled him with the fear of God and he always backed away. He was ready now, but he felt so awkward. This angel couldn’t possibly want him, or even notice…

  She’d seen him! Werner froze, unable to believe his luck when she gestured with an unlit cigarette. Her stare was a magnet. As he wove towards her around lakes of spilled beer and damp sawdust, the cacophony of voices and music receded.

  “May – may I join you, Fräulein?”

  She nodded at the empty stool opposite, leaned forward for him to light her cigarette. He ordered drinks, but noticed she didn’t touch the red wine she’d asked for. And her cigarette in its long holder was a mere accessory; she only mouthed the smoke before expelling it. The action was unutterably erotic.

  Over her shoulder, Werner saw his friends – five flushed, raucous youths sitting a few tables away – giving him jealous looks and crudely suggestive signals. He ignored them.

  Werner was shaking. He hoped she could not smell his sweat.

  Her name, she said, was Ilona.

  While they talked about nothing in particular, he could not take his eyes off her mouth. Deepest red, like her dress and her hair, her lips were dark petals against her shell-pale skin. The girls he knew – his sisters’ friends – were attractive enough in a merry, rosy way, but this woman was different, as quiet and sure as an arrow.

  “Are you from Austria?” he asked.

  “Vienna,” she replied. “A long time ago.”

  “I recognise the accent!” he said triumphantly. “You should be in a grand hotel with marble pillars and ferns, not this pigsty. You’re too beautiful for this.”

  “Aren’t we all? In our own minds, at least.”

  Ilona, he decided, was strange. She wasn’t flirty, but caustic and distant. It never crossed his uncluttered mind that he might secure her services for money. He tried to act like a man about town making a heroic effort to seduce a movie star.