The Dark Blood of Poppies

by Freda Warrington

  “So you had no principles in those days, either,” said Robyn.

  “I had ambition. For me, changing religion meant little, because I was never pious. My Catholicism was more instinct than belief… a feeling that there were sinister meanings behind the surface, that the saints were really older gods… But understand, it wasn’t greed that moved me, it was passion. I loved that place too much to lose it, even for the sake of family loyalty. As for Mary, I thought we loved each other… but I took her for granted, I thought that to build a grand house was enough to prove my devotion. When she fell pregnant I was overjoyed, I thought that we’d be the perfect family in our magnificent new house. But the child wasn’t mine.”

  “Oh,” whispered Robyn.

  “She said I was never there, that I couldn’t give her children, so she’d taken up with someone else and she was running away with him.” Even after all this time, he felt a twinge of old pain.

  “What did you do?”

  “I meant to kill myself.”

  “I can’t imagine you contemplating that!” Robyn said, shocked.

  “But I was human. Distraught. My future, my wife and child were gone from me, so there was no point in a new house. Blackwater Hall was a shell, mocking me. I intended to burn it down and die in the fire. But someone stopped me. They say Irish Catholicism is only a step away from paganism, that the faerie folk were never destroyed, only assimilated and made into saints so people could still worship without heresy. The old gods never left, only vanished into sea and stone, tree and sky. And that night, as I set about destroying my future, three of them came along and did the job for me. Three ancient gods with burnished skin and terrible fiery eyes. They transformed me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered slowly. “They saw the makings of a perfect vampire in me, and it’s hard to say they were wrong, isn’t it? But the strangest thing is that they spoke as if the Old Testament God had sent them. That seemed wrong: surely they were gods even older than him? But they claimed to serve this God, insisting that vampires are legitimate punishers of mankind. Like plagues and floods.”

  “What an interesting point of view.” Robyn’s eyes widened.

  “Theology was the last thing on my mind. I cursed them for changing me, but in fact they’d freed me from mortal weakness and conscience. Instead of destroying myself, I went after Mary and her lover.”

  “You killed them?”

  “Yes. Showed Mary how much I loved her by draining her blood. And it was very easy, Robyn. I relished it. Because mortal passions no longer mattered, you see? And then I left Ireland. The house still draws me back sometimes… but only the house, nothing else.”

  “So you don’t feel anything now? You just pretend… as I do?”

  They were both saying too much. Their eyes met in a flash of mutual panic, and a slow recoil began.

  “Oh, I feel, dear Robyn.”

  “Yes. You hate women and I hate men, yet here we are together…”

  “But I have the advantage,” he said, “because I hate men too. I despise them all, male, female, human, vampire.”

  “You care for me, though, don’t you?” Her eyes gleamed: imperious, not pleading. “You spared my life. You protected me from Russell’s brothers. You can’t stay away.”

  “Don’t you love me?” he said. “Just a little?”

  “I’d never admit it if I did.”

  “So you do.”

  “And you’re waiting for me to say yes, so you can seize the moment to destroy me?” The gleam hardened to a diamond sparkle. “Oh, I see through you, Sebastian.”

  “Because it’s what you would do.” The way she outguessed him was irritating. “Only bear in mind that you can’t ruin my reputation, because I don’t possess one. You can’t break my heart, or my body. But, Robyn, you live or die at my whim. I only have to threaten your precious maids to put you in a fit of panic. But really, to break your heart, all I need do is to leave you.”

  Her face was sullen, her lower lip demanding to be kissed and bitten. When he tried, she turned her face aside, so his mouth met her smooth warm cheek.

  “If you order me to leave,” he murmured, “I might not come back.”

  “Are you so arrogant as to believe that I’m not just using you for my pleasure, as you’re using me?” she retorted. “You say I have no way to protect myself. Well, you may be right… but there is Violette.”

  The name startled him, like sunlight flashing from a dark mirror. “Violette?”

  “The dancer. You do know she’s a vampire, too?”

  “Of course.” But he failed to hide his shock, and she grinned.

  “But you didn’t know that she was here before you.” Robyn’s smile became laughter. “You’re not my first would-be vampire lover, you know. She didn’t play games. She wanted me. She said that if ever I needed her help, just to let her know. I can get in touch with her very easily, Sebastian.”

  He remembered the night of the party; Robyn drifting past him in the garden… and another presence he hadn’t registered because Ilona had distracted him. Violette! Inwardly cursing both Ilona and the ballerina, he said, “You’re lying.”

  “I couldn’t make this up, believe me. Are you afraid of her? Something tells me she’s as strong as you. One telegram… oh, you’d have time to kill me before I even sent it, but if you do – she will know. She’ll come after you. Maybe she’ll bring her friends.”

  Sebastian, thrown off-guard, could not reply. He was furious. What Robyn said about Violette was true: she was almost certainly a match for him. He thought, Now will I regret dismissing Simon’s warning?

  “Very clever,” he said at last. “So we’re equal. But do you want her or me?”

  Her eyes darkened. “You,” she said. “Without the threats.”

  A terrible feeling filled his heart, like a trapped raven.

  “Too late, my love.” He stared down at her, letting the icy poison of his soul infuse his face. She blanched. Her face stiffened with terror and she strained to avoid him, but he felt no pity.

  “Do you really think I ever felt anything for you but contempt?” he said.

  He left her side without a kiss, dressed quickly and stepped into the Crystal Ring. Robyn, wide-eyed with shock, uttered no word of protest.

  Sebastian had to leave before the fatal web of love ensnared him forever. This time he had no intention of going back, ever.

  * * *

  The demon-vampire, John, kept a severed head in the dungeon. Night and day, it grinned down at Werner from the sill of a narrow embrasure.

  Each lightless day, John would enter and torment Werner; feed on him, inflict physical torture, mock him. Once Werner was a bedraggled heap on the flagstones, John would lecture him for hours about God.

  Werner’s terror, John insisted, was a lack of enlightenment. Weeping for mercy showed rebellion.

  “Until you shed your fear,” said John, “you aren’t worthy to serve the great Leader.”

  What leader? Werner had no idea why he was being held prisoner. He was ill, starving, desperate to go home to his mother. I’ve repented a thousand times but John still won’t say what he wants of me!

  Then one day, it happened. Werner woke and found his fear gone. Washed up on the edge of insanity, he was crushed, empty, blank. He anticipated nothing but death.

  The cell door opened and John’s gargoyle face glared down at him. Werner waited indifferently for the torment to begin. “If it’s God’s will,” he murmured, “I submit.”

  Nothing happened. Past caring, Werner drifted into sleep, only to wake again to a blinding light.

  Only a lamp, but it hurt his eyes like the sun. Squinting, he made out a group of men around him, immeasurably tall, with radiant firm flesh and bright hair. Teutonic gods, they seemed. Werner stared, one hand flung across his forehead.

  One was brighter than the rest, filling the cell with glory. Lucifer, a voice whispered in Werner’s fractured brain. Falle
n angel, Star of the Morning.

  A smaller figure leaned down and took Werner’s hand. Less dazzling but equally powerful, he seemed as clear as a diamond. A holy man with the world’s future in his ice-grey eyes.

  Werner was transfixed. This man carried the air of one who’d passed to a higher plane from which he observed the petty turmoil of Earth. His solid certainty of purpose lanced straight to the vacant core of Werner’s soul.

  “Poor child,” said the saint. “How you’ve suffered. But you survived the test. Are you ready to join us with a pure heart?”

  Werner’s empty heart brimmed with hope. He was so grateful for a little kindness that he would give his life for this man. Leader. Saviour.

  He reached out, his mouth open with yearning. Yes, take me into your world, save my soul!

  “Patience,” said the leader. He lifted Werner to his feet and kissed him on both cheeks. “I’m Cesare. These men will bathe and feed you. They are your friends; they’ve all been through the darkest night, as you have, and will help you to understand that iron must be hammered in order to forge it. You’ll learn to serve alongside your comrades. A long path, but prove yourself worthy and you will be elevated to our rank.”

  Werner could hardly breathe for wonder. Not merely to serve, but to join them!

  Cesare’s promise healed all wounds. He realised that Ilona had not abducted but rescued him. This leader, with his clear-sighted strength, was the saviour of whom Werner had always dreamed.

  There was a future after all. The love radiating from these glorious beings eclipsed what he’d felt for Ilona, even for his mother. What could compare? Overcome, he wept.

  I’ve entered Valhalla.

  Falling to his knees, he kissed the saviour’s hands. “I am your servant, my lord Cesare, my king. I pledge you my life.”

  “Your pledge is accepted.” The leader’s voice was a sweet blessing.

  All around him, the young men who shared Werner’s dreams smiled in approval.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  FIREBIRD

  From the moment she conceived the new ballet, Violette was obsessed. It blossomed within her day by day, so in rehearsal she was explaining what she wanted of her dancers even as it came into her head. She didn’t tell the truth behind the story. She named the characters Siegfried, Anna and Lila, with assorted peasants and forest-spirits.

  Her instincts were true. The ballet was destined to be as magnificent as any of the classics. Elated from their success in America, the company generated an atmosphere of feverish enthusiasm. When she commissioned music for the project, the composer responded as if inspired by angels.

  She called the ballet Witch and Maiden.

  But there was an element missing. An ending.

  Charlotte and Karl had gone home to Switzerland. Violette missed Charlotte, but at least she was not constantly reminded of her darker side. Some days she almost convinced herself she was human… until the thirst began.

  One night Charlotte came to see her. They met in the studio, where oblongs of light fell through the windows to ripple with snow-light from the mountains, glass-green reflections of the river Salzach. The glow was infinitely lovely to vampire eyes.

  “You’re in danger,” said Charlotte. She leaned against the barre, her dress of bronze silk and lace beautiful in the light. “Almost everyone you’ve upset is at Schloss Holdenstein, and Cesare’s elected himself their leader. They want revenge.”

  Violette was unmoved, apart from a stirring depression. “How have I upset Cesare? I don’t know him.”

  “But he knows of you. He’s a fanatic. I’m sure it took no effort for others to convince him that you’re the Antichrist.”

  “Who told him? Pierre and Ilona?”

  “Yes, and John. Simon’s with them, too.”

  “Simon.” She felt a dull wave of foreboding. “And Stefan? Rachel?”

  “No, Stefan’s in hiding to protect Niklas. No one’s seen Rachel. I hardly know her so I can’t speak for her. But as for the others, I’m afraid they’re planning to attack you.”

  Violette smiled. “Do you think they’d dare?”

  “Don’t underestimate them. The Crystal Ring can give us strange powers.” Charlotte looked candidly at her. “It can take them away, too. We can’t take anything for granted.”

  “Well, thank you for warning me.”

  “I’m serious. Simon came and tried his hardest to persuade Karl and me onto their side. Perhaps he succeeded, I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean?” Violette’s faint anxiety jumped to a higher pitch.

  “I drank his blood. Karl fears it may have put me in his power.”

  “Any symptoms?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “But how can I know? Something might happen without me being aware, or able to stop myself.”

  “You mean you might go for my throat? I don’t think you’d win.” Violette moved towards the windows. “I don’t want to hurt you, or anyone. But it’s what Lilith does when she feels threatened… I won’t harm them, as long as they stay away!”

  “I can’t persuade them to do that. They’re frightened. They seem to think you’ve been sent by God to test them.”

  “Perhaps I have,” Violette said softly. Turning, she saw concern in Charlotte’s eyes. “Are you sure you’re right to defend me?”

  “Yes. I brought you into this, and I love you. If they kill you, they can take me too.”

  “And Karl?”

  Charlotte didn’t answer. “I should go.”

  “Yes, go, Charlotte. I appreciate your concern, but all I want to think about is dancing.”

  Charlotte vanished, without a kiss, looking desperately sad. Violette was on the verge of following, but restrained herself. I’ve no room for sentiment. I must think about the end of this ballet, nothing else!

  However, Violette couldn’t get the conversation out of her mind. Images of violence plagued her. She remembered their terrified faces as she plunged fangs and nails into their flesh: Matthew, Pierre, Rachel, Ilona…

  She needed to escape. Melting into Raqia, she left Salzburg behind and flew to the Alps. There she walked for hours, oblivious to the cold, relishing the wildness of the mountains. A bitter wind wailing from the peaks blew ice needles into her face, chilling her from head to foot. Numbing the pain.

  She hadn’t wanted to loiter in the Crystal Ring. It was too sinister, full of mysteries and accusations. No, the clean harshness of nature was the place to confront Lilith, to catch her black wings and bring her down.

  What are you? Violette cried.

  I am night, said Lilith. I am blackthorn winter and the death of dreams. I am madness and cruelty and fever, I am disobedience and disappointment and disease. I am the laughter of demons and the tears of God and the Devil’s bride. I am all your worst fears.

  You are many things, said Violette. You are a demon lover, a storm spirit and a night hag. You exist in every mythology. You have always been here.

  Always, Lilith agreed. And I have a special affinity for blood.

  But why? What are you?

  Look harder. You’re looking but you can’t see me.

  Violette tried. A great curtain of ink flowed across her mind. Searching for Lilith was like groping for the end of the ballet. But she was looking at nothingness. What she’d taken to be Lilith was only a dead end, a wall of blackness. The real Lilith moved somewhere behind the wall but Violette couldn’t reach her, couldn’t grasp the truth.

  Why can’t I find you?

  I am a Black Virgin in a shrine, Lilith informed her. I am a black stone in the earth. I am the end of all things.

  But who are you?

  I am you, said Lilith.

  “Then why can’t I remember?” Violette cried. “How can I know I’m you, yet not understand?”

  Because, said Violette-Lilith, you are talking to yourself.

  Crouching beside a rock in her thin lavender dress, the ice storm battering her, Violette screamed her anguis
h.

  No one heard. The storm and the mountains ignored her.

  After a time she stood, entered the Crystal Ring, and surged through the rolls of liquid cloud towards the south.

  Again she’d denied herself blood, even knowing it was foolish. Thirst unhinged her. Her mind filled with the flapping of ravens, the maddening enigma of Lilith. Black because she is veiled…

  Violette thought of Lancelyn, the arrogant human mage who’d tried to unveil her. He’d called her the Black Goddess, bringer of wisdom, madness or death to those who penetrate her.

  He’d been so certain of finding wisdom, but Violette had brought him madness. She’d destroyed him for his arrogance… yet the memory still needled her. What if he had been able to unveil Lilith’s mystery? It’s obvious I can’t unveil myself. If I’d swallowed my pride, let him make an altar of me – perhaps the ritual would have enlightened us both.

  But no, Lilith kept the veil closed. It was not what she wanted. And she must always have her own way.

  Lilith was pulling her towards another horizon now.

  Violette couldn’t forget Rachel’s visit, or the terrible sense of being hated purely for existing. She remembered Lilith’s rage, which had made her tear off Matthew’s head, compelled her to bite Rachel’s long, slender neck and swallow her fierce blood.

  How could they ever forgive her?

  Violette felt the pressure of hatred building against her. She sensed it in the Crystal Ring, where every tremor seemed to express a human nightmare or a vampire’s tortuous thoughts. Sometimes it happened that Lilith’s sixth sense caught the wavelength of an individual… And now she was thinking of Rachel, a victim of Lilith who’d simply disappeared. So many questions Violette needed to ask… How to find her, though?