The Dark Arts of Blood

by Freda Warrington

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m sure he’ll get better with experience.”

  “Good heavens, he would hit the roof if anyone suggested he wasn’t an expert by now!”

  “Is he making more?”

  “Oh, he’s always working on something. Triumph in the Mountains is next, and we’re shooting a new one about William Tell, and he’s writing three more scripts at least. The Lion Arises was his fourth; the earlier ones were even worse, if you can believe it. We’re a tiny company – it’s hardly Hollywood – but he keeps us busy. We all muck in, making costumes, working the lights and cameras, being extras…” She sighed again. “I can’t go back to Mother and admit my career’s a disaster. It wouldn’t be so bad, but Uncle Godric – well, his films aren’t what I expected. He likes brutal stories about women being kidnapped, soldiers, ghosts, madmen, villains having their heads cut off. I wouldn’t mind if they were good films but he can’t see that they come across like pantomimes. He gets so irate when the audience starts giggling.”

  Charlotte paused, studying Amy’s troubled face and the glint of tears in her eyes.

  “The most difficult people are those who think they’re brilliant, but aren’t.”

  “I know, but no one dares tell him – not while he’s paying their wages! Anyway, it’s not just about the films. It’s all for a higher purpose. To stir up patriotism and general fervour; he loves all that. And the more he flatters wealthy people and makes newsreels about them, the more money they give him.”

  “That sounds quite cunning,” said Charlotte.

  “Oh, he is. He’s always holding secret meetings with his clique of favourites. Men only. The womenfolk are only there to cook, sew and look decorative. I am a little tired of it all.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I don’t know. Uncle Godric’s fond of me, and he seems to like me being here. Most of the time he’s kind, but sometimes… he can be a dreadful bully.”

  “A bully, how?”

  Amy took a while to answer. “I have a difficult time some months, if you know what I mean. Uncle insisted I go to this dreadful Dr Ochsner, a friend of his – he treats all Uncle’s friends and staff – and I didn’t want to go, but he was so insistent that I got annoyed and ran off to see the doctor on my own. Gudrun, the woman who shut the door in your face – I do apologise – she’s our housekeeper, or should I say sergeant-major? Anyway, she was supposed to go with me, but I made an evening appointment and sneaked off alone. The thing is, I knew I needed to see a doctor. I was just so embarrassed. I wanted to keep the whole business as private as possible.”

  “What happened?” Charlotte asked gently.

  “The doctor was horrible.” Her voice went very low. “First he asked if I’d had any boyfriends – I haven’t, but I was mortified. Then he poked and prodded me so aggressively, inside and out, that I was crying, but he told me to stop making a silly fuss. I swear he was enjoying it. It seemed to go on forever. Essential to scrape out some excess tissue, he said. It was so painful – is that normal, Charlotte, do you know? – and so rough that he made me bleed.”

  “He did that to you without any kind of anaesthetic?” Charlotte gasped.

  Amy gave a small nod. “It was unspeakably humiliating. Then while I sat there bleeding all over his couch, he said there was nothing wrong with me but anaemia and to eat more steak! Afterwards, I just wanted to hurry home and hide in bed, but I was so lightheaded… If you hadn’t been there, I dread to think what would have happened.”

  Charlotte took her hand, feeling her warmth, her pulse.

  “I’m so sorry. Did you tell your uncle?”

  “I couldn’t.” Her gaze fixed on the mountains. “I told Gudrun, but even she said I shouldn’t make a fuss. I was far too embarrassed to tell Uncle Godric. I’m sure he meant well, but… He thinks Dr Ochsner is marvellous. He would never believe me, so it’s best I stay quiet.” Amy stared at the boats crossing the lake. Eventually she said in a small voice, “You know, I wouldn’t mind a sweetheart, even marriage and a baby or two, one day… But I’m afraid it will never happen. What if all that digging with metal instruments has damaged my insides?”

  “That so-called doctor’s treatment doesn’t sound right at all,” Charlotte said softly, pressing her hand. “Don’t go to him again, in any circumstances.”

  “I won’t. I’ll warn Mariette and the other girls to keep away, too.”

  “Good idea. And don’t worry, Amy. I’m sure you’ll be all right.”

  “Thank you. You’re so kind, Charlotte. Do you have children?”

  “Er, no.” The question took her by surprise. “I can’t, and in any case, I would make no fit mother.”

  “How can you possibly know? You’re barely any older than me.” Amy sipped her chocolate. “Forgive me, I’m being nosey. But you’re so nice, I feel as if I’ve known you forever.”

  Nice, thought Charlotte, as I sit here imagining how exquisite your blood would taste…

  “I’ve had a thought,” Amy said, brightening. “Some of us are going to Paris, the weekend after this, just for fun. Would you like to come with us?”

  “Er… I’m not sure.” Because if I do, she thought, I will want to take you into a dark corner and taste your throat and…

  “Don’t look so alarmed!” said Amy. “It’s only a handful of us. The leading lady Mariette, and our friends. There won’t be anyone from my uncle’s close circle; they’re all too keen on talking politics and drinking beer. Such a bore. Only fun people are invited.”

  Charlotte laughed. “I’m tempted.”

  “The main reason I’m going is that Uncle Godric has forbidden me to go,” Amy added with a wicked smile.

  “Forbidden you? Why?”

  “Because there will be American jazz music, and debauchery, and foreigners, and nightclubs open until the early hours! At least, there had better be. And I’m sick of being told what to do.”

  “Good for you,” Charlotte said softly, thinking, If I spent a day or two away from Karl, it would free us both from the endless temptation. I know we’re going to give in, and if we do…

  Something terrible would happen. She tried to recall what the danger was, but it slid out of her mind’s grasp like ice.

  “It’s only a suggestion,” said Amy. “My treat, a thank you for cheering me up. Bring someone, or come alone: it’s up to you. But if you do decide to tag along – you know where I live.”

  * * *

  Violette looked up and saw, with amazement, Emil’s bruised face staring at her through the glass panel in the door.

  She was in a side-studio, trying out moves for the new ballet with Jean-Paul. He was good; if she’d never met Emil, she would have considered him an excellent partner. But compared to her protégé, he was so ordinary it hurt. A workhorse… a dancer who was eager to please, executed every step she demanded to perfection, but without a trace of Emil’s flare.

  “All right, that’s enough for today,” she said gently, noting the resigned expression on Jean-Paul’s face as he slung a towel around his neck and left.

  “Madame Lenoir, may I speak with you?” Emil said from the doorway.

  “Yes,” she said tiredly. “Of course. Come in. Where have you been?”

  “At practice, with Madame Joelle.”

  “I meant before that.”

  “Resting, as you asked.”

  “Indeed?” She knew full well he hadn’t spent the night in his room, but decided to let the issue pass. “The doctor said rest for one week, not for one class.”

  “I know.” He spoke formally, standing as straight as a soldier and avoiding her eyes. “I wish to apologise for my behaviour. I’ve been extremely foolish. I – can only say that I’m deeply sorry, and that it will never happen again.”

  Violette hadn’t expected this. She paused, wondering how best to respond. She caught the taint of stale alcohol on him and guessed he’d been out drinking again, against her instructions. At least he appeared not to have
come to any harm this time. Would his rebellion end, if she forgave him?

  “Emil,” she said, keeping her tone balanced: not too cold, not too forgiving, “thank you. I appreciate your apology. I don’t know that you need my forgiveness. We all do foolish things, and you hardly deserved to be set upon by brutes…”

  “All the same, I am sorry, from the depths of my heart.”

  “Does this mean you’re staying?”

  He cleared his throat. “If – if you will permit me, yes.”

  “Well, I will need you to agree to some rules.”

  “Of course.”

  “Perhaps I’ve been too harsh. I can’t keep you under lock and key; you’re a man, not a child. So I’ll just say that I would prefer you to stay on ballet premises, for the sake of your health and fitness – but if you do go out, that is your decision. You must bear the consequences. Just try to keep out of trouble.”

  “Madame.” He gave a sharp nod.

  “Take as much rest as you need, until your injuries are fully healed. If you must attend class – well, I admire your dedication, but I’ll be most unhappy if you do yourself any more damage. So don’t push yourself too hard. And no more arguments with Mikhail or anyone else!”

  “I understand.”

  “And once you are fully fit – I expect your usual dedication. Complete professionalism, both in the studio and outside. Do you agree?”

  “Yes, madame.”

  “Then it’s possible we have a future,” she said softly. “This will not be easy, but we’re both strong.”

  She thought, I cannot control his inner life. I can’t control him at all. Something’s happened to him… other than my rejecting him. What, though?

  “Anything else I should know?” she asked.

  He hesitated. “Your friends, Herr and Frau Alexander… They told me that you suffered a bereavement not long ago. I had no idea, or I would never… My deepest sympathies, madame.”

  Violette only nodded. Charlotte had admitted that she’d told Emil, although he didn’t know the details and never would. He was part of her professional life. Her private life, her other existence as Lilith, the loss of Robyn – none of that was his concern, and would remain concealed from him forever.

  “I know that pain,” he added. “I’ve suffered it too.”

  “Have you?” Their eyes met for a moment, then he looked over her head again.

  “Someone in my family… My brother Alfonso… I can’t say any more.”

  “Well, who hasn’t lost a loved one?” she said gently. “We are partners in pain, then. We can take that on to the stage, and make the audience weep with us.”

  “Thank you.” Tears shone in his eyes, and a spark of his old energy, almost a smile. “Thank you for giving me a second chance.”

  * * *

  Charlotte arrived at Stefan’s house and found him with Karl in the lake room. This was her first official visit, although she’d seen the place from afar: a fairytale chalet, with steep forests and mountains behind, Lake Lucerne shimmering in front. A narrow lane ran along the forest edge, just wide enough for motor cars. Charlotte arrived on foot, having taken a short-cut through the Crystal Ring.

  Stefan kissed her cheek; Niklas half-smiled from where he stood near the windows.

  “Sorry I was delayed,” she said. “What a heavenly view of the lake!”

  “You can admire it all you like, later,” said Stefan, “but I expect you’re keen to get to business?”

  “What business?”

  Charlotte had an odd feeling of dislocation, as if she’d just woken up and lost track of time. She recalled speaking with Amy, then travelling through the misty violet lower regions of Raqia… but she had no idea what Stefan meant.

  “The knife?” he said. “I thought you were eager to examine it.”

  “What knife?” said Charlotte.

  Why were they looking at her so strangely? Why was Karl coming towards her, frowning?

  “This,” Stefan said, puzzled.

  Across his palms he held a thick folded scarf, a dagger lying on top. Its carved bone handle was set with a ruby, like a giant blood drop. Charlotte had no idea what she was looking at.

  Then the memories came back in a violent rush. She backed away until she collided with the far wall, so cold with shock she thought she might pass out like a human. The air shuddered and she saw her double floating in front of her: the mindless, mocking lamia. She felt the sting of glass shards in her back.

  “No,” she said. “No! Take it away from me.”

  Through a snowstorm, she heard Karl say, “Charlotte?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  BLOOD SISTERS

  “How could I have forgotten?” she said for a third time, stricken. “How?”

  Everything came back now in a clear flood: being stabbed in the street, her nightmarish hallucinations as the self-styled policeman intruded on the chalet and nearly lost his life at her hands. The spectral double. Karl, plucking glass slivers out of her flesh…

  And yet, somehow, her mind had wiped out the entire night.

  “It must be to do with the knife itself,” said Stefan. “Can you remember when you last… remembered what you’ve forgotten, if you see what I mean?”

  “I’m not sure.” Charlotte rubbed her brow, glad of Karl’s arm around her. “It’s been fading for a few days. This morning, when we came out of Raqia, it had gone altogether. But I didn’t know I’d forgotten until I saw the knife again. I only remembered Amy when I actually saw her, and then only the events that involved her. What’s happened to me?”

  “As Stefan said, a side-effect of the knife-wound,” said Karl. “Why would it cause forgetfulness? I have no answer… Beloved, at least your memory has come back.”

  “I almost wish it hadn’t. Am I going to keep forgetting and remembering? It was… absolutely horrifying.” She went to the window and rested her head on the glass. “A cold knife cut me in half and I’m drifting in two separate pieces, untethered. No one else sees it, not even you, Karl. You’re all concerned that I’m in shock, but not that it’s real or serious. And I don’t want to make a fuss, because only I can help myself and I don’t know how yet.”

  Reflected in the glass, she saw Stefan touch Niklas’s arm.

  “It’s not so bad, having a double,” he said.

  “It’s entirely different!” She turned on him. “Mine isn’t a separate physical twin that I could choose to love or destroy. It’s me but not me… like a living ghost, mocking me… I can’t explain. I can’t touch her, but she won’t go away. What is it? The manifestation of all my guilt about choosing to become a vampire, befriending Ilona even though she killed Fleur, and all the hurt I caused my family?”

  “Shed your conscience, or learn to live with it,” Stefan said brightly. “I’ve told you that before. There’s no other way.”

  “I thought I had shaken it off, long ago.” Charlotte folded her arms. “I never suffered much guilt at all, to be honest – yet it’s there, in my shape, following me around. I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” said Karl. He looked so beautiful, so concerned and helpless that she hurried forward and embraced him, feeling that she must comfort him, not the other way round.

  “Being overdramatic. I’ll be all right, I promise. No more strange fits.”

  “Love, try to keep that night in the centre of your mind,” Karl said gently. “The memory will lose its potency, but not vanish again. I hope.”

  “I’ll lock the knife away,” said Stefan. “Forgive me, Charlotte, I had no idea this would upset you.”

  “No, bring it back!” she said. “Put it on the table there. I’m better now, and I do want to examine it again.”

  Karl passed her a magnifying glass. Bracing herself against the painful shocks to her fingertips, she turned the knife over and studied the carved pattern. A maze, a death-mask with closed eyes in the centre… And another detail, the tiny inscription just below the ruby pommel. She’d forgotten that, to
o.

  “There’s a word,” she said. “It looks like Arabic. I can’t read it.”

  “Nor can I,” said Stefan. “What’s the use of immortality, if not to learn every language on the planet? If only I wasn’t so damned lazy.”

  “Let me see,” said Karl.

  He studied the word for a while. Eventually he said, “I think it reads Istilqa.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’ll find out for certain,” said Karl, “but I believe it means ‘sleep’.”

  * * *

  Later, they sat outside on the edge of the veranda, watching pleasure boats and yachts drift past. Delicate spring flowers danced in the grass. The peaks on the far side of the lake floated like white lace against the sky.

  Charlotte related her encounter with Amy. Stefan was leafing through a catalogue of Spring Fashions, 1928. She knew he was paying attention to the conversation even though he pretended nonchalance.

  “I’ve still learned very little about Godric Reiniger,” she said, “except that he fancies himself a great film director and likes to court favour with important people. But didn’t you see him in the beer hall, Karl?”

  His eyes were intent on her, as golden as two setting suns. Still watching her for signs of mental derangement? She broke eye contact, trying not to mind.

  “Yes. And the thugs who attacked Emil were similar to the men Reiniger was talking to inside. Part of the same group. They had a similar aura, a pale yellowish glow. Very faint, but somehow painful to the eyes. And all had an odour like the men who attacked you. Not alcohol, but something noxious in their blood.”

  “At least I wasn’t imagining all that.” Charlotte hugged her knees. She checked that her memory was still intact, and recalled how much happier she’d been when it had vanished for a while.

  “Perhaps you should go and speak to Herr Reiniger,” said Stefan.

  “It’s not so easy,” said Karl. “I tried last night.”