The Dark Arts of Blood

by Freda Warrington

  “Karl!” She glowered at him. “You didn’t tell me.”

  He met her gaze, blinked. Again she saw his subtle look of concern.

  “Charlotte, I did tell you.”

  When she found her voice, it was rusty, faint. “Did you, really? Last night is blurred… but I felt so tranquil in the Crystal Ring, Obviously I was tranquil because my mind had gone blank.”

  Karl and Stefan turned their heads to look at each other. She added, “If you two exchange one more of your ‘Poor Charlotte’s gone mad’ looks, I shall bang your heads together, I swear!”

  “Sorry,” said Stefan. “We’re worried, that’s all.”

  “Well, I did not get inside the house,” said Karl. “That was the strangest thing. I tried to enter through the Crystal Ring but there was a force around the entire building, physically driving me away. Like a sphere of red energy, a barrier I couldn’t breach. And a powerful aroma of blood.”

  “Pleasant or toxic?” asked Charlotte.

  “The latter. Whatever they were doing inside seemed rather more interesting than making movies.”

  “You didn’t think to knock on the front door?” said Stefan. “Too obvious?”

  Karl hesitated. “It would have been difficult to explain why I was there. Also, I was sure that if I did get inside, I’d never escape. Every time I’ve seen Reiniger, he’s stared at me as if he knows exactly what I am and is about to produce a sharpened axe.”

  “Are you sure he wasn’t simply admiring the view?” said Stefan.

  “Absolutely certain,” Karl said drily. “That’s why I meant to observe, rather than confront him. As things stand, we still know almost nothing about him.”

  “Amy mentioned secret meetings,” said Charlotte. “Selected men only. She said nothing about… occult practices involving blood, or whatever they were doing. Her blood smells wholesome, so she can’t be part of it.”

  “So her uncle doesn’t tell her everything,” said Karl. “I think I should pay him another visit.”

  “Must you?” said Charlotte. “I’ve such a bad feeling about him. You forever warn me not to get involved with humans.”

  He touched her cheek. They looked at each other, forgetting Stefan and Niklas were there. “I know, but that’s because I’m bad at following my own rules. Otherwise I would never have asked your father to teach me about science, nor grown so dangerously close to you.”

  “You warned me then that you have no morals. I know that isn’t true; you have your code of behaviour, but you don’t hesitate to break it when necessary. Is that a fair assessment?”

  “Perfectly fair,” said Karl. “Every incident of late seems to have emanated from that house. The bone-knife, the gang that assaulted Emil, Amy fainting in the street…”

  Charlotte tensed with anger. “Did her uncle know the doctor he sent her to was a sadistic old pervert? Does he even care? Poor girl.”

  “Be careful,” Karl said softly.

  “I know,” she said. “Tender feelings towards a human are deceptive. Sympathy turns into thirst before we know what’s happening. You don’t have to remind me.”

  “That’s not what I was going to say, but… never mind.”

  “Karl, I’ve had enough lessons to know I’m unlikely to change, but still, I promise I have no intention of feeding on Amy. She invited me on a weekend jaunt to Paris. I told her I can’t go, but perhaps I should, if only to protect her. She said her uncle’s forbidden her to go. I’m worried she’s in more danger from him than from me.”

  Karl looked out across the blue water, his eyes turning thoughtful. That serene stare, framed by dark brows and lashes, had always captivated her. Sweet torment.

  “All the more reason for me to visit Herr Reiniger, while you do whatever you must, liebling. But let us both be careful. I think I’ll do as Stefan suggested, and simply knock on the front door. Do you remember those red columns of light we saw in Raqia?”

  “Yes,” said Charlotte. “Shooting up towards the Weisskalt. You said you’ve seen them several times?”

  He met her gaze, said in a subdued tone, “And last night I saw them emanating from his house. They vanished when the red sphere faded. It’s alarming to think he’s capable of creating so much energy. I wonder what he’s trying to do, and how much he knows.”

  Charlotte went quiet with shock.

  “Do you like this one?” Stefan interrupted, passing her the catalogue and pointing to a sleek evening dress.

  “Why? We’re trying to have a serious conversation.”

  “Too serious,” he said. “I’m planning a party. I want to treat you to a new outfit.”

  “What’s wrong with the ones I have?”

  “Too many bloodstains.”

  “There are no… apart from the dress that was ruined when I was stabbed…”

  “Exactly. You need a replacement.”

  Charlotte began to laugh. “Stefan, I swear you think I’m some life-size doll for you to dress up! I don’t care about fashion.”

  “Nonsense. Listen to this.” He read out loud from a magazine, “‘Gone is the flapper. In her place has come the young woman with poise, of soft-toned and correct speech, soberly dressed, and without closely cropped hair. Miss nineteen twenty-eight is much more subtle and polished, and she wears black satin instead of cerise. This year’s style in young girls is to be quiet, conversational and terribly in earnest about careers.’” Stefan laughed. “There, Charlotte, you’re already well ahead of fashion.”

  “‘This year’s style in young girls?’ Heaven help us,” said Charlotte, pulling a face at him. “I’m so glad I was never part of that world. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to try some of these outfits yourself?”

  “Well, perhaps I would,” Stefan retorted. “Would it not be fun for Niklas and I to dress as women, and pass ourselves off as your twin sisters?”

  Charlotte imagined the scene. “Actually, yes. May I wear one of your suits, and a fake moustache to complete the picture?”

  “No moustache, but a top hat! Think how glamorous you’d look! See, Karl? Your shy beloved has discovered a taste for mischief.”

  “I should be used to your sense of humour by now,” said Karl.

  “We’re stuck on this Earth for eternity, as near as makes no difference,” Stefan remarked. “A little frivolity helps pass the time. I live in hope that you’ll take undeath less seriously, one of these days.”

  “Karl isn’t always serious,” said Charlotte. “I love him the way he is, and the same goes for you, Stefan, so don’t taunt each other.”

  “It’s my fate to be misunderstood. You assume I’m wandering off the subject, while I’m actually trying to help you and you haven’t even noticed.”

  “How?” said Karl.

  “A party is the perfect thing to lure Godric Reiniger and his friends out of their lair, isn’t it?”

  “That’s actually quite a good idea,” said Charlotte.

  “Or a potential disaster,” Karl added. “I doubt he’d come, though. He doesn’t know us. I suspect he considers himself too important to respond to invitations from strangers.”

  “Well, you never know.” Stefan gazed at the sky. “Oh, we should make it fancy dress!”

  “Don’t,” said Charlotte. “You might put people off coming. Anyway, you and Niklas look wonderful in whatever you wear. Everyday suits, eighteenth-century finery, anything. Be careful, if you don’t want to become the playthings of some rich widow…”

  “Oh, we have been.” Stefan’s eyes gleamed. “I’ve lost count of the dowager duchesses who have doted upon us. Not to mention dukes and counts, princes and princesses… Until they become our playthings in return.”

  “You’re perverse, Stefan,” said Karl.

  “You’re jealous. We have fun, don’t we, Niklas? And we offer so much pleasure in return. Why not spread it as far and wide as we can? All we take in payment is a sip of blood.”

  “A sip?” Charlotte raised her eyebrows. Stefan winked
. “I thought we were discussing the matter of my party dress.” She pointed to a flowing design of golden-fawn and rose hues with handkerchief points, all silk, lace and sequins. “I do like this.”

  “Only the most expensive item in the catalogue!” Stefan grinned. “It is very you, though. Excellent choice.”

  “I’ll pay for it, in any case.”

  “No, you won’t.” Stefan picked up her hand and gave it a tender kiss. “My party, my treat.”

  “What’s amusing you?” she asked Karl, who was shaking his head.

  “Nothing,” he said. “I’m just glad to see you smiling again.”

  * * *

  Dawn came, splashing the Alps with fire and turning Lake Lucerne to liquid gold. Godric had not slept. His house guests slumbered – those who were part of the Eidgenossen no doubt restless with bad dreams – but he had prowled the quiet house all night. Run through several movie reels in his private cinema. Scribbled a few pages of his new script, sketched some ideas for scenes and costumes. Sleep was impossible. He wasn’t even tired.

  The mood after Bruno’s death had been grim. His followers’ blood-lust had swiftly faded to a kind of sombre guilt.

  Godric guessed every thought in their minds.

  What have we done? Will that be me in Bruno’s place, if I put a foot wrong? Oh, but the thrill of taking his life. The rush of power.

  He’d dispatched Wolfgang and a couple of others to sneak the body into a van and drive it deep into the forest for burial. Anyone who asked would be told that Bruno had gone back to his family. He was not especially popular. No one would really notice or care that he’d left.

  Spying upon them in the beer hall had somewhat reassured Godric of their loyalty, but had not made him complacent. Their terror kept them under his control.

  In his office, Godric held up the piece of linen imprinted with Bruno’s blood. Dazzling flecks of sunlight gleamed through the weave. Rather than the delicate streaks made by the shallow cuts of initiation, the blood was so copious that the symbol was almost lost, just one great random splodge of brown-red gore. Once it was properly dry, he would frame it.

  Paradoxically, blood revolted him, but he endured his revulsion for the sake of power.

  When his father’s daggers drew blood, something magical happened. Godric had discovered the phenomenon years ago, from his father’s papers and his own experiments. He’d never felt anything like the flood of energy generated by the blades entering flesh. Grudgingly, he acknowledged that Fadiya’s instruction – to add the name of “Zruvan” to the ritual – made the power even more potent.

  When Bruno died, the moment released lightning-bolts through every cell of Godric’s body. Somewhat painful, highly exhilarating. The energy continued to flow in delicious pure white currents. It made sleep impossible. Unnecessary.

  His inner circle had absorbed some too, but Godric had taken the main share.

  He was ecstatic, ready to explode with new-found confidence. He knew he was something more than human now. Exactly what he was becoming, though, he was unsure. A touch of unease gnawed at him, as it had since he’d begun to experiment with the sakakin in his youth.

  With every ritual meeting, every new rune, his strength grew. But what if he couldn’t control the process? What if he was actually destroying himself? Some nights, feverish, he would pace and pace and forget to eat. His strange sensations, hallucinations and dizzy spells often alarmed him.

  That was why he kept asking Dr Ochsner, “Are you sure there is nothing wrong with me?”

  Now he thought, To hell with Ochsner. Nothing in his medical training can explain this. As he said, he’s just a mechanic.

  “Godric?”

  Her voice made him start. Fadiya appeared from nowhere, as if a piece of shadow had come to life. As she came soundlessly towards him, he felt his usual irritation at her presence, accompanied by the hateful sense of being in thrall. The room darkened around her.

  Perhaps his ever-increasing strength would enable him to kill her soon.

  “I watched your little ritual,” she said huskily. “I have never seen the sakakin used quite like that before. It was… interesting.”

  “You seem to struggle with the concept of privacy,” he said sharply. “If I’d wanted you to observe, I would have invited you. Members of my Eidgenossen only.”

  She only smiled. “The forces you raised were impressive, but you can’t keep me out. They are my knives: I only let you borrow them. Do you even know what you are doing?”

  The question made him go still. He thought he knew. He dared not consider the possibility of being wrong. But his plans were none of her business, so he didn’t answer.

  “Oh, Godric,” said Fadiya. She came too close and pressed her fingertips into his cheekbones – an overfamiliar gesture that made him recoil. Still, there was a definite note of awe in her voice. “What have you done to yourself?”

  “None of your concern.”

  “But it is. The daggers were not meant to be used in human rituals. I can’t make you tell me your intentions, but I am sincerely interested. I still say that we should help each other, not fight.” She fingered the edge of the linen. “Why do you make these blood patterns?”

  His fresh confidence and expanding perceptions made him want to boast, and who else dare he talk to? I refuse to be afraid of her. If seeming to trust her makes her more inclined to help me, why not?

  “Symbols have power,” he said. “I hesitate to use the word ‘magic’, but they can change reality by focusing minds.”

  Fadiya nodded. “And why do you want power?”

  “Who doesn’t?” He laughed. “This small country may seem nothing to you, but it’s the most glorious place in the world to me. It’s the very heart of Europe. If I could bring all the cantons under my control – well, then, I’d make Switzerland such a force that I’d be regarded as her greatest ever hero.”

  “I wish men would not insist on being kings or gods over everyone else,” she said softly, to herself more than to him.

  “Being a hero is different,” he retorted. “I’ll use my position for good. My Eidgenossen comrades know that. They would not support me otherwise.”

  “It’s persuading everyone else that’s the trouble.”

  “I can do it. My films will sway them. And once I’m in power, no one, no one will ever dare to laugh at my work again!”

  Fadiya smiled, beautiful yet impassive.

  “What if I could bring you Emil Fiorani?” she said.

  “What do you mean, bring him?”

  “As a star for your new movie. If anyone could make people love your work, it’s him.”

  “I have a star. Wolfgang is proving an excellent leading man.”

  “But no one knows him. Emil is famous, and as beautiful as a fair Valentino. Audiences would climb over each other to see him.”

  Godric bit the tip of his tongue until it hurt. He fumbled for a cigarette. “I don’t need him. He and his employer Madame Lenoir have treated me with a level of disrespect that I can’t easily forgive.”

  “I heard she’s difficult. But they receive all the acclaim and love, don’t they, while you only attract… laughter.”

  “I have powerful friends,” he snapped.

  “And I’m one of them,” Fadiya said in the same smooth tone. “If I could part Emil from her, they’ll both be weakened, which will make you stronger.”

  Godric sucked a lungful of smoke and held it. She had a point. He’d wanted to film Violette’s ballet to increase his own prestige, but she and Emil had dismissed him as if swatting a gnat. So, to gain some advantage over them, perhaps to have her begging him to send Emil back in exchange for free filming access… That would put him, Godric, effectively in control of her public image.

  “It’s a thought,” he said, releasing a wisp of smoke. “Interesting.”

  Fadiya gave a slow, cat-like blink. “What do you actually want, Godric?” she asked.

  “I’ve already told y
ou.”

  “No,” she said, “what do you truly want?”

  He exhaled the rest of his breath in a billowing cloud. When it touched Fadiya she vanished, as if she’d dispersed with the smoke.

  * * *

  “I told you about the strange episode with my memory, yet you still trust me to do this?” said Charlotte, standing in the silvery bower of Violette’s living room.

  “You seem perfectly rational to me,” said the dancer. “There’s no one I trust more.”

  “I hope you appreciate that I’m extremely uncomfortable about it. I thought we were friends. Blood sisters. Equals.”

  “Of course we are.” Violette rested one hand on Charlotte’s upper arm.

  “And yet I find myself being used as a spy.”

  Violette had the grace to look remorseful. “I know, and I’m sorry – but who can I trust, if not you and Karl? I can’t ask my human assistants without compromising Emil’s dignity – he needs to stay private and untouchable, like me, at least to outside eyes. And who can observe him without being noticed, better than a vampire?”

  “I understand. I’m simply telling you that I’m not happy.”

  “Your distress is noted, my sweet friend,” Violette said mildly. “It won’t be forever, or for very long, I hope. I said I’d prefer him not to go out, but I didn’t forbid him, so I’ve only myself to blame if he does. I admit, I’m disappointed he chose to ignore a clear hint. But, since he persists in defying me, I must know what he’s up to. Have you anything for me?”

  “Er… yes.” Charlotte wondered how to phrase the news so Violette would not hit the roof. Nothing for it but the plain truth. “He’s seeing someone.”

  “Who?” The blue-violet eyes shone with anger.

  “I’ve only glimpsed her from a distance. A young woman, very striking and fashionable. Dark hair, darkish skin – I think she might be Arabian, or perhaps Persian or Egyptian: I’m not sure.”

  “How many times have you seen them together?”

  “Three times in the last week. Once, walking arm in arm by the lake. Another time, going into a restaurant. And once, entering the Hotel Blauensee by the lake.”

  “A hotel. So he’s sleeping with her.”