The Dark Arts of Blood

by Freda Warrington

  Godric knew, but the bluntness of her statement shocked him.

  “Of course,” he snapped. And he told her, briefly, the tale of how Karl had killed his father. “He came to find me because he knows Emil. Apparently he knows Madame Lenoir, too. But he had no idea who I was! He didn’t remember. I was nothing to him, nothing – until I told him.”

  “That could have been dangerous.”

  “But I have the sakakin. I’m his equal in strength… or could be.”

  “Be careful,” Fadiya said gently.

  “I’m not afraid of him. Don’t you see this?” Godric stretched out an arm to demonstrate the spiky power radiating from his body. Nothing showed in the sunlight. Fadiya blinked, unimpressed.

  “I advise you to stay away from him. I’ve seen him around the ballet, and other vampires too, but I can’t go too close, in case they recognise what I am.”

  “Do you know this Karl?”

  “No. I’d never seen him before I came here. But I’m glad you told me, Godric, and I’m sorry about your father. If it’s revenge you want… we should talk again. Soon.”

  Fadiya vanished, stepping into thin air. For a moment Godric saw the hint of another world, all grey-violet mist, so tantalising. The ingress snapped shut behind her but the feeling stayed with him: that if he could only absorb enough power, he could pass through the paper-thin membrane into Fadiya’s mysterious world where all knowledge would become his.

  Godric got to his feet and climbed higher. Clouds rolled down the mountains, enveloping him. He breathed the thick wet air, pushing out the tendrils of his new power to touch that tantalising other-world…

  A shape appeared. Not Fadiya. This apparition was pale, like a swirl of snow and fog, with fair hair rippling to her waist. She had her back to him, but as he stood there, trying to comprehend what he was seeing, she turned slowly to face him.

  Clearly not human. Some kind of ghost? Her form rippled and her eyes were beautiful, blank, staring straight through him. Her lips parted. To his own humiliation, he fell to his knees in sheer terror.

  Godric was so overwhelmed that he started to sob in joy. Obvious what she was! One of the Weisse Frauen, the white ladies: the elf-like beings of the mountains, demi-gods of Alpine legend.

  More than that. Surely she was none other than Frau Perchta, the white goddess, consort of Berchtold himself. The Bright One, the Alpine folk called her.

  Very slow and cautious, he rose and went towards her. Surely she would retreat or fade – but she stayed where she was, reeling him in with her lovely, glistening, terrifying eyes.

  She was real. And she was welcoming him to her world. Telling him without words, Welcome, Godric. Here I am at your bidding. Soon you will be one with us.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  LIKE A SILVER SHADOW

  Stefan knew how to throw a party, not least in ensuring that everyone enjoyed themselves without the police being called. As Charlotte and Karl emerged from the Crystal Ring and walked down the footpath from the road, they saw the chalet transformed. Strings of coloured lanterns adorned every balcony and shone in the trees like clouds of fireflies. Even the lake shore beyond was lit up to guide the less sober away from the water’s edge. The place looked like a fairytale palace. The front doors were wide open and hired waiters stood ready to take coats and serve champagne as the guests arrived.

  Charlotte’s heart lifted. For an instant, she felt like a child at Christmas.

  “He’s made a beautiful display,” she said. “I think I might enjoy myself. Is that allowed?”

  “It’s not why we’re here, but I won’t try to stop you,” Karl said drily. He glanced across at some vehicles parked on the grass to one side. “It looks as if Herr Reiniger and his crew are here already. Your plan worked.”

  The party was officially Violette’s. Persuaded by Charlotte, though reluctant, she had issued the invitations, and no one would refuse the chance to meet her. Not even the haughty Godric Reiniger.

  A queue of guests jostled to enter the chalet, all in fashionable finery. Charlotte suspected half of them didn’t have invitations. Word of mouth drew them here.

  However, Violette had invited no one from the ballet. Instead she’d scheduled a compulsory evening rehearsal.

  Her purpose was to keep Emil away from Fadiya.

  Heads turned as Charlotte and Karl stepped into the entrance hall. Charlotte loved the feel of her luxurious new dress against her skin, the floaty layers of silk voile in the sunset shades that she loved. Karl had gazed at her for at least five minutes in mute wonder. She’d basked in his appreciation, admiring him in return. In his formal black evening suit he looked utterly breathtaking; now they both stole the breath of the other party-goers. Charlotte found the sensation self-indulgent but very pleasing.

  Some might notice the looks they exchanged, the light touches that set off rippling hot waves of magnetism between them. No one would guess the reason for their agonising self-restraint. Exquisite pain.

  She could not even feel the corpse-cold presence of the lamia. Had it gone at last? Would it really matter if they gave in to desire later? Karl had been so understanding, so restrained… both pretending that this was not half-killing them.

  “My dear friends.” Stefan rushed to greet them, Niklas at his shoulder. “Welcome. What did I say about that dress? Charlotte, you look exquisite. Divine.”

  As they exchanged kisses, she whispered, “Who is here?”

  “Herr Reiniger and friends – although I’ve seen no one resembling your Fadiya.”

  “She’s not my Fadiya. Violette?”

  Stefan rolled his eyes. “Of course not. The guest of honour must be suitably late and make a grand entrance, mustn’t she?”

  “Naturally. She’s making her own way here, so who knows when she’ll turn up.”

  “Well, go in, circulate, enjoy the potential buffet.” Stefan winked. “Karl, this is your chance to make peace with Godric Reiniger: either that, or duel to the death in public.”

  “I’ll try not to,” said Karl.

  “No, be my guest. What’s the point of hosting a party unless it’s talked about for years to come?”

  A babble of accents filled the house; English, American, French, Italian and German. Many were well-off young tourists: Stefan had a knack for seducing the glamorous in-crowd, and no one could resist the lure of meeting Violette. A jazz trio was playing in the big salon upstairs, while the lake room on the lowest floor had a gramophone and soft lighting for those who preferred a more intimate atmosphere.

  The night was young and everyone keen to dance. Charlotte found the lower room empty, except for Amy Temple, who was nursing a flute of champagne as she gazed out at the lake. She wore a sequinned sleeveless dress that exposed her upper back; the sight made Charlotte long to taste her lovely peachy skin.

  “Hello again,” Charlotte said over her shoulder, making her jump. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Aren’t you joining the party?”

  “Actually, I’m avoiding my uncle. The more I try to forgive him about that vile Dr Ochsner, the angrier I feel. I realised I can’t forgive him. Does that make me a bad person?”

  “Of course not,” said Charlotte.

  “I know he adores me, but that makes it worse. His idea of love is to control my every move! I pretend everything’s normal, but it isn’t. And now Uncle’s furious with me for going to Paris against his orders.”

  “Oh. What did he do when he found out? Nothing awful, I hope.”

  Amy’s mouth went thin. “He’d given me a proper acting role in the William Tell film. Now he’s withdrawn the offer, as a punishment. It’s the nastiest thing he could have done. I’m relegated to costumes and technical duties.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” She tried to smile, but Charlotte saw tears welling. “I know his movies are dreadful, but still, it was a proper part… but I really don’t care. It’s his loss. So just now, I don’t even want to be in the same room.�
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  “Why come to the party, then?”

  “Mainly to irritate him. First he said I couldn’t, then he realised he couldn’t stop me without locking me up. Then he insisted that everyone must come, because Madame Lenoir invited us, and he wants to impress her with numbers. But he has a sour face because she isn’t here yet, and he despises jazz music.” She gave a tight smile.

  “I suppose he thought Violette’s choice would be classical,” said Charlotte. “Your opinion of your uncle seems a little lower every time I see you.”

  “I want to like him, but he makes it so difficult! Living with him is far from dull, but I hoped he’d be kind and fatherly, not so… full of his own self-importance. Is that a sign of genius?” Amy gave a short laugh. “Everything depends on what mood he’s in, and it’s hard to tell because he’s so wrapped up in his thoughts at home and you don’t know if he’s going to joke or snarl until he opens his mouth. And his close friends – especially Wolfgang, who’s perfectly nice the rest of the time – when they’ve had a few drinks they start arguing about politics and it’s terribly embarrassing. If Uncle Godric doesn’t keep them under control tonight, I wouldn’t blame Madame Lenoir if she asks them to leave, and then he’ll be offended all over again.”

  “Nothing’s happened yet. Perhaps it won’t.”

  “I’ve been so glad of the chance to help you with your project.” Amy meant the darkroom that she was helping Karl and Charlotte to construct. Violette wasn’t thrilled to have a storeroom full of tanks and equipment, but she’d let them do as they pleased, and even lent a couple of stagehands to aid them. “It helps take my mind off him, which is such a relief.”

  “And we’re extremely grateful for your help,” Charlotte said warmly.

  “All the same…” She paused, with the charmingly worried look that always sent a pang of blood-thirst through Charlotte. “It may take you months to get professional results, whereas Uncle Godric would make a competent job of filming straight off. He thinks that’s why Madame Lenoir’s invited him. He’s fully expecting a commission.”

  “I’m afraid he’s going to be disappointed. You sound anxious. Do you think he’s going to react badly?”

  “Well, of course he is!” Amy took a large sip of champagne. “And if he ever finds out I’ve been helping you, he might have me horsewhipped.”

  “We won’t let that happen. I thought you enjoyed defying him?”

  “Oh, I do. But sometimes… He scares me. Then I get cold feet and think it’s safest to let him have his own way after all. And then I get annoyed with myself for giving in. If he was excited about filming the ballet, it would distract him from talking politics, because the last thing Madame’s party guests need is for him to start haranguing them.” Amy winced.

  “Don’t you share his views?”

  She paused, sipping her drink. “He’s very sincere and convincing. The Alps are so pure and fresh – green pastures, farmers tending their cattle, the folk music and traditions and festivals – he loves all that. And there’s nothing wrong with that, of course. But it’s as if he wants to… control it all. He would like to seal this country into a glass sphere and hold it in his hand, like a god. That is not exactly normal, is it? He says he wants the best for Switzerland, which we all do, but…”

  “Sometimes people say that, when they actually want what’s best for themselves. Power, wealth and adoration.”

  “I know. I don’t think anything less will make him happy.” Amy looked uncomfortable. “That’s what his movie-making and drawing and writing is all about. He resents not receiving the acclaim he thinks he deserves, but he’s not stupid. He knows you don’t get anywhere without making a lot of noise and cosying up to influential people. Everything he does is so important.” She rolled her eyes. “The local dignitaries and clergy love him, because he flatters them and makes films of their activities, and that makes them feel tremendously important too.”

  Her wryly exasperated tone amused Charlotte.

  “That sounds infuriating.”

  “I let it go over my head.” Amy sighed. “Or rather, I try. If I thought too much about it, I’d go mad. But at social events like this, Godric usually manages to offend someone, and it’s mortifying. I hope he doesn’t ruin the evening.”

  “I’m sure Stefan won’t let that happen.”

  “Who’s Stefan?”

  “He owns the house. He organised the party for Violette. You must have seen him – he has an identical twin.”

  “Oh, the blond angels! Of course. He and his brother are the most handsome pair I’ve ever seen – even more striking than Emil, I think…” Amy trailed off. “Is Emil here? Uncle Godric even managed to upset him the other day.”

  “How? I didn’t know they’d met.”

  “Fadiya brought him to the house, after we’d come back from Paris.”

  “Why?”

  “She might have been trying to impress Emil by showing him the film studio. Or trying to impress my uncle. Godric might have asked to meet him – after all, who wouldn’t want such a gorgeous leading man?”

  “In hopes of making his films more successful?” Charlotte wondered if Emil had confessed the encounter to Violette. She doubted it.

  “Exactly!”

  “Violette won’t be at all happy if Emil goes off to be a movie star. But if he did, he’d go to Hollywood, not… to your uncle. Sorry.”

  “Oh, don’t apologise. You’ve nothing to worry about, in any case. I was eavesdropping. Emil and Godric had a frightful argument and Emil stormed out. I’m not surprised he isn’t here.”

  Charlotte had no intention of explaining that Violette had kept him away on purpose. “I haven’t seen Fadiya either. Didn’t she come with you?”

  Amy shrugged. “She’s supposed to be here. All the others – my friends from Paris – they’re here, since they’d rather die than miss a party. And my uncle’s men-only circle. We don’t socialise much with them because they’re so serious, until they’ve had a drink, and then they’re obnoxious. But no, I haven’t seen Fadiya all evening. Perhaps she’ll be along later.”

  “Fashionably late,” Charlotte said, feigning lack of concern.

  “Or with Emil,” Amy said flatly. “In which case I can imagine what’s keeping them. And I’m trying not to.”

  “Ah,” said Charlotte. She frowned. Emil couldn’t be with his lover because he was rehearsing, unless he’d disobeyed Violette again, so perhaps Fadiya was out hunting. Charlotte still saw no tell-tale marks on Amy’s perfect neck…

  But if Fadiya shunned the party, how were Charlotte and Violette to confront her? Did she know they’d found her out?

  Amy glanced upwards. The ceiling was shaking to the rhythm of music and dancing feet. “I say, shall we have a dance down here?” Amy said with a grin. “I might as well get squiffy and enjoy myself, instead of moping about Uncle Godric all evening.”

  “Excellent idea,” said Charlotte, squeezing her arm, trying hard to ignore her alluring warm scent. “But why not come upstairs and do that? There’s someone I need to find.”

  * * *

  Violette made her entrance an hour later.

  Meanwhile Charlotte passed the time by dancing with Karl and Stefan, making light-hearted conversation with strangers and observing Godric Reiniger, who was holding court in a corner of the salon. He wore a white evening suit with a red bow tie, treading a fine line between elegance and flamboyance. He seemed less embarrassing than Amy suggested: he certainly talked a lot, provoking debate among his hangers-on. Perhaps that was why they liked his company: the atmosphere sparked around him. He was restless, constantly calling for drinks, passing cigarettes around, encouraging couples to dance even though he did not join in.

  Instead he seemed to be watching. His blue eyes glinted behind his spectacle lenses.

  “Is he auditioning?” Charlotte whispered to Karl. “He looks as if he’s sizing people up for parts in his next movie.”

  “Or watching them for more
sinister reasons,” said Karl. “To assess how useful they might be to him.”

  “Have you noticed how he stares at you, and at Stefan?” she said. “I don’t know if it’s hatred or lust. Can you smell that bitter sourness in his blood?”

  “They all have it,” said Karl, “but it’s strongest in Godric.”

  “There’s no trace on Amy or her friends, only on the men he keeps around him. Something about him makes my skin crawl – I couldn’t take his blood if he prostrated himself on an altar.”

  Karl gave a thin smile. “The trouble is, once a human has learned to recognise a vampire, they start seeing vampires everywhere. That sends them a little mad.”

  “I don’t think he’s mad,” she whispered. “Twisted, perhaps. I know how Amy feels: I have a strong desire not to be in the same room as him either.”

  “Well, I’m going to take him somewhere private quite soon,” Karl murmured into her ear.

  “Why?” The idea made her anxious.

  “Unfinished business.”

  As Karl spoke, Charlotte saw a familiar male among Godric’s clique. Shorn red hair, handsome freckled face, serious expression. She froze.

  “Karl,” she said, nearly losing her voice. “The man who came to the chalet to find the knife…”

  “I know.” He turned her so they were both facing away. “His name’s Wolfgang Notz. He was in the beer hall, the night Emil was attacked. I told you: they are all connected. Just keep away, pretend you don’t recognise him.”

  “Oh, I can do that.” She held herself still until the wave of horrific images subsided. Losing her memory had frightened her, but remembering was worse. “I wasn’t planning to confront him.”

  “What about the drunk who stabbed you? Bruno?”

  “I can’t see him,” said Charlotte. “I’m sure he’s not here. I’d know.”

  “Good. Just keep out of their way and enjoy the evening. As I said, I am going to have a word with Herr Reiniger…”

  “Be careful,” she said sternly.

  A ripple of excitement began in the entrance hall and broke across the salon in a wave of sighs and exclamations. Violette walked in. Everyone turned to look, as if a queen had made her entrance. A respectful space opened around her. People bowed. Applause broke out, and Violette took it in good heart, smiling and curtseying as if she were on stage.