Godric was suddenly tired. The flesh Karl had bitten was beginning to burn. He rubbed the wound, exhaled.
“I am deeply sorry to hear that,” he said, layering his voice with all the disappointment and irritated condescension he felt. “If you wish to withdraw your support, go – and see what happens.”
“I’ve said what I think.” Wolfgang stared into the middle distance, like a soldier at attention. “I won’t mention it again. You have my loyal devotion.”
“Excellent.” He pointed a finger at Wolfgang. “Everything goes ahead as we planned: the release of Triumph in the Mountains, the filming of Three Tells. Everything. But I need you to do one essential thing for me. Find Amy and bring her home safely.”
Wolfgang’s face still had a stubborn look that made Godric want to strike him.
“If we knew where to search… Would they take her to the ballet academy?”
“Keep a hostage somewhere so public, and obvious? No. They will have taken her back to that mountain chalet.”
Godric read his reluctance in his expression – The place where the madwoman nearly killed me? – but, to his credit, Wolf only swallowed and said, “Yes, sir.”
“I believe you’ll find everything there: Amy, and the missing sikin. It’s obvious. But don’t put her life at risk. Take all the men you need, take weapons, but don’t do anything rash. Remember, we are stronger than vampires now. Find my niece, and we’ll forget this difference of opinion.”
“Difference?” Wolfgang said under his breath as he turned and started down the hillside. He broke into a run.
Godric watched him through slitted eyes, then looked up at the drifting sky. He felt exhausted but invincible. He tried to keep his thoughts on Amy but she seemed remote; all he could see was Karl. That haughty, captivating face, the demonic eyes and razor-sharp teeth, the fire-tinged black shadow-cloud of his hair in a mess from their fight…
He thought about Fadiya, helpfully luring Violette away, leaving his way clear. He pictured the Weisse Frau, the woman of mist who would answer his call and take any shape he commanded…
There could be no clearer confirmation of divine approval than Frau Perchta’s blessing.
He knew exactly what to do. He felt for the bone-knife, drew it from its sheath and opened his own shirt, breaking off buttons in his haste. Closing his eyes and opening his whole self to the power of the otherworld, he began to cut a new symbol over his heart. A rune, symbolising two creatures bound together. A call, a summoning, a command. Light shone from the slits he’d made.
Immediately he sensed the Weisse Frau taking shape and drifting towards him.
As little time as he had for females, he had to admit they had their own particular value. He made a mental note to honour them, when his new nation took shape. Fresh-faced maidens in traditional costume, raising their sweet voices in song. Jazz, flapper dresses, dancing and nightclubs – he would ban all such depravity. His heart lifted at the thought.
But that was for the future. First he had a dark journey to complete.
Karl, he thought. I still need your life force, and I’m going to take it. If it transpires that I only want rather than need, I’ll steal it anyway. Just as I told Fadiya. Oh, I am strong enough to take you now. Be in no doubt.
Out loud he said, “Wherever I am going, Karl von Wultendorf, you are coming with me.”
* * *
“She came drifting towards me,” Karl said, “just as you did, the second time.”
“There was no second time.” Charlotte sat upright on a couch, tense, her hands braced on her knees. “I arrived home once. What came before me, I don’t know.”
They had given Amy the camera and tripod, everything she needed, and – smiling, pretending nothing was wrong – sent her back to the auditorium. Now Karl sat with Charlotte and Stefan in the living room, in a dappled bower of evening light filtering through lace curtains.
He kept turning over in his mind how she’d approached him, how he hadn’t questioned for a moment that she was Charlotte… until the real Charlotte appeared, and the first one vanished.
“Nor do I,” he said. “She was luminous, smiling and near-silent… and I was taken in. I don’t believe in spells, but she cast one anyway. It felt like a dream in which there’s no need to question anything.”
“We’ve all been cut by Herr Reiniger’s knives. Am I the only one to be shadowed by a ghost of myself? Why?”
“It appears to affect everyone differently,” said Karl. “We all had a period of madness afterwards…”
Charlotte glared. “Do you think I’m still mad?”
“That is not what I meant.”
“Now you’re staring at me,” she said. “Do you think I am the impostor?”
“No, liebchen, I don’t. I cannot be sure – but I hardly think your spectral lamia would be so argumentative.”
Charlotte threw a cushion at him. He fielded it with a raised forearm. She’d thrown it quite hard.
“Whatever she is, I must lay her to rest.”
“Now you know how I felt when I destroyed the double that Kristian made of me,” Karl replied.
Stefan cleared his throat. He, too, looked like a ghost of his true self; his face gaunt and bloodless, his eyes hollow caves.
“Stefan, forgive me,” said Karl. “That was tactless. The circumstances were different.”
“Niklas is rotting in there,” Stefan said hoarsely. “I can see him fading before my eyes, and there’s nothing I can do, is there? You would not let me destroy Reiniger!”
“Because you could not. I tried, and I couldn’t either.”
“Karl, what happened?” Charlotte asked. “All this diverted me from my utter relief at finding you safe. I suppose you thought it natural that I’d throw myself on you without saying a word, because that’s what I would have done. Kissed you first, and asked questions second.”
He described how he’d pursued Stefan to the house, fended off Reiniger’s gang and persuaded Stefan to leave. Then he related his talk with Godric Reiniger in the screening room. Charlotte and Stefan sat riveted as he spoke of Fadiya, of Reiniger’s past and his bizarre ideas.
Not so bizarre, Karl thought, considering that his powers are tangible.
“I decided to kill him,” Karl said simply. “I could see no other way to stop the danger he presents, his threats. But he escaped. He went into the Crystal Ring.”
Charlotte and Stefan exchanged a baffled look.
“How?” said Charlotte. “Has he become a vampire? If so, why is he still pestering you about it?”
Karl shook his head. “He still seemed human, or nearly so, but he has a form of power I’ve never encountered before. A very strange aura. When I attacked him, his men came rushing in – as I knew they would – but he vanished in my hands. I followed him, or tried. I had only enough strength to enter the Crystal Ring very briefly. Just enough to escape through the house walls and to see a shape streaking away like a comet.”
He paused, recalling the sight. Shadows and mist, like a monochrome film. Reiniger, a pale smudge arcing towards the higher regions that Karl could not reach. He still couldn’t comprehend what he’d seen.
“I had the presence of mind to flee the house. Then I found Stefan’s motor car, drove back to his chalet, put him in the front and Niklas in the back seat, and brought them here. It’s as safe as anywhere, and best that we’re all together.”
“So Reiniger’s men saw you both disappear?” asked Charlotte.
“Yes. I wonder what they made of that? I don’t know how much their leader has told them. They might know everything or nothing. He may not have explained what his blood-rituals are for, apart from the obvious: sealing the oath between them.”
“They must know something,” said Stefan. “What does he say to them? ‘Here, have a magical cursed knife. Stab yourself freely and often. Why? Oh, just for the hell of it!’ They must know, unless he only recruits idiots.”
“I wouldn’t underestimate
them,” said Karl. “Reiniger might feel threatened by anyone cleverer than him, but he has the sense to know he needs strong supporters, not weak ones. And he’s both intelligent and obsessive. I’ve often wondered if a human who could enter Raqia by their own willpower would be more dangerous than any vampire. Reiniger’s using the bone-knives to siphon off our powers, but he’s still not satisfied. Why become a mere vampire, if he can become something even more dangerous?”
“I don’t care what he is,” said Stefan. “For what he’s done to Niklas, I will not rest until I’ve destroyed him.”
“Dear, have you fed?” Charlotte asked gently, leaning over to touch Stefan’s hand.
“How can I?”
“You should. You look terrible. You’ll need your strength.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Karl.
“I’m not a child,” Stefan growled.
“That’s debatable.” Karl spoke patiently, giving him a firm look. “But you are our friend.”
Stefan rose. “All right. But let me sit with Niklas for a few more minutes. I want to look at him while he’s still here.”
He returned to the bedroom. Charlotte leaned back and put her hand to her forehead. “He’s not going to get over this, is he?” she said.
Karl moved beside her and drew her on to his knee. Her body felt warm and real, her lips silky against his temple, but he still had a lingering sense of nightmare: the same feeling that silent films woke in him. Unreality. What if a third Charlotte entered…?
Niklas and Stefan had always been a shimmering presence in his life, even when he was at odds with them. Now they were two corpses: one decaying, the other still a moving, talking shell.
“None of us will,” he whispered.
He took in Charlotte’s lovely scent, the texture of her skin, the light in her eyes: everything about her. Tried to recall what was different about the spectre… Nothing at first, then details began to emerge. He recalled the apparition having no warmth or scent, soulless eyes, a smile that looked genuine – if it hadn’t been so inappropriate in their harrowing situation…
“I’m real,” she said, as if reading his thoughts. “But perhaps the other one thinks she’s real, too. There could be half a dozen of me walking around. I might have to share you with five other Charlottes! Or twenty-five.”
“I’m glad you can joke about this.”
“And I hope I’m joking.”
“Liebling, I thought I was embracing you. You walked away, then reappeared from the opposite direction… but I’ve heard of this happening. Folk tales, anecdotes that send icy winds down the spine if they’re to be believed. You see a loved one in the room. You even speak to each other. Then the loved one goes on their way – let’s say they go upstairs. And you immediately meet the person again, in a different room, somewhere they could not possibly be unless the first encounter was an illusion. And they deny that they’ve seen or spoken to you until this moment. They’re as puzzled as you are.”
She shuddered. “Isn’t seeing a doppelgänger a forewarning of death?”
“Superstition,” said Karl. “I think it’s a trick the universe plays upon our minds, with no explanation, no purpose but to remind us there are things we can never understand.”
“You had a double that was real,” said Charlotte. “So had Stefan.”
“Dearest, that was Kristian’s doing.”
“I know. I’ve never had my head severed, nor have I been regrown in duplicate in a blood-filled sarcophagus… I think I would have noticed, don’t you?” She gave a nervous smile. “But… I forced the double away because I truly had no idea which of us was real. And still she keeps coming back. I am the lamia who entrances humans and drinks their blood without conscience. I’m Charlotte, who has good intentions but often does rash, mad things she shouldn’t.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her firmly against him.
“You feel real to me.”
She sighed into his hair. “But you thought that about the other one, didn’t you?”
“At the time, yes. Her presence lulled the suspicions I should have had.”
“So she enchanted you? Cast a veil over your senses. Does the apparition have the power to control our minds?”
“To a limited extent, it seems.” He spoke quietly, not knowing what to say. He didn’t want to alarm her, but he couldn’t offer false reassurance. “I’m as puzzled as you.”
His lips touched her neck. He felt her stiffen, preparing to pull out of his arms and distance herself. A shiver went through her, but he held firmly on to her, this time not letting her out of his embrace.
“Charlotte, don’t push me away. I won’t let you. If the bone-knife poisoned you in some way, I am equally poisoned, and so is Stefan. We can’t possibly harm each other. So what are you afraid of, really?”
She stopped struggling and let her arms tighten around his waist and shoulders. “I think” – her voice was low, painfully hesitant – “rejecting her was the worst thing I could have done. She started as no more than a looking-glass reflection, but now I’ve no control over her at all. I’m terrified that as she grows stronger, I’ll grow weaker until I disappear. A different Charlotte will take my place… Still me, but not me at all.”
“My God,” he whispered. A subtle but intense current wave of horror drove through him. Even if she was wrong, her terror was enough to unsettle him to the core of his soul.
“What am I going to do? What if she – it – comes again and you can’t tell which of us is real?”
He had no words. Instead he bit gently into her throat, took three small, deliberate swallows of her blood. She gave a faint moan, but didn’t try to stop him.
There was a different taste to her blood, but only a remnant of the sikin attack: a peppery taste, not unpleasant at all.
“There,” he said softly against her skin. “Now you’re inside me, poisoned or not, and your blood tastes as divine as ever.” He loosened his collar, baring his neck to her. “Take mine in return.”
Her beautifully shaped lips parted, glistening plum-red. Her eyes were sultry, smoky. He saw the tip of her tongue and her shining white teeth. She paused a moment then struck, groaning as if she couldn’t hold back any longer. Three times he felt her mouth pulling on his vessels, a burning yet delicious pain. He felt her tears drip on to his throat as her fangs retracted.
“The blood exchange,” said Karl, caressing her cheek, her hair. They were both breathing deeply, hot, clinging hard enough to melt into each other. “As if we need reminding, beloved – we’re part of each other, for good or ill. So don’t be afraid. I will always know my true Charlotte – just as you knew that my doppelgänger was not me. I love you. No more fear.”
“None.” She licked clean the wound she’d made. The puncture marks would soon vanish. “I wish we could stay like this forever, but there’s too much to worry about.”
“I know.” Karl kissed her, tasting his own blood on her mouth. It had that same spicy-bitter hint. “Godric Reiniger will not go away, to my regret.”
“And Amy – we can’t send her back to her uncle after what you’ve told me. And poor Stefan. And where have Violette and Emil got to?”
“Violette can look after herself, at least.”
“That doesn’t stop me worrying.” Charlotte sat up straight on his knees, her hands braced on his shoulders. “Karl, do you think that Amy could capture the lamia on film? If it comes back again?”
“I don’t know. It would be an interesting experiment. We know that physical vampires show up on film…”
“But ghostly vampires? It might be a way to… contain the spectre, or dismiss it by proving it doesn’t exist. Actually, I don’t know what it might prove. But I’m going to ask her.”
“All right.” Karl was pleased to feel her sudden renewed energy, transmitted to his hands through the warm curves of her body. “But that may mean we have to tell her too much.”
“I rather think she knows too
much already,” Charlotte said ruefully.
* * *
Hours spent jolting on the truck bed left Emil nauseated, exhausted. Night fell; the strips of sky he could see through gaps in the canvas turned black. His world became a lightless box, like a tiny ship rolling on a stormy sea. Nightmares again…
Cold air bathed his face as he was dragged out by his feet and held upright. He heard Fadiya murmuring in an unknown language… then they carried him a short distance and flung him down on a hard stone floor.
He slept.
Some time later he woke with a cry. Where was he? Eyes shone in the darkness. Fadiya was bending down to him, holding a cup to his lips. The water, icy cold and tasting of minerals, flowed deliciously over his parched tongue.
Behind her stood two dark figures. Guards. Also vampires. He’d learned to recognise them, as easily as he could tell a tiger from a cat.
“I am sorry, dearest,” she whispered as he gulped the water. “No harm will come to you, as long as she comes after you.”
“She?” he rasped.
“Your mistress. Violette.”
“What?” Then he understood, and fell back on to the hard floor, cursing himself. “You captured me – to bring her here? Why?”
Fadiya did not answer. She refilled his cup.
“What am I to you? A hostage? Bait?”
“Bait,” Fadiya said under her breath. “That is a good word.”
“She won’t come,” said Emil. He flung the cup away, heard it break. “You think she has nothing better to do than come looking for me? She won’t even notice I’ve gone, you idiots!”
“You’re wrong. You had better be wrong. Don’t try to escape. Lie on the palm fronds I brought: you’ll be more comfortable. We’ll look after you, but if you flee, you’ll die within a day. There is nothing around us but desert.”
Then Fadiya rose without sound and left.
Presently light slid into his prison and he saw they’d put him into a cave, a small stone cavern of a dull orange hue like the patch of rock-strewn sand he could see outside. There was nothing in here but a metal bucket and a pile of dried palm fronds for a bed.
The Dark Arts of Blood Page 39