The Dark Arts of Blood

by Freda Warrington

  Vampires emerging from the sand at night, like camel spiders, to take their prey and vanish again…

  Any human venturing down here would suffocate in the heat. Most vampires would collapse, all their strength sucked out by the mass hunger of endless dead souls. What madman would create such a terrible place? Violette pulled her own aura close for protection. She looked all around her as she went, at thousands of yellow bones forming the walls and curving up into the domed roof, far above her head. Even the sand infilling the floor, she realised, was crushed bone.

  Violette reached the entrance to the chamber Nabil had called the Bone Well: a plain arch, eight feet high. She stopped on the threshold. The glow from the interior was dazzling. She looked inside and saw a circular space, forty feet across, rising to a great height and narrowing as it rose, like the inside of an enormous curved bottle. A kiln.

  She could make out only the edges through the glare that came from the heart of the space. Not an actual fire, but an oval of painfully brilliant light. The heat pounded in from outside, as if this were an oven suspended within a volcano.

  Walls and floor were layered with human bones in a crude mosaic. Leg and arm bones, spines and pelvises, spindly hands protruding as if in supplication. And skulls. They’d been placed in a pattern: a grid, one skull every few feet, row upon row until they dwindled from sight into the narrow chimney above.

  Violette took this in as her eyes adjusted to the red-orange blaze.

  The light emanated from the figure that stood waiting for her at the centre of the chamber.

  Gradually the glare dimmed to a bearable level, and there he stood: her self-appointed nemesis, towering over her, attired like Kastchei the Immortal in heavy robes the brown-red of dried blood. He held a staff, ten feet high, that shone with its own sickly light and – she knew – would paralyse her with pain if she touched it. A huge skull-face stared down at her.

  Zruvan, Lord of Immortals, Soul of the Universe.

  * * *

  Karl watched attentively as Amy threaded the film into the projector, using one wall of the living room as a screen. He’d also watched as she went through the stages of processing the film: hand-dipping the negative – wrapped around a frame – through different baths, constantly checking the time and temperature, hanging the fifty-foot long ribbon to dry, then making the print and going through it all again.

  He’d sensed her shaking with nerves when they were in the dark laboratory together, so he kept a careful distance and asked questions only about the chemistry. Charlotte had been like this with him, a long time ago. However diligently he maintained a courteous human mask, it was as if all humans knew, at a deep primordial level, what he was.

  The sensitive ones, at least.

  He couldn’t force her to relax without deliberately hypnotising her. Instead he let her calm down in her own time as she worked. Let her trust him.

  He wasn’t especially comfortable at being alone with any human. However good his self-control, the temptation of blood was always under the surface. So he kept as far as possible from her, addressed her as Miss Temple, and was careful never to catch her gaze. In response she was equally polite and impersonal. By the time the film was ready, night had fallen again and they were as comfortable as they could hope to be, like work colleagues.

  Now she asked him to switch off all the living-room lights, and set the projector in motion. As she did so, Karl saw Stefan watching from the bedroom. The door was barely cracked open and the interior was dark: Stefan was no more than a glistening pair of eyes. Amy, concentrating on her task, did not notice him.

  Blurred grey images danced on the wall. She adjusted the focus, and there was the inside of the auditorium: stagehands waving at the camera, the corps de ballet running jerkily through some steps on stage while a lad in overalls painted a wooden tree behind them.

  “It’s good,” said Karl, genuinely surprised. Despite the inevitable flicker, the scene was bright and lifelike. He almost felt he could step into it.

  “It’s only a test,” she said. “To see how the lighting is. The whole reel only lasts three minutes, if that – you’ll need to buy a much bigger camera, preferably two, if you’re going to film entire ballets without missing anything.”

  She stopped, moistened her lips.

  “Here comes the important part. Just after the dancers leave the stage… and the set-painter moves out of the frame… Now.”

  Feeling a sudden chill, Karl stared at the empty stage. Unoccupied, it became meaningless, sinister.

  The film ended in a flurry of blank frames.

  “Oh,” Amy sighed. “I’m so sorry. There’s nothing there. I really did see the spectre, I promise. I wouldn’t make things up.”

  “I know that. Can you run it again? Just the last part?”

  “Of course… give me a moment…” Amy switched off the projector lamp, turned on a room light and fiddled with the mechanism, muttering under her breath. “One day they’ll make projectors that don’t jam or unthread themselves or ignite the film. There. Ready.”

  She flicked off the light and the six-second shot of an empty stage ran again. This time Karl was sure he saw the faintest wisp of silver drifting across the boards and fading away to the left. Perhaps it was wishful thinking. Just variations in the grain.

  “No, nothing,” said Amy, resigned. “I saw her as large as life, but why should we expect ghosts to show up on film?”

  Karl turned on some lights, but the unsettling atmosphere lingered. Amy shivered. He noted that the bedroom door was closed, but Stefan was no doubt listening to their conversation.

  “It’s getting late, and dark,” said Karl. “Won’t you sit down and have a drink to warm you?”

  “I don’t know. I feel strange without Charlotte here. I wonder what my uncle is doing or thinking? He might have called the police by now. How long can we keep the charade going?” She laughed shakily. “Unless you really have kidnapped me, of course.”

  “I promise we haven’t.” Karl moved to face her, keeping six feet of space between them. For the first time he held her gaze, firm and serious. “However, I’m sure your uncle will come looking for you eventually. Or for me.”

  “But… What if he does? I don’t want the two of you fighting. If he brings his men with him, he could be really dangerous. I’ll do my best to calm him down, but I don’t know whether I can.”

  “Miss Temple,” Karl said, “If he comes, I won’t let him near you. We know he’s dangerous, but I can defend myself.” He tried to sound more confident than he felt. In truth, Karl didn’t know the limits of Godric’s strength.

  “I’m not afraid.” Amy paced to the window and back. “Actually, that’s a lie. I am fairly terrified, but it doesn’t matter. Sometimes I remember how kind Uncle was, when I first arrived, and I feel terrible about all this. But then I think of what he’s done – not least to your poor friends – and I’m not sorry at all. I don’t want to hurt him, but I do want him stopped.”

  Karl saw the fire in her eyes. Amy Temple’s sweet, compliant demeanour masked her deeper self: slow to anger but ferocious once aroused.

  “We’re truly sorry to have involved you in this, but we very much appreciate your help,” he said. “Do you need to rest? Geli will take care of you, as she did last night.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not tired. Herr Alexander… Karl?” She folded her arms, held his gaze. “I know that you’re not human. I hear the word ‘vampire’ whispered. I don’t pretend to understand exactly what you and your friends are, but I do know that my uncle believes in what he calls the strigoi, and I’ve seen so many strange things lately that I’m almost used to it. So I promise not to run away screaming at any point. I know Charlotte’s something other, and I can’t pretend that she doesn’t make me nervous, but I trust her. I no longer trust my uncle, but I do trust her.”

  “I hope you’ll learn to trust me too,” said Karl. His response to her admission was guarded. “We’ve told you far
more than we’d usually confide in any human.”

  “And trust goes both ways, so… thank you.” She gave a faint smile. “This is all so dreadfully strange, but a little bit thrilling, too. I can’t possibly sleep. I need to do something practical.”

  “As do I,” said Karl. “I think we should bring the cine-camera up here, loaded with fresh film.”

  “That’s easy enough. I brought plenty of spare reels. Are you thinking that if the lamia reappears, we’ll try to catch her on film again?”

  “Exactly,” said Karl. “I don’t give up at the first attempt.”

  “Nor me. Yes, let’s get everything set up.” She came to life, bright-eyed. “Perhaps the lighting was wrong.”

  “And if your uncle or his men break in, their activities will be recorded, too.”

  Amy’s expression darkened. She seemed to have a question on her tongue, but said nothing.

  “Agreed?” Karl asked.

  “We need a plan of action, then,” she said quietly. “A way to alert each other if someone or something appears. Where to place the camera. Which of us is going to film, depending on what happens. A plan, Herr Alexander.”

  * * *

  “What in the devil’s name are you doing here?” Fadiya hissed.

  Emil groaned and writhed, but did not wake.

  “Violette is here, as instructed,” Charlotte answered coldly.

  “She was told to come alone.”

  “And she did. No one told me not to follow her. I’m frightened for her, and I don’t trust you; what did you expect? Emil was supposed to be released in exchange for her arrival. She cares more for him than for her own safety! I’m here to make sure that he is released.”

  Fadiya was quiet. Her face was hostile, unreadable. She said, “It’s not that simple.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “Violette has been summoned to meet Lord Zruvan. He means to interrogate her. Emil can’t be released until Zruvan is satisfied and calls an end to the encounter.”

  “What does that mean?” Charlotte bit back a host of angry questions and watched every nuance of Fadiya’s face. Not unreadable after all: there were quick glances at Emil, small movements of her lips and tongue that suggested nervousness. Conflict.

  “I cannot answer your questions.”

  “Try one, at least. How long will it take?”

  “As long as it takes. Days, perhaps.”

  “Emil may not survive that long. What will happen to him if Zruvan is not happy with the meeting?”

  “If Violette…” Fadiya’s languid blinking grew more rapid. “If she does not survive, Emil will still be released. But if he dies afterwards, that is not our responsibility.”

  “What do you mean, if Violette does not survive?”

  Charlotte stood there with fear swarming through her, her thoughts a flood of denial. No, that wasn’t the bargain, how dare they threaten her! Would they really kill her? Yes of course they would, just as Lilith’s enemies have always wanted to destroy her.

  “I can’t let your Lord Zruvan harm her,” she said, her voice small but steel-hard.

  “You can’t stop him, if he makes that decision. Understand, Charlotte: this is Zruvan’s domain. There is nothing either of you can do.”

  “Well, you don’t know her,” said Charlotte. “Fools rush in, as they say. She’s the bravest person I know, but sometimes a little unhinged. Fadiya, did you hope she would not arrive so that you could keep Emil to yourself?”

  Fadiya started to look angry. “There is no point in us arguing. We cannot let Emil go until Zruvan gives the word. We wait.”

  Charlotte would not give in. Fadiya was a deceiver: when they’d confronted her on the night of Stefan’s party, she’d fled, pretending to be much more frightened than she actually was. Now she put on a mask of heartlessness, but Charlotte saw it was full of flaws.

  “So you pretended to love Emil, solely to lure him here?”

  “I was not pretending,” Fadiya whispered, gazing down at Emil’s sleeping face. “I do love him.”

  The admission startled Charlotte. The guards were distant shadows in the entrance: she couldn’t tell if they were eavesdropping or oblivious.

  “Our kind of love is lethal to humans,” Charlotte said at last. “Loving them does not stop us tearing their lives to shreds. I understand the paradox that you can love him, and yet lure him to an unspeakable fate. Your duty is to your master Zruvan, isn’t it? Whoever he is.”

  “Don’t speak to me with such contempt.” Fadiya’s tone was low with menace. “You don’t know him. He has his reasons. Good ones. All he thinks of is the good of our kind. His whole life is a sacrifice to our well-being!”

  “I’ve known vampires like that,” Charlotte said flatly. “They have all ended up dead, so far.”

  “He’s not a vampire, he’s a god. More, in fact. You don’t understand.”

  “That’s true, I don’t.” She glanced down at Emil. “I’m thirsty, may I…?”

  She moved only inches towards him, as if preparing to drink – then Fadiya’s hands gripped her shoulder and flung her into the farthest wall.

  The rock slammed into her back. Charlotte was too shocked to breathe. Eventually she swayed upright, rubbing her shoulders where she’d taken the impact.

  “I wanted to see how you’d react if I threatened Emil,” she said. “If Zruvan is displeased with Violette, if he destroys her and ‘releases’ Emil to the mercy of his guards, will you fight them all off with such vigour?”

  Fadiya glared. Her hands, hanging at her sides, made fists and then stretched flat like blades.

  “Perhaps you really do love him,” Charlotte said gently. She tugged Fadiya’s sleeve, drawing her into a curved side wall so the guards wouldn’t see them if they turned round. “To me, this is simple. I couldn’t stop Violette coming here – I can’t stop her doing anything – and I have no control over what happens between her and this more-than-a-god. All I can do is what I promised – to take Emil home. But I need your help. If Zruvan sets Violette free, you do realise that she’ll kill you before she goes? But if she never reappears – do you truly want to give up Emil to such a horrible fate? Do you want to risk waiting for Zruvan’s decision? I don’t. Violette’s fulfilled her part of the bargain, just by coming here. Now I will do this one last thing for Violette, and take him home.”

  Charlotte felt a tear run down her cheek. Inside, she wanted to rip out Fadiya’s throat, slay the guards, confront Zruvan in his lair and rescue Violette. The more rational part of her mind knew that acting as an army of one would be disastrous.

  “I’ll help you,” Fadiya murmured into her ear. “I wish this had never happened, but you’re wrong about me. You don’t understand…” Her dark eyes went pale green, making her look sinister, torn and distressed, all at once. “I’m not evil. I do love Emil, with all my foolish heart. I love Zruvan too, but that does not stop me loving Emil.”

  “Do you have transport?”

  Fadiya nodded. “The truck went back to town, but I have two horses.”

  “We can take on the guards, one each…”

  “No need,” said Fadiya. Her sorrowful eyes took on a spark of fire. “They’ll do whatever I tell them to do, because I command Bayt-al-Zuhur. I am Zruvan’s wife.”

  * * *

  Lord Zruvan, Soul of the Universe, appeared to be alone in the Bone Well. He might have guards hidden in the blurred edges of Raqia, but Violette perceived nothing. Even her guide Nabil had gone. There was only Zruvan.

  He did not move. Was he real? He might be a giant statue, for all she knew. She probed him with her senses, like a butterfly tasting a flower with its tongue. She knew now that his appearances in Raqia – even when he’d tried to attack her – had been astral projections, an energy-form so strong that it could seem solid even though it was not really there.

  Here was its originator. An authentic, physical being.

  Nabil said that he never left his bizarre temple. She won
dered, How long has he been here? He’d pursued her by the power of his mind alone. But that had not been enough for him. He wanted her here in person.

  Wanted her because she was the avatar of Lilith: a rival deity.

  The kiln-heat was extreme. A deep, continual roar made the air shudder. The walls glowed fiercely and the ground trembled.

  “Well, you got your way,” she said. “Here I am.”

  “Here you are,” echoed the skull. “At last.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  THE BREATH OF HEAVEN

  The horses were beautiful. Charlotte could hardly believe her eyes as Fadiya led them out of the cave: two dancing creatures so lovely she could only stare in wonder, forgetting everything else. One was chestnut, like a burnished copper coin, with a flaxen mane and tail and long white stockings flashing on its hind legs. The other was dapple-grey, the colour of a cloudy sky. They had compact bodies, arched necks, exquisite chiselled heads, legs that appeared too fine to bear any weight. Huge dark eyes, full of kind intelligence. Both animals pranced, full of fire, their tails held high.

  “Can you ride?” Fadiya asked brusquely as she slid saddles of soft, decorated fabric on to their backs. The saddles and plaited bridles were bright with embroidery and adorned with rows of coloured tassels.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re staring as if you’ve never seen an Arabian horse before.”

  “I haven’t,” said Charlotte. “I mean, I’ve seen them in photographs. Never in the flesh. They are so beautiful.”

  “Aren’t they?” Fadiya’s expression softened and she smiled. “They’re mine. Both mares. The chestnut is called Ghazale and the grey is Dabab. Gazelle and mist.”

  “Yours?” She was startled that Fadiya should do anything as human as own horses. True, vampires enjoyed all manner of worldly activities, but glimpsing a new side to this stranger threw Charlotte. Above, the night sky was bright with countless stars, dwarfing these wondrous creatures that appeared to have dropped from heaven. Everything about them mesmerised her: their tapered, flickering ears, the flare of their nostrils. They carried their tails like banners.