The Dark Arts of Blood

by Freda Warrington

  He quickly rifled through the bag he’d brought. He had his money and documents still. That was all he needed.

  Now that he had no future, there was only one thing left for him to do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  THE WILD HUNT

  Concealed in the darkened projection booth, Karl was amazed by the size of the audience settling in Godric’s private cinema. He’d expected this to be a small private showing for his supporters only. Instead he counted forty men, twenty women. Crew and cast sat at the back, and the front rows were full of local dignitaries and business owners. Karl understood: if Godric presented their town, and Switzerland, in a flattering light, support and money would flow his way. His political group would become a real force. He could make all the melodramatic propaganda films he wanted. After all, his aim was to glorify his home country: who would object to that?

  Reiniger himself was the last to arrive, resplendent in white tie and tails. He strutted down the steps to a round of applause.

  Karl was astonished that – after the events of a few nights ago – Godric was going ahead with his movie launch as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

  He had to admire the man’s aplomb.

  Reiniger raised one hand, nodding his appreciation. He cleared his throat and spoke in a clear, piercing voice that conveyed a blend of pride and humility.

  “Welcome, my friends, to Bergwerkstatt: my home and workplace. If you wonder what Reiniger Studios has been doing over the spring, the answer is this: editing together our hard work in what I hope will come to be regarded as a masterwork of the project. Reiniger Studios is proud to present a drama set in our beloved home country!”

  He took a seat in the front row. His second-in-command, Wolfgang, sat to his right and Amy on his left.

  She’d insisted on returning to him, even after the bedroom incident. She had done what she told Karl she planned to do: walked back in, let the fuss die down and insisted that she had never been kidnapped. She’d simply been a guest of the Ballet Lenoir for a few days. If his enemies had said otherwise, they’d lied.

  “He mustn’t find out I helped you,” she’d said to Karl. “And don’t worry about me. This will be the biggest acting performance of my life.”

  Her uncle must have swallowed the story – after all, it was more or less true. Karl was certain Reiniger had no idea she’d been present that night – too wrapped up in his own activities even to suspect.

  He certainly wouldn’t have confessed his exploits to anyone. A facade of normality must be maintained. Now Amy sat beside him as if in total innocence, more calculating than her ingénue manner would suggest.

  The lights went down, the curtains slid back from the screen and Stefan began to crank the projector. There were twin projectors, the second poised to take over as soon as the first reel ran out. Karl had had to learn fast, and he knew they had little time before Reiniger began to suspect that his experienced projectionist was drunk, or battling with technical difficulties. Stefan struggled to run the film at the precise speed: slightly too fast, then slightly too slow, as words lit up the screen:

  Reiniger Studios presents… TRIUMPH IN THE MOUNTAINS.

  Karl and Stefan exchanged a look. The grey and silver images began. A breath-taking Alpine panorama blended into a scene of foreign soldiers pouring down a mountain pass. The usual message, Karl noted. Switzerland in danger from every direction. A pure Swiss maiden – played by Mariette in a blond, plaited wig – was captured and tormented by bearded Slavic brigands. Much overacting ensued.

  “He does like to linger on his torment scenes, doesn’t he?” said Stefan, as the villains took a whip to the brave but wilting heroine.

  “Oh, he enjoys a little torture,” Karl said softly. “The technical quality is actually not bad, but always the same story…”

  “With practice,” Stefan said mordantly, “he will get better until one day he tells the perfect story, the one that fires everyone’s heart with crusading fervour and, who knows, starts the next world war.”

  “With practice, could you try to find a consistent speed?” said Karl.

  “I thought these damned things would have electric motors by now,” Stefan retorted. “Do you know what you are doing?”

  In the corner of the booth, the official projectionist lay unconscious. Stefan’s fangs had taken him down – he wasn’t one of the inner circle, so his blood was untainted – but they’d tied and gagged him to make sure.

  Stefan ran the movie for as long as it took Karl to unload the reel from the second projector and replace with a different one. The process of threading the film into place took concentration: it hadn’t seemed this difficult when Amy had tutored him.

  “It’s done,” Karl said at last. “I’m ready.”

  Stefan stopped turning the handle of the first projector, with the result that the frame caught in the lamp’s heat and melted. The picture on screen flared to white. The audience uttered a groan.

  Reiniger turned in his chair and glared up at the projection booth.

  “Turn off the lamp!” Karl exclaimed.

  “Well, turn yours on. You said you were ready!”

  Karl thought of rousing the projectionist and making him take over before Reiniger stormed up there to see what was happening. Surely they could perform the task more smoothly than this…

  “Bolt the door,” said Karl. “At least stop anyone coming in here.”

  “For God’s sake, hurry.”

  Herr Reiniger was actually out of his seat, glowering, when Karl got the new reel running. Amy sat motionless, eyes fixed forward.

  Cut from the terrified maiden to her brave peasant fiancé weeping over her body. He shook his fist at the heavens and – in captions – swore to join the Swiss army and avenge this dastardly deed.

  The audience settled again. The film ran on for a minute or three, long enough to lull them into the story…

  Then it cut to a new scene. Dark and grainy, it sat out of context and seemed to be from a different movie entirely. The lighting was poor. No captions flagged the sudden change of mood. There was a room, full of ornate curtains and furnishings, mostly in shadow. In the doorway, two people were kissing. Two men.

  A suppressed gasp went up from the audience.

  Both men’s faces were plainly discernible. One was Karl, who was known to barely anyone here. The other, however, was unmistakable as Godric Reiniger.

  Utter silence fell as they wrestled in the doorway with apparent feverish lust, Godric thrusting Karl back into the wall. Then Karl moved away, and Godric went into the centre of the room and stripped naked. The audience murmured with confusion and blank shock.

  “Not bad for his age,” Stefan whispered. “He’ll run to fat if he’s not careful, though.”

  The images jumped forward a little: that was where Amy had spliced the first reel to the second. Then the action continued.

  No sign of the ghostly Charlotte whose shape he’d borrowed. Only Reiniger, unclothed and faintly ridiculous.

  There were sniggers in the audience. A couple of women and a priest marched for the exit, their faces pictures of outrage. Everyone else stayed riveted in their seats. Even Reiniger appeared paralysed. Karl saw the muscles in his neck stand out, his shoulders rising as he gripped the seat arms.

  There was some jerkiness as the camera operator moved towards the bedroom door. Now there was a narrow view of Karl just inside the room, his shirt undone, while Reiniger grappled with another man on the bed. He rose above Stefan, poising himself with clear intent –

  Karl had cut the film there, just before he fell on to Niklas’s body and vanished, screaming.

  Stefan had added some captions.

  “Herr Reiniger demonstrates the vices… That we shall obliterate from the glorious Motherland!” Another in smaller letters, “The rest of this scene was deemed too obscene for those of a sensitive disposition…” And a final frame, “Private viewings on request. Worth every franc!”

>   “We should have left Niklas in,” whispered Stefan. “See, even in death he helps us. Reiniger’s screaming was hilarious.”

  The film ended there. Karl turned off the projector, flicked on the house lights and waited for the storm.

  “He demonstrates those vices with great enthusiasm, doesn’t he?” someone called laconically from the audience.

  The murmur grew towards uproar, an awful brew of mockery and outrage. Another man in the front row leapt to his feet and snarled at Godric. “You dared to blackmail me?”

  It was Wolfgang. Amy shrank in her seat, like a schoolgirl trying hard not be noticed.

  “He did what?” said someone else.

  Wolfgang Notz turned to face the crowd, waving one hand at the blank screen. He was shaking with anger. “Godric blackmailed me for years over these so-called vices, and there he is – you saw him – doing the same and worse!”

  Reiniger was on his feet, red-faced and yelling.

  “Fakery! Lies! This is a prank designed to humiliate—” All the time he glared up at the projection booth, trying to discern who’d betrayed him.

  No one was listening. Over the noise, a second man stood up and called out, “He’s coerced me, too.”

  “And me.”

  “Oh, let’s talk about bribery! Attack Wolfgang and you attack us all!”

  Another five men were on their feet – all members of the inner circle, Karl saw – declaring solidarity with Wolfgang Notz.

  Deathly silence fell and lasted a full five seconds before more voices rose, hurling questions and accusations.

  Some of the town officials were sitting very still, saying nothing at all.

  Reiniger barked at them, “Where do you think the money comes from to finance this enterprise, and your jobs, our party, your role in my plans, our very future?”

  He continued haranguing them, but Wolfgang stood with his feet braced, an expression of profound disgust on his face.

  “Now the truth’s out,” he said. “Now you all know! I am no saint – Reiniger threatened me with public disgrace and jail, if I did not nearly bankrupt my family to keep funding him – but look, how is he any better than me? Than any of us?”

  “This is all trickery and lies!” cried Reiniger.

  Wolfgang looked stoical in the face of injustice, while Godric appeared to verge on hysteria. Amy had told Karl that Godric’s followers trusted Wolfgang, making him a threat to her uncle’s leadership. People could overlook sexual proclivities more easily than they could forgive hypocrisy, it seemed. Extorting money from the most popular member of their clique went beyond the pale.

  “I have no answer to this, except to leave,” Wolfgang said calmly. “If you support Godric Reiniger, stay. If you don’t, you’re free to leave with me.”

  There was a shuffling sound of feet moving towards the exit. Dignitaries first, then Godric’s supporters, employees and his entire household followed Wolfgang Notz out of the cinema. Amy came last, casting Karl and Stefan a quick glance as she passed. Her expression was like stone.

  Godric stood furious and bewildered as he watched everyone abandon him.

  Stefan unlocked the booth door. Karl untied the dazed projectionist and pushed him out after the others. Then he and Stefan descended the shallow steps to the front of the theatre, guided Reiniger back to his seat and sat down on either side of him.

  Reiniger produced an Istilqa knife from his pocket, twirled it between his hands then stabbed it into the velvet arm of his seat. He seemed to realise the weapon would not help him. Stefan and Karl had both suffered enough wounds to withstand the worst of its power.

  “I hope you are pleased with this day’s work,” said Reiniger.

  “You were the star of your own movie,” said Stefan. “What’s to complain about?”

  “How did you do it?” His gaze was fixed on the blank screen, his fingers drumming the knife handle.

  “We purchased a camera,” said Karl, bending the truth for Amy’s sake. “We bought the equipment and chemicals and we learned how to use them. It was not especially difficult. I’m sure it’s hard to make a good movie, but not to make one so basic.”

  “That is not what I meant.”

  Godric stopped. Karl hoped he wouldn’t ask who was operating the camera, but he seemed to have something more complex on his mind.

  “Are you referring to the fact that we knew it was you in the guise of my wife?” Karl asked coolly. When Godric didn’t answer, he went on, “Did you think your illusion would fool me? It did not. Nor did it fool the camera.”

  “Much to our delight,” Stefan put in.

  “How did you do it?” said Karl. “That’s the real question. How have you acquired the power to enter the Crystal Ring? We expected you to appear at some point – that’s why the camera was ready – but as yourself, not in disguise. How did you gain the skill to take on someone else’s shape? That is a form of magic, and I don’t even believe in magic.”

  “You have been the bane of my life, Karl,” said Godric.

  “Are you going to answer?”

  “You’re the curse of my life, not least in killing my father, but in this damned… obsession you woke in me. Isn’t that the very essence of a vampire? You’re not content with taking the blood and energy of the living – you have to hold us in thrall, too. You make humans fall in love with you because you have to possess everything, even our beating hearts. I swear to God, I never felt a moment of lust towards another male until I saw you.”

  “Oh, come off it,” Stefan said with vicious scorn. “You needn’t lie to us. You do understand the reason they all walked out, don’t you? Aside from the fact that you showed them an embarrassingly obscene film starring your good self? Some might be scandalised by your sexual preferences, but far worse than those are your double standards. Don’t tell me you have never looked at or touched another man but Karl. Pretending to be Charlotte while you accosted him is one of the worst displays of cowardice and duplicity I’ve ever witnessed. And for me to say that is quite something.”

  “Shut up,” Godric growled, “you filthy little male whore.”

  “Don’t talk to me like that,” Stefan replied with terrifying sweetness. “You tried to deceive Karl in order to molest him. Your actions were a shade away from rape, weren’t they? You molested me quite thoroughly, come to that. And my brother. Shall we add necrophilia to your list of interests?”

  “Shut up.” He sounded on the verge of exploding. “It was Karl’s power I wanted. Nothing else. His power.”

  “You liar.”

  “Godric, I am sorry,” Karl said, raising a hand to quiet Stefan. “I wish my path had never crossed yours or your father’s. What you say about vampires is true. That’s why I try to keep out of human sight, to avoid such complications. I never set out with the intention of making you hate or desire me. If you’ve suffered those feelings, I am truly sorry. But Stefan’s right – your actions are your own responsibility. So I ask again, have you become a vampire? If not, what are you?”

  “I thought you had the answer to everything, you creatures of the supernatural realm.”

  “We don’t.”

  He lit a cigarette and puffed on it as if it were oxygen to save his life.

  “I’ve already told you. The sakakin cuts let in the light and energy of another realm, a little at a time. I thought the only way to enter the… the ‘Crystal Ring’ was to become one of your kind. But after you rejected me, I thought… Why should not a man enter the higher realm of his own will? And I did it. I’m not even sure how. I was angry. I cut the necessary patterns in my own flesh, I felt the realm reaching into me, and I willed myself to enter.”

  “As simple as that?” Stefan said in a small, sardonic voice.

  “Not simple. It’s taken years. But I had support and encouragement from the higher world.”

  “What about the need for blood?” Karl asked. He was mystified. He knew of humans who’d tried to enter Raqia without help. He’d never hear
d of anyone succeeding so consummately.

  “I have no need for blood,” Reiniger snapped. “I achieved what you told me was impossible. I have all a vampire’s powers with none of its unfortunate habits. Strength, access to the other realm, higher perceptions. I have become, in effect, the first perfect, superior human. A springboard towards something immense…”

  “Not quite perfect, since you’ve just lost all your followers,” Karl interrupted.

  “I don’t care,” Reiniger said through his teeth. “I’ll find new and better ones.”

  “I rather think you do care,” said Karl. “Who will follow you now? Everyone knows that you don’t practise what you preach. For your sake I hope no one calls the police.”

  “D’you think they’ll try to prosecute me for blackmail, or obscenity? Let them try! Humans cannot touch me now. Charlotte? I put her on like a coat.”

  His sneering remark made Karl freeze with anger.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I kept seeing her, like a ghost haunting me. I realised she was from the hidden world, a Weisse Frau as they’re called in folklore. Perhaps even Perchta herself, a goddess – and here she was, submitting herself to my needs by taking the shape of your lady friend. It was a clear sign. So I summoned the Weisse Frau and used her form to cloak mine.”

  “Summoned her, how?”

  “Beckoned her to me. Used the force of my resolve. She was a very willing collaborator indeed. She displayed no mind or intention of her own, any more than an image on film has a mind. Perfect.” Godric smirked. “I stepped inside her shape, as I said, as if putting on a coat. It was easy. Her shape did exactly what I willed it to do. And I almost fooled you, did I not?”

  Malign energy radiated from him: a blend of anger, frustration, arrogance, and the deadly chill of the Istilqa knives.

  He is not bluffing, thought Karl. Whatever he has become, it’s dangerous. An entity that might wish to annihilate vampires, as well as dominate mortals.

  “‘Almost’ was not nearly close enough,” said Karl. “As Stefan said, trying to mislead me by impersonating Charlotte was a singularly vile act of deceit.”