“Charlotte.” The sheer beauty of his voice was like a kiss. “There is nothing you can say that could possibly offend me, as long as it is the truth. Even if you told me that you hate me.”
“Of course I don’t hate you!” Whatever she felt for him, it was not hatred. Why not tell him the truth? “If you really want to know—yes, I am afraid of you.”
“Why?”
Her lips parted. She shook her head slightly. So many reasons. “I know it’s foolish, but I am one of life’s cowards, that’s all. I’m afraid of so many things.”
He lowered his eyelids; she noticed how very long his eyelashes were, curved darkly against his cheek. “I think you do yourself an injustice. I know that you are shy, and not very happy; anyone can see that. Do you think I am being cruel in making you admit it?”
“It’s difficult for me,” she whispered.
“I know. I don’t wish to distress you, but the only way you will lose this fear is to speak about it. I give you my word now that you have no cause to fear me, that I will never give you cause. Can you believe me?”
He met her eyes again and she felt her tension bleeding away in the warmth of his gaze; melting. “Yes,” she said sincerely. “Yes.”
“Don’t say it unless you mean it. I am serious, Charlotte; I wish you to be at ease with me, to think of me as a friend. To feel that you can say anything you like; simply to be yourself.”
“I wish I could.” To be like Madeleine and Fleur! “It would be so wonderful.”
“I am telling you that you can.”
He means it, she realised, and it was a revelation, like bursting out of a chrysalis. Almost physically she felt a great burden of anxiety sliding away. She had tried to tell herself that her fears were imaginary, but only now, for the first time, could she believe it.
There was such kindness in Karl’s expression, a warm reflection of the light that had come to her face. There was no need to say anything. They both laughed; she was not sure why, but the moment was magical. His eyes instilled her with tranquillity, the feeling that it would be heaven simply to sit here forever, while outside the rain fell soothingly, unceasingly.
Karl was not the cold-hearted charmer against whom Anne had warned her. He actually cared for her… and that knowledge dismantled all her armour, left her basking in the warmth of the moment without realising how vulnerable she had become. The touch of his fingers felt so sweet. She had never before been so conscious of him physically. Their thighs were touching, but she had no wish to move away from the firmness of his long, slender leg. He had a very faint, enticing scent of clean hair. So perfectly graceful his slim body, everything about him…
Then he lifted her hand, and said, “You are not wearing your engagement ring.”
Ice-cold reality hit her. “I—I take it off at night. It catches in my nightdress.”
“You don’t imagine,” he said, “that if you are unhappy, a loveless marriage will make you any happier?”
She pulled herself free and sat forward, hands pressed between her knees. “That’s nothing to do with you.” To her dismay, she felt tears winding round her throat, betraying her.
Karl was silent for a moment. “Ah. I did not realise it was so painful. Forgive me.”
“No, I—I didn’t mean to be so abrupt.” She took a deep breath, mastering herself. “Henry and I are well-suited. I don’t expect marriage to make me ecstatically happy. People who do are fools.”
“It is a good thing to be realistic, but not to be bitter. Do you love someone else?”
Again a wave of pain caught her throat. His words were so gentle, yet like knives they slid through all her defences. Does he want blood? she thought wildly.
“No,” she said at last. “There is no one else.”
“There should be.” He took her wrist, and stroked the fine skin with his thumb. The sensations aroused by the touch went right through the centre of her stomach; she longed to clasp her fingers over his hand, but dared not, and the very act of resisting was an unbearable ache. If he had kissed her then she would have submitted, allowed anything.
But he was not looking at her. His eyes had an absent look, and the stroking of her wrist was almost unconscious. “You should live your life, Charlotte. Think what is best for yourself, not for others. You deserve better.”
Then she realised. He was being kind to her. Yet with her disappointment came a rush of relief. In reality, a declaration of love or an attempt at seduction would have terrified her. This, at least, meant she really was safe with him, that he truly was a friend. “I don’t need and I don’t want pity,” she said quietly.
“This is not pity, Charlotte.” He leaned forward, his shoulder warm against hers. “Never think that of me. It distresses me to see you unhappy, that is all. But you do have the courage to do something about it, you know. To keep your hair long in defiance of fashion demonstrates a quite extraordinary degree of stubbornness.”
She smiled. “My mother had long hair. That’s why I won’t cut mine.”
“As long as it is your choice,” he said. “You should sing at the musical evening, to prove to yourself that you can face your fears. Would you do so, for me?”
The look in his eyes lifted all the breath out of her. A wordless communication between them, mystical beyond attraction or love; and she felt that if she verged on understanding she would fall over the edge and be swallowed.
“Yes,” she answered. “If you like.”
And then there was only the rush of the rain curving through the silence… and she would have given her soul for those few moments to last forever. Did it matter that his expression was changing, that the pull between them was darkening? The change was so subtle that she felt no danger, she simply fell with it. Too trusting. His attention was completely on her now, but the warmth in his eyes had turned as fervent as a crimson sunset burning through clouds, and he leaned closer and closer to her until shivers of anticipation cascaded down her spine.
His lips parted and she saw the whiteness of his teeth. He said, “I think you had better go back to bed, before it is too late.” But the pressure of his fingers on her wrist tightened and she was pinned there, with no desire to escape. Wanting…
“Too late for what?” she gasped.
“For you to get any sleep.” As he spoke there was a swish of car tyres outside and a headlight beam sliced obliquely through the curtains. “Your father is home. In time.” He drew back and released her wrist. The spell was broken.
Charlotte did not respond at once. Then she realised what he had said and leapt off the sofa as if she had been scalded. “Oh my God—he will kill me if he finds us here.”
“Of course he won’t. He thinks you are perfect.” Karl smiled calmly. “If he finds me reading a book and you sitting at your typewriter, what can he say?”
“In my nightclothes? Oh no, I must go.” She hurried to the doorway then stopped, compelled to turn back. Leaning against the edge of the panelled door, she gazed at Karl, knowing that every second brought her father nearer to the front door, unable to tear herself away. For Karl was no longer looking at her and his expression had become immeasurably sad and distant, as if there were a vast gulf between them that could never be spanned.
“Karl, is something wrong? What is it?” she whispered.
“Nothing, Charlotte,” he said. “Go quickly; it’s dangerous to linger.”
The key rattled in the lock. She turned and fled up the stairs.
* * *
Chapter Six
Pallid Companion
“Karl is in England,” said Pierre. “He would appear to be living in Cambridge.”
Kristian had received Pierre in the depths of Schloss Holdenstein, in a windowless chamber lit by burning torches on the walls. The flames turned the air smoky gold. Kristian cared nothing for modern comforts, but he sat in a tall carved chair like a bishop enthroned on a dais. The effect was one of austere and absolute power.
Two blond male vampires s
at on the edge of the dais at his feet, looking impassively at Pierre. They were identical. He knew them, disliked their knowing aloofness; something sly about them. Stefan and Niklas, Kristian’s pets. Their radiance was a contrast to Kristian’s stark paleness, the priestly black of his robe and hair.
“What,” said Kristian, “is he doing in Cambridge?”
“He has taken rooms in the town and visits the house of an eminent scientist almost every day.”
Kristian leaned forward, absently stroking Niklas’s golden-white hair. “Why?”
“Knowing Karl as I do, I would guess he wants to study science.”
Kristian’s thick brows drew together. “What possible interest could he have in that?”
“Oh, you know how he loves to learn things… “
“But science is the witchcraft of mankind.” The edge in Kristian’s voice alerted Pierre to trouble. “It is the source of true evil. Karl knows this, so how dare he sully himself with such profanity?” His face was formidable, but Pierre marked a glitter of peasant fear behind the black-diamond hardness of his eyes—a reminder that Kristian had been born in a dark, ignorant age—and fear made Kristian dangerous. “Tell me what else you found out.”
Pierre felt as if he were on trial. He resented the feeling Kristian induced in him that he must prove himself, like an errant son to an impossible perfectionist of a father. He tried to maintain his nonchalance. “There was a limit to what I could discover without him knowing I was there, but I observed that the scientist has a beautiful family, a number of lovely daughters—”
“Whom you will not touch,” said Kristian, as if reading his thoughts. “They are irrelevant. The object is to find Karl, not to indulge yourself. But Karl must be punished… “
“For learning?”
“For turning his back on me and embracing the works of man!”
Kristian sat back and drummed his long thick fingers on the arm of his throne. He was lost in thought for so long that at last Pierre spoke hesitantly.
“Beloved master… ” How I hate calling him that! “What do you wish me to do now?”
The vulturine eyes refocused on him. “Yes… Go to him, Pierre. Tell him that if he wishes to see his beloved Ilona again, he had better come back to me.”
Ilona was usually a vivid presence in the castle, belligerent and bright as splintered glass. Pierre noticed how still and empty the rooms seemed without her. He asked, “Have you sent her away?”
“I have sent her away forever, unless Karl returns. She is in the Crystal Ring. In the Weisskalt, sleeping.”
One of the blond vampires, Stefan, jerked his head up in shock. Pierre met his blue eyes, saw his own feelings reflected there. The thought of the Weisskalt filled him with dread; that biting, endless cold, the utter silence and loneliness… and being torn away from life into oblivion, never knowing whether you would wake again. That was the power Kristian held over them all. That was the fear. And if he could do it to Ilona, he was capable of doing it to anyone.
“Mon Dieu” said Pierre, all detachment squeezed out of him like breath. “Even her. My God, is no one sacred to you?”
Kristian reached forward and caressed Pierre’s cheek. “You are all sacred to me, my friend. That is the whole point. You are all sacred.”
***
Karl sat alone in the laboratory, an hour before Dr Neville and the others were due to come down and start work. He was at a side bench, gazing down at a small glass dish full of clear liquid. The liquid was concentrated sulphuric acid; in it, there floated a sliver of his own flesh, sliced from the back of his hand. The cut had already healed, but the sliver lay undissolving, as if in water. He had found no chemical that affected vampire flesh. Even radium did not burn it.
“I must impress upon you the risks of the radioactive materials with which we work,” Dr Neville had said. “I once saw Monsieur Curie with his hands absolutely red raw from handling radium. If I send you to the Cavendish to collect any radioactive substance you must follow the safety procedures; use gloves, change your jacket, wash thoroughly. The talk in the papers about the dangers of radioactivity and X-rays may have been exaggerated, but I make sure anyone who works with me has a regular blood count to set their minds at rest. It’s all quite safe, as long as we are careful.”
But Karl could be as careless as he liked. Radioactivity did not seem to have any effect on him. He was careful to evade the blood count, however.
He had thought, if there was nothing in nature that would destroy a vampire, there might be a substance artificially produced in a laboratory. Apparently it was not so. Something must kill us, he thought, prodding at the skin with a glass rod. Acid and fire do not burn us… cold only forces us to sleep. There must be a way other than beheading… a method that would take Kristian completely by surprise, because there is no other way to defeat him…
Or are we truly immortal? (What if the severed head lives on?) Even Kristian could not tell me what immortality means… He had come to Cambridge to seek answers, but he had a feeling that even here he would find none. Philosophy and speculation were not enough.
Karl knew he was allowing himself to become too involved with the Nevilles, but he couldn’t help himself. They intrigued him. Madeleine’s vivacity, David’s good nature and innate decency, Dr Neville’s enquiring mind, Charlotte’s mystery… He had not let himself draw so close to human beings for years. That was the danger, their seductiveness. Personality and flesh formed a single entity, multi-layered, intricately figured and bejewelled… and could he detach himself completely from the desire to take his preoccupation with them to its natural conclusion? To feel their flesh under his fingers and to consummate the need for their blood… but to what end? To see them disintegrate into madness, or even to see them die?
No. The prospect of it was enough to freeze the desire. He would not touch any of them. He must not.
He had come perilously close with Charlotte, that night in the study. He had only meant to offer impartial friendship, and yet, despite his resolve, her sweetness had ensnared him… drawing him down into the spiral from which only Dr Neville’s arrival had saved them both. But worst of all was admitting to himself that he had wanted more from her than blood, and much more than friendship… for that, too, was wrong.
He would not let it happen again.
Perhaps it was inexcusable to move among humans like this, but there was no reason for his mere presence to harm them. It disturbed him that David’s friend Edward had recognised him for what he was, but the age of scepticism was on Karl’s side; inevitably it was Edward who was regarded as strange, not Karl. The thought brought an ironic smile to his lips.
He sensed a human presence moving in the house above, before he heard the light footsteps coming down the stairs; Charlotte. The prospect of her company was pleasant—too much so. I am human, and I am her friend, nothing more, he reminded himself. Let us both believe it.
“Oh! Good morning, Karl,” she said. “You’re here early.”
“You also.”
“Father asked me to replace the gold leaf in the electroscope. It’s so fiddly, I seem to be the only one who can do it.” Instead of muttering an excuse and fleeing, as she would once have done, she came and leaned on the bench beside him. “What are you doing?”
He knew it was unfair, the way he had taken away her fear that evening with a little of the tranquillizing glamour that held his victims; but his motive had been sincere. He didn’t want her to be afraid of him; he didn’t want to see her unhappy. She was still nervous, but now she held her ground and spoke to him, testing herself.
“Nothing very interesting,” he said. “If you really wish to know, I was examining the effects of various chemicals on skin.”
“Human skin?” she said, staring into the dish. “But whose is it?”
“Mine, of course.” He half-smiled. “It is only a sliver, Charlotte. I could hardly ask your father or Henry if I could cut a piece out of them, could I?”
“Well, no, but… “
“There are so many substances that may affect the body in terrible ways.”
Charlotte nodded. “I’ve seen some awful burns from people being careless in the lab. But there are worse things.”
“Yes?”
“I remember learning about the chlorine and mustard gas they used in the trenches, the way it killed… It was too horrible to believe, but I had to because I saw men dying of it. My father had to work for the Government during the War, so my sisters and I stayed at Aunt Elizabeth’s house in London and helped to nurse the wounded soldiers that she took in. Madeleine and I were rather young to be nurses but we used to run around fetching and carrying things. I can never forget the ones who had been gassed. It was like watching someone drowning, very, very slowly. I used to wish I could breathe for them… It was such a strange and frightening time, yet when I look back I remember how real it seemed. Nothing since then has ever seemed so real.” Karl watched her, but her eyes were downcast. “David hardly talks about the War, but it’s just from the little he says—from the offhand way he says it, more than anything—that you realise how terrible things must have been. I don’t think most people realise, not yet. It must have been worse than anyone can imagine.”
“It was,” Karl said quietly.
Charlotte instantly became embarrassed, thinking she had distressed him. “Oh, I’m so tactless; of course, you would have fought on the other side, but—I’m sorry, if you have painful memories I didn’t mean to—”
“No, Charlotte.” He could hardly explain that he had been on no side but his own. He put his hand over hers, just for a second. “A vicarious pain, if anything. You are right; no one who was not there knows what it was like. But the silence will be broken eventually.”
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