A Taste of Blood Wine

by Freda Warrington

  He looked questioningly at her.

  "Perhaps," she said. "If I felt I could trust you, or believe a word you said."

  "You obviously think it unlikely. But we could try."

  "I suppose it would pass the time," she said, hating the cynicism she felt. But she noticed that his hand was still pressed to his shoulder, and it struck her he was in pain. "Karl, is something wrong with your shoulder?"

  "Your brother tried to shoot me."

  Cold astonishment rippled through her, and her reaction was automatic. "Oh, no! Let me see."

  "If you wish."

  He sat down on the bed and she sat next to him, saying, "How could he do this? He might have killed you!" She began to unbutton the shirt and fold back the collar, but as she did so he began to laugh. She snatched her hands away and glared at him.

  "Forgive me, beloved. I am not mocking you. It just seemed ironic that you should be concerned for me." He shook his head sadly. "But it is not funny at all, that someone of your sweet nature should have to endure this."

  Then he pulled back the shirt to reveal the pale smooth flesh of his shoulder. There was no blood, only a white puckered mark—and on his back, a similar one over the shoulder blade.

  "It looks as if the bullet went straight through," she half-whispered. "And it's already healed. Does it hurt?"

  "A little. We are quite easy to hurt, very difficult to destroy. Bullets do not kill us, not even silver ones."

  Tentatively she reached out and touched the scar. It seemed to be fading even as she looked at it. His skin felt so familiar under her fingers and recent memories went through the centre of her like hot wax, unbidden and overwhelming.

  Karl caught her wrist and they stared at each other. Then he said, "Go and bathe, before the water cools down."

  She fled the room, burning with shame at the way her body was betraying her—as if it were a separate entity, completely disconnected from her mental anguish.

  The bathroom was only half-finished; the new fittings shiny white and clinical, the walls and floor bare. She washed, changed and brushed her hair as swiftly as she could, shivering with nerves as she hurried through the task. Yet when she had finished she felt better. Refreshed.

  No amount of panic or hand-wringing is going to make this better, she thought. I might as well try to be calm. "Be a scientist, " that's what Father used to tell me, when I was upset about something. "Don't react; think." I hope he's following his own advice.

  Karl was seated in a high-backed chair by the fire when she returned, looking as relaxed as a cat. But his eyes had that distracted look she had sometimes seen before, which made her feel there was a depthless chasm between his life and hers.

  "I refuse to be frightened any more," she said, sitting opposite in a chair whose tapestry seat was faded with age. "I've decided that the worst you can do is kill me, and that you won't do it while I am useful to you."

  "I don't blame you for sounding so bitter," he said quietly.

  "Would you rather I was hysterical? I can't keep it up, it's such a waste of energy."

  "I think in the circumstances you have shown a great deal of courage, Charlotte."

  "Is that a compliment, coming from someone who's making it necessary for me to be brave? And you're so calm all the time. I don't think anything could upset you."

  "There you are wrong. I am not in the habit of showing my feelings, that is all; some find it infuriating, I know."

  "Is that why you do it?"

  "No. It may be a Viennese trait," said Karl. "It is also a waste of energy to alter one's character to please others."

  She said, "But it only proves what I feared. What I see in your eyes and what you are actually thinking are quite different things." He was looking at the fire, so she was able to study the exquisite lines of his face. "I thought I saw love; you were thinking of blood."

  "Not all the time. On the contrary, when I was with you it was often the last thing on my mind. Anyway, they are not so different." He glanced at her, a brief fiery gleam beneath the lowered lids. "But a vampire trying to explain himself to a human is like a wolf trying to explain himself to a lamb. Unthinkable, really. I don't know why I thought I must act coldly to make you hate me; it is inevitable, whatever I do. All the same, Charlotte, if you do hate me it will cause me more distress than I can say."

  "Why? You made it perfectly clear earlier that you were only using me! Don't start pretending to care about me again, unless you want to destroy me completely."

  "No pretence now." He leaned forward a little, and the intensity of his voice transfixed her. "Vampires do not disclose their secrets to humans. It simply is not done. You express doubt that you can trust me, but I also have to feel absolute trust in you; and to prove that I do, I shall tell you that if you want to destroy me, you need not trouble yourself with stakes or fire. Just cut off my head."

  "Oh!" The starkness of the image shocked her. A slight smile softened his lips. "I am going to be completely honest with you, Charlotte—but you must promise to do the same. Isn't that fair?"

  "Of course."

  "And I will answer your questions, if you answer mine. So, I shall ask you again why you offered yourself in Maddy's place."

  "Why—"

  "No, Charlotte. Answer me."

  She paused, one hand on her throat. It was instinct, to feel ashamed of her motives, to try to gloss over them so that no one should see what wickedness lay inside her. But Karl made all those defences seem pointless and she thought, Yes, why not the real reasons? What harm can it do to tell him?

  "It wasn't bravery," she said slowly. "It was despair. I was in disgrace with everyone. My aunt had guessed about us, Maddy hated me for it. Perhaps you can't understand why these things matter, but they do. I put myself in Maddy's place without thinking, because I couldn't bear to see her so afraid… but I suppose the truth is, I resented you taking her. It sounds wicked and perverted, I don't know how to explain… I was the one who needed to know the truth about you, not her! So you see, I wasn't being virtuous, just selfish."

  She breathed out as she finished, feeling her tension fade a little.

  "Well, no more selfish than me," he said drily. "Strange you should have resented it; it was hardly an act of love. Yet I do understand you. I have to confess that with Madeleine, this would have been easier."

  "Easier?" Charlotte exclaimed. "In what way?"

  "She is simpler than you. Bolder, because she has less imagination; but then more afraid, because she does not possess an analytical mind to unravel complexities. I doubt that she would have sat questioning me. Her terror would have destroyed her infatuation, but she is also resilient enough to have recovered afterwards. However… it was self-delusion to tell myself that. I think I knew you would put yourself in her place; I think I almost wanted to see if you would."

  "Oh, God."

  "And you did. And I was sorry… because I knew we would both suffer for it. I thought the best thing was to destroy your love with the harsh truth, but that was another delusion. I did not really need a hostage, Charlotte. I took you because it was my last chance to talk to you."

  Charlotte laughed, stopped before it turned to tears. "Dear God. You kill Edward, then you want to explain."

  "Yet you said you wished to listen, however bad it was."

  "And I still do. I can bear this if I can understand it."

  "As I said, my attack on your friend was unplanned and I regret it." Karl folded his long, fine hands and looked down at them as he spoke. "There are some vampires who think it is fun to make their victims fall in love with them, and you've seen how very easy it is for us to do that. But it is a singularly cruel form of seduction and betrayal that I have never indulged in. As I said, only strangers need fear my footfall behind them in the dark—if they hear it. When I came to your father, I had not the remotest intention of touching any of you."

  "Why did you come to us?"

  "In search of enlightenment. We are thinking creatures
, Charlotte, not mindless ones. Even your father admits that there is more in nature than science can explain. I wanted to learn everything I could, in the hopes I might discover something that would explain how such a being as a vampire can exist, and how the Crystal Ring—" he broke off, shaking his head, then held out one hand in the firelight. "This is not human flesh. What is it? How is it that we remain changeless?"

  Charlotte's eyes widened. "And have you found the answer?"

  "Not yet. Now, perhaps, I never will."

  "Were you—were you ever human?"

  "Yes, long ago… at the beginning of the last century."

  More than a hundred and twenty years… She could not grasp it. "But you can't be more than thirty at the most."

  "I was twenty-seven when I was taken. It is not a story I would relish telling. But before you ask, no, my victims do not become vampires themselves. There is far more to the transformation than that."

  "Thank God. I was thinking that Edward—"

  "Well, don't," he said firmly. "It's quite impossible. But we were talking of your father. I had heard of him before I came to England, of course. By chance I saw a photograph of your sister Fleur in a society paper and I… " he half-smiled. "I invited myself to her party in the hope of meeting him. All so easy, really. I wanted to approach him only because of his reputation as a great scientist; I had no interest in his family. But humans can be as enchanting to vampires as we are to them, and I was captivated by all of you—yet I was able to enjoy your company without harbouring any sinister intent towards you. Other vampires might not have remained so disinterested, but as I said, I do not generally feed on people to whom I have been introduced."

  He said it with acid self-mockery. She didn't know how to respond. "But you still needed to feed."

  "Yes, but I fed elsewhere," he said dismissively. "There was no need for me to harm you. I must admit that the continuing charm and compliance of one such as Madeleine can make it torture to resist my nature. Nevertheless, I am very well-practised in doing so."

  A vision hit Charlotte, of Karl moving through different places, different times, with women—and men—sighing after him wherever he went; and he simply passing by with the friendly insouciance that he had shown to Madeleine and Elizabeth. The image shook her.

  "Then I think you must have an absolutely unbelievable degree of willpower," Charlotte said sceptically.

  He smiled. "No. It is simply that avoidance of pain becomes an ingrained habit. Too easy to look at a beautiful woman and think of what might have been; but there is no point in desiring her companionship, and if I desire her blood it may destroy her… Do you see, it is the pointlessness of it that makes it no trouble at all to be detached?"

  "It sounds lonely," she said.

  "Yes. It can be. It is very rare that I am emotionally drawn to a mortal. I don't allow it to happen. But when I met you, Charlotte, I saw something within you that went straight through those defences like light. I can't define it, and you are obviously unaware that you have this power."

  "But why me?" She still only half-believe him. "Madeleine's prettier than me, she's confident, she—"

  "Charlotte, I have never known anyone who undeservedly has so little self-regard. Do you think I cannot see beneath the surface? She and Elizabeth are like streams, sparkling but without depth. They were trying very hard to hold my attention, but I have seen that bright and transient charm so often; it's enchanting and forgotten in an instant. Yet you held my attention without trying. If I try to analyse why… You were all nervous, unselfconscious beauty, like a gazelle. Your demeanour said, 'I am nothing, please pass me by'—and that may be all some people see in you—but your eyes were telling me something quite different. There was such intelligence there, restlessness, this strange mixture of cynicism and passion. Most humans are as transparent as day to me—but you were a mystery, and still are."

  "It sounds as if you couldn't resist a challenge," she said.

  Karl laughed softly. "I was right about the cynicism, at least. But you are unjust. God, if you could only see yourself with my eyes! You are as enthralling to me as a vampire can be to a mortal; glowing with life like a golden light, filled with love, fear, hope—every precious human emotion. I saw in you someone who could have been a soulmate—if only circumstances had been different."

  Her throat closed up. She could hardly breathe. He went on, "Yet I did manage to control my feelings and be only a friend to you—until you sang that song of the Doppelgänger. A song of appalling loneliness, of searching endlessly for someone who is no longer there… and it made the gulf between what you are and what I am, mortal and immortal, unbearable. I wanted to pretend it did not exist. To close the gulf, just for a little time… " His voice became quieter and quieter as he spoke.

  "I was always aware of that distance between us, but I didn't know what it was," she said.

  "Don't think I am blaming you; I should still have controlled my feelings, but I let passion and delusion take over—even knowing the effect it would have on you. I did not mean to act cruelly. I simply discovered that it is possible to live for years and years thinking that you are in control and that nothing can hurt you because nothing matters. And then something happens to make you realise that for all that time you were completely desperate… and the desperation will not be denied."

  "But that's exactly what happened to me!"

  "I know. That's what makes this even more cruel. I am capable of love, Charlotte, though of unhuman and ungentle intensity."

  "But you said you didn't love me."

  "No, I didn't say it. I tried to make you think it. There is a difference. Can you remember the nights we spent together, and still doubt what I feel for you?"

  Tears stung her eyes, but she would not let them fall. "I didn't doubt it at the time. Now I don't know what to think."

  "What I told you so harshly about vampire instinct is true. It may be hard for you to understand that it can also be an expression of love, yet it is; and I had to resist it, for your sake. Every desire I have felt or shown for you, Charlotte, has been born of tenderness."

  Her hand was on her throat, involuntarily fingering the skin. Her emotions were in complete confusion.

  "But every time I was alone with you I was in danger of being your… your… "

  "Victim," he finished for her. The word had a chilling edge to it. "Yes, the danger was there. But if I had taken advantage, how would it have availed? One moment of fulfilment that would have destroyed you… How could I have borne that? It was wrong of me ever to have placed you in such danger, but I averted it time and time again, because your life means everything to me."

  She looked up, stunned by the strength of feeling in his voice. His eyes were fixed unwaveringly on her; glowing, predatory. She felt strangled. What sort of passion was it that would leave her not dishonoured, nor regretful, nor with secret joyful memories—but dead? As she stared at him, another waking vision struck her: Karl wandering from one room to another in a great house like Parkland, desperately searching for her, finding all deserted. And he was weeping as he searched and she was a ghost watching him, calling his name but unable to make him see or hear her… He spoke. The vision ended. "I can't blame you for looking on me with horror. You see me now as I am, just as my victims realise what I am in that split-second before I strike. I can never hope for you to look on me with love again; nor have I any right to."

  The despair in his voice wrenched her heart. "If—if you had fed on me, I would have died—or gone mad?"

  "A careful vampire does not kill; but I wish it were only blood that we take, Charlotte. Our victims suffer mental derangement, which may take the form of irrational terrors, delusions or mania. Depending on the victim, the madness may last only a few days or it may be permanent. Sometimes I think that outright killing would be preferable."

  "But why does it happen?"

  "There are different theories. One is that having glimpsed the pit of darkness beneath the skin of
normal life, the victim never feels safe again. Perhaps you realise now that Madeleine was ill because Pierre had attacked her."

  Although she had suspected, hearing him say it still horrified her. "You knew all the time? But who is Pierre, why did he come to you?"

  "It's a long story. He came to deliver a message from another of our kind… the one I fought with last night. But Pierre is indiscreet and cruel; I had to stop him posing any more danger to your family and that was why David saw me feeding upon him. I weakened him, took him away. But as for Madeleine, I was distressed to see how she was suffering when I was the last person who could help. The way her attraction to me became an obsession was a symptom of it. I cannot guess what tortured thoughts were in her mind."

  "Will she get better?" Charlotte asked desperately.

  "She has a strong spirit. It is the imaginative ones who suffer the most. You realise, of course, that there is no way to explain this that makes it seem anything other than what it is: evil."

  It was several moments before she could speak, then her voice almost failed her. "When you said that people fall in love with you for the wrong reasons, is this what you meant?"

  He was no longer looking at her. His long, dark lashes were curved against his pale cheeks. ''Yes, this is precisely what I meant. They become infatuated with evil, and so meet destruction."

  "And—and what I felt for you, was it the same infatuation? Not real love at all?"

  "Ask yourself that, Charlotte!" His voice was sharp with pain. "How do I know? I have no right to expect genuine love of anyone. If either of us had hopes, it is all the same hopeless… I thought I had hardened myself against such feelings long ago, but now I find I was wrong. I would do anything to keep you with me but it's impossible. I can offer you nothing—not marriage, not children, not a normal life; nothing."

  "Those things have never had any meaning for me," she said. "I didn't ask anything of you except to be with you. The man I—I thought I loved; was he any different from this creature you say you are? I can't separate them. You sound the same and you look the same, and you say you really love me… "