Even Anne looked shocked. Perhaps more sad than disapproving, as if to say, "Oh, Charli, what have you done?"
As evenly as she could, Charlotte said, "I'm going away with Karl."
"Over my dead body," said David.
Karl said icily, "If it comes to that."
"There's no point in trying to stop us," said Charlotte. "Please don't be angry. I'm an adult, you can't make my decisions for me, even if you think I'm wrong!"
Her father said, "Don't worry, we won't try to stop you." He spoke in the tone of granite disapproval that she dreaded more than anything. He walked up to her and the look in his eyes shrivelled her. Utter hostility, as if she were a total stranger.
She started to say, "I'm sorry—"
"Damn your apologies!" he cried. "You can just pack your bags and leave! I don't want you under my roof a moment longer. I don't even know who you are."
* * *
Chapter Twenty
The Dark Birds and the Walking Dead
Years of habit had made it possible for Charlotte to leave the house—her home—with no trace of emotion in her face. Utterly callous, she must have seemed. But if she had said one word to anyone, she would have broken.
Now, in a taxi-cab that was taking her and Karl from Cambridge to London, she wept as if she would never stop.
"What will this do to Father? I can't be this cruel… After he lost Mother, and Fleur… "
Karl held her, not trying to soothe her. Understanding. "Ah, it is difficult, liebling" he said very gently. "And this is only the beginning."
"Nothing could be worse than this."
"I warned you there would be pain. But it is too late to turn back now."
The emotion subsided and she lay against him, drained, watching trees and houses sweep past in a blur. "Will you tell me what will happen?" she said at last, speaking too softly for the driver to hear. "Why must there be three of you to change me?"
"To move into the Crystal Ring takes a certain amount of energy," said Karl. "There seems to be a limit to the external objects we can take with us. The clothes we are wearing go with us—indeed, it would be very awkward if they did not—and in some way they seem to become part of our substance in the other realm. And small items, without great difficulty; money or a watch, for example. But the heavier the object, the more difficult it becomes to take it with us. If I tried to take a human into the Ring with me, I simply could not do it. But part of the transformation involves taking the human, on the very point of death, into the Ring. One vampire, even two vampires don't have sufficient strength; not even Kristian. There must be three of us, to feed enough of our energy into the mortal to take them over the threshold. I was told this, and I found it to be true when we transfigured Ilona."
"So I—I die, then you take me into the Ring—and I come back to life?"
"Yes. We feed the energy of the Ring into you, in place of your own."
"It doesn't sound so dreadful," she said, but she thought, He said it doesn't always work… and to die, actually to be facing death when there was no need, when if she chose she could just walk away and live, go back to her father…
Karl was asking the driver to stop. They were somewhere in Mayfair, but Charlotte was lost, the graceful houses all unfamiliar to her.
"We have a little way to walk," said Karl, as they stepped out onto the pavement. "If your brother should have some idea of finding out where we went, I don't want the driver to know the precise address."
The cab pulled away, and they walked along the tree-lined street between the tall Georgian villas. The evening sky was creamy-grey and a cool breeze tugged at the leaves. Washes of gold bloomed and faded as the sun tried to break through; a cart went past, the metallic echo of the horse's hooves startling in the quietness. They walked for five minutes before Karl turned and ascended a flight of steps to a house.
"This is where Stefan and Niklas live, when they are in London," he said.
There was a slight look of dilapidation to the house, the white paint turning grey, plaster flaking off the columns. The panelled front door stood open, revealing an inner door inset with stained glass. There was a row of doorbells on the wall, each with a nameplate beside it. The bottom nameplate, Flat 5, was blank.
Charlotte stopped in the porch, suddenly overwhelmed by a dread that rushed up straight from her childhood.
"Don't be afraid," said Karl.
"I can't help it. When—when I was very small, Father had to take me to hospital to have my tonsils out. It sounds trivial but it was the most terrifying thing that ever happened to me." The impressions came back with hideous sharpness; a small child's uncomprehending terror at the naked walls and alien chemical smells, the sense of being abandoned to an horrific doom. The ether, the pain and blood; worst of all, the knowledge that even her father could not protect her from it. When she tried to imagine what David and Edward had gone through during the War, that was the sensation that came to mind. Everything that had been safe—ripped away. "I've got that feeling again."
"I know," said Karl. His hands were gentle on her shoulders. "But a little child has no choice. You have. No one will force you into this; you can have as much time to think as you need."
She took a breath so deep that her chest ached. "No. I've made up my mind. I'm all right."
They entered a black- and white-tiled hall with a wide staircase curving round the walls. With his arm around her, Karl took her up the stairs to the top floor, obviously having been here before. She had a brief impression of him as a faceless official, taking her to the gallows for some unnamed crime. Apprehension set solid in her bones as Karl knocked on the door of Flat 5.
"It's so eerie, to think of vampires living here among ordinary people," she said softly.
"Well, we are not such ethereal beings," said Karl. "We need somewhere to leave our belongings, to be alone. And Stefan always liked to entertain a great deal."
Parties for victims? she thought.
The door opened and Stefan stood on the threshold; a gold and ivory angel dressed in eighteenth century clothes, a frock coat and breeches of blue satin, white stockings, buckled shoes. He was smiling, not looking at all surprised to see them. He said, "I was wondering how long it would take you to come to us. I thought you would have arrived yesterday!"
And Karl's first words were, "Why is Pierre here?"
Another lurch in her stomach. How does he know? But of course, Karl always senses other vampires…
"Don't worry, my friend," said Stefan. "It's for a reason. Come in and I'll explain. Miss Neville, you are very welcome; it is so delightful to see you."
Stefan took her hand and kissed it. He seemed so charming, so genuinely pleased to see her, that she forgot her fear for a moment and smiled back. As he led her into the hallway, she saw Niklas standing to one side of the door. She almost jumped out of her skin at the sight of him. Dressed identically, he mirrored Stefan's stance. The only physical difference between them was the colour of their eyes; Stefan's cornflower-blue, Niklas's watered gold, unnervingly blank.
Shivers went through her at the memory of the doppelgänger.
"Come into our parlour," Stefan said with a theatrical flourish. "I don't blame you for being so nervous, Charlotte; I would be too, in your place."
"Is it so obvious?" she said uneasily.
The flat was lavishly decorated with Persian carpets, chandeliers, shining Italian furniture. On a striped-silk chaise-longue sat Pierre, dressed in ordinary clothes, just as Charlotte remembered him; insolence and mockery, even in the casual way he sat. For some reason the sight of him almost jarred her into changing her mind. He paused just a second or two, looking her over, before bounding to his feet and taking her hand. "Ma chère Ophelia, I am so very sorry to see you are still insane enough to run away with this fiend… " He turned to Karl, embraced him and bestowed kisses on him. Karl received the embrace solemnly, with a kind of sad affection.
Charlotte looked questioningly at Karl, dismayed
that Pierre was here and deeply suspicious of him. But Karl shook his head as if to quiet her. He said, "We have come to ask your help, Stefan."
"So I guessed. You want to bring Charlotte into the Crystal Ring; of course. I only marvel that it has taken you so long to decide."
Karl smiled. "You seem to know my mind better than I do. I am impressed."
"You shouldn't be," said Stefan, shrugging. "It has been blazingly obviously since the first moment I saw Charlotte that she is perfect."
"It will be a complete disaster," said Pierre, flopping back onto the chaise-longue. His words sent a pang of dread through her.
"You understand," said Karl, "that I am doing this without Kristian's permission or knowledge."
"Naturally." The blond vampire grinned. "If he approved, you'd change your mind."
Karl did not respond to Stefan's irony. "I ask your help on the understanding that you do not tell him. The fewer people who know, the better; I would rather you had not let Pierre in on the secret, but—"
"I appreciate your good faith!" said Pierre.
"He is here to help us," said Stefan. "You know that there must be three of us."
Charlotte said, "But I thought Niklas… "
"Niklas… he cannot take part in the process," Stefan said with a trace of sorrow. "He would not understand what was required of him, you see."
"Ah." Karl nodded. "I suspected as much. So you've agreed, Pierre?"
"Yes, I drew the short straw," said Pierre.
"Why?"
"Your trust in me is positively touching. You and Stefan can always twist me around your fingers—and so can Ophelia, for that matter. I just couldn't say no."
"The trouble is, you can't say no to Kristian, either," Karl said grimly. "I trust you not to tell him; but we know he will find out eventually. When he does, we may all be in danger. Knowing this, why do you want to help me?"
Neither Pierre nor Stefan replied. Stefan touched Karl's arm and they simply looked at each other. Charlotte sensed something unspoken passing between them, unfathomable but strong.
It struck Charlotte then, hard, that she was alone with four of these beings. She felt encircled by their pale, deadly beauty. She looked out of the window at roofs and treetops, trying to anchor herself to the real world; but it was no good. The mythical otherworld was crystallising around her, entombing her in a sphere of glass.
Frightening, yes, but also perfectly wonderful and astonishing.
Then Karl said, "Is there a room where Charlotte can rest for a while?"
"Of course," said Stefan, indicating a door. "Through there." As Karl went to the door with her she whispered, "I still don't trust Pierre."
But she had forgotten the acuteness of vampire hearing. "Should I be offended?" Pierre's voice was as brittle as the light glittering on the chandeliers. "In fact you are very sensible. Never trust a vampire, Ophelia."
"Stop it, Pierre," Karl said quietly. "Don't make it worse for her."
But Pierre stood up, came to her and fixed her with his large, cold blue eyes. "It is not so terrible. It is like jumping out of an aeroplane; once you are over the biggest step it is all terribly easy."
"The biggest step?"
"Dying."
***
Karl left Charlotte on her own in the bedroom, which was in the same rich, delicate style as the drawing room. She was grateful for his perceptiveness in guessing that she needed some time to prepare herself. She couldn't hear their voices. The atmosphere was so still that she almost panicked for a moment, thinking they had left.
Calming herself, she sat a dressing table and looked at her reflection in the mirror; her brown cloche had pulled low over her forehead, wisps of crinkled wheat-gold hair escaping from under the brim. Eyes large with anxiety, the heavy lids darkened with tiredness. Mouth solemn, deeply coloured because she had unconsciously been biting her lip. How different will I look after… ?
She opened the one small suitcase she had brought and took out the photograph of her mother. She looked at the tinted sepia for a long time. "Tell me what to do," Charlotte breathed. Was it wrong to invoke a ghost? Nowhere near as bad as the destiny she planned. "Oh, mother, is this really so evil? A word from you, and I'll go home… Just a word of guidance. Help me… "
She felt soft hands on her hair, so vividly that she jerked her head up and stared into the looking-glass. It was her own reflection she saw there yet there seemed to be another face looking over her shoulder, identical to hers.
"You are no angel, Charlotte," said the soft voice in her head. "You are like me; selfish, wild, beyond human convention."
"You weren't like that, Mother," she whispered. "They all spoke of you as if you were a saint."
"All pretence. Nobody knew what was inside me, least of all your father. And the hiding of my true self killed me."
"No, I don't believe you!" Charlotte exclaimed out loud.
"Don't make the same mistake. Don't let their love destroy you with guilt. Listen to your own voice… "
The ghost—if she had ever truly been there—was gone. And Charlotte thought, Will I still see you if I change? Mother, you didn't let me say goodbye!
"Charlotte, is anything wrong?" said a voice in the doorway. Karl came in and leaned on the edge of the dressing table, looking at her in concern. "I heard you cry out."
"I thought I saw my mother," she said, embarrassed. "She said the most extraordinary thing."
"What was it?" said Karl, his eyes intent under the dark curves of his eyebrows. He was all flame and shadow, mesmerising. And never, ever, did he make her feel she was being foolish.
"She said, 'The hiding of my true self killed me. Don't make the same mistake.' What did she mean? It's as if she was someone my father never knew!"
"He probably did not, any more than he knows you," said Karl, taking her hand.
"But I need to know… Is it only my mind recreating her, or does her ghost have any kind of existence independent of me, which would make her… immortal?"
"I wish I could answer you."
Looking to him for reassurance, she whispered, "I cannot imagine how it feels to know you will live forever."
"Completely terrifying," Karl said frankly. "Because I don't know what it means any more than you do. The Church taught me that if I sinned a little I would go to purgatory, if a lot I would go to hell. Whether or not I deny God, such ideas are too ingrained to be altogether discarded. When I recovered after Kristian had healed me, and realised what he had done, I was not glad. I was in despair. All I could think was, 'If I cannot die, then there's no respite, no mercy!' It seemed to me that the punishment for evil is hell, and that in becoming vampires we enter hell forever, with no escape. Do you see? The sin and the punishment are concurrent."
Charlotte could not speak for a few moments. She was finding it hard to get her breath. "I have to tell you, Karl," she said, "you are not helping."
"It would be dishonest of me to try. You are not someone who can accept comfort readily; always you are pressing for the truth, not platitudes." He lowered his head, mahogany-dark hair shadowing his forehead. "All the same, there's no need for me to make this harder. Forgive me."
"Anything," she said, pressing his hand to her face. How cold his fingers were.
"This is far worse for you than it was for me, because I was given no chance to anticipate or doubt; I didn't even know what was happening until it was too late. And I told Ilona nothing, you see. Now I overcompensate."
"No," said Charlotte. "I'm glad. The worse you make it sound, the better I am able to face it. I doubt that any vampire could tell me how it feels to live forever, could they? The sun itself will die; not for millions of years, but who can visualise living that long?"
"Perhaps we are dying, very much more slowly than humans. It was something I hoped I might find out when I came to your father, but maybe it is better not to know."
"Science predicts that the universe itself can have only one end," she said. "Disorder wil
l increase until all its substance is at the same temperature and its energy is evenly distributed as radiation."
"The dissolution of the universe is as unpleasant a thought as the dissolution of one's own personality," said Karl.
"I've often felt I wouldn't mind it so much," Charlotte said thoughtfully. "When it seemed too much of a burden to be this feeling, walking thing, expected to act and react all the time… how wonderful, just to dissolve."
"To die?" said Karl.
"I don't think so… No, to be somehow part of the wind, still aware, but without emotion. Just to observe without feeling any pain."
"Or pleasure."
"Pleasure brings pain too, doesn't it?" she said sharply. "Then there are scientists who think radiation might turn back into matter and create a new universe… but I don't believe it. It's against the second law of thermodynamics, as my father said. So what does 'immortality' mean?"
"But your father also said that there is more in nature than science can define. Can the Crystal Ring exist after the known universe is gone, some transcendental dimension like heaven? No one can answer that; but then, philosophers cannot even explain the world around us. When I asked your father where he thought the universe came from in the first place, he said that we can't know, any more than figures in a painting can see the painter outside the canvas."
"And the painter is God, of course." Charlotte smiled. "I think he believes it."
"Don't you, any more?"
"I don't know. I think God's forsaken me, hasn't He?"
"You're trembling," said Karl.
"When will it be?"
"Now, if you like. We are ready."
Although Charlotte had thought she was ready, his words sent renewed spasms of dread through her. Yet she fought the fear so hard it was almost exhilarating. "Yes, why not?" she said, standing up. She took off her coat; Karl removed her hat tenderly, unpinned her hair and shook it loose. "But give me a moment," she said. "Hold me."
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