A Dance in Blood Velvet

by Freda Warrington

  Rest, the doctor said. You have worked too hard and you are anaemic.

  Violette could not rest. The permanent soreness of her back meant she slept badly at the best of times. Now, when she dozed, she had nightmares; but if she stayed awake, the fearful visions came anyway. Her three shadow-companions were growing taller, more solid and oppressive as they leaned over her, soundlessly whispering...

  In this fatal slippage of reality, she became obsessed with the colour black. Such a beautiful non-colour. So rich, so uncompromisingly stark. Black, black. Jet and flowing feathers glossed by the light... naked skin gleaming through lace... net dewed with beads... a figure veiled from head to foot in a black shroud... and a huge ebony serpent with glittering scales, hiding in every scrap of shadow, rearing over her bed in the dead of night...

  These images haunted Violette without mercy. Charlotte has done this to me, she thought. When she bit my neck, she opened a door in my mind that should have stayed closed. She sucked from me the strength I needed to keep the door locked.

  It didn’t occur to Violette that she was no longer sane. No one around her noticed, either. She’d never allowed her colleagues to see her inner self; no one dared try to penetrate her aloof shield. They still saw her as she’d always been: brilliant, self-sufficient, an obsessive perfectionist.

  Violette could keep the demons at bay only by working. She danced until the ache of her muscles counterbalanced the pain in her joints, until exhilaration carried her beyond pain. Yet rehearsals grew harder each day. Not that she didn’t want to perform... only that Swan Lake had begun to seem hollow. White swans, magic... she began to consider putting another ballerina in the role of Odette. Violette found she was interested only in dancing Odile, the evil sorcerer’s daughter.

  Traditionally, the same ballerina danced both characters, good and bad. It would be unconventional to split the roles, but...

  Violette stood in the costume store, in the drear glimmer of a single light bulb. Three o’clock in the morning, and the building was deathly quiet. Her spine was a solid column of fire, each disc of cartilage swollen, red-hot. She’d been almost in tears, but now she rose above the pain as if it belonged to someone else. She stood stroking Odile’s costume; stiff tulle, satin and beads... as black as night, gorgeous ebony, with sequins flashing red and purple, like snake scales, to indicate her sorcerous, serpentine nature... Hidden, forbidden, wicked.

  The three were here, lurking behind costume racks and wardrobes; silhouettes with round blind heads, like monks, like phalluses. She imagined their accusing words, You fell, Violette. You let her touch and invade you, and you wanted her. No good protesting afterwards, after your lust was sated. No good being horrified that she took your blood; you were the one who invited the lamia onto your couch. You unleashed your own depravity. Now you must play out the rest of your story. All of it.

  Violette felt no fear, only cool acceptance. The demons weren’t real; her mind was playing tricks with tailor’s dummies in the darkness. She went on stroking the rich raven gloss of the costume and a thought came to her.

  A ballet just for Odile...

  The idea germinated and began to branch, transmuting fluidly as images flowed one after another through her mind. A new ballet! Her heart was pounding as darkness folded over her like thorns on bare skin. She had no defences. She became the idea’s avatar.

  She saw the work as a whole; every scene, every dance. Now this... now that. Yes. A ballet of the greatest tragedy ever to befall mankind... told from the other side. The Serpent’s side.

  Unblinking, Violette left the storeroom and walked upstairs, dazzled by her personal vision. In a few hours her dancers would wake, her set designers and musicians present themselves to her... and for those few hours she would not sleep. She needed all the ideas at her fingertips, ready to break the news: “Swan Lake is cancelled. Today we start work on a brand new ballet.”

  * * *

  Benedict had been alone for hours. The cottage was silent; he heard nothing outside, no birds singing, not even the friendly rattle of the milk cart. He felt as if a blanket lay over the house, compressing his whole world to the murky gloom of the attic. Inside, the vampires lay like heaps of dust and cobwebs. Sometimes one would twitch frantically and groan, then fall back into dormancy; but their thirst, anguish and malevolence struck him in constant waves.

  Ben, too, was thirsty and hungry. He was desperate to relieve his bladder, and his legs were numb. But he dared not relax his attention for a second.

  A knock at the front door hit him like a shell-burst. Who the hell-? Must be Mrs Potter. He imagined her waiting, tutting, walking away.

  But where were Andreas and Holly? What the hell was keeping them? Although he didn’t want Holly to walk into this, he wished with all his heart she was there.

  But she betrayed me. She’s probably gone back to Lancelyn. And Andreas... impotent rage dragged talons through him. No, Lancelyn can’t have taken everything from me! And yet the idea held weight, and grew. The whole ghastly situation began to seem like a plot, manipulated by Lancelyn all along...

  No, this is paranoia.

  The day passed. Ben was forced to urinate where he sat. His mouth was dry and sticky, his head ached. Tormentingly, the telephone rang for an age. When it stopped, the silence shrieked in his ears.

  Darkness fell again. Discipline sustained him and would do so for perhaps another night and day... but what then?

  The hollow eyes in the darkness seemed to speak. Come to us, nourish us with your life-blood. It will happen eventually, so why not give in now?

  “No!” said Ben, forcing himself to draw his fraying strands of power together. Get thee behind me...

  Then he heard a sound downstairs. A soft tap that might have been the cottage creaking.

  “Andreas?” he called.

  The faint sound came again. Someone was moving in the hall... and then he heard the rhythmic whisper of feet climbing the stairs.

  “Holly, is that you?”

  No reply. Soft and insistent, the footsteps came on.

  * * *

  Karl and Katerina travelled the Crystal Ring together, two dark scraps working their way across the vast, steel-blue flank of a mountain. The skyscape was wild, cloud-hills billowing like sails. Karl detached himself from sad thoughts of Charlotte and turned his energy to the present... but the sense of loss remained.

  “You know what you should have done, of course,” said the creature of lacy darkness that was Katerina. “You were too soft with Charlotte. You should have ignored her words, seized and kissed her, bitten her, dragged her into bed. She would have forgotten Violette soon enough.”

  “I expect you are right,” Karl said wearily. He’d wanted to do exactly that, and now wished he had - too late.

  “I’m always right. It’s what she wanted; did you need her to spell it out? Sometimes words are a waste of time.”

  “Should I have made things easier for her? I try to warn her against mistakes, but I can’t prevent her from making them. Protecting her from the consequences will not help her.”

  Katti looked at him with dark, unhuman eyes; an aurora drifted in fiery veils behind her filigree false-wings. “I take it back, mein Schatz: perhaps you weren’t too kind, but too hard on her.”

  Karl had no more to say.

  They climbed to the peak and paused there. The mountain’s substance, no denser than blood, only just bore their rarefied bodies. Golden clouds crashed around them like waves, sifting down the pleated sides... down into the night-violet abyss below. Karl took Katerina’s hand. They launched themselves into thin air, and fell.

  The descent was exhilarating. Karl closed his eyes, almost in a trance... then Katerina suddenly released his hand and said, “Karl, the pull is there again! Can you feel it?”

  She was drifting away from him, silhouetted against the deep blue chasm. Karl swooped down to reach her. Not safe to lose contact. As he caught her, he felt the entire Crystal Ring shiver. Alarm
ing sensation, as if they were goldfish in a bowl, and a cat had struck their world with a paw...

  She clung to him. “It’s dragging me downwards. I can’t fight it. Karl, help me.”

  For some reason Katti was more strongly affected, the current trying to snatch her from his grip.

  “But this is what we came for,” he said. “Let us go with it. Don’t be afraid, Katti, I won’t let you go.”

  “It’s coming up from Earth. I’ve felt it before, but never so powerful...”

  “Don’t fight now,” Karl said softly. “We must follow the current to its source. Close your eyes and float.”

  Her eyes flickered, betraying anxiety, then fell shut. Her darkly angelic form went limp; Karl curled his fingers lightly around her arm, letting her guide him. She drifted northwards, reeled in by an invisible line.

  Now Karl heard eerie sounds... a faint echo of voices chanting. He thought, If this dimension is the massed psyche of mankind, could they deliberately change or influence it with their thoughts?

  The pull was strong now. Frightening sensation, like being drawn into a vacuum left by turbulent air. Rainbow lines of magnetism, more stable than the cloudlike terrain, helped him to keep his bearings. Katti was being drawn towards England, descending in a vast, inexorable curve.

  But this is fascinating, Karl thought. What is this power? Is Katti more affected than me because she woke so recently from the Weisskalt?

  They were moving across England now, or at least the Ring’s distorted version of the land. Descending fast, Karl saw the lowest level of the Ring as a cloudy forest, deep in purple twilight.

  Katerina gasped. “Don’t let me go, I can’t stop!”

  She was almost torn from his hands, but he stayed with her. Light faded from violet to near-blackness. Now they were accelerating out of control through blurred shadows, sucked fiercely into a dark funnel towards the ground. A hard sloping surface like a roof rushed to meet them -

  A new sense of peril hit Karl, almost too late. He held Katti’s arms, resisted the pull with all his strength and swerved aside. All was confusion; he couldn’t tell which realm they were in. They tumbled over and over and came to rest in darkness.

  Karl became aware of grass beneath him, a mass of foliage above, the cool clean scents of early summer. The real world felt comfortingly solid, enfolding them in the sweet balm of night.

  He grasped Katerina’s arms and helped her to her feet. They were in human shape again, ethereal wings changed back to plain dark coats.

  “Katti, are you all right?” he said.

  “Yes,” she said. “Only shaken. What happened?”

  “We were torn out of the Crystal Ring and thrown down here. We’re in England, although I’m not sure where.”

  Katerina looked up, smoothing her hair. “Someone’s garden, evidently. Did we nearly crash through their roof? That was a neatly avoided disaster.”

  “By a miracle,” said Karl. He saw shrubs and trees, lavender bushes, drifts of late spring flowers, lawns and rose beds surrounding a slate-roofed cottage. “Did the call emanate from here?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Katerina. “It happened so swiftly at the end. Dreadful sensation - if I discover who did this to me -”

  “If the summons came from a human...” He spoke softly. “How is that possible?”

  Katti put her arms around him and they stood holding each other. Listening. Clematis and roses stirred in a breeze; a mouse scuffled in the undergrowth. Beyond the cottage, a motor car sputtered along a street. Then silence. Karl extended his senses to the interior of the dwelling, trying to gauge who was inside. He discerned a little cloud of warmth amid shards of ice...

  “There is a human inside,” he said. “And several vampires.”

  She gripped his arm and said quickly, “I know, I feel them, but hush... There’s another one, further away.”

  Karl raised his head. He felt a splinter of quartz touch his mind... familiar, but too distant to identify. “Katti, wait.”

  “No.” She drew him across the garden, brushing past damp shrubs. “We find that other vampire first, then we come back here. Don’t argue with me.”

  Karl acquiesced, trusting her instinct. They passed along the side of the cottage, along a narrow street to the centre of a small, ancient market town. As Katti drew him across the road to a lane on the far side, he felt the other vampire’s presence growing sharper. Georgian houses, a handsome church and tall shadowy trees in the churchyard gleamed with detailed richness in Karl’s eyes.

  “Hurry, Karl, while he’s still there!” Katti breathed, clutching his arm. Her eyes were bright with excitement.

  “We don’t know who it is. It could be anyone,” he said steadily, not wanting her to be disappointed. She didn’t answer, only rushed through the churchyard as if towards a beacon.

  Beyond, a footpath brought them to a ruined castle. They climbed a low wall and stepped onto an undulating bowl of grass, emerald blades sparkling with tiny diamonds. High castle walls, a shell, stood dark against the glowing night. A sharp crescent moon cast light onto the black hair and white face of a vampire.

  The vampire, however, was lying flat on the ground as if injured. Katti ran to him, reaching him before Karl. She lifted the thin dark form in her arms and turned his face to the moonlight.

  “Oh, Karl, it’s him!”

  Karl fell to his knees. He’d felt nothing but suddenly he was weeping as he touched the white hands, stroked the deathly pale cheeks and curly hair. The long, green eyes half-opened and Andreas said drowsily in German, “Where the hell have you been?” Then the revelation hit him and he struggled to sit up, clawing at Karl’s coat. “Or are we all in hell? Karl, is it really you? Speak to me. Katti?”

  “It’s us, Andrei.” Katerina was laughing and crying. “Darling, you’re safe, we’re with you. But what are you doing here? What happened to you?”

  Together, they helped Andreas sit up. He was cold, weak and disorientated, as if he’d been attacked. Karl thought, But he’s alive! They gathered him in their arms and there was a long, poised moment in which they held each other in pure rapture.

  Andreas wept. A hundred questions, a thousand answers. They spoke in a rapid stream, giving only half-explanations, understanding each other without words. All the years they had lost were swept away, while the horned moon rose gradually above the castle ruins.

  “I was attacked,” Andreas said. “Some devilish vampires leapt on me and drained me... I don’t know how I came here. I remember crawling from the house, starving, in torment. I fed on some boy in the street but it wasn’t enough. I fell and I couldn’t move.”

  “Hush,” said Katti. She pressed her wrist to Andrei’s mouth and he drank, eyes closed, an expression of relief on his pallid, delicate face.

  Karl simply stared at him. He thought he’d seen everything, that there was nothing left that could shock him, but this was a miracle he could not grasp. He hadn’t seen Andreas for forty years, yet here he was, perfect. More stunning than Katti’s rebirth because he hadn’t witnessed the stages... And vaguely horrific. He felt as a human might on discovering a long-dead relative alive again, unaged. Then Karl thought of his own human family, how aghast they would have been if they’d ever discovered he was a vampire. Thank God they never knew. Only Ilona knew, and look what has happened to her...

  He came back to the present and watched Katti, cradling Andrei as he fed. Karl touched her pinioned arm. “Don’t give him too much.”

  Katerina freed her wrist. Andreas fought for a moment, lunging with fangs extended. Then his head fell back and he sighed as blood coloured his cheeks.

  “If you need more, we’ll find you someone else,” Katerina said softly.

  “No. I must go back.” Lifting his head, he tried to stand; Karl and Katti helped him. They stood in a circle, embracing each other; together again, outside time. Lips on each others’ skin. Exchanging the miracle without speech.

  “These vampires that attacked
you,” Karl said at last, “where are they now?”

  “I don’t know. They were not like us... don’t ask me this now.”

  “But where are you going?”

  “I have much to tell you.” Andreas’s lips thinned in a smile. “Come and meet my friend Benedict.”

  * * *

  The footsteps seemed to approach from a vast distance. Ben’s control was loosening. His shirt clung to him with sweat, an unvoiced scream clawed up his throat, but he must hold himself together.

  The intruder was reaching the first landing... crossing it... now mounting towards the attic.

  I mustn’t take my eyes off the vampires, he told himself. He called aloud, “Andreas, for heaven’s sake, say something!”

  Mustn’t look, but I can’t help myself...

  Ben turned, and almost leapt out of his skin. A stranger gazed down at him. A tall man, dark overcoat unfastened and swathing his lean form like a cloak. A mass of glossy hair shadowing a face of incredible beauty, expressive eyes under dark eyebrows... Astonishing eyes like auburn jewels; tranquil, questioning, contemptuous, all at once. Obviously a vampire.

  Benedict was riveted. While his attention was on the stranger, one of the attic creatures leapt for the doorway.

  Ben saw it from the corner of his eye, felt a sword-thrust of despair. Nothing he could do. He flung up his arms - but the pale form went straight over him and hurled itself onto the stranger.

  Benedict stared, petrified. The succubus was tearing at the stranger’s collar, straining to attach itself to his throat with open jaws; but the stranger seized its arms, forcing it away. His calm face was suddenly feral.

  Now he gripped the creature’s head, wrenching it to one side. There was a horrible grinding noise, then the snap of its neck breaking as he exposed its throat... lowering his own mouth and biting savagely... but the creature was ashen grey. No blood left. The stranger flung the bony husk with such force that it went clean over Ben’s head, crashed through one of the remaining temple panels and collided with the rafters on the far side.

  The beings in the attic retreated, groaning.