A Dance in Blood Velvet

by Freda Warrington

“There was never any plan, believe me.” If I’d made a plan, Charlotte thought, it would have been for Karl and me to stay together... And how on Earth can I expect him to help me now? But he must!

  “No cure, either,” said Violette.

  “No guarantee; only trust me, and don’t worry.”

  “You ask the impossible.”

  Charlotte let her power shine from her eyes to Violette’s soul, simply to tranquillise her and numb her pain. And Violette -perhaps because she guessed what Charlotte meant and dared not consider the implications - was receptive for once.

  “Concentrate on the ballet, nothing else. My dearest, beautiful Violette. Forget the future. Dance.”

  “As if there’s no tomorrow,” Violette said softly.

  * * *

  As soon as they arrived in London, Charlotte went to see Stefan.

  The house in Mayfair looked just the same; a touch dilapidated, plaster flaking from the columns at the front door. The hall, with its black and white tiles and a staircase winding around the walls, was as impersonal as ever. How eerie it felt to be here. For this was where Karl had brought her to be transformed into a vampire.

  They’d visited Stefan and Niklas since, but the place never failed to awake echoes of thrilling fear. On the dreary landing of the top floor, she knocked at Flat 5. The door opened at once to reveal a glittering eighteenth-century palace.

  Framed against the splendour stood the blue-eyed Scandinavian angel Stefan, his arms open to welcome her. Charlotte walked into his embrace. How good it felt to hold him, how comforting. Over his shoulder she saw his twin, Niklas, watching impassively. She should be used to Niklas by now but he still disturbed her. He was Stefan’s perpetual, silent reflection.

  “Charlotte, how lovely to see you,” Stefan said warmly.

  “You always seem to know I’m coming,” she said.

  “Have you forgotten that I’m a vampire?” Stefan’s smile was warmly innocent. And Niklas echoed the smile, though his pale-gold eyes were empty. “I sensed you climbing the stairs. And before that, believe it or not, I looked out of the window and saw you walking along the street.” Then, unexpectedly, he kissed her on the lips like a lover.

  The gesture was so natural that Charlotte didn’t think of resisting. She opened her lips to the warmth of his mouth, and put her hand in his hair; and when the kiss ended, she didn’t feel remotely embarrassed.

  She thought of Josef, how easy it would have been... Such moments reminded her of how far she’d come from being human, when she would barely let anyone touch her.

  “Come in, come in,” he said. “Sad, isn’t it, that we poor creatures have to do without life’s basic courtesies. I can’t offer you a drink.”

  “Not from a glass, anyway,” she said. Stefan appreciated the joke.

  She took Niklas’s hand and kissed him on the cheek. Even if he had no true awareness of the world around him, she knew it pleased Stefan for his companion to be acknowledged. Then Stefan led her into the parlour, an array of shining Italian furniture, chandeliers and lush Persian carpets. She walked to the window. Stefan didn’t offer her a seat; he knew she felt at home, and would stand or sit as she wished.

  “What brings you here?” he asked.

  “The Ballet Janacek is in London.”

  “Ah. Swan Lake, of course.”

  She asked the question, the whole reason for her visit. “Have you seen Karl?”

  “Naturally. I saw him last week.” Stefan’s off-hand reply gave her a pang of envy. Karl only had to be absent for a few hours to be transformed in her mind into a creature of myth, infinitely desirable yet unobtainable... And this time they’d been apart for months.

  “How is he?” she said, too quickly. “Still with Katerina?”

  “It depends what you mean by ‘with’.” Stefan shook his head, gave her a chiding look. “They found Andreas; did you know?”

  “Yes. He wrote to me.”

  “And they found some crazed occultist who has summoned several of Kristian’s discarded vampires to him. He hasn’t told me much.”

  “I’m sure you know more than me,” said Charlotte.

  “Well, it’s very strange. Kristian dies, and the sleeping ones wake? Yet... we are all still alive and going about our business. What could be wrong?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “You look cold, Charlotte, like a human in a snowstorm, all huddled and shivering. What is it?”

  Charlotte made herself relax. “I must see Karl.”

  “You know where he is, surely?”

  “Yes, but... Stefan, this is so hard to explain. The way we parted was awful. I can’t bring myself to approach him. I was the one who told him to go, in the end.”

  “Ah. So now you can’t say, ‘Come back.’”

  She smiled ruefully. Stefan always made difficult situations easier, which made her feel guiltily grateful.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I will arrange something. Meanwhile, why don’t you forget all this, come and enjoy yourself? There’s a party in a few days’ time. It will be a lovely affair, fancy dress, a grand house.”

  “Where?”

  “Oh, not far. Kensington, I think. We were invited through friends of friends, you know.” He winked. “Niklas and I are still popular at the most fashionable parties, jazz clubs... everywhere.”

  Charlotte held herself steady against the sleet of memories. Long ago, when she’d first known Karl, Kristian had sent Stefan and Niklas to infiltrate her sister Fleur’s clique of friends. They had welcomed twin vampires like a new drug, cultured them as rare narcotic flowers that brought bliss and madness - without understanding the serpents they embraced. A kind of sickness. And it had ended in Fleur’s death at Ilona’s hands.

  Not so long ago, Charlotte thought. It seemed a century but was barely three years. Sometimes it shook her rigid to realise that she was part of this world now; that these deathly creatures who wreaked such havoc were her friends...

  “I don’t feel much like enjoying myself.”

  “That’s obvious; that’s precisely why you need to try. It will be delightful. Besides, you’ll be in costume; I’ll arrange that too. I can see you in a certain painting... oh, lovely.”

  “You’re too good to me.”

  “Why not? I’d do anything for you, Charlotte.” He spoke with a wry smile. This was the trouble with Stefan; she could never be sure he was serious. She paused, wondering whether to take up the challenge.

  “Anything? Would you help me... to make a vampire?”

  He blinked. So captivating, his sapphire eyes, hopelessly seductive to his victims, whom he would leave obsessively in love, mad - but rarely dead.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Stefan, if a mortal was seriously ill, and they were brought into the Crystal Ring, would they be cured - made perfect, as we are?”

  “That would depend on their strength. If they had the spirit, they’d be healed and become a flawless immortal. If they were very old or sick, the transformation would kill them. There are no half-measures.”

  She remembered Josef’s sister, and bowed her head. But Violette is fit and her will is like steel. She said, “The person is young and strong, but their joints are degenerating.”

  “They would have a very good chance,” said Stefan. “But who is it?”

  “Does it matter?” said Charlotte. “Don’t you trust me enough to know that I wouldn’t ask this lightly? It’s someone who will suffer unbearably if they stay human. I’m deadly serious, and I need your help.”

  “And you have it,” he said warmly. “But we need a third. You know Niklas can’t help; he lacks the power and understanding.”

  “Yes. That’s why I need to see Karl.”

  For a rare moment, Stefan looked serious. “Charlotte, ask someone else. Pierre, perhaps...”

  “No, not Pierre! We’ve never been friends, you know that. I won’t ask him for anything.”

  “Someone, else, then. Karl will never agree.”


  “It must be Karl.”

  Stefan gave her a look of affectionate resignation. “Well, you are the only one who could persuade him, after all.”

  “And you’ll ask him to meet me?”

  “Of course, as soon as possible. But never mind him. This party; all you need do is come here in the afternoon; I’ll dress you and we’ll go together. Think of the entrance we’ll make! You in the middle, with Niklas on your right hand and me on your left: three golden angels.”

  * * *

  When Swan Lake came to London, Karl went to the opening night.

  He went alone, without telling Katerina or anyone. He wanted to remind himself of Violette’s magic; to understand how she’d seduced Charlotte away from him. A deeper lure than beauty, he knew.

  More than anything, he wanted to see Charlotte.

  Karl entered the theatre only after the doors were shut, the house lights down. Then he slid through the Crystal Ring and took his aisle seat in the back row. He didn’t want Charlotte to see or sense him.

  As the orchestra played the overture, he thought briefly of Benedict and Lancelyn. At times Karl was sorely tempted to kill them both - that was how dangerous they seemed - to scatter the vampires, and bury the whole affair. Yet he couldn’t let go until he learned what lay behind it all.

  But forget this now, he told himself. Tonight, it does not matter.

  He could feel Charlotte somewhere in the theatre, a cool soft diamond touching his forehead.

  Although vampires could sense each other from a distance, some could make themselves all but invisible. His daughter Ilona was hard to perceive; she touched the mind as a sliver of clear glass rather than a reflective jewel. Perhaps she inherited that trait from Karl, for other vampires complained that they didn’t always know he was nearby. And now he hoped Charlotte would not notice him. What could be said, after their parting conversation? Their letters had conveyed nothing beyond fragments of information. They had both held back, giving nothing from the heart or soul.

  In the magnificent gloom, Karl suddenly saw Charlotte. She was in a box above the left side of the stage, alone. He saw her as the curtains opened, and stage lights brushed her profile with delicate silver. As the ballet began she leaned forward and the light slid over her bare shoulders and her hair, glittering on her bandeau and diamond choker. Her attention was completely on the stage. Whoever would guess she was not human?

  Swan Lake, as he expected, was wonderful; a lavish, romantic feast for the worshippers, everything it should be. And Violette, of course, was sublime. As Odette in white feathers she captured the audience’s heart; but to Karl’s preternatural eyes, it was only as Odile, the sorcerer’s daughter, that she truly came alive. Showing her true colour. The sleek black costume, throwing flashes of purple and crimson, was the vivid symbol of her soul; dark, pitiless, strangely desperate.

  Yet Karl watched without emotion. Violette Lenoir puzzled him, but failed to move him. He could not afford to let her touch his soul.

  When he looked at Charlotte... God, how far away she seems, he thought. Not even aware that I am watching her... once, she would have been aware of nothing else. Was this inevitable? Mein Gott, so easy to seduce humans; look at them a moment too long and they fall. So easy - so cruel - to let myself become the centre of Charlotte’s life, because I fooled myself that it could last. But to hold another vampire... to compete with the lure of a human like Violette... ah, that is something else entirely.

  The magnetism between human and vampire is sovereign because it is the ultimate relationship. Unthinkable, forbidden, therefore infinitely alluring. So, was I always to lose her, whatever happened? If she’d stayed human I would have lost her to death. Would that have been worse than this slow drifting away?

  No. Even if I am right, these ideas are not law... and there is no law that says I cannot fight them.

  Karl made to grip the velvet arm of the seat, and instead gripped the forearm of the woman sitting next to him. She started and gasped, indignant.

  “Forgive me, madam,” he whispered, releasing her. She was looking at him now, her frown becoming a wide-eyed stare as she took in his fine-boned face, dark hair, consuming eyes. Her lips parted and her eyes moistened.

  She was a bonny, handsome woman in her thirties, radiating good health. Plump with blood. The warmth of her filled his senses.

  One glance, and she was ready to do anything for him. Karl was usually slow to anger, but for some reason the ease of potential seduction made him furious.

  “That’s quite all right,” she said.

  “But it isn’t,” he said under his breath. He should have left then... but he did not. Violette wove her enchantment onstage and Charlotte watched raptly, but they were far away, a shining, blurred backdrop to this tiny drama in the darkness. Coolly he took the woman’s hand as if to kiss it, turning it over at the last second and pressing his lips to the inside of her wrist. Then, softly, he let his fangs slide out and stab through the skin.

  Her eyes bulged, but she didn’t make a sound or try to stop him. He held her gaze over the plump heel of her thumb. Then came the gorgeous rush of blood, and it was all he could do not to seize her bodily. Oh, God, the cruel wonder of it... They sat motionless, victim and vampire, her wrist at his lips. No one around them noticed a thing.

  Eventually the woman passed out, her head lolling as if in sleep. Karl folded her hand into her lap and quietly left. The ballet was almost over. Despite the blood filling him, he felt empty.

  He didn’t look back at the woman, nor wonder whether she would live or die. He’d wanted to punish the lie of vampire glamour, but in the end had only punished another innocent victim.

  Karl walked away from the theatre, his long legs carrying him swiftly through the crowded streets. The blood had sharpened his appetite, and although he didn’t want to hunt, he knew he must. He had no thoughts of Katerina or Benedict... The only image in his mind was Charlotte, glowing above him like the moon, oblivious to him, her amethyst eyes locked on a stranger.

  No, Karl thought. I will not let Violette Lenoir win.

  * * *

  The party had already begun as a taxi-cab brought Charlotte, Stefan and Niklas into the square. The house dominated a grand Georgian row, its windows sparkling white against pearl-grey walls. Music and laughter struck Charlotte’s sensitive ears like the chime of glass bells. A red carpet beneath a canopy led from kerb to front door, where two footmen stood ready to greet guests.

  As soon as she saw the house, Charlotte knew with dismay that she could not enter. She stopped, looking up at the long, shining windows.

  “What’s wrong?” said Stefan. His hand was through her left arm, while Niklas, mute, walked on her right. He’d dressed Charlotte as the “Lady of Shalott” from the painting by John William Waterhouse; she wore a simple medieval dress, close-fitting at the waist and elbows, flaring into a full skirt and long sleeves that touched the ground. Stefan and Niklas were twin knights in chainmail and white surcoats. The party’s theme, he’d told her, was simply “black and white”.

  “I’ve been here before. The hostess, who is she?”

  “Lady... oh, some ridiculous name.” Stefan took an invitation card from his pocket. “Lady Emerald Tremayne.”

  “Well, I can’t go in,” she whispered. Such painful memories...

  “Why not?” Stefan asked patiently.

  “Because I’ve met Lady Tremayne. She’s a society hostess, she knows my aunt. I came to one of those dreadful debutante parties here. God, how I hated them! She’s an awful snob who couldn’t stand me.”

  “Charlotte, my dear friend.” Stefan put his hands on her shoulders. “What are you saying? This is the human part of you speaking, but she’s dead and gone. You don’t have to be frightened of some harridan who terrified you in the past.”

  “But what if she recognises me? Or if other people here know me? There might even be members of my family...”

  He only smiled. “If they recognise you,
what does it matter? Tell them they’ve made a mistake. You can convince them of anything you like. Remember what you are!”

  Still Charlotte hung back. Then she made herself release the fear, shocked at how tense she was. “You’re right,” she said, exhaling. “What am I thinking?”

  “All you have to do is have fun,” he said. Then the three of them strode up the steps beneath the canopy and into the hard shine of light.

  Charlotte’s overwhelming impression was of silver and white. A grand entrance hall, a stairwell with a massive chandelier shedding rainbow glints. Some guests at the foot of the stairs were all in ivory and pearl, the only colour about them the flash of gems and the golden-pink of their flesh. Through double doors that gave onto a vast ballroom, Charlotte glimpsed Greeks, Egyptians and Romans in white silk and jewels. They resembled extras from an epic film more than genuine characters; not that it mattered. This was fun, a fashion show. The rich inside their little fortress were shielded against poverty and the endless rows of slums outside in the spinning darkness...

  “Charlotte!” said Stefan.

  She blinked. She’d turned dizzy; how unreal this felt, as fragile as spun sugar. “I’m sorry, I was miles away.”

  “You almost vanished into the Crystal Ring! Don’t do that in public, it’s very embarrassing.”

  She tightened her hold on his arm. “I don’t want to be here.”

  “Obviously, but you are. Come and be introduced like a good girl.”

  As Stefan had predicted, they made a wonderful entrance. Her magnolia-white dress was adorned with a long golden necklace, bands of gold embroidery around her upper arms. Her hair, autumn-coloured, flowed loose to her waist.

  “In the painting,” Stefan had said, “the tragic Lady drifting away in the boat is utterly unconscious of her own beauty. That’s why you are perfect to portray her, Charlotte.”

  He was right; even now, Charlotte had no idea that she looked breathtaking. She was aware of heads turning, but it seemed they were staring at Stefan and Niklas; her knights.

  A small, nervous young man in Greek costume came hurrying towards them; Stefan’s human friend, who had invited them. Victim, more than friend, Charlotte thought, seeing his pallor and the way his feverish eyes hung on Stefan and Niklas. Breathlessly he introduced them to Lady Tremayne as “Jan and Johann Kessler and their sister Eva.”