A Dance in Blood Velvet

by Freda Warrington

  “She’s probably safer here,” said Katerina. She rose and went to Ben; effortlessly maternal yet seductive, as she always was with men she liked. “We should call everyone together and explain. Some are asking questions. I’ve told them a little but I should warn you, they aren’t happy. They are not all sweet reasonable creatures who will do anything you ask.”

  “Thank you for the warning,” Ben said grimly, and left.

  Katerina walked to Karl but stopped an arm’s length from him, when normally she would have kissed him. She looked well-rested and rosy with stolen blood. Perhaps Karl’s paleness betrayed him; she seemed to know that all was not well between him and Charlotte.

  “My dear, what a surprise to see you,” she said in German. “After you vanished last night, I didn’t expect you back so soon. Didn’t you bring the errant waif with you?”

  “If you mean Charlotte, you can see she is not here,”

  “And I was so sure you were reconciled.”

  Andreas strode towards the door, his face a map of disgust. “Excuse me,” he said viciously. “I cannot listen to this.”

  He left the door open; Karl heard him running upstairs after Ben. “So, you’ve been giving Andreas a hard time?”

  Katerina faced him, quietly hostile. “About what? It’s nothing to us that you disappeared with her.”

  “Katti, there is no point in our quarrelling about this,” he said gently.

  “No point in even discussing it, I suppose.”

  “Not really.”

  She glared at him. Then her coldness dissolved into concern. “Karl, you look so worried. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spit poison at you the moment I saw you.”

  He enfolded her in his arms; her body felt different to Charlotte’s, taller and firmer, not as slender or deliciously rounded - but just as familiar and warm. He was thirsty and could easily have bitten the sweet flesh of her neck - but he resisted. “Forgive me. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world. You haven’t lost me. You never will, but Charlotte...”

  “Is your soulmate?” Katti said with a sour smile. “I understand.”

  “We had a difference of opinion, but it changes nothing. There is no force that could weaken our love for each other. I wish you would accept that.”

  He felt her breathe in and out against his shoulder.

  “Of course I accept it. I’ve been foolish; I was frightened. That’s what the Weisskalt does. We’ll always be close, Karl, whether we make love or not; what is sex anyway? Such a human weakness, when there’s so much else. I have nothing against Charlotte; I’m sure I’ll grow to love her, as I love Rachel. After all, I am a graceful loser. So, won’t you tell me what happened?”

  Karl shook his head. “There is no point,” he said wearily. “Katti, would you do something for me, please?”

  “If I can.” She detached herself from him, self-contained now.

  “What you said to Ben is true. If he tries to keep a nest of full-grown fledglings they will start killing each other. Once they’re able to enter the Crystal Ring again, he cannot hold them. So we must reach an agreement before any blood is shed. When we call them together, I’d like Stefan and Ilona to be here. Would you go and fetch them?”

  “Of course. What about Pierre?”

  “If you see him, but I don’t think he’s interested.”

  “And Charlotte?”

  He did not reply.

  “Karl,” she said chidingly. “She’s clearly hurt you and you don’t want me to say, ‘I told you so’. But it’s not for me to pass judgment on her.” She caressed his hair. “In the past you always told me everything. That hasn’t changed... has it?”

  He looked at her lovely face, and knew there was no point in keeping secrets. “Charlotte wants to bring Violette Lenoir into the Crystal Ring. I can’t stop her, but I won’t help her.”

  “Ah. But you can’t destroy Charlotte’s obsession by refusing. You might make it worse. Would it be easier to share her with another man than with a woman?”

  Karl smiled thinly. “You don’t realise, I share her with her victims all the time. Whether their relationship is friendly, or sexual, or one of vampire and enthralled victim, it doesn’t matter. In a way, it’s all one; for us, the boundaries hardly exist. I don’t mind her having friends, even other lovers, as long as they do not supplant me. But there’s something about Violette...”

  “What? I am intrigued, dear.”

  “Nothing I can put into words. I feel that Charlotte and Violette... will destroy each other.”

  Katerina looked thoughtful. “You could put a stop to their association.”

  “But I won’t.”

  “Nothing that would tar you with Kristian’s brush?”

  “No freedom without responsibility, Katti. She must do what she thinks is right, and bear the consequences.”

  “I’ll never understand you!” she said. “For one of the kindest, most passionate people I’ve ever met, Karl, you can also be the most ruthless, cold-hearted -”

  “Close the door on your way out,” said Karl.

  * * *

  Violette danced a glorious final performance of Swan Lake, unaware that this would be her last night as a mortal.

  Charlotte had to make a decision, but could not tell Violette. Asking her, discussing it at all, was out of the question; she knew the ballerina would refuse, and she dared not take the risk.

  “It must be that night,” she had told Stefan. “The company travels back to Salzburg the following day. I have to bring her to you while we’re still in London. If it’s going to happen, let it be as soon as possible.”

  “If you are sure you’re doing the right thing,” said Stefan.

  As the time came closer, Charlotte was racked by apprehension - but not indecision. “No, I’m not sure,” she said. “All I know is that I am going to do it.”

  “Well, you’ll be pleased to hear that Ilona is happy to help us.”

  “Good,” said Charlotte, then stopped to think. My God, it was Ilona who attacked Violette’s father! We can’t possibly - but no, there’s no reason for Violette to guess who she is. It will be all right.

  Stefan saw her expression. “Oh, not another objection, surely? I’m running out of immortals to ask!”

  “No,” she said quickly. “Ilona is ideal.”

  “I’ll make certain she is there on the night. All you have to worry about is Violette.”

  That, thought Charlotte, was worry enough.

  Superb as the last performance was, Charlotte could not enjoy it. Seeing Violette dance like a feather, despite her pain; to witness the audience’s adoration, the ocean of bouquets, the endless curtain calls, moved Charlotte to tears. Violette laughed and wept and looked genuinely happy. And Charlotte thought, What right have I to take her away from this? To change the course of her life, to decide that I know better than nature? Yes, I might make her immortal... but I may cause her death, or turn her away from dancing forever...

  What is this voice inside me that insists I must do this?

  Violette made a token appearance at the after-show party, seeming overwhelmed and embarrassed by the adulation showered on her. She drank too much champagne and left early - not with her usual poise, but hurriedly and in tears.

  Charlotte followed her back to the hotel - walking, while Violette went by car - and waited until she dismissed Geli. Then Charlotte entered softly, without knocking.

  She was trembling from head to foot, as nervous as any human. Only vampiric strength of will pushed her on. It is going to happen tonight, she told herself. Tonight.

  The suite was decked with white flowers and porcelain swans, gifts from well-wishers. The gorgeous scent of chrysanthemums filled the air. There was even a flower sculpture in the shape of a swan, a work of art, beside the chaise longue where Violette lay.

  The dancer, in the lavender georgette dress she’d worn to the party, was embowered by lilies, her lapis-lazuli eyes reflecting petals and leaves in perfect miniature. Seei
ng Charlotte, she smiled and raised a languid hand to greet her.

  “Are you in any pain?” Charlotte asked.

  “No, none. I feel wonderful.”

  A sudden rush of hope. “Is there any chance the doctors were wrong, that you’re getting better?”

  Foolish question; Violette didn’t know her fate hung on the answer. “Do you have to? I was happy until you mentioned it.”

  “I’m sorry. You were crying when you left the party.”

  Violette pursed her lips and gave a quick shake of her head. “It’s a dreadful responsibility, to be almost... worshipped. I try to tell them it isn’t just me, but my dancers and musicians, my set designers, everyone... but they won’t listen. I want to say, will you still love me when my joints are like footballs and I walk with a stick? I can’t accept it gracefully, being feted. Not like Pavlova.” She gazed down, brooding. “Their love made me cry. The audience, and the company. So wonderful. This evening has been perfect. One minute I’m crying and the next laughing; that’s why I’m here. I can’t cope with it.”

  Charlotte moved to a sideboard and uncorked a bottle of wine. “This is the price of genius, my dear friend.”

  Violette laughed. “I don’t deserve perfection, but who cares? I have it, apparently. Why not enjoy it? Bring me a glass of that wine, darling.”

  Charlotte had already poured a glass and added drops from a small bottle. She took it to Violette, but paused, twisting the stalk between her fingers.

  “Are you going to give me the glass or just stand there waving it over me?” said the dancer.

  Charlotte was finding it hard to behave like anything but a vampire. She forgot human niceties and spoke her thoughts. “Even if you weren’t ill, you would die anyway. It’s only a matter of time. You can’t dance forever.”

  Violette blinked, as if alarmed by her tone. “What’s the matter with you?” She sat up, putting a protective hand on her throat.

  Charlotte gave her the glass. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to upset you.”

  “You haven’t.” Violette swallowed half the wine and made a face. “Ugh, this tastes coarse after champagne. Never mind, it has the same effect. Didn’t you tell me to forget the future? Today, tomorrow, I can still dance. As soon as we reach Salzburg we’ll start something new. They want us to tour America again; there’s talk of South America, too, and even Australia. I wonder if I’ll ever go there?”

  She went on sipping. Charlotte sat beside her, watching. After a few minutes she said. “Of course you will. Everywhere. A new ballet - of your own?”

  “After Dans le Jardin? I don’t think so.”

  “But if you chose a less sensitive subject...”

  “Something frivolous, to suit the mood? Perhaps. Why should anyone be interested in my dark side -” Violette stopped, took a quick, deep breath.

  “What’s wrong?” Charlotte said softly, knowing.

  “I - I’m not sure. My chest feels heavy. The room’s going round.”

  “You drank the wine too fast. A walk in the fresh air will help.” She went to the wardrobe, found the drab coat and hat Violette wore when she did not want to be recognised.

  “Oh, I’m too tired, I can’t...”

  She didn’t resist as Charlotte raised her to her feet and dressed her. She staggered and blinked, confused. As they descended in the lift she leaned on Charlotte, giggling. Charlotte prayed she would not pass out in the lobby.

  She hurried Violette outside and into a taxi-cab. Only as the vehicle pulled away into the street did Violette seem to realise that something was amiss.

  “S’sn’t a walk. My head... feels like a lead weight on a rope, whirling,” she slurred. “Something in the wine.”

  “I told you, you drank it too fast.”

  “No. Not wine. Opium... you drugged me?”

  “Yes,” said Charlotte.

  As the cab took a corner, Violette fell heavily against her, unable to right herself.

  “Why?”

  Charlotte put an arm round her. Oh, the lovely pliancy of her limbs, the slow thunder of her heart as it fought the drug to keep the blood flowing around her young body... “I said I’d help you, dearest. But you mustn’t fight me.”

  Violette, heavy-lidded, looked hazily into her guardian demon’s face. And even through the fog, Charlotte felt her stiffen with fear, saw the awful realisation dawn in her clouded eyes.

  Violette knew. She knew.

  By the time they reached Stefan’s flat, Violette had almost no control over her muscles, but was fighting oblivion with all her might. Charlotte had only wanted to spare her any terror. As Stefan greeted them, though, she physically felt a rigor of fear travel up the dancer’s throat.

  “I think you’ve overdone it a little,” Stefan said drily.

  “No, I didn’t give her enough. She’s still frightened.”

  They sat Violette in Stefan’s glamorous drawing room and she lolled like a rag doll, eyes rolling under the lids. Then she roused again, stared at Niklas - a silent pale-eyed ghost of Stefan - and shrank back with fear that was pitiful to witness.

  Horrible, to see Violette stripped of her supreme poise and self-control. Charlotte thought, How can I do this to her? And yet Violette still retained her grace, and that more than anything made Charlotte wretched with guilt. For the hundredth time, she pushed her foreboding away.

  “Oh, God, let’s do this as fast as possible. Where’s Ilona?”

  “On her way, I hope,” said Stefan. “Does Madame know what’s going to happen?”

  “I haven’t told her, but I think she’s guessed. I knew she’d fight me. That’s why I gave her laudanum. I’d never have got her here otherwise.”

  Stefan gave her a quizzical look, eyes wide. “Persuasion?”

  “You don’t know her!” Charlotte snapped. “Will it matter, if the laudanum’s in her blood when we transform her?”

  “No. Drugs have so little effect on us. It may make us lightheaded, which won’t matter as long as we don’t lose concentration. Will you be the one to take her life?”

  Horrifying thought, yet she felt a swell of desire. To hold Violette in her arms, to feel that perfect skin against her lips; the hot burst of blood in her mouth... and this time, no need to stop, just to draw out her life, on and on...

  “Yes, I’ll do it.” Charlotte turned away quickly, so he wouldn’t see her trembling.

  Violette cried, “No!” Far from calming her, intoxication was making her panic.

  Stefan said kindly, “Shouldn’t you explain what to expect, calm her down that way?”

  Charlotte knelt by Violette’s chair. “Don’t be afraid. We’re going to make you like us. The process takes three of us; we’re waiting for the third. Believe me, it’s nothing to be afraid of. And afterwards you’ll never be ill. You will be able to dance for eternity.”

  “But the Devil...”

  “The Devil is not involved, I promise.”

  Violette went on shaking her head. Tears flowed down her face. She could barely speak, but her posture was expressive of profound grief, like Giselle in the ballet. “Don’t, Charlotte,” she whispered. “If you love me, please don’t do this.”

  The plea was a powerful wave that hit Charlotte full in the chest. How can I go on with this? It’s the last thing in the world she wants, the cruellest thing... But she said harshly, “It will be all right.” She pulled away, paced across the room. “It will!” She had to make her heart fossil-hard - frightening that she could do it so easily.

  Violette closed her eyes and shuddered from head to foot.

  “Where’s Ilona?” Charlotte said again.

  “Relax.” Stefan stroked her neck. “She’s coming. Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?”

  No. Yes. I don’t know but I cannot stop it! She nodded mutely.

  A short time later, a rift opened the air like the tearing of tissue-paper and Ilona stepped into the room, a neat figure in a maroon cloche hat, coat and leather gloves of the exa
ct same shade. As she removed the hat, smoothing her shingled plum-red hair around the perfect heart of her face, Violette gave a hoarse cry.

  “Good God!” Ilona said indignantly. “What’s wrong with her? Is my hairstyle out of fashion already?”

  Charlotte went to Violette and tried desperately to console her. “Hush. Don’t be afraid, she’s here to help us.”

  At last Violette forced out the words, “You called her Ilona!”

  “Yes.”

  Hard to hear the words, but Charlotte made out, “My father, my father...”

  Ilona said, “Charlotte, dear, whatever is she saying? Can’t you quiet her?”

  “I’m trying!” she said, but Violette was writhing under her hands, repeating, “Father, father...”

  In dismay, Charlotte understood. “Oh, God,” she breathed. “She once told me that a vampire attacked her father and caused his madness and death. She thinks it was you, Ilona. She recognised your name.”

  “I’ve never met her wretched father! She’s demented!”

  “How do you know?” Charlotte said angrily. “The way she described the attack, it couldn’t have been anyone else!”

  “Well, what if you are right?” Ilona glared at Violette. “I can’t be expected to remember individuals. If I killed your father, dear, he must have deserved it.”

  Violette lunged drunkenly forward, almost falling off the chair. Charlotte held her back.

  “She doesn’t want this, does she?” Ilona leaned down, her face near the dancer’s. “I didn’t want it either, dear, but I got it. I didn’t even know what was happening; at least you seem to have some idea. Am I right, Charlotte? She doesn’t want it - but you do, therefore it must happen? Just like Karl. In the name of love, his will must be done. And the irony is that now he refuses help you in exactly the same violation - so here I am instead.”

  “Why did you agree, if you’re so bitter?”

  “Anything to upset Karl,” Ilona said. “Why should I care what Violette wants anyway? Let’s get on with it.”

  But Violette shrank from Ilona, clutching at Charlotte; even grasping Stefan, who was on the other side of her chair. “Not her! Anyone but her! If I can’t stop you, please, I beg of you, don’t force me with her. Not her, not her.”