The Dark Arts of Blood Page 11

  “You’re so young, golden boy. Grab the success, enjoy it while you can.”

  “I intend to.”

  “Because I was you, once. So never forget – one day it will be you sitting here in my place, with grey stubble on your chin and a bottle of vodka in your fist, having this same conversation with your blue-eyed replacement.”

  Never, thought Emil. For a while he was too horrified to reply. He took another drink, startled by how fast the liquor took effect. Soon it seemed perfectly reasonable to raise questions he’d never dared ask before.

  “You’ve known Vi— Madame Lenoir a long time,” he said at last.

  “No one knows her, my friend.”

  “But…” He couldn’t stop thinking about Violette beside him on the liner, her hand in his. The thought made him want to laugh and weep. “Is she… Has she ever been married, do you know? Is there someone… special to her?”

  Mikhail laughed so loud that the auditorium echoed. “Oh my God! The puppy is in love with her!”

  “No!” Emil flapped his hand to hush Mikhail. “No, of course not. I’m just… curious. No one ever mentions it. I won’t repeat anything you say. Please tell me.”

  Mikhail shrugged. “Married, I don’t think so. It’s said she had something with Janacek…”

  Janacek was the ballet’s founder. Everyone knew that, though Emil had never met the man. Violette had taken over as director when he’d died two years ago.

  “Did she?”

  “Pah. I don’t believe it. Idle rumours. Truth is, she hated him.”

  “Really?”

  “She hid her feelings well, but he was a bully, as well as a lecher. She’d never let an old goat like that touch her.”

  Emil felt a jolt of relief.

  “Anyone else?”

  “Who knows? She’s private.” Mikhail waggled his fingers in front of Emil’s nose. “Mysteerrious.”

  “Do you know her friends? The couple who visit her? They’re here now.”

  “You mean the Alexanders? Karl and Charlotte. Fine-looking pair, aren’t they?” Mikhail sniffed, took another drink. “They helped her rebuild the ballet after Janacek died, but no, I don’t know them. They are mysterious too. Sometimes they come with two blond men, twins. But it’s not done to pry into her personal life, little brother. Not done.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Come on,” said Emil, inhibitions gone. “You partnered her for years. I believe that you and I are the only male dancers in this company who prefer women to men.”

  “You’re right. You got that right.”

  “So close to her, did you never feel… Surely you and she…?”

  “What, you’re asking if Madame and I were lovers?” Mikhail roared with laughter, even louder than before.

  “Yes!” Emil said, exasperated. “Were you?”

  “Oh, you’ve a lot to learn. No, we were not. I had a girlfriend, until she ran off with the first violinist. I had many girlfriends, but Madame never knew. Oh, I’m sure she suspected, but she pretended otherwise. Not discussed. You must know that. Such matters are verboten. But – Violette with her dance partner? Never. Never, never, never.”

  Emil chewed his lower lip. Mikhail was not making complete sense. Did he mean she never would, or that she never had? His own skin felt too hot and tight, as if he might explode. He pushed his fingers into his hair, groaning.

  “Hey.” He felt Mikhail’s hand land on his shoulder, warm and heavy. “You’ve really got it bad for her, haven’t you? This is terrible.”

  “I don’t know what to do!”

  “You don’t? This is very bad.”

  “What do you mean? I don’t believe you didn’t desire her. Can’t believe you didn’t try. Were you too scared? What?”

  Mikhail’s face clouded. “You’re an idiot.”

  “I can’t help it. I love her.”

  “Of course you do. Everyone loves her.”

  “No – I really love her. On the ship – never mind. You wouldn’t understand. I just feel – damn! I have to be with her, or I shall go mad.”

  Mikhail chuckled. “Don’t torment yourself. Sure, you need to be a little crazy to dance in the first place – but let this go, or you’ll end up insane.”

  “But what should I do? I have to tell her. Should I tell her? I can’t not… but how? It’s no good, I’ve got to, but…”

  The older man was shaking his head. His indulgence brought Emil close to hitting him. “Slow down. You’re tired, drunk, emotional. Me too. That’s another way you’re lucky – at my age, takes so much longer to get drunk.”

  “You’re not listening. Please. Perhaps Violette – Madame – is alone because everyone is afraid of her. She’s still young, she hasn’t met the right man yet. But I’m not afraid. I need to be with her. And I’m sure she feels the same, or would if she knew… I have to ask her, but… dare I?”

  Mikhail opened his mouth to speak, lips wet with vodka. He paused. Then he gave a broad grin. “You know what? You go right ahead and tell her.”

  Emil looked up. He felt a rush of hope. “You really think I should?”

  Mikhail opened his arms wide, as if preparing for a bear hug. “Absolutely you should! It’s romantic, my friend. Ah, my God, so romantic! Go ahead. Pick your moment, and declare yourself. What can go wrong?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SILENT SHADOWS

  The dagger lay on a scarf in the centre of a small table. Violette prowled around it like a cat circling a venomous snake. The scarf, one of Karl’s, was black cashmere. The knife shone against the blackness with a yellowish glow. Now and then the blade shifted so that the tip pointed towards the dancer like a compass needle. As if it were following her, Charlotte noted uneasily.

  “So you can pick it up, wrapped in cloth?” Violette asked.

  “Karl can,” said Charlotte. “If I try, it’s like seizing a live electric wire. Still, I can withstand the pain for a few seconds. The knife seems to be dangerous only if the blade pierces the skin.”

  “Do you think it’s safe to have kept it?”

  “We couldn’t dispose of it,” said Karl. “Anyone might have picked it up.”

  “What of the men who attacked you?” Violette turned to Charlotte with an expressive, sombre stare.

  Charlotte’s heart went sour, as it did every time she thought of that evening. This is going to plague me forever, she thought, unless we find out the truth. A string of unpleasant memories flashed through her mind, and she clearly saw the lamia, a pale replica of herself, standing beside Violette.

  No one else noticed. Something went dark in her mind, like a lucid dream collapsing into fog. The lamia vanished. Charlotte made a careful effort not to react.

  “As I said, I thought I’d killed the intruder in the chalet. But his blood was too foul to drink, and the slope must have broken his fall. Karl found no body, only tyre tracks.”

  “And you’ve no idea who they were?”

  “They put me in mind of soldiers,” said Charlotte. “The one who stabbed me, Bruno, might have been a private once. The reddish-haired one who came to the chalet, an officer. Apart from that impression… No idea at all.” Everything about that night was taking on an odd mistiness in her memory. Details were slipping away.

  “But they followed you from Lucerne, so it’s possible they live here.”

  “If they do, we’ll find them,” said Karl.

  Violette’s startling blue-violet eyes fixed on Charlotte. “Couldn’t you have chosen a different town to hunt in?”

  “It was only once. You know I’d never touch anyone from the ballet, and you weren’t even here at the time. I felt drawn here because I missed you… but that’s no excuse at all. I’m sorry.”

  “Is it likely they’re still looking for this?” Violette touched the dagger, snatched her hand away. “Would they break in to steal it, or use it against us?”

  “Unlikely,” said Karl. “How would they k
now it was here? Unless they have unknown sensitivities of some kind. They may not be vampires, but they could be working for one.” Karl met Violette’s doubtful gaze. “It’s unusual, but not unknown.”

  “Why would this hypothetical vampire make weapons to harm his own kind?” Violette immediately laughed at her own words. “What an idiotic question! Vampires fight each other. Some made considerable efforts to destroy me, not long ago.”

  “And a number of vampires died in that conflict,” Karl said darkly. “Perhaps someone wants revenge.”

  “Who?” Violette shook back her hair. Her hands rose and fell in exasperation. “Kristian’s supporters were all destroyed or dispersed. There can’t be anyone left to come after us, surely? Those of us who remained made peace, more or less. An exchange of blood and kisses.”

  “I’m certain the stabbing wasn’t planned,” said Charlotte. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or he was. And the cut healed. Sent me crazy for a few hours, but I recovered.”

  “Are you sure?” Violette held her shoulders and spoke softly. “You and Karl were obviously shaken by what happened. How are you, truly?”

  Charlotte smiled, feeling the echo of a hundred memories in her touch. She recalled Violette on stage, entrancing her audience. Violette in despair, when bankruptcy and illness nearly ended her career… Fighting ferociously as Charlotte transformed her into a reluctant vampire. Violette, transfigured into a wild and dangerous goddess with enemies everywhere.

  Her fangs, piercing Charlotte’s throat. A surreal, enchanted rite as she and Charlotte and Karl lay naked together, joined, swimming in dream-like ecstasy…

  Their love-making had been a form of alchemy, transformation. The mystical power of three. Never to be repeated, but always remembered and treasured.

  Charlotte recalled the sight of Violette weeping over Robyn’s body, her heart shattered.

  “I’m perfectly well,” Charlotte answered, stroking her cheek. “But I can’t waste time agonising over that night. It already seems hazy. What matters is to find the truth.”

  “Cold logic. I like that.” Violette gave her a light kiss on the lips. “However, I’m not comfortable with the weapon being here. I put the safety of my staff and dancers before anything. Can you store it somewhere else? A bank vault?”

  “We’ll take it to Stefan,” said Karl. “I’m sure he won’t mind. We’ll examine it at his home instead. We understand.”

  “Thank you. That hostile glow reminds me of the skull-creature’s staff. I want it out of my sight.” Violette flipped the edges of the scarf over the knife and turned her back. “If you could remove it by tomorrow…?”

  “Do you want us to remove ourselves, too?” Charlotte asked.

  “God, no. Please stay.” Violette’s expression became tender, an aspect of herself she rarely showed. “You’ll be here a while, I trust?”

  “We hope so,” said Charlotte.

  “Excellent. I’ll need your help. I have three existing ballets to perfect, and a new idea niggling at me…”

  “You’ve only just come back.”

  The dancer shrugged. “That’s what I get for being artistic director, principal dancer and choreographer, all in one. How fortunate that I don’t need sleep.”

  “As long as you don’t forget to eat,” said Charlotte, touching her arm.

  “I won’t. Where are Stefan and Niklas living, by the way?”

  Charlotte’s groaned silently. She realised she’d forgotten to pass on Stefan’s news. It had been the last thing on her mind.

  “I’m sorry, I should have told you.” She looked through a window, into the darkness. “He’s taken a house on the other side of the lake.”

  Violette’s face went still. “Has he, indeed?”

  “It’s at least ten miles away. He swears he won’t bother you.”

  “Stefan does not bother me. It’s the sort of company he attracts.”

  “Pierre and Ilona are on their travels in Russia,” said Karl. “They won’t be back for some time.”

  “But it’s not really them I’m worried about. Stefan has other vampire friends, strangers to us. He knows I will tolerate no threat to my ballet.”

  “I know, I told him. He insisted that no one will trouble you, and he has the right to live wherever he wishes. Violette—” Charlotte stopped. “I don’t know why I’m making excuses for him. He’s right, it’s his business where he lives, and if you’re unhappy, the two of you should sort it out between you. I’m just the messenger.”

  “Well, this is wonderful,” Violette sighed. “Storms and strangeness in the Crystal Ring. Skull-headed entities attacking me in mid-ocean. Drunken thugs with foul blood and poisoned blades. And now a houseful of vampires, a stone’s throw from my new academy! Karl, tell me, is this a vampire’s lot in life? No peace, ever? A layer of reality torn away so that all manner of horrors can invade our lives at random?”

  “Well,” said Karl, with a rueful grimace. “If you would put it like that, yes. I’m afraid you’re right.”

  “All right. Then let them come.” The dancer’s eyes lit up like fiery blue stars. “Let them try.”

  * * *

  After Violette had left, Karl came to Charlotte’s side and placed his hand in the small of her back. His touch gave her a surge of pleasure, mixed with pain. She loved his warm strength beside her, his dark angelic presence. With him, she was where she belonged. She couldn’t be anywhere else. He was the home of her soul. A dark whirlpool, forever drawing her inwards.

  Karl was never cruel for the sake of it, but he was ruthless. No one could call him good; he was a vampire, after all, and didn’t try to deny his nature. But falling in love could not be helped.

  He kissed the nape of her neck. The touch of his mouth flooded her with desire, to the very tips of her fangs. Charlotte leaned into him, drawing his hands around her waist. She knew it happened only rarely in life that you met the one: the lover who never becomes ordinary.

  Being forced to hold back was unbearable. Every time she tried to will the lamia out of existence, the haunting came back in full force. She couldn’t shake the conviction that cold silver poison ran in her veins, that if she and Karl were intimate the contagion would eat them both away like acid.

  “You’re distracting me,” she said.

  She felt his sigh against her neck, making the hairs stand up. Their enforced mutual self-control loaded the slightest touch or look with painful longing. He hadn’t tried to persuade her she was imagining her affliction, because he saw – whether the cause was external or psychological – that something was genuinely wrong.

  She was glad of his understanding. All the same, having to abstain was killing her.

  He gave her a light kiss on the shoulder and let her go.

  “I’ll take the knife to Stefan later,” he said.

  “I must admit, I’ll feel easier without the wretched thing here. Ridiculous, but I feel as if it’s watching us. Let me study it for a minute before we wrap it up.”

  “I don’t think it’s watching us,” Karl said wryly. He reached around her and flipped the knife over. “Did you see that?”

  The handle was carved with a pattern of pictograms. Each was the size of a fingernail, and resembled a labyrinth with an oval in the centre. A face…

  “The symbol?” she said. “Yes. It looks like a skull inside a maze. A skull with closed eyes? And some writing I can’t decipher. I need to view it under my microscope.”

  She leaned forward, holding the haft steady although it kicked painfully against her fingertips. She thought, Why do I need a microscope, when I have vampire sight? Gripping the knife for as long as she could bear the pain, she looked deep into the carving, right into the grain itself. Trying to understand the nature of its hostile emanations…

  Abruptly she let go, easing her numb fingers against Karl’s hand.

  “The blade wasn’t dipped in noxious chemicals. The harm emanates from the metal itself.”

  “I
suspected that,” said Karl.

  “And the handle is not ivory,” she said. “It’s human bone.”

  * * *

  “All these little scars on your arms and chest: there are more each time I examine you. Would you care to tell me what’s causing them?”

  “That’s a personal matter,” Godric snapped. “They are ritual marks, like tattoos, if you will. Ignore them.”

  “I see. In that case, I cannot find anything wrong with you, my friend.” Dr Ochsner folded his plump hands on his desk.

  Godric finished fastening his shirt, glimpsing his own skin and narrow ribcage as he did so. In the dull lamplight of the doctor’s office, his pale flesh looked yellow. He trusted Ochsner and wanted to believe him, but…

  “They told my mother there was nothing wrong with her, two days before she dropped dead of a stroke.”

  “Truly, Godric. You’re as fit as a freshly trained soldier.” He peered at Godric over half-moon spectacles. His red-blotched face widened seamlessly into his squat neck. “You’re getting over a slight cold on the chest, and you need to eat more. That’s all. Have you always had these anxieties about your health?”

  “I don’t actually believe I am ill,” Godric said thinly. He adjusted his tie and sat stiffly upright in his chair. “But I need to be sure. I can’t afford to fall sick, I have too much to do.”

  Ochsner opened his palms in agreement. “Indeed. And I am always happy to give reassurance. You were barely five years old when your mother died. Terrible experience for a child.”

  “I am not anxious. Merely cautious.” Godric tapped his fingertips on his knees, suppressing a wave of the odd dizziness that had brought him here. “I’m solicitous of my own health, and that of my staff and friends. That is why I send them to you for regular examinations.”

  “That’s only wise.”

  Godric did not particularly like Dr Ochsner, who sat behind his desk like a benevolent toad, but that was immaterial. Liking was a feminine weakness. In more important ways, they were of one mind.

  “I don’t need psychoanalysis, just confirmation of my physical health. It’s essential my supporters perceive me as strong.”