The Dark Arts of Blood (39 page)

“This isn’t the same. You’re her avatar. This is more like… being deceived or drugged in some way.”

“May I…?” Violette’s eyes turned sultry. She leaned in and pressed her lips to Charlotte’s throat. Charlotte didn’t protest, only gave in to her, arching her back, catching her breath with pain and pleasure as Lilith’s fangs pierced her. Her head swam and she saw clouds of colour, a thunderstorm raging above her, infinite rows of bone-white figures like skeletons staring at her… A hunched, robed figure with a great skull for a head…

The pain and the visions ceased. Violette rested her cheek in the crook of her shoulder, gasping from the bliss of feeding. Charlotte stroked her hair, careful not to disturb the white silk lily.

“Well?” said the dancer, raising her head. “Did that make any change? Have I scorched the fear out of you and banished the lamia?”

Charlotte exhaled. “I don’t think so. As I said, this is different. I saw disturbing images again… but I think that Lilith’s bite only works the first time.”

The dancer looked sombrely at her. “I suspected as much. It’s just as well. I wouldn’t want to keep remoulding your mind like a piece of clay every time I tasted your blood, dearest.”

“Well… thank you. I’m glad to hear it.”

“If you wish to take a sip in return, it’s only fair.” Violette tipped her head to one side, ran her fingers down the curve of her own neck. Charlotte stared at the enticing skin. She did want to, very much, but she held back, hoping desperately that the lamia’s poison had not entered Violette with that mouthful of blood.

“I do, but not now,” she said softly. “Did my blood taste wrong? Tainted?”

“No,” said Violette. “Perhaps a very faint hint… like pepper. Not unpleasant.”

“I tasted that on Fadiya, too. Nowhere near as pungent as Wolfgang’s blood, but still there,” Charlotte said unhappily.

“Dearest, I’m sure that whatever happened to you is not contagious. Come on. We should go back to the party.”

* * *

Karl and Godric Reiniger left the salon together and descended to the lake room where several couples were swaying to a romantic song on the gramophone. No one took any notice as they opened the outer door and stepped outside.

“Shall we stroll along the lake shore?” said Reiniger. “I don’t wish to be overheard, or observed. And it’s a pleasant night, if a touch chilly.”

Upstairs, Karl had approached him without a clear idea of what he meant to say. Not to apologise: possibly to make peace in some way, but more importantly, to find out who and what Reiniger really was. The question was how to begin the conversation.

Godric had pre-empted him. “I was unsure if I’d see you again, but I’m pleased. Could we talk in private?”

Now they walked side by side with the water lapping on their left, reflecting the colourful lanterns. Godric Reiniger’s shorn head and long face were like a piece of sculpture, not exactly handsome, but striking. Strong nose, high cheekbones jutting over long, hollow cheeks, a firm jaw. The lips were thin but mobile, prone to rare smiles that took people by surprise. If he used this unexpected twinkle to manipulate folk, Karl would not be surprised.

The gold-rimmed spectacles gave him a clinical, intellectual air, at odds with the flamboyance of his white suit. His eyes were hard to read: the distorting effect of the lenses made them appear smaller than they actually were. Once or twice, when he took off his spectacles, the irises were suddenly larger, mesmeric. The frame of pale lashes and brows served to make the blue stare more intense.

Karl noticed his faint yellowish radiance. Not a normal human aura.

After a few yards the lamps ended and they went on in darkness.

“You know what I am, or at least you believe you know,” said Karl. “Aren’t you afraid of me?”

“Somewhat,” said Reiniger. “I’m not complacent. But people who avoid fearful situations never achieve anything.”

“And what do you hope to achieve?”

“Well, we have come this far without you tearing out my throat. That’s a beginning.”

“Or we aren’t quite far enough away from the house yet,” Karl said without inflection.

Reiniger made a
hmph
noise. “I don’t think you wish to harm me.”

“How do you know?”

“You could have done so before now. Instead, you came back to
talk
to me. That implies you prefer me alive because… you find me interesting?”

“Yes, I am prone to make that mistake with humans.”

“Mistake? You mean you wait to see what they will say and do next, rather than simply kill them? A shame you did not make that ‘mistake’ with my father.”

“Yes, it is,” Karl said softly. “I cannot justify what happened.”

His simple admission made Godric go quiet. The lake lapped at the bank. The music and noise of the party grew fainter as they walked on. After a while he asked, “Do vampires have a conscience?”

“Some do. Some are tortured by guilt, others survive by becoming ruthless. Most of us tread a middle path. We learn to live with ourselves, or perish.”

“You see, this is why I am not
extremely
frightened of you. I sense a mote of humanity. You have an enquiring mind. You seem to prefer words to violence.”

“Always.”

“As do I.”

“And why are you talking to me?” Karl asked. “What do you want?”

“Can’t you guess?” Reiniger gave him a sideways look. His eyes gave Karl a chill. They took on a blank, hard quality, like a prison wall. “A friend of mine died recently. A doctor, a hard-working man who was always on hand to help my colleagues with their ailments. Dr Ochsner. Perhaps you heard the news? He was found dead in his office, apparently of a heart attack. Like my father.”

“Are you suggesting that I killed him?” The chill intensified, like the unease Karl felt when watching certain films, as if a grey shapeless mass were crawling inside him. The last thing he needed was for this unnerving man to suspect Charlotte.

“I don’t suppose you’d admit it if you had. Or would you? You could confess to anything and kill me a moment later, so it wouldn’t matter what secrets you revealed. That must be a useful power to possess.”

“Not really. Any human can kill another, with a gun or even with their bare hands. I am sorry to hear about your friend, but his death was nothing to do with me.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Because if you were the culprit, I would shake your hand.” Reiniger’s voice became gruff. “It came to my notice, after he’d died, that he had injured my niece. My housekeeper Gudrun informed me that after visiting Ochsner, my niece collapsed in the street and might have died, had not a kind female stranger brought her home. Amy herself never uttered a word of complaint to me.”

Karl was surprised at the outrage in Reiniger’s tone. Not wanting to admit he already knew, he said neutrally, “I’d heard rumours that Ochsner was unpopular with female patients. Didn’t you know that? Are you sure you didn’t
want
her to be hurt for some reason?”

“No! I only wanted to protect her health. Ochsner spoke of ‘cleansing’. I didn’t know he’d subjected her to a procedure that should properly be done under anaesthetic, nor that he wasn’t fully qualified to do so. He might have killed her! I could have killed him myself.”

“He sounds a poor excuse for a doctor,” said Karl, fascinated that Godric’s concern for Amy sounded genuine. But the coldest of men were capable of love, if only a controlling, possessive love.

“He was a great support to me in the past, but I had no more use for him. I know he was not much liked in the town. And I cannot afford to have unpopular people attached to my cause.”

“Is your cause more important than your niece?”

“Of course not! But I have to be practical. Whether you caused Ochsner’s death or not – I’m glad he’s gone. It’s justice. Someone like you could be of great help.”

“How?” Karl said, incredulous. “By invisibly killing your enemies?”

“No, no. That is not what I mean. I know you dislike me, Karl, but I am not a fiend.”

“I don’t dislike you. Nor did I think you were a fiend, until you mentioned it. However, letting your comrades assault Emil, sending your niece to a so-called doctor who deliberately injured her and making the worst films I’ve ever seen – none of that has endeared you to me.”

“You think my films are bad?” Reiniger’s face stiffened with indignation. “I assumed you to be a man of taste. Was I wrong? Or is it that you simply don’t understand the art of cinema?”

Karl shook his head. “You sound more affronted about that than the death of your father.”

“Different matters altogether. I see I shall have to educate you.”

“I’m surprised my opinion means anything. After all, I’m not human. You’ve spent your life drawing pictures of me, as if to keep my face in your memory so you could take revenge if ever you saw me again. And here I am. But have you brought me out here to solicit flattery, or to kill me? I can’t fulfil either desire, Godric. I’ve only given my honest opinion, and if you intend to shoot or stab me – try it. I won’t die.”

“Ever put that to the test?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Indeed?” Reiniger paused to light a cigarette. The match-flare dazzled Karl’s sensitive eyes. “Have many people discovered what you are and tried to destroy you?”

“Not many,” Karl answered with a faint laugh.

“Good. I didn’t think you were the careless type.”

“I’m not, but no one’s perfect.”

“I believe you are as near perfect as makes no difference. Look at you: a fine specimen of male beauty who will never have to work to attract his prey.”

“I assure you, I don’t use such wiles—” Karl began, but Reiniger spoke across him.

“Eternally in your prime. Impervious to bullets, drowning, or the hangman’s rope? Deathless. Able to pass through walls, to sustain yourself on human blood, to bring death without fear of detection or punishment. You sound rather like my ideal human, or the next stage in our evolution. The superior human, who rises above good and evil to dominate the herd. He weeds out all weakness and defects in those around him, and to do this he must act without pity. He engages in epic struggles to become both the supreme warrior and the supreme artist.”

“Like Nietzsche’s
Übermensch
?” Karl sighed, unimpressed. “I assure you, I’m very far from that.”

“He was thinking along the right lines, but my ideas are my own,” Godric retorted. “You may have no ambition to reach the ideal, but I have. Why should I not?” He pointed up at the peaks against the night sky. “Folklore tells us that great Swiss heroes sleep in those mountains. I have felt their presence. Why should I not aspire to wake them? To
become
them? Who will do so, if not me?”

Karl tensed inwardly, convinced that Godric was about to attack him out of sheer angry passion. Reiniger sounded mad, but Karl knew he possessed hidden knowledge. He caught a familiar, sour metal stench – the odour of the
sikin
Godric carried. His blood was thick with a similar smell, but there was a subtle distinction. The blade’s scent was sharp, almost clinical; the blood gamey and complex, an abattoir smell.

Karl had felt the terrible power emanating from Bergwerkstatt, so forceful he couldn’t break through. He’d seen the power leaking upwards through Raqia, like towers of red light.

Perhaps Godric had arranged an ambush: Karl could imagine his brutish comrades crouching in the bushes with daggers, bayonets and meat cleavers, ready to cut him to pieces.

He put out the tendrils of his senses, searching for specks of life. Mice, other night creatures, even fish in the lake were all he could detect. No trace of other humans nearby.

Even if there were, Karl could evade them in a moment by vanishing into the Crystal Ring.

But what if Reiniger had some limited control over Raqia? Karl knew only too well that vampires were not indestructible, nor were all humans powerless against them.
How can I find out, unless he will answer direct questions? Even then, he could lie, and learn more from me than I learn from him.

Whether Godric was deluded or genuinely dangerous, Karl still could not read him.

“What more can you tell me of your gifts?” Godric asked, startling him. “Strength, speed, intelligence?”

“You seem well informed without my help,” said Karl. “I wonder how you know so much, unless you’ve befriended a vampire, which rarely ends well.”

“Oh, the knowledge is there, if you’re prepared to dig deep for it.” Reiniger sucked on his cigarette. Its red tip flared bright. “My father taught me that.”

“Does this talk have any purpose, other than to impress me with your research?” said Karl. “It’s natural that you want revenge. You can try. You might even succeed.”

“You think I wish to outline how devilish you are before I destroy you?”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

“It’s what I
should
be doing.” Reiniger’s voice tightened. His breathing grew more rapid and beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. To Karl’s keen sight each one reflected the cigarette’s glow, like dozens of watery blood drops. “I suppose revenge seems a quite predictable and tiresome motive to an immortal. I understand, because my interest in you greatly outweighs my hatred of you. I think you and I are rather alike.”

“Dear God, I hope not,” Karl said under his breath.

“You think you’re better than me? Think what you like. The point I’m making is that, like you, I can put personal antipathy, brute emotion and morality aside in the service of a higher aim. I wish to become a vampire.”