The Dark Arts of Blood (47 page)

“More questions than answers, then,” said Charlotte.

“True. But I cannot believe I forgot the entire episode. I had no memory of it at all, until Reiniger himself reminded me. How could I have forgotten?”

“I forgot, too,” said Charlotte. “The effect seems to wear off. I haven’t forgotten a second time, but it’s frightening. Weapons that can manipulate our consciousness, memory, strength, almost everything about us…?”

“In the hands of an egomaniac like Godric Reiniger.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Just give in and do as he asks,” Karl said flatly. “That is one option.”

“I beg your pardon?” Charlotte glared, so indignant that he almost laughed. “Give in and make him a vampire? Has the knife scrambled your mind as well as your memory? My Karl would never dream of giving in.”

He smiled. “That’s not strictly true. I’d do anything to protect you. Herr Reiniger does seem to have a particular fixation with me, for which I don’t blame him.”

“Nor do I. It’s hardly modest of you to say so, but it is true.”

“I meant a fixation because he saw me kill his father!” Karl shook his head at her. “Not what you seem to be suggesting.”

“Oh.” Her eyebrows rose. “Are you
sure
?”

“Completely.”

“I’m not joking. Or only joking a little, but… well, you know him better than I do.”

“And that’s why I should be the one to deal with him. Since he’s obsessed with me, my task is to keep his focus upon
me
, his enemy, and away from anyone else.”

“You’re not thinking of confronting him alone?”

“Yes. I have to. If I take anyone with me, they may get hurt.”

Charlotte went quiet, biting her lower lip.

“I know you want to argue with me,” he said.

“Of course I do, but it’s pointless! I can’t let you go on your own, but I can’t dissuade you, can I? You know, perhaps all those other vampires were right: Cesare, Simon, even Kristian. We need a leader. To play devil’s advocate for a moment: Karl, if you’d consented to lead them, you could have had a formidable army of supporters by now. Godric’s gang would not stand a chance.”

“Engaging in a bloody battle – how would that help? You know it’s not in my nature. I’ve always fought for the right to a quiet life and privacy. Otherwise known as freedom. That will never change, beloved.”

Preying on humans to live
, he thought.
Such a way of life requires adjustments that not all vampires can make.
Compelling thirst for blood overrode conscience, but the changes in the psyche were more subtle. Some vampires shed their guilt completely. Others experienced blood-thirst as intense passion, affection, even love. The hunger had many tricks.

Karl had learned long ago to accept what he was, to take blood without guilt. Without violence or sadism, but also without mercy.

The transformative effect of Lilith’s bite had made him less puritanical, more relaxed about choosing his prey. That didn’t mean he would ever be a hedonist like Stefan, nor a gleeful predator like Pierre or Ilona. Certainly he would never be a tyrant like Kristian.

“If we have a leader at all, it’s Violette,” he said softly. “That’s why she will always have enemies.”

Charlotte began to say something about Reiniger. Her words were lost beneath Stefan’s scream.

It was the most horrifying raw noise Karl had ever heard. Charlotte blanched. Stefan writhed on the couch, waking from his stupor and seeing Niklas laid out under a white shroud, his face exposed, a candle burning at his head. He groped towards his twin – emerging from a well of amnesia, seeing the horror as if for the first time, and remembering, an agonising moment later, what had happened.

“Niklas,” he moaned, falling to the floor and crawling towards the corpse. “No.
No
.”

Charlotte gripped Karl’s hand so hard he flinched. Stefan’s rasps of anguish were low, even more chilling than his scream.

After a time he went quiet, and lay down with one arm over his twin’s corpse. Karl observed that Niklas’s face was already beginning to deteriorate: not decaying, exactly, but turning grey and collapsing inwards like melting wax. He remembered, with a shudder, how easily his own
doppelgänger
had disintegrated when attacked.

They weren’t true entities, only walking imitations, as fragile as unfired clay. And yet Niklas had been everything to Stefan. Brother, companion… perhaps lover, too, although Karl had never dreamed of asking. Some things were better left unspoken.

“Stefan is notorious for vanishing when situations become dangerous,” said Karl. “But – as annoying as he could be – I understood his need to protect Niklas.”

“They got away with anything, through pure charm,” said Charlotte. “And to be fair, they always helped me when I asked. Rather, Stefan did, but Niklas was always with him. I can’t imagine one without the other.”

Karl pulled down his shirt-sleeve and put on a jacket. He was steeling himself to confront Godric, but Charlotte’s gaze became urgent.

“Wait, before you go – I’ve an idea. A way to protect you. Insurance, if you like.”

She explained her plan and Karl could produce no objection. It only meant he must wait with Stefan while Charlotte went to find Amy.

Then Charlotte said, “Where’s Stefan?”

Karl, who’d been entirely focused on her, looked up. Niklas’s waxen remains lay in the flickering candlelight. Stefan had vanished.

They jumped to their feet and went through every room of the chalet, calling him, but they already knew he wasn’t there. There was no trace of his presence.

“He shouldn’t be able to enter the Crystal Ring,” said Karl. “I thought he was too weak.”

“Despair can give you strength to do anything,” said Charlotte.

“He must have gone to Reiniger’s mansion,” Karl said in dismay. “Of all the reckless…”

“But he doesn’t care what happens to him.” Charlotte was wide-eyed with alarm. “He doesn’t care if he dies!”

“Well, I do,” Karl said grimly. “I’m going after him. Do what you have to, dearest – with the greatest of care.”

* * *

Another letter had arrived for Violette, apparently written before Emil vanished, but timed to arrive after he’d left the country. That meant there had been forward planning on Fadiya’s part.

Violette stood holding the paper with its two neat creases, her hand shaking. Not Emil’s writing this time. Instead, it was typed, and the scrawled signature was illegible. It did not look like “Fadiya” or any name she knew. A small hand-drawn map showed a square with four roads leading into it: she could barely decipher the place names.

Madame Lenoir
,

If you want to see Emil Fiorani alive again, please follow these instructions. Come to us. Come to this square in Algiers at four o’clock on the afternoon of the 18th, and a man named Nabil will greet you there with the word “Istilqa”. He will be your guide. Come alone, and surrender yourself. Do this, and Emil will live. Fail, and he will be tortured day and night until you arrive, or until he dies: whichever falls the sooner.

Come to us and submit. This letter is written and signed on behalf of our gracious lord and protector…

The rest was handwritten. Violette stared until she managed to decipher the words:
The great Soul of the Universe, Zruvan, Lord of Immortals, the god who came before all other gods, the great void before space and time.

She laughed at the pomposity of the title, its matter-of-fact arrogance. Dizzy horror filled her as she tried to take in the truth, the surreal manifestation of her worst fears.

C
harlotte found Amy in her favourite place; at Hotel Blauensee’s café overlooking the lake. How strange, she observed, that the outside world went on as if nothing were happening. Tourists sipped hot chocolate, pleasure steamers chugged across the water. Amy’s expression was pensive and far from happy.

Thank heaven she’s here
, Charlotte thought with a rush of relief. If she’d happened to be at home with her uncle, this scheme would have been dust – or at least far harder to achieve. She’d considered ways to lure Amy out of the house without anyone noticing. Now, thank goodness, subterfuge wasn’t needed.

She hoped.

She sat down beside the girl, who gave an exaggerated start and clutched a gloved hand to her chest.

“You always startle me! How do you appear out of nowhere like that?”

“Forgive me.” Charlotte didn’t even attempt a smile. “Did you enjoy the party last night?”

“Yes, thank you – at least the parts I can remember. I still have the most dreadful morning head, now an afternoon head, for which I can only blame myself.”

“Do you remember going home?”

Amy shrugged. “Barely. Obviously I did. Hardly anyone was up this morning, so I dread to think what time they went to bed. No one’s seen Fadiya at all. I’m a little worried, to be honest. I do hope my uncle hasn’t dismissed her. He’s been so grumpy lately, I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

“Truly, you don’t?”

“It might be to do with Madame Lenoir’s rejection: if they made peace last night, I haven’t heard anything. That and the bad reception of
The Lion Arises
. He
hates
being criticised. If
Triumph in the Mountains
doesn’t do better, I think he might explode.”

Charlotte interrupted. “Did you happen to notice if he went out in the early hours of the morning?”

“No. I didn’t wake up until ten. Why would he come home and go out again?”

“Because your uncle and his followers killed one of my friends last night,” said Charlotte.

Amy went pale. Neither spoke for a while as Charlotte let her words sink in. It might not be wise to tell the blunt truth, but it was the quickest way to get a reaction. Then Amy said shakily, “I don’t believe you. That’s impossible! Who?”

“Stefan’s twin brother, Niklas.”

“That sweet… blond… lovely young man who couldn’t speak?
No
.”

Charlotte leaned forward, touching Amy’s arm and looking straight into her eyes. “Would you do me a favour? I don’t think you know what kind of man your uncle really is. If you come with me, I’ll tell you what happened. I promise you won’t be harmed.”

“Why would I be harmed?”

“You won’t be. Please?”

Amy hesitated, confused. “I’ve many reasons to be angry with him, but the idea that he’d
kill
someone…?”

“I know it’s a shock. Come, and I’ll explain.”

Trembling, Amy gave a stiff nod. “All right, but… why me?”

“It’s an acting role, in a way. We need you to pretend that you’ve been kidnapped.”

* * *

Karl struggled to enter Raqia. The knife wound and hallucinatory sleep had weakened him. He pushed into the grey-violet layers of the hidden realm, but the ether was like quicksand and spat him out before he could gain any height or momentum. He gave up in frustration, and seized the second fastest option: a blue Citroen Cloverleaf, several years old and starting to show its age, parked outside the chalet. He wasn’t even sure it belonged to Stefan, didn’t care.

It was a devil to start, and he suspected it lacked the traction for the steep roads up to Reiniger’s house. Still, it would have to do.

Charlotte had already fled through the Crystal Ring towards town. Karl hoped she would find Godric’s niece. Grimly he willed Amy to walk into Charlotte’s path, as if will alone could change anything.

Sometimes it can
, he thought.
Every thought we have changes something, both in Raqia and the real world.

All the time Karl was urging the vehicle up winding roads towards the hills, he projected his senses out through Raqia, trying to pick up Stefan’s trail. A herd of cows, being moved up towards the high Alpine meadows, held him up for ten minutes. Cattle could not be rushed, and the cowherds were in no hurry.

At last he caught a vision, a scene faintly overlaid on the reality of woodland and meadow.

He saw Stefan entering the Bergwerkstatt; taking shape in the hall and pausing there, like a wounded wolf scenting its prey. A woman appeared – not Amy, but an older female with brown plaited hair, brown clothes. The housekeeper, Gudrun. She questioned Stefan with some force, but he shouldered her aside and began to mount the sweeping marble staircase. He went slowly, as if walking against the wind.
Why?
Karl wondered. Was his own weakness holding him back, or Godric Reiniger’s power?

Karl had tasted that power. It was a real force, like air or gravity.

The car’s engine began to grumble as the slope grew too steep. Karl abandoned the struggling vehicle five hundred yards from the mansion and ran the last stretch on foot. He needed blood, but there was no time to feed. His head swam with double vision – the tree-shaded lane in front of him and his inner vision of Stefan, now moving towards a grand set of double doors on the upper storey…

The snowy walls of the house towered above Karl. He took the front steps in a single leap, found the front door locked, simply kicked it open. Inside the hall, Gudrun stood gaping at him, furious as a Valkyrie.