The Dark Arts of Blood (19 page)

“For heaven’s sake, I am not talking about you in particular. I’m speaking of vampires in general.”

“I know,” said Stefan with a teasing smirk.

“I should know better than to expect a meaningful conversation about this. Well, are you happy to keep the dagger for us?”

Stefan’s face went blank and he made no reply.

“Stefan? What are you thinking?”

“About all the deaths.” His tone was unusually sombre. “You think I’m irredeemably superficial, but you’re wrong. I’m thinking about our last great battle to stop Cesare and Simon creating a new army of immortals.”

“You weren’t there,” Karl said mildly.

“That doesn’t stop me brooding about it. You can’t think I was unaffected? Cesare’s plan was maniacal, bound to fail. But all those deaths… Fyodor, Rasmila and Simon. All those human apprentices, promised immortality – dead! Sebastian Pierse, taking himself to the
Weisskalt.
Sebastian, of all the heartless devils ever to walk the night, destroying himself over a human! Who would have predicted that? And Katerina. Even Kristian. So many deaths. Does it not make you feel we’re hanging on a thread of spider-silk, those of us who remain?”

Karl walked to the windows and looked out at the rippling red lake. “It’s unlike you to be so melancholy.”

“I know. Frightening, isn’t it? But I remember Violette’s words, after Schloss Holdenstein was burned to a shell, when we all gathered and made peace.”

“So do I,” said Karl. “She said our purpose is a selfish one: to live for blood, to bring pleasure and nightmares to mortals. Not to change the world. The Crystal Ring itself won’t let us. She said that everything men do is in denial of death. They wish to live forever. But no man can avoid his fate; no mortal can escape Lilith. That’s why they invented God: to annihilate the crone of death. But a few take the risk of embracing Lilith and accepting her kiss.”

“Yes,” said Stefan. “Then Pierre asked if we become immortal, and Violette answered, ‘We live a little longer, that’s all.’”

“‘Man turns his back on the great mother, but she will come anyway, dressed for battle like the Morrigan, and take her revenge for being rejected,’” Karl added. “So Sebastian said.”

“And something about us feasting like vultures on their folly?” Stefan smiled, rewrapped the blade and locked it in a desk drawer. “I don’t think I’d want that.”

“I’ve already tried it,” said Karl. He recalled mist drifting over the mud and trenches of a battlefield. He had moved like a spectre from one dying soldier to the next, as if by taking the last drops of their blood, he could understand their suffering… “It’s not an experience I recommend. If we don’t stand outside human folly, it will drag us down and destroy us.”

“A wise sentiment.” Stefan went to Karl’s side and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I like humans. I like to tease and bring them pleasure, not death.”

“Mm. You are as pleasurable and harmless as laudanum, or cocaine,” Karl said acerbically.

“No one’s perfect.”

“I should go. You’re sure you don’t mind keeping the knife? If anything strange happens, let us know immediately.”

“Like what? Will ghost hands use it to stab me in the night?” Stefan laughed. “You worry too much.”

“No, I believe my level of worry is usually all too accurate.” Karl smiled. “Thank you.”

“Wait, before you go,” said Stefan. “Let me offer you a drink. A small token of friendship. A gift.”

He pushed back his sleeve and offered his wrist, raising the heel of his hand towards Karl’s mouth. Karl hesitated, only for a moment: then he took Stefan’s hand, touched his lips to the soft skin, bit down and drank. Accepted the gift.

* * *

Charlotte entered Violette’s private apartments, a bower of lamplight glittering on crystal chandeliers and mirrors. The colours were silver and grey, with touches of black. Vases of white lilies and roses filled the air with fragrance. The dancer’s maid Geli – a tall, sweet-natured woman who’d been her companion for years – welcomed her, and left her alone with Violette.

“You sent for me?” said Charlotte, mildly puzzled.

“Well, I didn’t mean to seem high-handed, but yes. You’re not busy, are you?”

Violette was sitting cross-legged on a couch, wearing a man’s smoking jacket thrown over her practice clothes. Her face was an ice-sculpture, her eyes too bright. When she turned that look on humans, they would usually flee without her uttering a word.

Charlotte, who knew her well, was less easily intimidated. Violette had a demeanour that suggested, had she been human, she would have been chain-smoking furiously.

“I was about to go out with Karl, but it doesn’t matter. He took the mysterious knife to Stefan as you asked. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing and everything.” Violette’s lips thinned. A flush of blood rose to her face.

“You’re blushing!” said Charlotte. “You never blush. Come on, tell me.”

“Emil.” Violette’s voice was barely audible, even to vampire hearing. “It’s Emil.”

“What? Is he injured?”

“Now there’s a thought. If he had an injury to stop him dancing, that would take the problem away, at least for a while. The foolish, beautiful boy thinks he’s in love with me.”

“Ah.” Charlotte’s reaction was to smile. She stopped herself, not quickly enough.

“I’m glad you find it amusing,” Violette retorted. “I think it began after that storm in the Atlantic – good grief, can I truly not hold someone’s cold hand after a terrifying experience without my intentions being misinterpreted? Today I tried to rehearse a few steps with him and he was all over the place. So I asked him what was wrong, and the next I know, he is on his knees swearing undying love! The fool even proposed marriage.”

Charlotte couldn’t suppress a grin. She lowered her eyes. “Oh, dear.”

“Oh, dear, indeed. For goodness’ sake – Charlotte, this is
not
funny. I told him to keep out of my sight for a week, and he responded by punching Mikhail in the face!”

“What? Why?”

“I think Mikhail has been teasing him. Emil seemed to think Mikhail had told me, but he hadn’t. To be frank, I’d already guessed… but I was hoping with all my heart that I was wrong.”

“Has he behaved like this before?”

“No, but he’s not been with us long. I think our success in America went to his head. I should have guessed… I told you, the idiot nearly fell overboard in that storm while looking for
me
. I should have realised then…”

“I can see he’s rather temperamental,” said Charlotte. “I’m not sure why you’re so angry about it, though.”

“I am deeply fond of him, but he seems to have mistaken my fondness for something more. He’s put me in an absolutely impossible situation. I
cannot
work with a dancer who is having… feelings for me. If he won’t behave, my only choice is to dismiss him – but that would mean losing the best partner I have ever had! Do you wonder that I’m furious?”

“Dear, don’t be too hard on him,” Charlotte spoke gently. “He’s young and you are a goddess. Thousands are in love with you. Only a very select few are ever privileged to touch you… and there is so
very
much touching involved in your dances. It’s natural for him to be overwhelmed. Every ballet has star-crossed lovers…”

“It’s called acting,” Violette said frostily. “Rehearsal is tiring and repetitive: the novelty of having lithe bodies all around you swiftly wears off. It’s work. I expect him to be disciplined. Professional.”

“I’m sure he knows that, but… all that emotion and sensuality can’t be entirely faked, can they? Sometimes feelings must spill into real life. Emil got a little too carried away, perhaps.”

“Why are you defending him? Oh, I know why – because you have a gentle heart and think the best of everyone. You don’t want me to punish him for having what I suppose are normal feelings. But this – no, it’s not so simple and cannot easily be mended.”

Charlotte sat beside her at a careful distance, concerned. “Please tell me you didn’t feed on him.”

Violette’s eyelids fell in dark curves. “No. That would have been wonderfully hypocritical – lecturing him on controlling his appetites when I can’t control mine? No… since that one time with Ute, I never touch my dancers. You know that. But it took only a few words to break his heart.”

“That you don’t share his feelings?”

“Yes. And that he must overcome his infatuation, or leave. He must have known what I’d say, but I doubt that made hearing it any easier.”

“I can imagine. You must have terrified him.”

“I surely hope so.”

“But he took it out on Mikhail?”

“That was the last straw. Emil may be hot-blooded, but his attack was unprovoked and I will
not
tolerate such behaviour! The trouble is, Charlotte…” Violette raked her fingers through her unbound hair. “If Emil were a lesser performer, he’d be on a train back to his home town as we speak.” She flung off the jacket as if too hot. “But no, he has to possess a sublime talent that makes him indispensable! What am I to do?”

“Has this happened before? You must have dealt with such situations in the past.”

Violette gave a short sigh. “You recall that when I was human, and naïve, my ballet director Janacek treated me as his property, a pet to be fondled. I had no power to stop him. The only reason he never forced me into his bed was that he feared impregnating his star. I should be grateful for that, I suppose. But when I met you, it ended. And when I became a vampire – I knew no man would ever intimidate me again.”

“You can’t compare Emil to that appalling lecher.”

“No, of course not, but I have rules. Any man, dancer or not, who dares show me the merest
hint
of over-familiarity dies in the arctic blast of my stare.” Violette gave a thin smile. Charlotte laughed, couldn’t help it.

“I had noticed. The world has noticed.”

Violette’s tone became gentler. “Nearly all my male principals have preferred their own sex – apart from Mikhail, but he’s always respected professional boundaries. That makes for a perfect partnership. My mistake was to make the same assumption about Emil. I suspected his inclination was for females, but I chose to ignore my instincts because he’s so damned brilliant.”

“He is. And handsome.”

“And knows it.” Violette groaned. “Admirers flocking at the stage door, tantrums because I reject his advances – how do I bring his ego under control before it destroys everything?”

She seemed to be expecting an answer.

“Speak to him.”

“I can’t,” Violette snapped. “I’ve tried. There’s nothing more to say. Every attempt I make, he’ll interpret as a possible way in, a sign that I’m softening. Besides, it would be demeaning. I maintain discipline by being the steel empress; I cannot compromise that by running after him and trying to reason with him. No. All I can give him now is a wall of cold silence. But…”

“You’re afraid he’s so headstrong he might actually walk out?” Charlotte, startled to see Violette at a loss, tapped her foot as she wondered what help to offer. “Would you like me to have a word with him?”

The ballerina’s gaze met hers with a flash of hope. “Would you? I’ve suspended him indefinitely, which means he must attend practice but nothing else, which is damned inconvenient because I need to start rehearsing. Oh, and tell him I don’t want him leaving the premises.”

Charlotte grimaced. “Violette, when I was human, I was so awkward that I could barely hold a conversation with a male without fleeing in terror – and they were just ordinary young men, probably as nervous as me underneath. I’d never dream of approaching a golden prince of the stage…”

“You seem to manage quite well with Karl.”

“That’s different. I fled from him too, but he didn’t give up. Yes, I’m different now, but those human fears still rear up and spook me sometimes… What shall I say to him?”

“Oh, you’ll think of something.” Violette gave her a wry look. “Try to make him understand
why
I enforce these rules – you might make a better job of it than me. If he does as he’s told, I may reduce his suspension to two weeks.”

“You are an appalling tyrant,” Charlotte said mildly.

“So I’ve been told.” Violette gave a savage grin. “Charm him. Do anything it takes, within reason.”

“I’ll try, but I’ve never really spoken to Emil; I don’t know how he’ll react…”

“Nor do I, but I need him.” Her voice turned low and fervent. She didn’t need to explain that she meant for the sake of her art, the pursuit of perfection. Charlotte knew, everyone knew, that Violette put her ballet before her own life. “Charlotte, I
cannot
lose him.”

* * *

The lake was black, glittering with reflections from dim gas-lamps along the promenade. Emil skimmed flat stones across the water, an activity that did little to relieve his frustration. In his dark coat and hat, no one gave him a second glance as they walked by. Tourists, mostly. Couples, arm in arm. Damn them.

He knew he’d behaved like a complete fool with Violette. To stop and think before he acted was not in his nature, but now he cursed himself, striking his forehead with his knuckles. She couldn’t have humiliated him more thoroughly if she’d stripped him naked, painted him blue and flogged him through the streets. And he’d known this would happen, yet he’d offered his heart for her to trample on regardless. Weeks in the wilderness of her disdain? Perhaps she would never look at him again without contempt.

“I’ll never be at ease with you again. I’ll never confide in you, never treat you as the other half of myself, never trust you. Because of this, I’ll always be on my guard. Everything between us will be work, nothing else.” Her words looped around his mind, like razors cutting him to pieces.

The price of dancing with her, now, was that he would be her abject slave forever.

And yet… how to leave?

He couldn’t.

How quickly could love turn to hate? He nearly hated her for her glacial dismissal of him. She valued his looks and talent – but his inner life, his yearning and love and devotion, his humanity, were worthless. He thought,
I am just a thing to her
.

Did she have a heart at all, or a lump of black diamond in her chest?