The Dark Blood of Poppies (45 page)

Something changed. Karl sensed it even through his blood-frenzy. Radiance filled the corner of his eye, a new presence that lit the whole chamber.

Karl was wrenched off his prey and flung aside. He hit the flagstones with Cesare’s scream filling his ears; his fangs must have torn the tender flesh. Karl landed on his back, gazing up at a golden-haired immortal, as splendid as a lion. Next to this being, Cesare seemed a colourless sibling.

Simon. Archangel, envoy of God, deceiver. And beside him was John, a scarred crimson bull of a man.

Karl made to regain his feet, only for Simon and John to lunge and hold him down. He struggled fiercely, but John’s strength was bizarre, as if he were massively heavy. Simon caught Karl’s throat and exerted vicious pressure, enough to break flesh, to snap tendons, crush the spine… to remove his head with one hand, if he chose.

No point in entering Raqia, because they would follow. As Simon smiled into his eyes, Karl experienced a fear that he hadn’t known since Kristian’s death.

“You won last time. Now it’s my turn, Karl.” Simon’s nose was an inch from his. “Circumstances change. I used to be as weak as you, but now I’m stronger. Don’t delude yourself; Cesare’s right, you can’t stop us. So if you’ve any sense you’ll join us, you and the lovely, obliging Charlotte. You must become my lovers because you’re too wise to be my enemies… aren’t you?”

His eyes were burning amulets, hypnotic. Karl felt the onward rush of a terrible philosophy, a monumental change that could not be averted. Soul-destroying. He closed his eyes in despair.

Simon slid his hand over Karl’s collarbone and under his shirt. Then he struck. Sharp pain pierced Karl’s veins. He felt his vitality flowing into Simon, while the angel-demon pressed his body hard to Karl’s, flattening him along the floor.

Over Simon’s shoulder, Karl saw Cesare smiling. He resembled a boyish monk, his hair a crisp halo.

“You can’t leave now, Karl,” said Cesare. “You’re ours.”

Karl was floating in euphoric weakness, enmeshed in pain. Simon finished at last and raised his head, his mouth crimson, his eyes sultry flames. His body shuddered against Karl’s like a fulfilled lover.

“Oh, Karl,” Simon breathed. “I have wanted to do that for such a long time.”

* * *

Charlotte was alone in Violette’s apartment above the studio, arranging bowls of white roses in hopes of sweetening the air. It was a room of silver-greys, muted lavender and ashes-of-roses tints; soft, luxurious, melancholy – and tainted by the bitter-sour smell of dead fire.

The blaze hadn’t reached the upper floors. No one was meant to re-enter the building, but there was no danger to vampires, and the fire chief would never know.

At this moment, Violette was downstairs, convincing the police and the fire brigade, as only she could, that the fire had been caused by an electrical fault.

And Violette was a fresh heroine for the newspapers. B
RAVE
B
ALLERINA
F
IGHTS
F
IRE
T
O
S
AVE
T
HIRTY
L
IVES – AND
C
AT
exclaimed the evening papers. Charlotte had been protecting Violette from reporters all day. The blood of three now sang sweetly through her veins.

She was waiting impatiently for Karl. She tried to resist checking the clock, but her anxiety was increasing. What kept him so long at Schloss Holdenstein?
He can look after himself
… But memories of the castle chilled her.
Even with Kristian dead, I still feel it’s dangerous
, she thought, stripping leaves from a rose stem. A thorn pricked her finger. A drop of blood oozed out. She looked at the perfect red cabochon on the pearl whiteness of her skin, then absently licked it away. A tiny fork of lightning struck her tongue; strange, disturbing, that even the taste of her own blood could electrify her.

I should have gone with Karl
, she thought.
If only Stefan had stayed, he could have helped protect Violette… Whatever he thinks of her, he would have done so for me. I wish Karl wouldn’t insist on taking such risks alone! But I admire his independence, so I cannot complain.

She watched the tiny puncture heal and vanish.

An unsettling feeling crept over her… A frosty, unnatural presence lurking behind a bedroom door. Waiting for her or for Violette? Charlotte went to the panelled door and turned the handle. The presence was radiant yet cold, and eerily familiar.

She opened the door and halted on the threshold, transfixed.

The being was white, obscured by a veil of opalescent light. Far from threatening her, it lay half on the bed, as if it had fallen and couldn’t get up.

It stretched out a glowing arm and said, “Help me.” A heavy accent, perhaps Russian. “Help me.”

A trap? Charlotte approached cautiously, all her senses poised. She knew this creature… Through the glare, she made out a narrow face and long silver-white wisps of hair.

“Who are you?” she said.

“Fyodor,” said the hoarse voice. “You know me, Charlotte, friend of Lilith.”

So it was him! She remained out of reach, suspicious. Fyodor: lover of Simon, enemy of Violette.

“Help me,” he said again. “So weak. Took all my strength to find you.”

Reluctantly, she gave him her hand. She was ready for treachery, but he only leaned on her, rose and collapsed onto the bed. His glow faded as if sinking back into his pores, leaving his flesh so white that hers was golden-pink by contrast. His white shirt and cream-coloured flannels were rags. Bloodless and emaciated, he resembled a blue-veined albino ravaged by addiction. The vampire she remembered, full of arrogant mirth, was gone.

“What do you want?”

“To talk. You created Lilith, so listen to me.”

“Are your companions with you?” she said harshly. “Are you planning to kidnap Violette again? Why can’t you leave her in peace?”

Fyodor held up his hands. “I’m alone. The trinity is broken. You could drain my blood, break my neck and throw me to the hounds of hell, Charlotte, if you wished. Since Simon left us, I have no strength.”

She sat on the bed, arms folded.

“Do you expect sympathy? My God, you should kiss Violette’s feet and beg forgiveness for the way you treated her!”

Rage glinted in Fyodor’s eyes, a silver lash. “Love is blind,” he said. “You are in love with a serpent, but a serpent can’t feel love. It can only bite. We obeyed God’s will!”

“When you half-killed us, coerced Violette into nearly being raped by Lancelyn – that was God’s will?” Charlotte said bitterly. “What a charming God you serve.”

His head tipped listlessly to one side. “I agree. That so-charming God abandoned us. You are so young, Charlotte, a baby in vampire terms, but Simon, Rasmila and I are very old. The older we grow, the closer to the Crystal Ring we become, too confident of our powers. That’s when the Ring moulds us to its own designs. We become what it wants: angels, devils, gods. And when it’s finished with us, it spits us out. Raqia has a use for Simon again, but no use for me.”

“Oh,” Charlotte breathed. Energy filled her, a revelation. “That’s what I believe, too. God didn’t make the Crystal Ring; it’s the Ring that creates gods! And you’ve found this out at last? You’ve lost your faith.”

His silvery face creased with pain. “And loss of faith is our punishment. It hit Simon hardest. I could accept it, be a simple vampire again, with no reason for my existence except nature’s caprice. But Simon can’t let go. He needs power and influence, but he can’t use Rasmila and me any longer, so he fastens onto someone new.”

“Cesare,” said Charlotte. “I know.”

Fyodor sneered. “Cesare isn’t enough for him. Simon still needs me but won’t admit it.” He touched her thigh, and the touch tingled unpleasantly. “I don’t care about Lilith or Cesare. I want Simon back, that’s all. I want Simon.”

Charlotte moved out of reach, almost laughing. Lovesick, this poor creature. Simply lovesick. “What do you think I can do about it?”

Fyodor sat up, long milky hair hanging down to his lap. He was frail, androgynous, not the exuberant creature she remembered. “You are keeping him from me, you and Karl!”

“No, we’re not,” she said. “I gave Simon no encouragement. He tried to use us, that’s all. That’s not love. He has no soul. He’s empty, and emptiness breeds mischief.”

Fyodor appeared not to take offence at her judgement. “Simon gave you his blood,” he said quietly. “Didn’t that make you adore him?”

“No. I wish he
would
take you back and leave us alone.”

Fyodor seized her hand, making her start. “Then come and fetch Karl!”

“What?” Waves of fear shivered over her.

“They’re holding Karl at Schloss Holdenstein.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when you arrived?” Charlotte was on her feet, distraught. “We’re wasting time!”

She was out of the apartment and running downstairs, not waiting for an answer. The scent of singed timber rose, choking her. On the landing, she met Violette running up from a lower floor, as if she’d heard Charlotte’s cry.

Charlotte rushed back up to the apartment, Violette following, only to find that Fyodor had vanished.

“He was here,” Charlotte said. “Fyodor. He said they’re keeping Karl prisoner at Holdenstein. We must get him out!”

Violette was unmoved. “No, Charlotte. It’s a trap.”

“So? If Karl’s in danger, I have to help him. Will you come with me?”

She was about to step into Raqia, but Violette said, “No.”

Charlotte stared, incredulous. “You’re refusing to help Karl? But he went there for your sake!”

“It’s a trap,” Violette repeated, “and if you’ve any sense, you won’t fall for it.”

Charlotte was floored.

“Don’t you care? I know you and Karl don’t get on, but what does it matter? After all we’ve done to help you, despite receiving nothing but threats in return? Maybe Cesare and the others are right about you. I’m the one who’s blind, not them.”

She couldn’t look at Violette, couldn’t bear her glacial eyes and heartless words. Furious, betrayed, but dry-eyed, Charlotte turned away and arrowed into the Crystal Ring.

* * *

John had wanted to lock Karl in a cell and torture him, but Simon, disgusted, wouldn’t hear of it.

“You don’t know Karl as I do,” said Simon. “He’s not one of your ox-headed young men. We’ll win him only by affection and reason, not cruelty.

But it was torment, Simon mused, to treat Karl as they had. After Simon drained his blood, they took him to the meeting chamber and sat him on a low chair, with John on hand to prevent any escape attempts. They kept him there for hours, starving.

Few things caused more agony to a vampire than blood-deprivation. Yet Karl bore the ordeal with extraordinary composure. Simon was impressed.

Torchlight made the stone walls appear bathed in sweat. John stood guard beside Karl, while Cesare paced in front of him, expounding his beliefs with enough force to bring anyone, mortal or vampire, to his knees. Simon quietly watched.

The bliss of stealing Karl’s blood had whetted his passion. Simon was in love. He knew now the mystery that made everyone love Karl. He saw why even Kristian had lost all common sense over him. The secret was distilled in Karl’s beauty: a poet’s face, amber eyes like fire captured within the shadows of his brows and lashes. He was like a panther, caged without losing one mote of dignity.

Oh, why did you refuse me?
Simon thought.
What a leader you would have made! Cesare will do – oh, but you with Cesare’s vision, Karl! What perfection that would be
.
I’m truly sorry for causing this pain but I can’t help myself…

Simon’s fingers played on the chair a hair’s breadth from Karl’s arm. Karl ignored him.

Then Cesare brought in the humans. Handsome recruits, with bronzed skin and blue eyes. Their tans were fading. A long time would pass before they saw the sun again.

Simon felt Karl tense as the mortals were paraded in small groups. Simon’s own fangs ached and his body yearned towards their moist heat. How much worse it must be for his captive! But Karl remained immobile, expressionless.

“Are they not magnificent?” Cesare said. “What glorious immortals they will make! You don’t begrudge them eternal life, surely?”

“They will turn against you,” said Karl, “as Kristian’s children turned on him.”

“Never,” said Cesare, “because I rely not on vague hopes of love, but on sure foundations of discipline. They are mine already, through life, death and eternity.”

“Are they to have no thoughts of their own?” Karl’s voice was steady but tense with thirst.

“What thoughts could they have that are better than mine?” Cesare asked. “Your misguided obsession with freedom leads to depravity and anarchy, the dark path to Lilith’s domain.”

“They’ll begin to age unless you transform them soon.”

“The time of transformation is mine to decide.” Cesare looked reprovingly at Simon. “You haven’t weakened him enough. He hopes to discover our plans. But it wouldn’t matter, Karl, if you knew the time of initiation to the minute: you can’t stop us.”

“And it won’t matter if you keep me here for a hundred years,” Karl said flatly. “You will never persuade me to your cause.”

“Will this not persuade you?” More human males came in, bowed, walked away. Delicious blood-heat wafted from them. “Or this?” Another group. “Or this?”

Two vampires marched in, holding between them an exquisite young woman with dishevelled russet hair. She was afire with indignation.

Charlotte.

That, Simon noted with satisfaction, made Karl react.

* * *

When Charlotte saw Karl seated between John and Simon, his face gaunt with blood-loss, she broke free of her captors and ran towards him. John stepped forward and stopped her. It was like hitting an iron gate.

John’s grotesque appearance shocked her. His hands on her arms were thick and powerful, like snakes. But it was the emanation of his soul that horrified most; there was nothing in his eyes, nothing but hellfire.

She could have fled into Raqia, but escaping would not help Karl.