The Dark Blood of Poppies (51 page)

“So leave them to it! Isn’t that what you want?”

She raised her chin and glared at him. He leaned down to her. She hesitated, then accepted his hand, letting him lift her to her feet. Her satiny dark skin enthralled him.

“All of this is Lilith’s fault! She sundered us from Simon. Without divine guidance he is too headstrong, uncontrollable like her. They will disrupt the Crystal Ring. The damage has already begun. Have you not noticed?”

The hostile storms of the Ring, the knot of darkness… Sebastian had noticed, but tried to ignore the changes.

“Of course, but there’s nothing I can do, is there?”

“Help us against Lilith. Help us show Simon that he cannot defeat her without us!” She pressed closer to him. “We created you for the benefit of immortal-kind. Why do you refuse to understand?”

“I do understand. However, I refuse to be used.”

“We made you! We never choose at random.”

“You chose badly, all the same.”

“You are betraying us,” she said, stroking his cheek. “Running away from your responsibilities.”

“I have none. I’m not in your debt.”

She slid one leg around the outside of his. “Don’t you remember how it was when we transformed you?”

He remembered. The dark cellar. Three fallen angels, capturing his soul and delivering him into a state of undeath… and in the darkness, Rasmila drawing him to her. Naked beneath her robe. Blind lust possessing him… the absolute, wanton sweetness of her, making him forget Mary and all that went before.

Now her mouth and eyes shone as she unfastened buttons one-handed and pulled at his clothes. Her legs went round his waist, supple as a temple-dancer’s. Weightless, she impaled herself on him and he thrust to meet her, sinking down onto the floor with her limbs entwined around him.

The aching compulsion was almost painful. He gasped with wonder. His body and the whole room came alight with jewels. Rasmila clawed at him, uttering a soul-deep cry. Sebastian dropped his head into her shoulder as a sharp, soundless explosion convulsed him.

Now he was tearing into her throat, streams of light on his tongue. The pleasure was less focused but more intense, unearthly rapture taking him so far out of himself that only the pain of Rasmila’s bite could bring him back.

The divine exchange of blood… something Robyn could not give him. He drew hard on her, merciless, but every drop he took, she stole back. Neither could win. Sated and in equilibrium, they ceased and lay still, smiling at each other.

Then he felt bleak. She was not Robyn.

“Now my blood is in you,” Rasmila said. “You can’t deny me.”

“You don’t know me,” he said pleasantly, refastening his disarrayed shirt and breeches. “When you changed me, I felt I’d become the Devil. Of course you could not ‘mentor’ me, nor could I ever share your beliefs.”

She shook her head. “No, you are not the Devil, Sebastian.” She sat up. “And you’ve given me something after all: your blood, your strength.”

Rising to her feet, she was magnificent against the window. A deity, Hindu or Celtic, there was no division: Kali and Cailleach were the same goddess.

“I hope you’re suitably grateful.” He stood up, brushing dust from his clothes.

“You are involved, whether you wish it or not,” she said. Her expression was sweet, but as strong as steel. “And so is your lover.”

“This has nothing to do with Robyn,” he said grimly.

“But it will, if you turn your back. Are we enemies?” Rasmila touched his cheek.

“No.”

“I came to warn you, not to threaten. I am not Simon, demanding acts of heroism. I ask only for friendship, a little help in protecting us all from Lilith. I’m going to find Fyodor now; we’ve been apart too long. Help us, and we’ll help you in turn.”

“I need no help.”

Her serene face showed amusement. “But if you change your mind, call and my blood will hear you.”

Rasmila moved away, seeming more an icon than a living being. In a column of smoky-bronze light, she stepped into the Ring. He was alone.

He stood among the detritus of long-vanished childhoods, feeling like a ghost among ghosts.
Now I need to hunt
, he thought.
I need a human struggling in my arms and their hot blood… and then the solitude of the Crystal Ring.

Robyn was in his mind, but she was an abstract image, not a breathing reality.

* * *

“Do they feed on each other’s energy, as we do?” Cesare asked. “Karl, Charlotte and Lilith?”

His eyes were red, like those of a man who’d been working frantically for days and nights. His face shone with mania. “If she were separated from them, would she become weaker?”

“Possibly,” said Simon. They were in the sanctum with John: the supposed triumvirate. Lilith’s attack had petrified everyone. It had taken all their energy to keep control of their terrified human disciples. Something had been lost. John had sunk even deeper into his need for vengeance, while Cesare clung to the very lip of sanity.

Simon regarded Cesare with despair.
If you were Karl
, he thought,
you would be rational, not crazed; and if John were Charlotte, we might have constructive suggestions in place of baleful silence.
“I felt power between her and Charlotte.”

“There is nothing to do with Karl and Charlotte but kill them,” said Cesare. “An execution for the good of the majority.”

Would you extend the threat to me
, thought Simon,
if you saw that behind my smiling mask, I actually despise you?

“Killing them won’t stop Lilith,” Simon said wearily. “We’ve seen her strength. It’s a wonder she didn’t decapitate you on the spot, Cesare.”

“You urged me to anger her! ‘Kill the humans she loves,’ you said. ‘We are God’s fire. Annihilate her ballet, and Lilith will be nothing but a cloud of wailing anger!’ But her damnable ballet is still intact, while two of my flock are dead at her hands!”

“I hope you aren’t insinuating that it’s my fault,” said Simon. “We made her angry; wasn’t that the aim? In that, we succeeded admirably.”

Cesare lowered his head, collecting himself. “Simon, I don’t mean to rail at you. But we must bring the transformations forward. I need my army. Lilith frightened them, and I cannot afford to lose them to mortal fear.”

“The transformation is a simple matter,” Simon said. “It can be done whenever you wish, all in one day, one hour. However… neither Karl, nor your new army, is central to this.”

“Then what, precisely, is central?” Cesare asked icily.

“You’ve already given me the answer yourself.”

“Have I?”

“Sebastian’s message,” said Simon. “One word. Samael.”

“Just a name. What does it mean?” How desperate Cesare sounded.

“It means that only one vampire is capable of destroying Lilith. And that vampire is Sebastian. He’s like her: Samael was the Devil, Lilith’s husband. Her equal and opposite.”

“Who refuses to co-operate.” Cesare exhaled.

“But who thinks he can use this knowledge to manipulate us. He was trying to show he is cleverer, more knowledgeable than us! Well, let him think that. All we need is for Sebastian and Lilith to loathe each other, and to meet.”

Simon had expected to impress Cesare with this insight, but the leader only folded his arms and spoke with scorn, “How could you hope to arrange that?”

“It’s already in hand. Rasmila is assisting.”

“Rasmila, who has no thought in her head but you?”

“Exactly. She will do anything for me.”

“But I’ve met Sebastian. As I said, he and Lilith have no interest in each other. He cares for nothing but himself. No, Simon, forget him.” Cesare gazed at Simon with the fervour that had swayed his disciples. “He’s like Karl, an unreliable, useless subversive. Such men are powerless because they throw power away! But we three understand. Simon, if you and I and John lack the strength to defeat Lilith, what are we worth?”

Simon examined his perfect fingernails. There was something in what Cesare said.

“If only Charlotte and Violette were not joined at the hip,” he murmured. “If only Charlotte would leave her… and come to me.”

Cesare seemed not to hear him. As if possessed, he lunged forward and shook Simon, his eyes burning white.

“What if Samael and Lilith came together and created something
worse
?”

* * *

A sound disturbed Robyn’s sleep: the echoing cry of a woman in pain – or extreme pleasure. Her eyes snapped open. She stared at the embers of the fire, slept again.

When she woke properly, it was light. The fire had gone out and her coat had fallen to the floor. Numb with cold, she ached all over from sleeping in one position.

For a moment, she had no idea where she was. Thousands of books in faded reds, blues and browns towered around her. A mirror above the fireplace reflected a window framing a cloudy sky. Figures in oil paintings stared at her.
Oh, this place
, she thought, feeling sick at heart.

She sat up stiffly, swearing.

“Your language doesn’t improve,” said a voice.

She twisted round and saw Sebastian, a graceful silhouette against the window.

“How long have you been there?” She was angry at first; then, seeing the look on his face, the feeling deepened to suspicion.

“Not long.” He came to the chaise longue.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I love to watch you sleeping,” he said. His eyes were very soft, too tranquil. “Are you cold?”

“Frozen.”

“Then I’ll attend to the fire.” He began to move away, but she caught his wrist.

“Have you been gone all night?”

His eyes slid sideways under lowered lids. Shame? “There were certain things…”

“So you just left me to sleep on a couch again?”

“I meant to prepare a bed, but certain matters intervened. Forgive me, Robyn. I’m still unused to considering your needs before my own.”

“Damned right you are.” Her breathing quickened and her blood rose. He sat beside her and stroked her hair, but she folded her arms.

“And now you are angry with me,” he said ruefully.

“Has she gone, your uninvited guest?”

“She’s gone.”

“So you persuaded her, did you?” Her venomous tone appeared to startle him. “Your powers of persuasion are as impressive as ever. I hope you enjoyed it as much as she did.”

“What are you talking about?” he said quietly.

She could have screamed. Pulling away, she grabbed her coat as if it, too, had wronged her. “Don’t treat me like an idiot! You had her, didn’t you? I won’t even grace it with the term ‘seduction’.”

His lips parted, ready to deny it. Instead he hesitated, frowning. “How did you know?”

“I just
know
. I saw how you were with each other; there was a bond between you, two hundred years separated or not. It’s all over your face, damn it, that shameful glow.”

He seemed bemused. “I never thought you would be jealous.”

“And you’re amazed by that?” She buttoned her shoes, rose and threw on her coat. “You are absolutely amazed.”

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for my purse.” She found the purse under the chaise longue, checked how much money she had. Enough. “My God, all that garbage about not sharing me with Harold!”

She hurried through the door and into the salon, her footsteps ringing. She was more than hurt. She felt annihilated.

Sebastian followed her. “Robyn, don’t leave.”

“No, I’ve had enough.”

“Where do you think you’ll go?”

“Cork. Home.”

“Stop, will you?”

She halted, three-quarters of the way across the room, keeping her back to him so he wouldn’t see her crying. Beside her, the crocodile skull grinned in its glass case.

He said, “Anything between Rasmila and myself is separate. I won’t insult you by saying it meant nothing, but it was to do with blood, which I can’t explain to a mortal…”

“And I don’t want to hear it! You’re a monster. You must take me for such a fool.”

“Please don’t leave.” His voice almost broke. He sounded desperate.

“You’ve got yourself; what more do you need?”

Without looking back, Robyn resumed her walk to the door. She took four steps; she neither heard nor felt him move, but suddenly he seized her from behind, his arms locking across her ribs.

She struggled, outraged and terrified.

“Don’t go!” He turned her round in his arms, holding her with unholy strength. “I should die if you left me!”

She almost wriggled out of his grip, but he thrust her against the closed door and held her there.

“Why the hell should I stay?” she cried.

He spoke fervidly into her ear. “This morning I came in from the outside world and the otherworld and the arms of a vampire where it was bitter-cold, and I saw you lying by the fire and you were warm, you were a living fire, the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen, with your hair like brown flames. And I realised you are all that matters to me, your heat and your precious life. All Rasmila wanted from me was blood. She is like ice and I could never love her, because –”

She waited for him to go on, her eyes tight shut. “Why can’t you say it?”

“I’m telling you that I cannot endure my life without you.”

“It’s not enough! Let go of me!” She fought him, but he held her. “What’s the point, when you won’t say the one thing –”

“Do you want blood from me?” he whispered.

“Say it!”

“If I do, will it make you stay?”

“Nothing else will.”

He went quiet, his mouth in her hair. She felt his grip loosening, his whole body softening. “Have my blood, then. I love you, Robyn.”

Her breath whooshed out in a laugh of sheer astonishment.

“Now, will you please stay with me?” he said.

Not a struggle between them now, but an embrace. “I’ll stay,” she said. They clung together, lost to each other and ashamed of it, pinioned by the dreadful joy of surrender.

But I won
, Robyn thought in bitter-sweet triumph.
I’ve changed him, I’ve soured all his other victims; I made him fall in love with me and I forced him to admit it.

I won!