The Dark Blood of Poppies (43 page)

* * *

By the time he reached Robyn’s house, near dawn, Sebastian had a searing thirst for blood, born of anger at the intruders.
To think they were here and might have killed her… To think that Violette might seduce her away from me, or Cesare use her as a pawn against Violette!

He’d been calm before. Now he was shaking.

I have to take her away before those other vampires come back.

He stared at Robyn’s troubled face, her hair richly tangled on the pillow, and felt he’d gone out of his mind. He was angry with her, too.
I must keep her
, he thought.
Punish her.

He put his hands to his head. Fragmenting.

Raqia crystallised around him, enabling him to walk straight through the outside wall. Corridors and walls leaned eccentrically, and the stairs to the top floor went up at an odd angle, the treads like compressed bars of light.

Warmth and thirst drew him. He mounted the stairs, melted through a door, and entered the maid’s chamber. A neat, pretty room with flowered chintz, a gleaming brass bedstead.

Mary had just got up. She sat with her back to the door, brushing her hair. She was in a loose white nightdress, her head to one side, her hair a wheat-coloured veil with the light shining through. As she brushed she hummed to herself, dreaming private dreams of which her mistress knew nothing.

Something alerted her and she turned, blue eyes wide, her hair floating with static. An ordinary face, pretty enough. Nothing to compare with the magnificence of that other Mary, the one who’d betrayed him, but no matter. She would do.

Sebastian went quickly to her, knelt and put a finger to her lips. He’d tasted her blood before but this time he wanted more. She was frightened, but one deep look and her pupils expanded with excitement.

“Shall we turn down the lamp?” he said.

The light shrank, shadows flowed in. Mary began to unbutton her nightdress, her eyes locked sightlessly on his, the tip of her tongue poised between her teeth.

He bent to kiss her breasts, and his blood gelled.

He couldn’t do it.

Enraged at himself, he pulled her wrists behind her back and bit into her throat, sharp and brutal. She made no sound. But even her blood tasted flat. Not what he wanted. Holding the girl away from him, he pierced her eyes with his, erasing her memory. Then he flung her aside on the bed.

A footstep outside. A column of warmth.

Then the door flew open, and a harpy rushed at him, hair streaming, nightdress billowing, eyes wild. A line of steel swept towards his head. He moved just in time to avoid the blow, which caught his raised arm with sickening pain.

He twisted the poker out of Robyn’s hand and held her wrist. Her other hand catapulted up and delivered a hard blow to his head before he could restrain her. She struggled, her face murderous.

“You do feel pain!” she exclaimed, gasping for breath.

“Of course. You almost broke my arm. I hope you’re happy.”

“What the hell are you doing? You promised not to touch Mary, how dare you –”

The maid was curled on her bed, unconscious.

“And you, with Violette,” he whispered. “You were going to give in to her, weren’t you?”

She went rigid. “But that was a dream.”

“No, love, she was really here. I heard what you said to her. So I was going to take Mary and…”

“My God, so vindictive! You think you’re gloriously evil but really it’s petty spite!”

“True.” He held her very close now, their breath mingling. His hands were light on her arms and she could easily have escaped. “I wanted to punish you, yes – but I couldn’t do it, Robyn. I barely touched the girl. I don’t want her. And I could slaughter you for that.”

“For what?”

“For making me want no one but you. For souring all my other victims. For changing my nature.”

She stiffened, as if she expected him to attack her. “What do you expect me to do about it?”

He embraced her suddenly, inflamed by her heat and scent. He kissed her cheek, held her earlobe between his teeth, nipped gently at her neck. She shivered. “I told you,” he said. “I want you.”

She touched her cheek where he’d kissed her, then stroked the skin beneath his eyes. Moisture shone on her fingertips. “Good Lord,” she said faintly, “you’re crying. Where did you learn that? You think you’re winning, but you won’t destroy me! How many more times do you plan to come back swearing devotion, then desert me again?”

“You did miss me, then.”

A shudder. “It was unbearable. You’ve no pity at all.”

“Have
you
? Robyn, no more, I promise. Come away with me.”

“Where to?” she gasped.

“Back to Ireland.”

“I can’t.” She was soft in his arms now, her desire for him – dare he think, love? – melting all her defences. “Do we have to talk about this now? Let’s go to my bedroom before I die.”

* * *

Violette wanted to cut Cesare and the stranger from her mind, but she couldn’t. They haunted her thoughts all the long way home. Who was the dark silent man with Cesare? She felt she’d seen him before…

She thought of the hunter in the forest. Shivered with the echo of overwhelming hunger that had caused her to drain him dry.

He’s the first victim I’ve ever killed outright. Or was he? I can’t remember. But he called Lilith’s judgement upon himself. If I’d been a human woman, lost in the forest, he would have raped me and kept me to breed and cook his meals, and all the time thought he was being kind. Such a man is fit only to keep a dog.

Hours in the Crystal Ring tired Violette. She travelled slowly now, feeling as heavy as marble. The currents buffeted her cruelly. Daylight in the world meant that a ghost-sun also shone in the Ring, high above the
Weisskalt.
It couldn’t be seen, but its light dispersed through layers of azure, purple, umber.

As she descended, unexpected terror seized her, causing her to flounder and almost fall. A dark current caught her. The pull drew her towards its source: a massive concretion in the sky, a shimmering blackness that was now a towered fortress, now a mountain. A cliff, a wall, a prison. Or a house, groaning under the weight of a million crimes, tortures, murders…

She knew what it was. She’d seen it in Malik’s eyes. This was Lilith’s darkness made physical, the walls that shielded her from the blinding truth.

She twisted away and fell, arms across her face. An unbearable thought screamed through her.

This cancer in the Crystal Ring is because of me.

It is me. It’s Lilith, the death crone. Cesare speaks the truth when he says I must be destroyed before I annihilate everyone else. But I’m being used by Cesare’s callous God… and like Lilith, I shall never accept His will!

She fell to Earth a few miles from Salzburg and walked the rest of the way, to calm herself. She’d spent all day in the Crystal Ring. Night had fallen again, and the winter air was like iron.

She thought of Cesare and his companion, the dark silent vampire. Of the two, the dark-haired one disturbed her more. Was he in Robyn’s bedroom too? She hadn’t noticed, but now she was unsure. She’d fled to draw Cesare away from Robyn. What a mercy that she’d lured the dark stranger too.

And Robyn. How close I came… I should thank Cesare for stopping me
.
I won’t go to her again.

She was in town now. The river slid past on her left, tall, elegant buildings on her right. The home of Ballet Janacek appeared in the distance, narrowed by perspective. As she drew closer, a sense of wrongness hit her. In her mind’s eye were two humans, darting away behind the house, out of sight…

Violette sped the rest of the way through the Ring. As she reached the house, a smell billowed out to meet her.

Smoke.

Take the warning you will find at home
.

The milky-green building towered over her, its windows black mirrors. She felt heat flickering inside, and the smoke stench was acrid like burning hair. Racing to a side entrance, she found the door ajar, the lock forced.

The fire was in the costume store.

A stench of paraffin mingled with fumes of burning wood and material. A wavering wall of heat struck her, matching her horror and outrage.
Who would do this to us?

Flames danced between hampers, catching and running, silhouetting a costumed tailor’s dummy for a second before catching the stiff layers of net.

Transforming Odile into a blazing Firebird.

F
lames leapt, hungry to strip the bones of the old building. Upstairs, Violette’s dancers and staff slumbered, more precious than her own life. She was the line between their survival and death…

Buckets of sand and water stood in the corridor, though she’d never dreamed she’d have to use them. Lifting the first two, she shouted at the top of her voice to wake the caretaker, who slept on the ground floor.

“Herr Ehlers! Fire! Herr Ehlers!”

Hefting the buckets inside the storeroom, she slammed the door, shutting herself in with the fire. Walls and ceiling were carbon-black. A great bubble of hot gas teetered towards the ceiling, burst into flames with a
whump
. Sheets of fire consumed the air and the smoke was thick with ash, but it couldn’t touch Violette. Her unnatural body would not suffocate or burn. She faced the fire in semi-paralysed horror, as if about to witness a fatal accident happen to someone else.

She flung the contents of the buckets on the worst of the fire. Not enough. The flames only shied and flared up elsewhere.

Rather than open the door and risk unleashing the blaze, she entered Raqia to slip back into the corridor. She risked someone seeing, but it didn’t matter.

“Fire!” she yelled. “Fire!”

A vampire’s voice at full volume was piercing. The elderly caretaker and his wife came shuffling down the corridor through clouds of smoke, pulling on dressing gowns as they came.

“Madame!” Ehlers cried, turning white. “What are you doing? Go outside immediately!”

“Call the fire brigade!” she snapped. Then she was past the couple, running upstairs to her apartment, shouting for Geli.

The maid opened the door as Violette reached the top of the stairs. Geli looked astonished. She held a hand to her mouth as her eyes began to water from smoke.

“Don’t stand there!” said Violette. “Down the back stairs and out through the kitchen!”

The fifteen girls who formed her
corps de ballet
, and their ballet mistress, lived in the attic rooms. Violette woke those who hadn’t already heard the commotion, accounted for everyone, ushered them downstairs and outside to safety. It was done in minutes. The girls coughed and clung to each other. Some were crying, others staring in amazement at the inferno, at smoke and ash whirling into the night. Musicians, the handful of male dancers, household staff…

Minutes
, Violette thought, as she heard fire wagons trundling along the road, bells clanging, galloping hooves striking the cobblestones.
If I hadn’t come home at that precise moment they could all have died. Fire would have roared up through the wooden floors. But if only I’d been earlier!

Shock and rage hit her like the barrage of heat.

I could have prevented this. Caught the arsonists and torn out their throats. If I hadn’t gone to find Rachel and Robyn, this wouldn’t have happened. All the time Cesare was taunting me, he must have known!

The fire brigade took too long. Losing patience, she rushed back into the building. Behind her, people yelled for her to come back, but no one could stop her. The inferno engulfed her, but she was an ice-statue that couldn’t melt.

Under the fire’s crackling roar, she heard a tiny voice crying.

A commotion began outside. Figures loomed outside the storeroom and water jetted through doors and windows. Violette, meanwhile, began methodically to smother the fire with her hands and feet. It was the swiftest, most desperate dance she’d ever choreographed.

Her dress caught light and blossomed into flame. Violette cried out. Heat seared her and human terror kicked in. She beat frantically at herself, while the material fragmented and floated away – yet, when the flames were extinguished, she found her flesh undamaged: carbon-black, but whole and perfect underneath. Her fear fled, but she hated this: the stench and wanton destruction, the stupidity and waste.

Tears made trails down her sooty cheeks.

She heard the firemen shouting for her.
Now I’ve given everyone a heart attack, on top of this
, she thought. Water rushed in and drenched her, soaking the tatters of her clothes. At last the fire surrendered, leaving the costume store in saturated ruin.

The little voice grew louder. Something black and white darted from under a sink and leapt into her arms. A terrified and bedraggled cat.

“Which of your nine lives was that, Magdi?” Violette whispered. “And which of mine?”

Two firemen came stepping over the wet debris towards her, plainly relieved and shocked to see her. She was smeared with soot, nearly naked. Then they were businesslike.