The Dark Arts of Blood (48 page)

“Sir, you cannot—
Herr Reiniger!
”

Karl ignored her. He raced, virtually flew up the staircase. An invisible, muscular force opposed him but this time, from urgent force of will, he forced his way through.

Not fast enough. He saw the tall doors opening as Stefan walked inside.

The chamber was a grand meeting room with lofty ceilings and lit alcoves, designed to impress. Karl took in the scene over Stefan’s shoulder. Godric Reiniger was on a dais at the far end of the room. Twenty-eight men gathered before him, standing in a loose group. They all wore blue cloaks: typical ritual dressing up to add a sense of occasion.

Godric stood between two art easels, each displaying an oblong of rough white linen clipped to a board. Both pieces of cloth were marked with messy red sigils the size of a human torso…

Just like the designs carved into the flesh of Niklas and Stefan. Karl noted this with rising fury.

Had Reiniger taken
prints
of their wounds, treating their bodies like inked lino cuts?

“And as we can take pride in the triumph of our earlier operation…” the leader was saying as Stefan entered.

Godric Reiniger stopped in mid-sentence. Silence fell. Every head turned to stare at the intruders. Karl recognised faces from
The Lion Arises
, from the gang who’d beaten up Emil behind the beer hall, and from the party. Each man held a bone-handled knife in a slashing or stabbing grip. The ruby cabochons shone like blood clots.

So they were expecting us
, thought Karl.
As I warned Stefan they would be.

How could Godric look so poised and fresh, as if he had not spent half the night carving Stefan and Niklas to shreds? His aura was stronger than ever to Karl’s eyes, like crackling white flames, so strong that even his human acolytes must see it.
Life-energy stolen from Niklas
, he thought.

Karl made to hold back his friend, but Stefan evaded him. Instead, with a throat-tearing cry, he ran straight at Godric Reiniger.

The hall was some forty feet long. Stefan covered the distance in three seconds, dodged through the audience as if they were hardly there and sprang at his prey – but those seconds were enough for three of Reiniger’s men to form a wall in front of their master.

Stefan grunted with pain as their blades pierced him. He got one of them around the neck, bit savagely into the man’s throat and began to feed.

The man collapsed. Stefan spat out the blood – that foul taste – and flung him at his comrades, his weight taking them down. The ejected blood spattered them, rained on to the floor.

Others piled in, ready to drive their blades into Stefan, and still he managed to reach Reiniger. His hands clawed towards the leader’s neck.

Karl saw Stefan’s face in profile, unrecognisable – his angelic, amiable features transformed to those of a raging demon – and for one pleasing instant, he saw outrage, shock and complete terror on Godric Reiniger’s face.

All this happened in half a second. Time ran slow to Karl’s vampiric senses, enabling him to register every detail as he raced the last stretch of polished marble and flung himself between Stefan and Reiniger’s gang.

Several knife points entered Karl’s shoulders through his jacket as he grabbed Stefan from behind. The pain made him gasp and a familiar, unpleasant drowsiness began… This time he fought the feeling. He must stay conscious, at all costs.

Stefan struggled furiously. He didn’t seem to know it was Karl who held him, or didn’t care.

“It’s me,” Karl said into his ear. “Stop!”

But Stefan went on clawing towards his target. Reiniger stepped backwards, out of reach, weaving his own dagger in front of Stefan. Its movement left trails of light, glyphs pulsating with silver fire. A shield.

Karl managed to get Stefan’s arms behind his back. Stefan kicked at him, then tried to rush head first at Godric, his neck twisted upwards and fangs bared. He uttered a piercing shriek that made the group members step back, flinching and pressing their hands over their ears. His momentum took both him and Karl off balance and they stumbled without grace to the floor, legs tangled.

Karl pinned him down. Stefan writhed beneath him like an enraged cat.

“Don’t!” said Karl.

“Why not, why the hell not?” Stefan growled.

“Because they were expecting this! If you attack them, they’ll kill you.”

“Do you think I care? Get the hell off me!”

“
I
care,” said Karl. “There’s no use in you dying unless you take them with you, and you can’t.”

Reiniger’s voice rang out. “Remain on the floor, both of you. We hold the power here and you know it. You’ve seen proof. You feel it, don’t you?”

Karl bowed under the increasing air pressure. The weight was so intense it made his ears ring. He glanced around and saw the gang now in a tight double circle, surrounding them. Sky-blue cloaks, pale savage faces, shining blades. They held their daggers aloft as if they were about to start a crazed knife-throwing act.

Such weapons could land hilt-deep in the flesh. How many wounds could he and Stefan endure, Karl wondered, before they actually died as Niklas had?

Killing us should be easy
, he thought.
They only need to pin us here long enough to hack off our heads. However limited Godric’s knowledge, he must know that much. If in doubt, they’ll cut us up and burn the remains.

With Karl and Stefan immobile, Godric Reiniger appeared confident enough to approach them. He straightened his cloak and stalked forward with his
sikin
held casually in his right hand.

“Perhaps now you realise I am deadly serious, von Wultendorf.” He raised his chin, glaring down his nose at them. “
No one
says no to me. When I asked you to transform me, it was not a suggestion.”

Karl managed to disentangle himself from Stefan and crouched beside him, one hand keeping him quiescent. The massed vibration of the knives made him dizzy. He met Godric’s haughty eyes.

“And when I told you I can’t, I was not making excuses. I will not create more vampires. Even if we tried, there is a high chance that the change would kill you.”

He felt Stefan jerk beneath his hand. This exchange had confirmed that his twin’s death was an act of revenge. Karl thought,
Stefan, with all my heart, I am sorry. Perhaps we should have done as Godric asked: transformed him but let him perish. What’s wrong with me, that I can’t harm this petty tyrant?

“Separate them,” Reiniger snapped, gesturing to his henchmen. Karl and Stefan were dragged to their feet, held with knife-points digging into their necks and six feet of space between them. “I may require you to kill the blond one – the head needs to be severed. The dark one – Karl, I would talk to you again. If you refuse, your blond friend will die.”

“Let him go, and I’ll talk to you,” Karl said simply.

“Not possible. He’s like a spitting wild cat. I can’t let such a dangerous beast go free.”

Karl felt the heat of Stefan’s gaze on him. From long years of habit he composed himself and made his face expressionless.

“Herr Reiniger,” he said, “when did you last see your niece?”

“I beg your pardon?” Godric came closer to Karl, stone-faced.

“Think when you last saw her.”

Godric paused, eyes narrowing.

“Last night.”

“We have Amy in our custody,” said Karl. Inwardly he prayed that Charlotte had found her and that his statement was not an empty bluff.

“What?” Godric was speechless for long seconds, to Karl’s satisfaction. A shifting restlessness built among his followers. “Where is she?”

“In the company of vampires,” Karl said softly. He let his true nature shine through; his pallid dangerous beauty, his eyes unhuman like an angel’s. This hadn’t impressed Godric much before, but was always worth a try.

“You’re lying!” His breathing quickened. He half-raised the knife, hand trembling.

“Try finding her, then. Are you willing to gamble her life? You’ve protected yourselves, but not her. Let Stefan go, and you’ll get Amy back. Let him go, and I’ll talk to you willingly.”

Seething, Reiniger turned away. He took Wolfgang and six others away from the main group, whispering urgently to them.

“Karl, why do you want to
talk
with this monster?” Stefan demanded. “After what he’s done to Niklas, to us?”

The Stefan of old would have delighted in the irony of a vampire calling a human a monster. The new, red-raw Stefan was deadly serious. Karl understood, but a horrible chill spread through him; the old, wickedly charming Stefan might be gone forever.

“Because I created this monster,” Karl answered softly. “My actions in the past are at least partly to blame for what he’s become. Everything we do casts a long shadow.”

“Don’t get philosophical with me,” said Stefan. “Just kill him!”

“Will you trust me and do as I ask? Be calm. Or at least pretend to be calm.”

“If you have my niece, prove it!” Reiniger spoke over them, loud and furious.

“I can, but that may take an hour or so,” Karl answered. “If Stefan has not been released by then, it may be too late for her.”

Blood crept into Reiniger’s ashen complexion. Karl added, “You can afford to let Stefan go. You still have me.”

“I don’t want to be released!” Stefan retorted. “Give me ten minutes with these pigs – if I make them suffer a tenth of what Niklas went through, I won’t perish in vain.”

Karl took a breath, close to anger and wondering what would force Stefan to leave. He said quietly, “You realise
who
went to capture Herr Reiniger’s niece?”

“Wait a minute,” said Stefan, his eyes suddenly blazing into Karl’s. “Who is with Niklas?”

“No one,” Karl said steadily.

At that, Stefan shook as if he would combust with emotion, a column of white-blue flame. “You left Niklas on his own? How could you? I’ll never forgive you for this.”

“I had no choice,” Karl said steadily. “I followed you here. Violette had to leave, as did Charlotte. Niklas is dead. He won’t know.”

“You bastard! That’s not the point!
I
know!”

Stefan struggled and hissed in his captors’ grip. His face was chalk white, ghastly.

“In which case, why don’t you go to him?” said Karl. “If he needs anyone, Stefan, it’s you.”

That persuaded Stefan at last. He threw a look of pure hatred at Karl – but he shook off the human hands and strode out. Karl closed his eyes in pain, wondering if Stefan would ever recover.
He’ll never be the same again
, he thought.
Never.

When he opened his eyes, Godric Reiniger was standing in front of him. His expression was alarmingly intense and eager.

“Well, Karl? Shall we go somewhere more private to talk?”

* * *

Emil woke in the soft half-light of a bedroom. Fadiya was asleep beside him.

Asleep
.

He realised that he had never seen her sleeping before. On the bedside table beside her lay a small dagger, hardly more than a letter-opener, with a ruby set in the pommel.

He got up and looked out through the filigree screen across the window. Below lay the courtyard garden. His gaze drifted around, taking in the hazy beauty of flowers and fountains and blue sky. Light-headed, almost too lazy to move, he wondered if they’d drugged him. This place was so beautiful, with its falling water and shaded galleries.

“They’re all vampires, aren’t they?” he said as Fadiya rose from the bed and drifted to join him. “Every single one. Once you’ve seen, you can’t
unsee
. What is this place?”

“A safe house, dearest,” she said, placing her hand on his arm. “Our secret dwelling, Bayt-al-Zuhur. House of Flowers.”

“If I go outside and tell the authorities, it won’t be a secret, will it?”

“Now, why would you do that?” Her smile and her seductive eyes worked their usual dark magic on him. Whatever she was, he still wanted her desperately. “Or rather, how? You can’t escape. I know how high you can leap, but even you can’t clear these walls. And if you could, and soldiers came to break down the doors, we’d simply vanish.”

“They might come with guns. Hand grenades. Bombs. Turn your palace into rubble.”

She gave a slight shrug, indifferent. “We’d find somewhere else to live. It’s only a house. But isn’t it beautiful? Why would you want to destroy such a splendid
riad
?”

Emil couldn’t form a sensible answer. How weird, to feel so terrified and yet numb, as if his fear were miles away.
I am mad, or drugged
, he thought.
If I know, why can’t I fight it off? What’s happening to me?
Every minute he sat there, he felt his fitness fading, his blood-starved muscles turning soft like overcooked spaghetti…

“What are you doing?” Fadiya asked as he straightened up and placed a hand on the wall.

“I need to practise. Violette will be furious if I lose condition,” he said.

The room tilted. He staggered, catching himself with one hand as Fadiya helped him back to the bed. She murmured something strange. Surely he’d misheard.

“Let me worry about Violette’s fury.”

“What did you say?”

“Bathe and get dressed. You can eat breakfast in the garden. We have to leave soon.”

“Leave? I don’t understand.”

She would not answer his questions, so he did as she asked, then went outside and sat on a bench in the shade, trying and failing to shake off his dream-state. He was afraid, but his mind’s warnings would not connect with his body to force him into action.

A commotion pierced his trance; a rumbling engine, clouds of orange dust, voices. It was coming from somewhere beyond the walls but sounded alarmingly close.

A man said, “We’re ready.”

“Coming, Nabil,” said Fadiya.

Three pairs of hands, as strong as steel cable, seized Emil. He tried to ask what was happening, tried to resist, but he couldn’t make his limbs or tongue work. He uttered a faint laugh, only to choke on exhaust fumes and sand. This was ridiculous, couldn’t be happening. Not to Emil Fiorani, the greatest male dancer of his time—

“Not yet, you aren’t,” said Mikhail in his mind.