The Dark Arts of Blood (6 page)

She was still a fledgling in vampire terms. Five years ago, while her lively sisters revelled in a social whirl of parties and debutante balls, she’d resigned herself to a future in her father’s physics laboratory. Thanks to crippling shyness and her reclusive nature, she’d had little to look forward to except work, and a reluctant marriage to their research assistant, Henry…

And then she had met Karl.

Her dark angel Karl, who was beyond beautiful, with his soft dark hair and serene eyes… From the first moment they met, he held her fascinated. At first she was terrified, then hopelessly enthralled. He had been her downfall. He still was.

Staying together had proved costly. People had died: some of her own loved ones, and some of his.
She
had died – more than once, in different ways. She wasn’t a predator at heart, and yet she found being a vampire effortless. That couldn’t be right, she thought. Living on human blood should require a greater struggle, if only with her conscience.

She and Karl tried to move lightly through the world, causing as little harm as possible: but the truth was, they were still vampires.

Small wonder that
someone
might want to destroy them.

But it was a chance encounter
, she thought.
Perhaps the knife wasn’t made to hurt vampires at all. A coincidence… but if that’s the case, what
is
it for?

“Perhaps I’m dreaming,” she said out loud.

Her own voice sounded like a distant echo.

Looking at her reflection, she thought,
At least the myths are untrue; we don’t need to avoid mirrors or sunlight or religious symbols.
To approach a looking-glass and see only thin air – well, that would send anyone insane. But how odd… what she’d thought was a mirror was actually a shimmering white veil in the air. She barely recognised the pale creature on the other side as herself.

The moon-white nymph with rippling bronze hair and a mesmeric gaze was separate: a spectre, a lamia floating in the mist…

“Who are you?” she said softly. “If I saw you coming towards me, would I fall into your arms, or run for my life?”

She touched the surface… and the pale creature on the other side copied her action, reaching up so they joined fingertips. When she dropped her hand, the ghost did the same, in blank mimicry, like Niklas.

She stared and the
doppelgänger
stared back, like an accusing ghost that had floated out of its grave.

Then she understood.

She was human again – had been all along. Her twin self in the mirror was the vampire. The knife had split her in two.

Her breathing quickened. Her vision blurred, making the lamia appear covered in white gossamer flowers. Beautiful, deadly. And Charlotte knew in utter terror that she must keep the lamia inside the mirror-veil, contain her so that she could no longer prey on innocent humans… but how?

She no longer had any clear thoughts. She simply
knew
that the two halves of her had come adrift. But she had no idea how to be human again… the knowledge filled her with dumb horror, worse than that of becoming a vampire.

I can’t go back.
She tried to form words but no sound came out.
Was I ever you, or have I dreamed it all? I cannot go back! Stop tormenting me! What must I do to destroy you?

The pale mist-demon only stared back, empty-eyed, devoid of compassion.

Karl appeared in the shadows behind her, making her start.

You’re back
, she tried to say.

He spoke, but she could barely hear him through the rushing sound in her ears. She thought he asked, “What are you doing?”

“Hallucinating,” she said, unsure if she’d spoken out loud. “She—” Charlotte pointed at the apparition behind the watery veil, who pointed back. “She is doing this. She’s pretending to be me. Or I thought I was her. This isn’t real, but I can’t make it stop. Give me a pen and paper. If I write this down…”

She couldn’t see his face, only a dark figure. A crisp male voice said, “
Gnädige Frau, entschuldigen Sie, bitte…
”

Not Karl.

She stared straight ahead, confused yet deadly calm. She found her voice and answered in the same language, “Who is that?”

A long pause. She caught a scent of human sweat. Something was very wrong, but she was paralysed by the nightmare and could not, dared not move.

“Police, madam,” said the gruff voice. “Is your husband not at home?”

“He is not,” said Charlotte.

“Or your father, brother, any male friends?”

What a strange thing to ask.

She heard his laboured breath, a mixture of exertion and angry determination. Her nose twitched with distaste at his human stink of sweat and smoke and the earthy scent of the outdoors on his clothes. There was no way for him to have reached the chalet except by a steep climb on foot. His voice, smell and general aura recalled the drunk who’d attacked her… but this was not the same man. He carried himself with authority. He was taller, red-haired and sober.

“No one but me,” she answered. The spectre’s lips moved with hers. “What do you want?”

“If I might have a word… We can go downstairs.”

“I can’t,” she said.

“Madam?”

“I can’t leave the mirror in case my ghost escapes.”

Silence. He cleared his throat again, and this time his voice was harder.

“Who are you? How long have you been living here?”

“What is that to you?”

“I know this area. This chalet is long-deserted – or is it? The owner can’t be traced. And yet lights are seen in the windows. A peasant woman comes up to clean the place, but won’t speak a word about the inhabitants. Music is heard. On occasion, people succumb to mysterious illnesses. When they recover, they speak of apparitions in the forest, a pale beautiful woman or a man… like the
Weisse Frauen
, the elven spirits of the Alps?”

“What has this to do with me?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out.”

“At night, on your own?”

More throat-clearing. “The police are never off-duty, madam. Ever vigilant.”

“You are no policeman,” she said. “Who are you? Do you know the brute who stabbed me? How did you find me?”

That made him pause. Then he said in a low voice. “All I want is for you to answer my questions and give me back the damned knife.”

She heard his words with the weird feeling that her mind was cut in two; one half clear and rational, the other stranded in a dream.

“If you want to question me, come closer. I can’t leave the mirror. Come.”

She watched his reflection approaching until he stood just behind her
doppelgänger’s
shoulder. Handsome freckled face, serious expression. He, too, had the look of a soldier: an officer. Perhaps he really was a policeman, or used to be.

“My comrade was a fool to attack you,” he said. “But the question is, how did you survive, sweetheart?”

His pale blue eyes widened – mesmerised by the lovely mad-woman. She suspected that he was scared: bright, but out of his depth, pumped up with false courage. If his comrade had assaulted her and stabbed her in the gut, what might this man be capable of?

“Who are you?” she asked. “And the knife, what is it?”

He shook his head. “You don’t need to know.”

“If she comes out of the mirror, you’ll die,” said Charlotte, pointing at the lamia.

He hesitated, wetting his lips. He clearly thought she was insane.

“That’s your reflection, you mad witch,” he hissed. “There’s something in this house that doesn’t belong to you. That’s all I’m here for.”

“Who are you? I’m dreaming but I can’t wake up. Unless you can help me wake up, you’d better go.”

“Not without that knife. Where is it?”

“Until recently, buried in my stomach. Do you want it back so your friend can stab the next unfortunate being who crosses his path when he can’t hold his drink?”

“Bruno made a mistake,” he said. “He’s a fool. But if you hadn’t bitten him—”

“If
he
had walked away when I asked him to,” she retorted. Both their voices sounded far away and fuzzy. Inside the rippling surface, the lamia’s eyes were cold and dangerous, like those of a snake preparing to strike.

“Just give me the damned knife,
strigoi
!”

He grabbed her shoulders. The moment his clammy hands touched her, she reacted as if burned. She spun to face him, her mind suddenly focused. The rough fabric of his jacket scratched her bare arms. His touch was an assault.

“Take it, if you can,” she whispered.

She lunged, mouth open, forgetting she was supposed to be human again. The man reacted by reflex, thrusting her away with a curse. She stumbled and fell backwards into the veil.

The mirror shattered under her. A hundred glass shards pierced her body as it crashed flat to the floor. The pain was excruciating. Set free, the lamia came flowing out. Charlotte watched in blank amazement as her other-self seized the man with pallid arms, pulled him to her, pushed her face inside his collar and nipped the salty flesh until blood poured over her tongue…

He cried out. He struggled. Damn him, he was strong, and she was still weak from her injury. Their battle took them across the bedroom to the balcony doors before he finally went limp in her hands. Then, in mindless fury, she ran him straight through the closed glass doors and pitched him over the balcony rail.

In a split second he was gone, falling from sight into the darkness of the steep tree-covered drop below.

His blood was foul, tainted. The dual being, Charlotte-and-lamia, bent over the balcony and regurgitated the blood she’d swallowed. It streamed easily out of her, like water from an upended vase.

Then the lamia floated back inside the room through the ragged hole of broken wood and glass. When Charlotte moved, the creature moved with her. They were one again.

“Help me,” she whispered.

* * *

“Charlotte?”

She found herself sitting on the bed, curled against the headboard with her hands around her knees, staring at the pine-panelled wall opposite. She wasn’t sure what she was doing there… writing, that was it. Filling pages with all that she’d seen.

Karl was back at last.

She looked hard to make sure it was really him. The blanket Stefan had left over her was on the floor. She seemed to have thrown off her clothes and replaced them with a silky robe that hurt viciously everywhere it touched her skin. Her dress was on the floor, covered in blood spots.

Karl rushed to her, sat on the bed beside her and took her hands.

“Dear God,” he said, “Charlotte, beloved, what happened?”

“Nothing,” she said calmly. Stefan appeared in the doorway, followed by Niklas: another reflection.

Seeing her, Stefan’s mouth opened in shock. “Charlotte, gods, what have you done? I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, not comprehending why they were upset. “I’m perfectly well, just… sore. I don’t know why. It’s nothing.”

Karl turned his head and snapped, “Stefan, a moment, please.”

Charlotte realised he was dismissing his friend because she was partly undressed. She’d pushed the robe off her shoulders because it hurt so much. Despite everything, Karl’s puritan streak made her smile.

“What?” Stefan said, grinning back at her. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Oh, don’t glare at me like that, Karl. I meant half-clothed women in general, not Charlotte in particular.”

“Let them stay,” she said, adjusting the fabric to cover herself. “Stefan and Niklas are more like… well, sisters to me than anything.”

“
Sisters?
” Stefan retorted.

“I meant it as a compliment.”

“I know,” he said with a wink.

He sat on a low couch at the end of the bed, facing away from her, with Niklas beside him. He put an affectionate arm around his brother’s shoulders, whispering into his ear. He hadn’t left Niklas behind to watch over Charlotte while he sought Karl, for the simple reason that Niklas was of no more use than a doll. Without Stefan’s care, he was as vulnerable as a human child.

Karl looked as serious as she’d ever seen him. She hastened to reassure him.

“Nothing happened,” she repeated. “Karl, I’m sure Stefan told you that a drunk accosted me in the street with a knife. Then I had some awful hallucinations. That’s all. I’m well again now.”

“Hallucinations?” He drew her robe off her shoulder and began to pluck at her skin, his fingernails as delicate as tweezers. She became aware that he was taking splinters of glass out of her flesh. Strange.

She looked down, turning her head to see mirror shards piercing the skin of her shoulder-blades, the backs of her arms and thighs: dozens of tiny crimson cuts leaking blood. No wonder the robe hurt so much. Wherever it touched, it was pushing the glass deeper into her flesh.

“Yes, from the dagger,” she said. “Wait, was the dagger real? It’s a blur. I can’t remember where reality stopped and the illusions started. I decided to write everything down, in case we found a clue…”

She looked down at the notepad lying beside her.

Blank.

Stefan said, “Ah, Charlotte…” and then nothing for half an hour as Karl took every sliver of glass out of her skin. At last it was done, and she was able to sit up and tie her robe properly. She shook her hair free, saw tiny spots of blood leaking through the ivory silk.

“Well, this is ruined,” she said softly. “And so is that dress. How did I get all this glass in me?”

“We hoped you would tell us,” Karl said gravely.

Charlotte went still. A cool draft blew on to her. While she contemplated how to describe her hallucinations – the lamia in the rippling veil, and the supposed policeman finding her – she sensed another presence in the house: the unmistakable warmth of a mortal. “Oh, no. You brought prey here for me? There’s no need…”

“It’s all right,” Karl said gently. “Tell us what happened.”

“I remember trying to enter the Crystal Ring, and collapsing, and Stefan putting me on the bed. Then I imagined I got up and looked in the mirror, only I was human again and my reflection was… the blood-drinking demon part of me. I was convinced I’d split in two. So disturbing. Then a man came into the house, pretending to be a policeman and demanding the knife back.” She laughed uneasily. “Could anything be more ridiculous? We fought. I fell into the mirror, and the vampire escaped and fed on the man – or she tried to feed, but the blood was foul, so she threw him…”