The Dark Arts of Blood (32 page)

Violette would be horrified.

Surely one night of abandon wouldn’t damage his health? Unless this was how he meant to go on, in sheer rebellion. Charlotte had no intention of intervening. She was only there to observe.

“Mariette, leave him alone!” Amy’s voice.

“Oh, don’t let me prise you away from Fadiya,” said the Egyptian queen, waving a dismissive hand at Emil. Even from a distance, Charlotte heard her clearly.

She pondered how best to spy on the group.
Find a table where I can sit close enough to hear them, but not close enough to be noticed.

As she worked her way across the club, a group of braying Englishmen in Oxford bags got in her way, waving bottles of champagne and entreating her to join them. She tried to slip past but they were insistent, in their polite yet inebriated way. The old Charlotte would have fled. The new Charlotte had to battle with sudden blood-thirst as their salty heat flowed around her… and it would be lamentably easy, she knew, to lure any of them outside into a dark alley…

She held back, biting down to stop her fangs extending.

“You look just like a film star,” one of them shouted into her face. “Clara Bow, that’s who.”

“No. Lillian Gish. Claire Adams, even lovelier,” said his friend. They grinned, swaying in front of her. “Come on, join us. You’re aspso…” He giggled, unable to form the word
absolutely
. “So lovely.”

Through gaps in the crowd, Charlotte watched Emil.

Mariette had found another dance partner, and Emil was sitting with Fadiya, watching the band. His arm was around the back of her chair, fingers tapping to the rhythm; she was whispering into his ear, smiling.

So Charlotte sat down with the Oxford bags crowd, letting them fuss around her and pour champagne, not guessing she couldn’t drink it. Well, she could pretend to sip, even force a little down her throat if necessary, but mortal drinks were as appealing to vampires as pondwater.

All the time she kept her eyes on Emil.

He was still smoking. Empty cocktail glasses crowded the table.

Idiot
, she thought, knowing Violette would disapprove. She chewed her lip at the thought of reporting back; she felt like a teacher, asked to spy on ill-behaved pupils.
Am I supposed to report him to the headmistress? What will I be telling her?

“He drank. He smoked. Yes, people recognised him. Yes, he made a fool of himself in public. Danced on tables, fell over. Then he had wild sex with his girlfriend. And with everyone else too; a veritable Roman orgy…” Charlotte groaned silently.
I shouldn’t have to witness this. He’s a grown man, and I feel more than a little sordid.

“I say, I love this one!” said the young man beside her as the band launched into an even livelier tune. “Come along, we’re dancing!”

He pulled Charlotte to her feet. She tried to resist but he was propelling her on to the dance floor with cheerful, relentless force. She could have stopped him easily, but not without causing a scene and possibly drawing blood. “It’s not optional!” he yelled.

It was, however, a way to edge closer to Emil.

“Really, I’m terrible, I’ll tread on your feet,” she protested.

“Tread away! You’ll be fine. I’m Noel, by the way.”

“Vera.” Charlotte gave the first name that came into her head.

“You don’t look like a Vera.” He seemed disappointed.

“Rose, then. Will that do?”

“Rose is perfect,” Noel said happily. Next moment she found herself caught in a maelstrom of prancing, twirling couples, with Noel’s sweaty hands gripping hers. He was good-looking, well spoken, full of laughter: perhaps the sort of man she might have married, if she’d been outgoing and fun, like her sister Maddy.

Charlotte gave up and joined in. She made a fair job of the Lindy Hop by employing the simple vampire technique of mimicry.

“You lied,” he said, breathless as he bobbed up and down. “You’re damned good at this.”

“I’m only copying you,” she said, willing her bandeau to hold the wig in place.

“Like hell. If that were so, you’d be stomping like an elephant!” He winked. “I think you’re a bit of a bad girl on the quiet, Rose.”

She only smiled, all the time keeping her gaze on Emil and his paramour.

He shone in the smoky gloom, with deep golden hair swept back from his proud, striking face. People kept glancing at him. Even offstage he looked like a fairytale prince, a yellow-haired Valentino. His eyes were bloodshot and he had a slight growth of stubble, but he was young enough to get away with these signs of debauchery. If anything, they made him more alluring.

His attention wandered from the band to the dancers and back. He showed no sign of noticing Charlotte, to her relief. She’d only half-expected her disguise to work, but apparently he was fooled. He didn’t know her that well and would not expect to see her.

And his state of mind? Hard to tell. His lips smiled, but his eyes were narrow, restless. He looked like someone so determined to have a good time that he was nearly angry about it.

A ragtime number started. Charlotte found herself manhandled, lifted nearly off her feet, compelled to learn a new, more frantic set of steps. There was much jaunty circling with cheeks pressed together, which at least enabled her to see over Noel’s shoulder. Again she turned her attention to Emil’s companion.

Fadiya’s hair was fashionably short and wavy, her skin warm with a bronze sheen. She was nothing like Violette. Her deep brown eyes were framed by thick lashes and heavy brows. A lovely face with a long, regal nose. And yes, very beautiful. Calm, smiling, affectionate, utterly lovely. She and Emil made a striking couple.

Again Charlotte felt exasperated with Violette’s need to control every aspect of her dancers’ lives. But, as Violette said, they knew what they were in for. In return for the honour of being chosen, total dedication was the price they gladly paid.

Still… could there be special dispensation for the marvellous Emil? Charlotte wondered if Fadiya’s devotion would help him to concentrate on his work, or ruin him?

Charlotte was barely aware of the whirling dance. She focused wholly on Fadiya, like a ballerina spotting a focus point during a pirouette. It was like seeing single frames of a film. Smile. Laugh. Shoulder touch. Blank eyes, no expression. Another smile. Not once did she lift a drink to her lips.

Emil’s body warmth rippled from him, a sunset aura. From the girl, though, there was almost nothing. The faintest indigo shimmer, at most. That might mean she was putting on a happy front while guarding her true self in public…

Noel stumbled into Charlotte, making her lose the rhythm.

“Most dreadfully sorry,” he said, catching her elbows to steady them both. “I think I’m a bit squiffy. Perhaps we should sit down?”

The band began a slower song in waltz time.

“Oh, one more dance,” said Charlotte. “We can prop each other up to this one.”

“Splendid,” he said, grinning. “You’re an awfully good sport, Rose. I rather like you. Where do your folks live?”

“Tell you later,” she whispered. Shuffling slowly amid the dancing couples, she pressed closer to him, letting him hold her more tightly, her head resting on his shoulder… easing along his collarbone until her mouth touched his neck. She felt him jump with surprise, but soothed him with her hands, heard his sigh of astonished bliss. She clutched the back of his head to hold him steady and bit into his throat, a swift sharp motion too subtle for anyone around them to notice. Ah, the divine burst of blood on her tongue… the matchless flavours, like thick red berry juices and wine and rare steak… indescribable to humans but utterly divine and addictive.

She felt the red rush through every cell, forced herself to drink slowly, savouring every sip, so that he didn’t pass out on her. To counter the pain, he would be confused, dreamy, enthralled as if drugged. Certainly not inclined to fight her off.

When choosing victims, Charlotte was usually more private than this. But tonight, she was someone else.

She was Rose, a bit of a bad girl.

When his knees began to buckle she withdrew her canine teeth, discreetly cleaned the wound with her tongue, made sure there was no visible evidence. Then she led him back to his table.

“I think your friend’s had one too many cocktails,” she told his raucous companions. Noel only swayed and sat down heavily, grinning, reaching out to her and slurring that she mustn’t leave, they were having such a grand time… Charlotte evaded all the grasping hands and ignored their entreaties.

Turning away, she saw Emil still sitting at his table. Fadiya, though, had gone.

* * *

Outside, the square was full of music and light from all the restaurants and clubs. Crowds of stylish revellers strolled between street artists. Charlotte savoured the scents of the mild Paris night, wishing with all her heart that Karl were beside her. There was no greater pleasure than walking arm in arm with him through human crowds, sated and glowing inside with fresh blood… well, there were some greater pleasures, but this was among the finest.

She put her yearning aside. Tonight she was here on business.

Fadiya was not easy to find in the crowd. Charlotte fixed on her faint indigo trail and followed until she caught sight of her. She appeared to be walking with purpose, keeping close to the buildings of the cobbled square. She was wearing a coat, so perhaps she was heading back to the hotel, but if she were tired or unwell, surely Emil would be with her? The fact that she was alone suggested a private assignation of some kind.

Fadiya did nothing obvious, like meeting another man or a girlfriend, hailing a taxi or heading towards their hotel. Instead she slid through narrow lanes, holding her dark coat around her until she almost disappeared.

With every step, Charlotte’s apprehension increased.

She hung back, pulling her aura tight within her skin. The last thing she wanted was for the woman to sense she was being followed. Presently Fadiya stopped, distracted by a bohemian-looking young man who came weaving along the lane the opposite way. He waylaid her, chattering in French to which she responded fluently. She let him light a cigarette for her, pretended to smoke it. The red tip danced as she flirted. Then it curved down and hit the flagstones as she moved in, her dark head almost disappearing in the folds of his scarf and coat collar. A couple, kissing in the shadows… until his head fell back and he began to slide down the wall behind him. Charlotte caught the luscious aroma of blood, subtly different from her own victim’s, like distinct wines. Fadiya stepped from the tangle of his folded legs and walked away as if nothing had happened.

“Oh,” Charlotte whispered to herself. She stood frozen, dismayed that her suspicions were correct. “Oh no, please tell me this isn’t real…”

* * *

A few minutes later, she was back inside Trois Loups Noir. Fadiya was at Emil’s side again as if she’d only slipped out to the powder room. As Charlotte watched, the pair went to the dance floor and began whirling in a quickstep. Fadiya’s face was enchanting with affection and good humour… and stolen blood.

Emil has no idea
, thought Charlotte.
And if she’s feeding on others, does that mean she’s feeding on him? If not, it’s only a matter of time.

“Charlotte?”

The voice startled her. Amy Temple was standing in front of her, looking puzzled. “Charlotte, it is you, isn’t it? What on earth have you done to your hair?”

“Um…” Charlotte spoke in a whisper, pulled Amy into a corner so the group at Emil’s table wouldn’t see them. “Yes, it’s me. It’s a wig.”

“I don’t understand.” Amy looked baffled and hurt. “You said you couldn’t come. Why are you here, but avoiding us?”

Charlotte drew Amy to a small table with two empty chairs, sat facing her. A waiter approached, and Charlotte waited patiently as Amy ordered champagne.

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said when he’d gone. “I know it looks peculiar, but it’s rather complicated. I’m not avoiding you. I’m… watching someone. Dear, can I trust you?”

She looked straight into Amy’s small, pretty brown eyes, softening her will with vampire glamour. She felt guilty doing this, but there was no time to waste.

“Of course you can,” said Amy. “You saved my life. By the way, did you hear the news? That hateful Dr Ochsner was found dead in his office. I shouldn’t be glad, but I am.”

“I hadn’t heard,” Charlotte said honestly. She knew without anyone telling her. “What happened?”

Amy shrugged. “A heart attack, they said. I would like to think that one of his patients leapt off the examination couch and murdered him: is that terrible of me? Apparently he was
known
for being sadistic, not that my uncle seemed to know or care. But people like him never suffer as they deserve.”

“No, they never do,” Charlotte said softly.

“Anyway, are you going to explain why you’re creeping around like Mata Hari without even talking to us? Pardon me for saying so, but that dress really isn’t you, and your lipstick’s a bit smudged…”

“Is it? Do you have a mirror?”

Amy passed her a powder compact from her purse and Charlotte cleaned away the smudges with a fingernail. It was only lipstick, not blood. As she handed back the compact, Amy asked, “Who are you watching?”

“I can’t say, but if I ask you some questions, will you promise not to tell your friends you’ve seen or spoken to me?”

“Of course. They don’t know you anyway, so…”

“I know Emil, a little.”

The small eyes widened. “You know
him
? Mariette’s the only one among us who’s even a bit famous, so I don’t think she’s very pleased to be eclipsed by Emil Fiorani, of all people. How do you know him?”

“I know some people at the Ballet Lenoir,” Charlotte said vaguely. “Please bear with my questions. Your group of friends…”

“They’re a nice crowd, but goodness, they love to drink. I can’t keep up.”

“And you’re not allowed to be with them.”

“
Absolutely
not.” Amy gave a small grin. “I shall be in
so
much trouble when we get home.”

“The dark-skinned girl with Emil; are you friendly with her?”