The Dark Blood of Poppies (13 page)

Sebastian had seen off the last of them, an eccentric old bachelor, in the 1860s. Blackwater Hall had stood empty ever since, which gave him immense satisfaction.

The house was his once more.

These days, however, he rarely dwelled on the past. He lived in the moment, drinking sensation as if it were blood. Tonight he was in New York, moving through the soft sparkle of lights in search of human heat, the shimmer of music and laughter. How the New World had changed since he’d first arrived! Ah, the Jazz Age. Since the Great War, cities had mushroomed: skyscrapers soaring up everywhere, motor cars with long bonnets and wire-rimmed wheels crawling nose-to-tail through the streets. Dirt and fumes, noise and energy. He loved the mood of criminality engendered by Prohibition, a law that enticed more people than ever before to imbibe the forbidden fruit of alcohol. Wild music, outrageous clothes, a new cult of youth. And yet the modern age still had romance, a kind of innocence.

Sebastian drifted through the streets with a sense of ennui that had possessed him for months, years. He was an observer, distant from the world but connected to it by a cord of ravenous thirst.

Losing himself in crowds on their way to parties or theatre shows, he observed the women with their furs and pearls and sleek hair. He sensed them watching him as he passed, captivated by the treacherous beauty of a vampire. Later, he would find one to invite him home… The only difficulty was choosing between them.

He realised suddenly that he was bored.

All too easy to find prey. They would meet and part – if the victim survived – as strangers. Years had passed since he’d indulged the pleasure of cultivating a relationship, teasing and torturing his lover for months before the final, fatal betrayal.

He thought,
have I become too isolated? When a vampire possesses too much power, no challenges remain and he must go to ever greater lengths to find pleasure…

Lost in reflection, he paused outside a theatre to watch the audience streaming in. Yellow light spilled over the sidewalk. Sebastian walked between white marble pillars to look at posters in glass cases, advertising future shows. Musicals, plays, operas, concerts.

Could human entertainments relieve his weariness of spirit for a while?
And then I’d slake my thirst on some lovely woman from the audience… or, even better, one of the performers.

But is this anything I’ve not done before?

A photograph caught his eye. The poster beside it announced that the Ballet Janacek would be performing
Swan Lake
and
Coppélia
at the Manhattan Opera House… And the face, in grainy tones of grey, captivated him. “
Prima ballerina assoluta
Violette Lenoir, the greatest dancer of our time,” read the caption. She had long hands folded over her breastbone, a divinely curved neck, white feathers clasping a face of exquisite, fairy-tale beauty.

Sebastian smiled. Now, to indulge the pleasures of seduction and treachery with this goddess would be a game worth playing!

A month before the ballet came to New York. He couldn’t wait, he wanted her now… A glance at the list of cities and dates revealed that the tour opened in Boston in two weeks’ time.

Yes
, he thought,
I’ll go to Boston!

He had affection for the city, with its sophistication and wealth. He felt at home there, among the Irish exiles; he felt such empathy as he drank their blood, as though the smoky richness of the old country ran in their veins.

A voice said over his shoulder, “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

Sebastian hadn’t sensed anyone approaching. The entity behind him felt dimensionless, a shadow. Annoyed, he swung round and found himself staring into the lion-golden eyes of Simon.

Simon leaned on a pillar, arms folded, statuesque in a beige mackintosh. A faint shimmer cloaked him, but he wasn’t the terrifying angel of two centuries ago. Sebastian was shocked, dismayed to see him.

“Well, it has been quite a time,” said the apparition. “I suppose you thought you’d never see me again.”

“I’ve not been holding my breath, I assure you. I thought you were dead. There was a rumour that Kristian destroyed his creators.”

The angel-demon smiled. “We slept in the
Weisskalt
for a time, that’s all. Now I am back.”

“Without your companions?”

“I had a difference of opinion with Fyodor and Rasmila. I work alone now.”

“How did you find me?” Sebastian was furious that another vampire had tracked him down. “Even Kristian never found me.”

“You have quite a reputation for being elusive, my dear friend,” said Simon. “But don’t forget that I created you. That made an insoluble link between us.”

“A shame you didn’t stay in the
Weisskalt
, then,” Sebastian murmured. Humans bustled around them, but he and Simon were isolated as if in a glass bubble. “Why now, after two centuries? What do you want?”

“Only to talk,” Simon said, shrugging. “You haven’t changed a bit. As suspicious and misanthropic as ever.”

Sebastian laughed. “So, you don’t approve of Rasmila’s choice? You prefer men of Kristian’s calibre. I gather he was your choice: Kristian, that saint of compassion.”

Simon’s smile vanished. “You knew him?”

“Yes, I had the misfortune to meet Kristian.” Sebastian exhaled. “In the 1850s I met a vampire called Ilona and, out of idle curiosity, I let her take me to Schloss Holdenstein. What I found there was a despot, tyrannising other vampires in the name of God. I was disgusted. How could beings like you and I, strong and deathless, bring themselves to worship such a tyrant?

“Yet I understood, in a way. When you transformed me, you flung me into the unknown. Some vampires must find it intolerable. Kristian maintained a hold on them by saying, ‘I am ordained by God!’ They were prisoners of their own fears. They clung to a self-appointed prophet rather than face the dark on their own.”

“You dismiss them with such contempt,” said Simon, “but don’t underestimate Kristian’s sheer strength. Didn’t he try to win you over?”

“Oh, he tried,” Sebastian said grimly. “He treated me like visiting royalty. He must have thought me a gift from above – the challenge of subduing an immortal as strong as himself! He soon deteriorated from flattery and persuasion to arguments, threats, and violence. Finally he tried to imprison me in the
Weisskalt
but I escaped. He tried to find me and failed. He must have given up in the end. But I’ll tell you this, Simon: I could have killed him if I’d chosen. I could have taken his place.”

He thought Simon would be angered by his boast. Instead, his expression was strangely intense. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because I don’t care. Their power struggles and passions were too human, an irrelevance that corrupts the purity of true vampire nature.”

Simon gasped. “What a beautiful sentiment!”

“Besides, other vampires tried to involve me in a conspiracy against Kristian. They saw my strength and wanted me to kill him. I refused; why should I do their dirty work? I let Kristian live, because his followers deserved him. Karl was the worst. He hated me for not helping, and loathed me more for supposedly corrupting his daughter.”

This made Simon laugh. “Did you?”

“Ilona needed no encouragement to indulge her natural depravity. But she was as deeply entwined with Kristian as the rest.” Sebastian spoke with disgust. “No, the whole episode only confirmed that I want no business with other vampires.”

“But your house in Ireland – you go back there, don’t you? Why not reclaim it, make it your own?”

Sebastian looked coldly at Simon, wondering how he knew so much. “It was never taken from me. Do you understand? It’s mine in spirit, so the deeds to its fabric are irrelevant.”

“Yes, I understand.” Simon looked warmly at him now. “And I believe Rasmila chose well, after all.”

“Did she?” Sebastian wanted to end the conversation and leave. “Does it matter?”

“Oh, yes. It does. I bring news, dear fellow, unless you already know. Kristian is dead.”

Sebastian, who’d barely thought of Kristian for seventy years, experienced a twinge of delight. “He is? How splendid. Are you heartbroken?”

“Don’t attribute human emotions to me,” Simon replied, unmoved. “Karl killed him. I punished Karl, then forgave him. It’s done. The point is that vampires are leaderless.”

Sebastian leaned against the theatre wall. “So?”

“Like Karl, you think you’re above such concerns, but you’re not. There is a new immortal at large, too dangerous to be allowed her freedom. If she isn’t stopped, everyone will be affected. Even you.” Simon stepped closer and placed a hand on his arm. Sebastian endured the touch with annoyance. Angel or not, Simon was still intimidating. “You have magnificent qualities, Sebastian. You’ve had two centuries to grow into your full strength and you are more than ready. Come with me, take control and unite your immortal kin against the danger.”

If Simon expected him to be flattered and overwhelmed, he was disappointed. All Sebastian felt was cynical dismay. He drank in the warm night air and the surging life in the street, the towers rising towards heaven shining with thousands of lighted windows. He thought of Boston, of human blood and the cruel game he was planning. To exchange that for the cold company of vampires was laughable. “Why not do it yourself?”

“It’s not my role. I serve God, which means I observe and guide on His behalf. Angels may offer wisdom, but they don’t come to Earth and rule men.”

“Ah. So you’re actually
too important
to be a mere pack leader?”

“Someone must choose a leader, by God’s will,” Simon retorted, “because, frankly, vampires cannot be trusted to choose for themselves.”

“I see,” Sebastian said evenly. “Well, it’s a generous offer but I must decline.”

The fiery eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Sebastian felt dark emotions rising. “You, a supernatural creature from whom I seem to have no secrets, should know that I’ve always loved solitude. Why do you expect me to have changed?”

Simon drew away, looking sideways at him. “Because you’ve a duty to use the gifts we gave you! You’ll make such a leader, Sebastian; wise, strong, beautiful as an angel. What harm have I done you? All I offer you is power.”

“I know,” Sebastian said softly, “but I don’t want it.”

Simon laughed, exasperated. “It’s not a question of what you want. You have been chosen by God! You cannot refuse!”

“I don’t believe in your God.”

“Nor the Devil?”

“I believe in the older gods,” Sebastian said darkly, “and I fear them, but I won’t bow down to them – especially not to one who doesn’t even recognise what he is. You came from nowhere and thrust this existence on me; now you appear after two centuries and expect me to welcome you like a saviour? Go to hell, Simon. Sort out this mess yourself. I won’t be used.”

“You sound like Karl!” The gilded face hardened.

“Oh, I see.” Sebastian read meaning into the oblique insult. “So, you asked him first, and he also refused?” He leaned closer to Simon, fired by the thrill of defying his creator. “Is that why you transformed me? Insurance? I was second in line, in case the mighty Kristian was assassinated? Or forty-seventh in line, for all I know.”

Simon stared into the middle distance, as if all the world’s troubles lay on his shoulders. Sebastian felt nothing: no sympathy, no interest, nothing.

“No,” Simon answered. “Even God’s plans go awry. That’s the price we pay for the gift of free will. All we wanted was to create immortals worthy of their Creator.”

“So what will you do if I refuse?”

“Don’t refuse.”

“I already have.” He shrugged. “Kill me, if you can. I won’t be your puppet. You brought me into this, Simon. At least have the decency to leave me alone.”

A shudder went through Simon from head to foot. Anguish? It passed, and he was the serene, burnished demi-god again. He pressed his fingers to the glass that encased the photograph of Violette Lenoir.

“Very well, have your way.” His tone was icy, dangerous. “Enjoy the ballet. But afterwards, think about what I’ve said – then decide whether I am right or wrong.”

* * *

Simon left New York in a state of despair. Although he’d known Sebastian might refuse, he couldn’t accept that his powers of persuasion had failed – not once now, but twice.

I have to find someone
, he thought as he soared through the Crystal Ring.
I must appoint the saviour, or God will never let me back into His circle!

He couldn’t admit it, but his powers were collapsing. He felt like a creature of spun sugar, left out in the rain. Yes, he could impersonate the golden seraph to vampires like Karl and Sebastian, but inside he was falling apart – and they knew. Secretly, they knew.

Even his journey from America to Europe was a struggle. Once – with his trinity – they could speed through the Crystal Ring in a few hours. Not now. He had to work his way north through Canada, occasionally slipping into the real world to feed. By the time he reached Greenland, he was so chilled that the snowy landmass felt warm by contrast.

Simon rested again in Iceland. Having sucked the life from a farmer and his daughter – prettiest girl he’d ever seen, such a waste – he climbed a glacier and sat in white silence, praying. Below the glacier’s rim lay a brown wasteland strewn with boulders. To the south, the black cone of a volcano stood on the horizon. North lay the Arctic ocean, like bright blue silk. Yet the stark beauty meant nothing.

We made a mistake, Lord. We let Lilith escape. Now we’re being punished, and rightly so. I understand. I must tame her – but how? Who is to help me? Why are Karl and Sebastian blind to the danger? Oh, they’ll be sorry on Judgement Day, but that’s no consolation now. Lilith is the Enemy. Until all immortals unite in your name to revile her, Lord, she will work to destroy us. Am I the only one who sees it?

Simon had deliberately not told Sebastian who Violette Lenoir was. If he’d said, “There is your Enemy!” Sebastian wouldn’t have gone within a hundred miles of her. His only hope now was that if Sebastian met her – if he survived – he would learn the hard way that Simon was right.