The Dark Blood of Poppies (18 page)

“Have it your own way.” Her rage cooled to disdain. “No one missed you when you left Schloss Holdenstein. Why should we need you now?” Her mouth, a perfect plum-red bow, curved into a smile that said firmly,
You cannot hurt me
. She was lovely, but his desire for her was passionless, purely physical. “There’s something else. You must have noticed changes in the Crystal Ring. Doesn’t it seem stormier? Hostile, as if it doesn’t want us anymore?”

Her tone chilled him. Although she mocked other vampires’ fear of Violette, he sensed that she was secretly terrified.

“I rather like it,” he said.

“You would. Well, the rumour is that it’s Lilith’s fault. Her presence has warped the Ring. She could be our doom, they say, unless…”

“You called her Lilith,” Sebastian broke in.

“Did I? It’s what she calls herself. I told you she’s crazy.”

The name stirred an inky stratum within him. A formless shape rose, dissipated, vanished. “But you don’t believe this nonsense?”

“I can’t stand hysteria,” said Ilona, sliding her arms around his waist under his coat. “I’m here to prove it’s not true. And you, why are you here? Toying with some human?”

“You remember me. How touching.” He kissed her. Her mouth opened to his, warm and eager. Then she drew back and smiled, stroking his cheek.

“Confess,” she said. “You look miserable. You’re bored, aren’t you? Let’s forget all this. I’m taking you to a party.”

“Will Karl and the others be there?” He rested his hands on her shoulders. His need to be alone was proving stronger than his lust for her.

“Of course. It’s in honour of the Ballet.”

“Where?”

“Some grand house on Commonwealth Avenue.”

“Good. I shall avoid Commonwealth Avenue like the plague.”

She frowned. “Why? They needn’t see us. And there will be humans, an ocean of fascinating strangers to plunder.” She pressed her slender body against his, her mouth curved in invitation. “I thought we could amuse ourselves together, as we used to.”

“Well, you thought wrong,” he said icily. “I don’t want to be with vampires, Ilona. I don’t want to see Karl or hear another word about Violette. I hate vampires, Ilona – and that includes you.”

“You arrogant bastard!” She glowered venomously at him, her head tilted. Then she showed the tips of her fangs.

Sebastian’s hands tightened on her shoulders. His mouth fell to her throat, his lupine teeth springing through her flesh. Ilona yelped, tried to struggle, then clung to him, groaning with mingled pleasure and pain. After a few seconds – realising he was doing this not in desire, but as a reminder of his strength – she began to fight again.

Sebastian was not angry. It was only the bleak, lightless vista within him, demanding its solitude. Its autocracy.

He took a last swallow of her burning blood and withdrew, leaving Ilona more indignant than hurt. She began to speak but he pushed her away, slamming her back into the tree so hard that she gasped and fell to her hands and knees on the tree roots. Oblivious to her curses he left her there, and walked softly away into the darkness.

C
harlotte’s father, a philosopher and scientist, had used to say that the microcosm contained the macrocosm; that if they could understand the physics of the atom, they would understand the universe itself. This theory, Charlotte thought, also held true for social gatherings. Several times in her life a party had become a central event, a small universe complete in itself, its relationships and emotions forced in a hothouse of artificial contact.

As a human she’d hated these events. Tonight, though, as she and Karl entered the mansion, the prospect of the evening ahead excited her. They would move among unsuspecting humans, who would be captivated without knowing why. They would have innocent conversations with mortals while acutely aware of the blood beating beneath their fresh, unbroken skin. Such electrifying pleasure. And Charlotte would think,
All I’d have to do is say the word and you’d gladly permit an embrace that might end your life…
Yet she would spare them.

Most of them, at least.

Karl met her eyes, and she saw her anticipation mirrored there. Often she was still shocked to know that he shared her passions, that his gentlemanly detachment was a mask. This unity was only a step away from their shared feast; wondrous, horrific, forbidden.

The party followed the first performance of
Swan Lake
, the one night that suited the ballet’s schedule. Karl and Charlotte were introduced to the host, an imposing patriarch named James Wilberforce Booth, patron of the arts and a major figure in Boston society, so Violette said. Then they entered the ballroom, a grandiose marble hall that sparkled with mirrors and chandeliers. The space was already crowded, dancers mingling with wealthy socialites. Glass doors stood open to the garden.

“I like this city,” said Charlotte. “It feels familiar, yet so different.”

“I love the subtlety of the differences,” Karl said softly. “Their accents, the way they dress and move. These old Bostonians pride themselves on being of English stock yet they are completely American. Here we are in this aristocratic fortress, but we could walk outside and enter a different world: Irish, Italian, Chinese. There’s such energy here.” He paused, as if contemplating all that seething human heat, life and blood. “This land seems full of possibilities that have died in Europe. They are not jaded by the weight of history.”

“When we walked down by the harbour,” Charlotte murmured, “I imagined immigrants walking off the ships through the sea fog. Like ghosts, but full of hope. Everything is so different and exciting, but it feels like home.”

The gleam of fascination in Karl’s eyes reminded her that vampires thirsted for more than blood. She’d seen that look when he helped her father with his research. Karl often warned her against befriending humans, but the truth was that the mortal world intrigued him.

“Did you invite Josef?” he asked as they wove between guests.

“Of course. Tonight’s ideal for him to meet Violette. She might even be receptive.”

“And have you told her about Josef?”

“No.” Charlotte sighed. “I’ll say he’s a friend, that’s all. He may learn something from talking to her. I don’t like subterfuge, but if I tell her the truth – I can imagine how she’d react!”

Karl shook his head. “You do like playing with fire, beloved, don’t you?”

“I can’t see either of them, anyway. Violette’s bound to be late.”

“If she comes at all,” said Karl.

“Oh, she will. She has a strong sense of duty towards her admirers.”

“True,” he said. “She is never ungracious to strangers; only to her friends.”

Charlotte ignored this barbed remark.

Glancing towards the doors for a sign of Violette, she saw Josef with an attractive woman on his arm. She caught his eye and he came over, introducing his companion as his niece, Roberta Stafford.

“Call me Robyn,” she said. “Josef gave me the name, that’s why I like it.” And she smiled affectionately at her uncle.

Charlotte liked her immediately. She seemed friendly, mischievous and irreverent.

“I hope you won’t find us all as dull and proper as our hosts,” Robyn said, looking pointedly at Mr Booth senior and his sons, two rigid, unsmiling men in their twenties. “No liquor in the fruit cup, no champagne. You must think we’re hideously uncivilised.”

“Isn’t Prohibition a civilising influence?” said Karl with a half-smile.

“The exact opposite, if you ask me,” said Robyn. “Oh, liquor can be had at a price. But the Booths are teetotallers. If they can’t enjoy themselves, they’re darned if anyone else will!”

“I hope we’re allowed to dance,” said Karl.

“Oh, sure; dance, smoke, anything.” She touched Karl’s arm conspiratorially. “Just don’t look as if you’re enjoying it.”

While Karl spoke to Robyn with his usual charm, Charlotte watched keenly for her reaction. His effect on women could be devastating. Charlotte herself had fallen heavily, after all. Robyn, though, seemed too worldly – or cynical – to be easily impressed. Her manner was relaxed: friendly, not flirtatious. Only a flicker of her eyes betrayed uncertainty.

I knew Josef wouldn’t tell her what we are
, Charlotte thought.
She senses an indefinable strangeness about us, has no idea what it is.

Josef was the one who reacted. As Robyn touched Karl’s arm and he laughed with her, Charlotte saw Josef turn white. She knew he was suddenly seeing Karl as predator, Robyn as prey. Taking his niece’s arm in mid-conversation, Josef stammered an excuse and steered her away.

“A shame,” Karl sighed. “Even if I reassured Josef that I’ve no intention of touching her, he wouldn’t believe me.”

“Not in a million years,” Charlotte said wryly, “because you were tempted, weren’t you? And so was I.”

The image of the shared feast blazed like blood-red flame between them, and when their hands met, the touch was like lightning. But no one around them suspected a thing.

* * *

Despite what Sebastian had said to Ilona, he found himself walking along the broad, imposing Commonwealth Avenue until he found a grand red-brick house alive with light and music. T
HE
C
ITY OF
B
OSTON WELCOMES THE
B
ALLET
J
ANACEK
announced a banner draped above the front door.

His intention to avoid the party had been genuine… yet now the idea drew him like an oasis. A sea of fascinating strangers. Arriving early, before any other vampires appeared, he circulated freely for a time. He watched the women, listened to their chatter and breathed their perfume. In New York he’d been intrigued by the so-called “flappers”, their unstructured, revealing dresses and the undignified exuberance of their dances. The ladies of Boston and their debutante daughters were more conservative. He took in the subdued brilliance of their jewels and beaded gowns like an observer from another age.

Sebastian felt like a foreign visitor, unsure of the customs, but he liked the feeling. That was as it should be. How easily women fell for a mysterious stranger.

Presently the dancers began to arrive. Women and men alike rushed to them in a fawning flock. Sebastian decided to stay, and enjoy the party from a distance, from the shady recesses of the house.

Leaving the ballroom, he went to explore, stepping in and out of the Crystal Ring to avoid being seen. He could tolerate crowds for only a short time. Sometimes he craved solitude more than blood.

On an upper floor, his attention was caught by a lone human in a nearby room. Curiosity drew him. He opened a door and found a young man sitting in a darkened study.

Sebastian walked to the leather couch where the man sat. Faint light from the windows sheened expensive dark furniture, the man’s hunched shoulders and his thick, light-brown hair.

He was quite handsome, Sebastian noted, and very unhappy. A gold cigarette case lay at his feet, cigarettes scattered on the rug.

“Are you not in the mood for a party?” Sebastian asked softly.

The man looked up, as if resenting the disturbance but too depressed to care. His collar and tie were undone, and he gripped a glass of gin on his knee. The smell was distinct.
So much for Prohibition
, Sebastian thought, amused.

“I tried, but I couldn’t face it. Someone turned up who… I know I ought to show my face for my father’s sake, but I can’t. My brothers said it would cheer me up, but…”

“The contrast between their happiness and your sorrow is unbearable.”

The man uttered a huge sigh. His face was flushed, his eyes lifeless. “Yes, unbearable. You put that well.”

Sebastian bent down, gathered the spilled cigarettes into the case, and handed it back to him. “Thanks,” said the young man. “Clumsy, my hands were shaking.”

“Shall I light one for you?” the vampire asked.

“I’d appreciate it.” Sebastian obliged; the man sucked deeply and blew out clouds of reeking smoke. “Thanks. You?”

Sebastian declined. He sat on the rolled arm of the couch and looked down at the bowed head. “Would it help to talk about your troubles?”

“Did my father send you up here to persuade me out?”

Sebastian had seen the moustachioed patriarch greeting guests in the ballroom, flanked by his wife and two humourless sons. This wretched creature, he guessed, must be the black sheep. “No, but I’m sure he’s concerned.”

“Concerned, hell. You won’t tell him about this, will you?” He held up the glass. “He thinks liquor is the devil’s work.”

“Our secret,” said Sebastian. He thought up a false name and said, “I’m John Waterford.”

“Russell Booth.” They shook hands. The young man named Russell took a loud swallow of his drink and stared at nothing. Then he said, “It’s a woman, what else?”

“And she let you down.”

“That’s an understatement. Bitch! No, no, I take it back. I loved her. She was older than me, a lot older, but I didn’t care. I wanted to marry her. My family were dead against it. Said she was married before, as if that matters! Said she had a reputation, but I wouldn’t listen; I thought she’d be different with me. God, I worshipped her. The clothes I bought her, jewels, a car. Even made business investments for her.”