The Dark Arts of Blood by Freda Warrington

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…”
    “Charlotte.” Stefan beckoned. She rose from the bed, unsteady on her feet, and saw the full-height mirror lying flat on the carpet, glass everywhere.
    A long spattered trail of blood led to the balcony doors, which hung smashed on the frame as if a bull had charged through them. More glass glittered on the balcony. A breeze blew through the gap. Smears of blood marked the balcony rail.
    “Oh, ye gods,” Charlotte said softly. “I didn’t split in half, did I? The lamia was me all the time. And that man was really here.”
    She let Karl and Stefan help her downstairs to the parlour, where she sat frozen on the edge of a sofa beside Niklas while the others lit a fire and more lamps.
    Presently she noticed a young woman standing in the doorway that led to the entrance hall and kitchen. About twenty-five, with an intelligent face, dark neat hair and a plain red dress, she looked like a schoolteacher.
    Karl sat next to Charlotte and took her hands firmly between his.
    “Why have you brought her here?” she asked, looking from him to Stefan.
    “There’s no need to whisper,” Stefan said with a grin that managed to convey apology, sympathy and a sense of the absurd. “Leni is deaf. She and Niklas would make a perfect couple, don’t you think? He never speaks and she can’t hear! Ideal.”
    “Can you not be serious about anything?” she said. “I expected you to bring Karl home, but not a human! Why?”
    Stefan kissed the top of her head. “Because you are only going to recover with good pure blood.”
    “Karl, we agreed not to bring victims into our home.”
    “I know,” said Karl. “And we’ve singularly failed to keep the agreement, haven’t we? You and I have both broken the rule for different reasons. I knew you wouldn’t want us to capture some innocent milkmaid, so…”
    “Leni is a friend of mine,” said Stefan. “She knows what we are, she will give her blood willingly.”
    “Oh, I see.” Charlotte closed her eyes for a moment. “One of your harem.”
    “I’m offended.” Stefan sat down, pushing in between her and Niklas. “You should know me by now. Cultivating a group of human friends who trust us and give blood freely – isn’t that gentler than seizing strangers off the street? Or throwing mystery men off balconies, come to that?”
    “Stefan,” Karl said coolly, giving him a look over Charlotte’s head. She
felt
the look pass between them.
    “So I didn’t imagine it,” she murmured. “That man tracked me down because the dagger is valuable to him and he wants it back. He had inhuman strength. So did his drunken friend, whom he called Bruno. They both called me
strigoi
– why use that term? It’s a Romanian word, not Swiss. And I could smell the poison of the knife in his blood – I couldn’t drink it. Oh, and he spoke of local rumours, as if he knows the area. Apparently this is a deserted chalet with ghosts! And, unless I’m still dreaming, I’ve just killed him and cast his body into the forest.”
    “Apparently so,” said Stefan. “I’ll admit, it’s out of character for you, Charlotte.”
    “Not much out of character,” she murmured. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve lost control.”
    Karl held her closer. His affection almost made her weep. That she could behave so destructively, and yet he understood and didn’t blame her…